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heygerald · 2 years

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HEART MECHANICS - PART 1/9

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x oc

Matty Neven had dealt with her fair share of pilots throughout her life. Most of them, she has fond memories of. Her dad teaching her how to ride a bike. Her godfather sneaking her into a bar so that she could see what it’s like when she was way too young to be there. Her mother hosting a cookout reunion every couple of months for whoever was in town to catch up at.

But some of them weren’t so happy.

Soldiers insinuating that she only got her job because of her family ties. Men with starry smiles hitting on her at the bar despite the fact that she wasn’t interested. One night stands that didn’t have enough manners to wait until sunrise before kicking her out.

It was just the mechanics of it all.

And so, she made a very simple rule: love the jet, but never the pilot.

It’s a fairly easy rule to follow, right up until the moment she meets a pilot with a warm smile that seems to understand the heavy weight of family ties.

Read the story here: ... / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 / part 6 / part 7 / part 8 / part 9

Matty Neven was a lot of things.

She was the daughter of an old school pilot, famous for his time at the local Top Gun academy and arguably even more famous for his late night cocktails that he could whip up using anything found in the fridge. She was the goddaughter of the Admiral Kazansky; Iceman as the other pilots knew him by. She was the oldest of her family, the only one that had enlisted in the military in her father’s too big footsteps while her younger sisters had gone the more delicate path of motherhood. She was the first in the entire Neven family to get expelled from school—a total accident, she would swear until the day she died, though Linda Ashlington did deserve to have her eyebrows burnt off during a wayward chemistry experiment—and the only member of the Neven family to puke at her high school graduation ceremony due to the excessive hangover she had been sporting. She was the blondest of all her siblings, the tallest too, and definitely the one with the worst sailor mouth when it came to cussing out bad drivers or drunken sailors.

And right now, she was also, really, really, really fucking late.

“Jesus, Matty,” Claire's raspy voice echoed in her ear; amusement in part, but mostly annoyance. “Where the hell are you? I thought you said you were coming.”

“I am coming!” she huffed right back, phone indelicately cradled between her shoulder and her chin as she turned into the too full parking lot of The Hard Deck. Not her favorite bar by any means, but certainly one that had the most character and the least likelihood of accidental food poisoning. “I’m literally pulling into the parking lot right now.”

“How are you so late? Actually, how are you always late to everything we do?” Claire asked. Pondered, really. And as the music thrummed in the background and people were shouting over one another, Matty could practically picture the brunette arching a sharp eyebrow high onto the crown of her head while watching the boys goad some drunks into a game of darts. “I mean, seriously, we left work at the same time. And we’re in the Navy. Haven’t you learned time management by now?”

“It’s not my fault.”

“Sure, Matts, sure.”

“It’s not!” she cried. Both annoyed that her friend wouldn’t believe her and anxious that she wasn’t going to be able to find a good parking spot in the overflowing lot. She was lucky enough that someone was pulling out, though, and as she waited patiently she nervously fixed her hair in her rearview mirror. “I swear. I did everything right this time—maybe I’m cursed. Too many broken mirrors over the years or something like that. Something with salt, I think. It would explain a lot, actually.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

“Dramatic but fantastically self aware,” she corrected, swiping some smeared eyeliner off her cheek as the Pontiac slowly muddled out of its spot. “Seriously though, I promise that It’s not my fault.”

“This time.”

“Oh, piss of,” she rolled her eyes. “I really think the world just hates me.”

Claire snorted. And, well, yeah, Matty would have too.

It wasn’t the best excuse she could have given for her tardiness, but it was true.

Her lateness wasn’t her own fault because despite the fact that she hadn’t wanted to spend her evening getting clambered over by the latest handful of Top Gun recruits, she had been looking forward to getting shitty at the bar with her friends after a long week at work. Plus, Eggs was one of her closest friends, and she wouldn’t have missed his birthday party for anything.

But, of course, life didn’t ever want to make things easy for her, and when she finally got home from work she didn’t have any hot water. And then her curling iron had gone bust, leaving her in a huff trying to figure out how to braid her unruly mop of hair into something half-up, half-down that Claire may have considered beachy with a splash of boho. Only to then have traffic backed up miles between her place and the bar.

So, no. It wasn’t her fault that she was late. Just fate.

She pulled into the empty parking spot with a sigh and said, “just tell Eggs to chill out, alright? I’m coming in now. Literally, parking as we speak.”

“You think Eggs would chill out if I told him?” Claire quipped. “The guy is so wound up all the time it’s amazing he even wanted to go drinking on a Friday night. He’s several beers in and is still grumbling about how he has to get up in the morning to mow his lawn before it gets too hot.”

Matty put her Jeep into park and removed her keys with a thoughtful glance at the small birthday present she had brought. “Maybe I should have gotten him a gift card for lawn maintenance instead,” she said, wondering how much he would like the leather wallet she got to replace the one he lost a few weeks ago.

“What he actually needs is some weed and a good night’s sleep.”

Matty laughed in amusement while hip-checking her door shut. The hinges squealed a little and she sighed because even though she was a damn good mechanic, some parts of her life tended to get lost in the fold.

Parts being her Jeep that she hadn’t even washed in well over six months.

Whatever. She could worry about that some other time.

Turning away, she started across the parking lot with the present in one hand, phone in the other. “Yeah, yeah, well I don’t think the Cap would be too happy with him failing his drug tests, but I am coming inside right now. That should cheer him up.”

Claire laughed. “Anyone ever tell you that you think pretty highly of yourself?”

“No. Why, have you heard something?”

“You’re an idiot,” Claire said. But as Matty opened up the front doors and was greeted with a wall of warm air and the smell of fresh beer, she hung up on her friend without bothering with a retort.

Just sighed with a glance around.

The bar was—unsurprisingly—even more packed inside than the parking lot was outside. Afterall, The Hard Deck sat in that sweet fourteen mile radius right on the edge of downtown that made getting to it easy for soldiers to get to after work and finding an uber ride home cheap enough to warrant. Uniforms lined every inch of floorboards from the pool tables to the bathrooms. A few old time veterans were perched at their unofficial seats at the bar, Penny on one side, smiling and smirking and making jokes as candidly as she could while also busting ass to serve everyone the drinks they wanted. People seemed jolly and drunk; probably a sign that some asshat had done something stupid and ended up buying everyone a round.

She was sad to have missed that. It was always fun to watch someone get thrown out on their ass. Matty made a note to ask Penny about it later.

Still despite the happy atmosphere, as someone bumped shoulders with her, Matty had to remind herself not to throw hands at every sailor that sent a beaming smile in her direction.

She was here for a good time with her friends, and though Eggs always liked to place money bets on how many egos she could bruise without even trying, Penny had warned her more than once that she couldn’t smack every boy that looked her way. Plus, she couldn’t really blame the wandering eyes. Here she was strutting around in a tight pair of jeans and a cute tank top that highlighted just enough skin to warrant some attention.

What was their fault, however, was their profession of choice. Matty was perhaps one of the only people at Miramar that disliked pilots with that sordid passion you could only get from being around them your entire life.

Sure. She had a respect for what they did, what they sacrificed, and who they were, but she also knew them well enough to keep any boy in a uniform at arm’s length.

Which was a little hard when the bar was packed shoulder to shoulder with them. Even moreso when a particularly brave one approached her.

“Hey,” he smiled, leaning close enough for her to smell the whisky on his breath. “It’s... Matty, right?”

She eyed him over, not liking his smile or his hazy eyes, but nodded all the same before sweeping her gaze back over the room in search of her friends. “Yeah, that’s me. Do I know you?”

“Ah, probably not,” he shrugged. She would have described the gesture as bashful if his eyes didn’t linger a little too long on her chest. “I’m one of the new airmen for Bravo company; just started a couple weeks ago so I haven’t gotten the chance to introduce myself to everyone just yet. I’ve heard plenty about you though.”

“Charming,” she said. despite the fact that nothing about the man was, in fact, charming. Decidedly less so, actually. “But if you’ll excuse me, I’m looking for my friends.”

She stepped right. He stepped left. Matty ground her jaw when he just batted his eyelashes at her while stepping closer.

“Let me help you.”

“No thanks.”

“Oh, it’s not a problem,” he told her, acting as if she was being bashful in refusing his help rather than flat out telling him she didn’t want nor need it. In fact, he wasn’t even taller than her, so she wasn’t quite so sure what he thought he could accomplish that she couldn’t. “I don’t mind helping out a pretty girl. You might actually help build up my ego a little bit.”

“Wonderful, but I’m not the Make-A-Wish foundation, so maybe work on your ego with something else. Like a mirror. That should fix it real quick.”

“You’re funny.”

“I wasn’t trying to be.”

He grinned as if they were sharing some sort of secret before throwing an arm over her shoulder, twisting her this way and that while looking for people she was sure that he didn’t even know. “What’s a pretty doll like you doing all alone here, anyways? I mean, are you sure that your friends are even here?”

“I’m sure.”

“Because if they aren’t,” he barreled on, “you can always hang out with me and my friends. We’re pretty fun.”

“I very much doubt that,” she deadpanned.

He laughed once more and just patted her on the shoulder while twisting around. Matty tried her best to put some space between them, but as a group of new recruits swaggered into the bar, she found herself stuck between a rock and a hard place.

“Ah, I can’t find them,” he told her. She was certain that he didn’t look; even more certain that he didn’t know what to look for, but when his gaze stopped on the bar, she figured he found something else worth his time. “You want a drink while you wait?”

Matty rolled her eyes. “Not from you.”

He laughed—again—as if she had said something funny.

“Ah, c’mon. I’ll buy you whatever you want. A beer? Mixed drink? How about some Sex on the Beach?” he asked. She pursed her lips tight at that, no longer even pretending to be cordial with some gnat from the base that she wouldn’t have talked to on a normal day, and he quickly dissolved into a cheeky laugh. “The drink of course. C’mon, Matty, we only just met you know.”

“How about no. Not interested. Ever.”

“But—“

“If you want to keep that arm, kid, you’d better move it before she does for you,” a Southern voice drawled behind them; warm but somehow still ice-cold, threatening but with an easy going staccato.

They turned together. You know, because he still had his arm thrown over her shoulder and was still moving her around like a ragdoll, but Matty felt the guy go stiff on her shoulder when he took sight of the man looming in front of them.

This time, it was Matty who smiled.

How she loved Frank and the sound of him threatening someone for her.

The airman blinked between the pair. He sized Frank up for a moment, but even drunk, it didn’t take him long to realize that he would not be winning that fight. Even when Frank wasn’t trying to take up space, he practically loomed over everyone else. At a clean six foot three, with heavy shoulders, large arms, and a nose crooked from one too many brawls, he cut an imposing figure among the sea of happy, go-lucky soldiers.

The airman cleared his throat. She batted her eyelashes up at him impishly.

“What?” she chirped, amused. “You’ve never met my friend before? I’m sure you would have heard of him if you’ve heard of me. Frankie is always starting trouble on base.”

“Uh, no, I haven’t...” he shook his head while carefully and quickly retracting his arm from her shoulder before it could be done for him. When he stepped back, Matty even noticed that his face had blanched a bit. “I wasn’t trying to—”

“Offer me sex on the beach?” she asked, feigning ignorance, before blinking over at Frank. “The drink, of course.”

That spurred the airman back another foot as he shook his head back and forth, no longer even looking at Matty as he couldn’t seem to remove his gaze from Frank’s unamused look. “No. No, I wasn’t—uh. Sorry. Have a good night.”

Then he promptly disappeared into the fray.

Frank snorted at the kid’s retreat. It wasn’t the first time he had scared someone off for Matty—surely wouldn’t be the last time either—but he always seemed to find some amusement in it. Probably because he knew that Matty had a temper worse than he did, and that out of everyone here, she was the one more than likely to throw a punch at a handsy sailor more than he would.

Yet, no one ever seemed scared of her.

She wondered if that had anything to do with her pink lip-gloss and sparkly eyeshadow.

“That didn’t take long,” he noted, sipping his beer with a smirk. “You were only here, what, two minutes?”

“Yeah, well, being beautiful is hard,” Matty sighed melodramatically before glancing over at Frank. “Although, couldn’t you have showed up a little bit earlier? I think he spilled some beer on me.”

Frank rolled his eyes. “You’re welcome, dickhead.”

“It’s a new shirt, Frank,” she told him.

He didn’t care. Just eyed the garment with a look of disinterest before touting, “don’t start getting all pissy with me, Neven. It’s Diego's birthday. He gets to pick the bar and we get to pay for his drinks. Rules are rules.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she grumbled, waving a hand in the air to show that even though she had heard what he was saying, she really didn’t care all that much. “All I’m saying is we could have just as easily gotten drunk at his house. Much less men to deal with there.”

“What—you got a bed time or something? You used to be fun, y’know,” Frank drawled before slinging his own arm over her shoulder. It kept any wandering eyes spurned in the opposite direction and allowed the hulking muscle of a man to pull her in the direction of their table, where the others were no doubt sitting already half-sloshed. “What happened to the girl who finished off an entire jar of moonshine that someone in the parking lot gave her?”

“Uh, she finished off an entire jar of moonshine that someone in the parking lot gave her. I don’t remember anything after the first sip, but I’m pretty sure that at one point in the night I fell off of a table.”

Frank tossed his head back with a laugh. “You got right back up, though.”

“Yeah,” she rolled her eyes. “And then I managed to fall right into some pilot’s bed. Try waking up to that with the world’s worst hangover. I haven’t touched moonshine since.”

“Seriously? A pilot?” he whistled, making fun of both the imagery and of her.

It wasn’t a secret that Matty had grown up in a military family; everyone in the motorpool knew that story, knew which bases she had been moved to in her childhood, knew the embarrassing stories of her father scaring the shit out of her boyfriends when she was in high school. But it was a secret which particular family Matty came from. Though she was proud to be a Neven, over the years she had quickly grown tired of people obsessing over the callsigns Hollywood and Iceman. She had dealt with enough shit as is just being a woman mechanic—having people insinuate that she was only successful because of family ties had been the cherry on top of the metaphorical shit sundae.

And the best way to keep people out of her family business?

Well, that was easy. She simply avoided the people who would know the family business; people like the naked pilot she had gone to bed with a couple months ago. People exactly like the group of suave, egotistical aviators that were cluttered at the pool tables all arguing about who was the best.

“I know, I know, I broke the golden rule.”

“That’s pretty much you’re only rule,” he said.

Matty sighed. Then she glared up at him. “Yeah, well, if I remember correctly I was left alone after finishing off the moonshine.”

“Can you remember?” he teased. “It was a fuck ton of moonshine.”

She punched him in the side. Not exactly a valiant effort given that Frank was more muscle than soft spots, but he groaned all the same, and Matty smiled up at him in victory as he dragged her around the bar. A pair of pilots stood talking to Penny, but when Matty caught the bartender’s eyes, she gave her a warm wave.

It caught the pilot’s attention. The blonde one, a man with a striking smile and an ego that she could smell from there winked at her. Matty promptly gave him the finger in return, and when he dropped open his mouth at it, Penny had to smother a laugh into her hands.

Frank shot him a smug look before directing Matty towards the back patio.

“Oh. Eggs is pissed that you’re late, by the way,” he told her.

“Ugh. It’s not my fault! I tried to be here on time.” He gave her a look. The same look that meant he didn’t believe a word out of her mouth, and Matty nearly whacked a bespectacled WSO in the face when she threw her arms up in frustration. She winced, but they were already moving on past, so she figured he would live without an apology. “I did. Why does no one believe me?”

“Because you’re always late to stuff like this.”

“I am not,” she groaned, rolling her eyes. “You’re the worst. You’re supposed to have my back, Frankie.”

Frank snorted. “Show up on time then.”

“I thought we were best friends. I would always defend you if something like this happened, you know.”

“Hm,” he harrumphed, though there was amusement in his eyes when he glanced down at her. Matty batted her eyelashes up at him in return, and as they stepped outside, he shook his head with a disbelieving laugh. “You’re a manipulative fucker, you know that?”

“I prefer the term iconic.”

He didn’t seem convinced. It didn’t matter because in the next moment they were arriving at their picnic table, cutting through the thread of conversation as everyone swiveled in their seats to take note of the group’s latest arrival.

“Well, well, well, look who finally showed up, eh?” Eggs chided.

“Yeah, seriously. It took you long enough,” Claire tacked on, though she grinned all the same when Matty lovingly rolled her eyes. “I didn’t realize it took fifteen minutes to walk from the parking lot.”

“I was accosted,” Matty told her.

“By... beer?” Nick asked, gesturing to the stain on the top of her shirt with a quirked brow. Matty frowned at it, then at Frank.

“I told you he spilled some on me!”

“It’s a shirt,” he said simply, both not interested in arguing and not even the slightest bit upset about the mishap. Matty might have hit him if Eggs wasn’t sitting right there, still managing to look a little upset about her tardiness.

“Eggs, I swear I tried to be here on time,” she said, figuring that her attention was better spent on apologizing to the birthday boy than convincing Frank her outfit was, in fact, fashionable. “I really, really did.”

Diego eyed her for a moment, a failed attempt at being upset, before breaking out into a cheeky grin.

“Yeah, yeah, I don’t know why I expected anything else. You’re late to everything, Matts.”

“I am not!”

“I’m just glad you showed up. Nick had a bet that you were gonna fake a heart attack and skip the party entirely—again.”

Matty swung her gaze to Nick. The kid looked a little sheepish under her glare, but he didn’t defend himself. Just offered a look halfway between a grimace and a smile.

Whatever. She could kick his ass later.

“Well, I didn’t,” she announced to the table. Then, as if remembering that she was here for a reason other than defending her life choices, Matty turned her attention back to Eggs. Handing him her present, she chirped, “happy birthday!” while planting a sloppy kiss onto his cheek.

He grunted and waved her off, though everyone knew that he enjoyed the attention as much as the next guy. “Ah, yeah, yeah, enough with the loving, alright? It’s just embarrassing at this point, Matty. You know I’m married.”

Frank snorted as Matty seated herself between him and Claire, smiling happily when Nick slid over a lukewarm beer.

“Everybody is married,” she grumbled, though the table knew well enough that Matty didn’t have any interest in that particular milestone anytime soon. “Speaking of your wife, where is she?”

“Why? Still trying to convince her to make you godmother when the new baby comes around?”

“No,” Matty said. Then, when Eggs curled a disbelieving brow at her, she threw up her hands with a huff. “Although, I still don’t know why you won’t consider me. I’m great with kids!”

“You made Julia cry last time you babysat.”

“She wanted to watch a cute movie.”

“Yeah, a cute movie. Not fucking Bambi! She’s five, for fuck’s sake.”

“I already apologized about that, but whatever. I was just wondering if Maria is coming because I love hanging out with her. Besides, I could have used some more female company; I get tired staring at your ugly faces every day.”

“Hey!” Frank ruffled her hair while Diego kicked her in the shins, but the entire table erupted into laughter at the comment.

Claire simply smirked at the boys. “She’s not wrong. You fellas are fucking hideous.”

“Are you really a fair judge of the male gender?” Eggs smarted, prompting Claire to roll her eyes with a crass flaunt of her middle finger. “I'm just saying, if you’re not interested in us, then we’re not interested in your opinion.”

“Fuck off; there’s a reason you’re not interested in men either,” she retorted.

“Well, yeah, that’s because I prefer pussy—ow!” he grunted when Matty gave him a swift kick to the shins. Glaring, he sat back in his seat with a sharp huff. “This is my birthday! Will you stop being such a dick, Matty! Christ. First you show up late, now you treat me like shit.”

Claire busted out laughing as Matty just gave the table a faultless flash of her eyelashes. Sipping on her beer, she decided to change the subject before Eggs could get distracted enough from his beer to start pouting. Glancing around, she asked, “well, why am I getting yelled at when we’re still a few boys short? I thought Boomer and George would have been here by now.”

“They are here.”

“Then where—?”

“They’ve been hustling some pilots for the last hour,” Eggs rolled his eyes, though there was an amused gleam in his eyes that he failed to hide from the table. “Boomer promised to win me some money for my birthday, but I think he has a gambling problem. He’s attracted to money like a goblin.”

“A dragon,” Claire piped up from around her beer.

Eggs blinked at her, pausing. “What?”

Claire rolled her eyes, pointing at Eggs around the rim of her beer. “You mean a dragon. Not a goblin.”

“Why would a dragon want money?”

“What? You’re kidding right? Dragons are, like, notoriously obsessed with money and gold and jewels and all that bullshit. That’s why people are always trying to kill them.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” Eggs shook his head.

“It’s the truth! Don’t you know your lore?”

“My lore?” he repeated incredulously. Frank and Matty shared a knowing look—Diego liked to argue about every little thing when he was drinking, and Claire loved to prove everybody wrong—which meant that this argument wasn't likely to go anywhere good. “No, I don’t know my lore, Claire, unlike you I actually got laid in high school.”

“Oof, low blow,” Matty laughed. “Claire wasn’t even out when she was in high school.”

“I was still fucking more women than Eggs," Claire tsked.

Diego rolled his eyes; disbelieving. “Oh, yeah? Like who?"

“Like your mom.”

“Oh, fuck you!” he chortled, allowing the pair to fall into their natural stream of mindless arguments. Claire seemed all too eager to knock him a peg down; even on his birthday, the mechanic lived for destroying the opposite gender’s ego.

Matty smiled as Frank leaned in, leaving the pair to their argument.

“Do you think she’ll let him win an argument for once?” he asked.

“Doubtful.”

“Not even on his birthday?”

Matty considered his point while sipping on her beer before shaking her head. She remembered a similar incident two years prior when Claire had spent two and a half hours arguing with Boomer about the superiority of the Woman’s US soccer team in comparison to Men’s. He hadn’t conceded defeat until everyone at the party physically forced the pair apart, and even then Claire had claimed victory for the coming months.

“Doubt it. Not that it matters, though, she is right.”

“About?”

“Dragons and their love of gold. I have no idea where he got the idea that goblins are obsessed with money, but he’s way off base. Not that I’m wading into that argument any time soon,” she eyed the pair for a moment before returning her attention to her beer. Frank laughed prompting Matty to turn to him with a scornful glare. “What?”

“You were a total nerd in high school, weren’t you?” he poked.

“Seriously? You think that Dad ever would have let me indulge in my nerdish fantasies without making a big deal out of it? He practically had a heart attack when I mentioned I wanted to join the debate club.”

“Yeah, well,” Frank shrugged, “that’s because people on debate club have no friends.”

“Hey!”

He laughed, only pausing to feign pain when Matty slugged him in the shoulder with a mock glare, before settling back into his seat beside her. A cheer went up around the bar as the group of pilots finished their game of pool—no surprise, it seemed like the blonde had won the game—and she rolled her eyes in bemusement about it.

Pilots always had to be loud. Then again, her table was pretty loud too.

Frank caught her glancing. When she turned back, he had a dark brow arched on his forehead. “Thinking about finding another pilot to spend the night with?” he teased.

“Not a chance.”

“Your poor dad,” he mocked. “Does he know that you refuse to even be friends with pilots?”

“It’s not that I won’t be friends with them,” Matty corrected Frank, though there was still disbelief shimmering in his eyes that promised this argument would take more energy than she likely felt like sharing. “Oh, shut up. You know how pilots are, anyways. All good bodies but bad temperaments.”

“Did I know that about pilots?” Frank muttered aloud.

“And, yes, he does know that I don’t date pilots. Him and Ice spent years introducing me to their fair share before I finally broke down and told them that I wasn’t interested. That was a fun conversation.”

“You ever think you might be a little hard on them?”

Matty rounded on Frank with wide eyes; this time, it was her that couldn’t believe him, and when he realized what he had just said, Frank seemed in disbelief at himself as well. “Ha, since when are you an advocate for the aviators? Last I remember, you thought that Cyclone was a total prick.”

“Well, he is,” Frank shrugged.

Matty moved past that. “Anyways, it’s nothing personal about pilots, and Dad gets that. I mean, hell, I love all of his friends.”

Frank knocked his hand on the table at that. “Speaking of your dad’s friends,” he started, and, well, fuck, Matty knew exactly where this conversation was going. “I heard that Mav is back in town and—”

Matty threw her head back with a groan. “Ugh. Don’t even start.”

“What?!”

“I am not hanging out with you two again,” she declared, an idle thought to the last time she had a cookout with both of them present. She had nearly shit herself when Frank set off that homemade firework. “My neighbors are still pissed at me for that, you know.”

“It was the fourth,” he shrugged. “I was trying to be patriotic.”

She snorted; no one believed that particular lie. “Well, feel free to hang out with him on your own time, but you are still banned from Ice’s house.”

Frank rolled his eyes, grunting under his breath as he did so. “That wasn’t even my fault. It was Mav’s idea, you know. But, anyways,” he barreled on, though she knew that the conversation would be brought back up sooner rather than later. He was a rockhead like that. “Did you see him yet?”

She had.

Maverick had made it a point to stop by the garage bright and early that morning before he was to show up at the school for debrief with Cyclone. It hadn’t been too much of a surprise considering his unwavering friendship with Iceman that he got the job in the first place, but his chirpy attitude had been enough of a surprise when she thought she was alone that Matty promptly slammed the bench drawer shut on her thumb.

When she swore with more colorful language than Maverick had ever heard, he keeled over at the waist laughing. And when he had tossed her an ice pack from the back of her fridge, she had laughed too because, well shit, times really didn’t change all that much considering it had only been a handful of years since him and Ice had slapped a packet of frozen peas onto her knuckles following her first fist fight at school.

Matty glanced at the digit, playing with the thick tape wrapped around it.

Frank pointed to it curiously. “Maverick did that?”

“Unintentionally. He always was a menace.”

“Pot, meet kettle.”

Matty knocked her shoulder into his, though the pair just laughed about the idiocy of it all, as the pilots started hooting and hollering once more. This time, they were crowded around the dart board.

“So, what’s the plan this time?”

“What do you mean?”

Frank shrugged while finishing the last of his beer. Matty tried to catch up, but as the bar just got more crowded, she figured she would need to switch to hard liquor sooner rather than later if she wanted to keep from causing trouble with the wayward aviators. “Ah, come on, Mats. We both know how secretive you are about the whole family thing. Now we have Maverick teaching the latest batch of recruits? You must have some sort of plan on how to keep people from knowing you two are best pals.”

"Not best," she announced. Then cleared her throat with a shrug. "And, it's not like I'll be sitting in his class anytime soon. I can keep a distance."

“Maybe, but you don’t think his jet will be coming through the motor pool more often than the others? Rumor has it that Mav likes to play it loose and fast—that doesn’t exactly leave much room for a mechanical fuck up in his jet.”

Frank had a point.

Matty knew because she had been considering it for the better part of the day. Maverick did like to fly recklessly, and he didn’t like people he didn’t know touching things that were his. Meaning she would most likely be stuck as his personal mechanic until she could convince him that the others in the motor pool were just as capable.

And knowing Maverick? That could take years just out of sheer insolence.

Sighing, she rubbed the sore spot between her brows. “I… think tequila doesn’t sound too bad right now. You want a shot?”

Frank grinned like an idiot. “When have I ever said no to a shot with you?”

Matty rolled her eyes at his enthusiasm, but let a smile stick to her features as she turned to the rest of the table. Eggs and Claire were still knee deep in their argument. Nick had long since disappeared.

“Hey," she waved a hand between them, "you losers want some shots?”

“Do we want some shots? What sort of question is that?” Eggs guffawed.

“Tequila good?”

“Fuck no!” he shook his head at her, not even budging at the look that she shot him in return. In fact, his face split into that sort of shit-eating grin that she knew meant nothing good would be coming. “C’mon, Matty. It’s my birthday! Doesn’t the birthday boy get to pick the shots you’ll be buying him?”

She planted her hands on her hips, waving at him impatiently. “Yada, yada, yada. You talk more than a politician on Sunday. What d'ya want, Eggs?”

“You already know what I want.”

The whole table groaned together, before everyone in unison said, “not Jaeger.”

“That’s right! I fucking want some Jaeger! What do you fuckers have against it, anyways? If we’re gonna do shots, then we’re gonna do them the right way!”

“Ugh. No need to go on a tirade,” Matty patted him on the shoulder, albeit unenthusiastically. She really hated him sometimes; birthday or not. “Jaeger it is.”

“Grab the boys on your way back too, would ya?” Eggs jutted his chin towards the dart board in the back of the room where two familiar heads were lining up their shots against a crowd of uniforms. “The last thing we need is to start a color war before we can even get properly drunk, eh?”

She waved off his request while making her way to the bar.

Uniforms shifted left and right around her, a few familiar faces popping out against the sea of khaki and Tommy Bahama shirts. Matty tried not to let her eye wander too much; the last thing she needed was to embolden some sailor into trying to get her number, but the bar was unusually packed making it difficult to avoid every blue-eyed sailor that looked her way. Still, she managed to get to the bar in record time.

Penny grinned at her arrival.

“Well, well, well,” Penny chirped, slinging her dish towel over her shoulder. There was a pair of pilots that she had been talking to who both glanced up at Matty’s arrival. She recognized the man with glasses that she had almost taken out earlier, but she didn’t have any clue who the dark haired woman beside him was. “I was wondering how long it would take for you to show up.”

“You and everybody else.”

“Late again?”

Matty threw her arms up. This time, she was much more careful about not whacking anyone across the face. Still, the guy with glasses kept a good distance for safety. “I swear it wasn’t my fault.”

Penny snorted. “I’ve heard that before.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Matty leant forward onto the bar with a depreciating sigh. The two pilots seemed amused at her theatrics, and feeling particularly nice, she smiled at them before turning back to Penny. “I need some shots.”

“Let me guess… Jaeger?”

She grinned. “Eggs is predictable like that.”

“How many?”

“Seven.”

“Does that mean you’re gonna drag Boomer off the dart board for me when things turn South?” Penny asked with a cocked hip, gesturing to the group at the back of the bar. Matty winced; Boomer was the life of the party, but he also loved to start shit with pilots whenever he got the chance. “I don’t think Hangman’s ego will be able to endure a game of darts with him. Plus, you know, I like my bar very much un-broken.”

The woman pilot snorted into her drink.

Matty eyed her a bit oddly, before turning back to Penny with a reassuring smile. “I’ll drag him out by the feet if I have to.”

“Promise?”

“Scout’s honor,” Matty said, throwing three fingers up into the air despite the fact that she had never, in her life, been a scout. Penny either didn’t know that tidbit about her or didn’t care. Matty figured it was all the same, and grinned just a little bit brighter while wiggling her hand in the air. “Your bar will remain very un-broken, Pen, I promise.”

“Hm. You know, sometimes I think you’re more trouble than he is,” Penny told her. “Hell, than any of these boys are.”

“But I’m, like, way prettier to look at.”

Penny rolled her eyes, though doesn’t disagree. Partly because she knows that Matty would argue till her lungs gave out if she had the opportunity, partly (probably) because she knows Matty was right.

Seriously. Matty was a total smoke show. How could she not see that?

“Nothing gets broken,” Penny declared, reaffirming her biggest worry, while slowly gathering up as many shot glasses as she can handle. At this, the female pilot’s eyebrows disappear into her hairline, and Matty feels something like pride worm its way up the back of her throat. “I mean it, too, Matts.”

“Does that mean you’ll add a shot of Jose Cuervo for me?”

Penny paused. Matty gave her an impish grin with a wink, before the brunette was mumbling something to herself with the shake of her head. Still, as she disappeared down the bar, Matty watched her pull a bottle of cheap tequila from the bottom shelf.

“Tequila, huh?” the female pilot chirped.

Matty turned to look at her. The woman offered a warm smile along with an amused curl of the brows, and though Matty didn’t actively make friends with aviators, she was in too good of a mood to actively ignore one either. So, she just shrugged. “The best way to get drunk besides shine.”

“Moonshine?” Glasses asked from around her shoulder, almost worried.

“Sure. Never had it?”

“No, I–I have,” he said, clearing his throat with an awkward smile. Matty darted her gaze between him and the woman, wondering if they were friends or just unfortunate workplace associates, but the woman gave nothing away as she grinned into her beer. Apparently, the idea of Glasses drinking moonshine is just as amusing to her as it is to Matty. “Just didn’t think you could find it out here. In the South, sure, but...”

“Hm. Well, you’ve obviously never been to some of the seedier bars scattered around Miramar. You can find it. Not sure if some of it should be drank, but it’s there.”

The woman laughed. “Talking from experience?”

Matty grinned. “Something like that.”

Glasses mumbled something under his breath that caught the woman’s attention, and as they fell back into steady conversation, Matty relaxed against the bar. She waved at a few regulars, smiled even when she spotted a friend of hers from basic, and snorted when some bickering started up at the dart board just like Penny had forewarned.

Yeah. Boomer was definitely trouble, alright.

And Matty was more than happy to keep herself company as she waited for her drinks when someone new slid into the open space between her and the pilots. At first, she bristled at having someone standing so close to her, but then she realized that bar was standing room only and...

Well.

He was standing.

But then she cautioned a glance over at him to find that he was already glancing at her with a curious brow and Matty almost—almost—thanked god that he had decided to stand next to her of all people because damn if he wasn’t a fine ass drink of water. Tall, thick arms, broad chest, tan skin, bright eyes, sun-streaked hair that was accented by a soft mustache that somehow looked good on him (not like the pornstaches that half of the fucking Navy was sporting nowadays). He almost looked statuesque beside her as he absorbed the warm rays of overhead lighting, smiled under her attention with something both inviting and cool, adorable and sexy.

Attractive really in every sense of the word.

Entirely fuckable too, even without moonshine.

And Matty was even considering making some sort of flirty comment towards him that would have, at the very least, earned her ten minutes of attention from a handsome stranger at the bar as she waited for Penny to return with her drinks, but then the female pilot said something to him, actually had the audacity to call him something fucking stupid like Rooster, and—

Fuck.

He was a pilot.

Matty just couldn’t win, could she?

“You weren’t saving this spot for someone, were you?” he asked after turning back away from the female pilot. The cadence of his voice was warm and inviting despite Matty internally wishing that his voice was squeaky and unattractive.

She cleared her throat and glanced at the dark bar top. “Nope.”

“Oh, good,” he nodded, still smiling. “Did you already order, then? I think the bartender—”

“Penny is working on it,” Matty told him. He blinked, pausing slightly, before nodding once again. She supposed that he was trying to be nice, but Matty had to remind herself that nice guys were the ones she had the hardest time saying no to in the past. “It’s fine.”

“You know Penny?”

“Sure,” she shrugged, effortlessly cool, yet somehow still miserably failing at being outrightly dismissive. “Everybody around here does.”

He turned at that so that he was facing her more than he was facing his friends, settling an arm on the bar in a nonchalant way that sent ripples up his toned arms and—where was Penny with those drinks?

“Oh, well, yeah,” he said, scratching the back of his neck for a moment, before adding, “I guess I didn’t realize you were from around here.”

“Taking a census, are you?”

Her deadpan response provoked a laugh from his lips; not quite the reaction she had been going for, but for once, she didn’t really mind. He had a nice laugh that matched his even nicer smile.

And—pilot, pilot, pilot.

Matty tried to keep that in mind when he leant the fraction of an inch closer so that he didn’t have to shout so much. “Not doing a census, no, just like talking to pretty girls.”

He smiled again. This was a little flirtier, a tad bit cheekier, and damn if he couldn’t be on a calendar for Miramar pilots.

“I’m Bradley,” he told her.

I’m Matty, she almost said, the reply so smooth on her tongue that it practically felt unnatural not to give it. But she shouldn’t—couldn’t—if she wanted to stick to her rules. So, instead, she smiled right back and chirped, “yeah? Good for you.”

“Alright,” he nodded, taking her dismissal in stride. “If I buy you a drink, do I get a name?”

“I already ordered my drinks, remember?”

“Ah,” he snapped his fingers, offering up an expression of mock remembrance. “I almost forgot. You’re not waiting on someone, and you already ordered your drinks from Penny. Right. You just got it all worked out already, don’t you?”

“Pretty much.”

He tsked, shoulders sinking with a sigh, as he tapped his hand on the bar counter. “Well, then, that only leaves with me one option.”

“Oh?”

“I guess I need to just go ahead and ask for your phone number,” he shrugs, as if it really is the only thing he can do. “I mean, normally I would say some stupid pick up line and then introduce myself, get a laugh or two from you, tell you that I think your name is just as beautiful as you are—of course, that's a given—and then I would ask for your number while buying you a drink. You’re really kind of ruining my routine here.”

“A shame,” she snorts, rolling her eyes, and trying her darndest not to smile.

It’s hard though. Especially when he is so unabashed in his flirting, so unbothered by her tone, and so fucking cute.

“There’s always next time,” he whistled. “Unless you want me to start over?”

Matty leant on the bar. On the one hand, she wanted to tell him to get lost. On the other hand, he was cute and had a good sense of humor, and seemed to be in a good enough mood that she might actually feel bad if she shattered it callously just because of her silly rules not to engage with pilots.

Still, when Penny brushed by with a curious look, Matty had to remind herself that one option was better than the other. “You can try,” she said, the implication that it wouldn’t be a successful attempt clear in her tone.

Yet, for some reason, he stuck around.

“Ah, c’mon, you don’t even know what I was gonna say,” he told her, leaning on the bar with just enough of a flex of the arms that she couldn’t help but look even if she didn’t want to. Bradley’s smile widened. The little shit obviously knew what he was doing. “Ready?”

“Alright then,” she waved a hand at him impatiently. “Let’s get this over with.”

He made a show of standing up straighter, combing his hair, adjusting his shirt so that it hung just right, before leaning back onto the bar as if he had just shown up. “Hey, this is really weird, but I think there’s something wrong with me phone. Your number isn’t on it.”

Matty couldn’t help herself and laughed loud enough that the nearby pilots could hear. The blonde from earlier—having recently vacated the dart board—glared at them from across the bar top.

“That was horrible,” she told him matter-of-factly.

“In a good way, though.”

“No, in a horrible way,” she tsked, slowly calming down from her laughter, and now truly struggling to keep a smile off of her face. Rules, rules, rules, she reminded herself while clearing her throat. “Maybe you should go find someone else to waste that line on.”

“I kind of like wasting it on you though.”

Matty curled a sharp brow at that, but somehow managed to keep from smiling again. What a reckless mess that would be. “I hate to tell you this, but you’re hitting on the wrong girl.”

“That’s perfect then,” he shrugs, before smoothly saying, “because I didn’t tell you this yet, but I’m Mr. Right. I think we’d be a perfect pair.”

His friends snicker to themselves over his shoulder at the obvious line, and as Bradley turns to shoot them a dark look that effectively shuts up their eavesdropping, Matty squares her shoulders. And when he turns back to face her, she actively tries to appear as disinterested as possible.

“Look, you’re seriously wasting your time,” she tells him, only now managing to be a little bit more serious and a little less flirty. “If you had been around here much before tonight, you would know that I am not the girl to hit on. There’s plenty others though that would be totally into... this.”

Bradley arches a brow high on his forehead, nearly touching the perfectly coifed curls that were resting against his tan skin at that. His smile was still bright and gentle, but there was a shine of curiosity in his eyes now. “You a big deal around here or something?”

“Or something,” she simpers.

If her attitude was off putting, he didn’t comment on it.

Instead, he takes a long neck of his drink before gesturing to her with his free hand. “Well? Are you gonna give me an introduction? Since I’m new around here, I think it’s only fair that I know the local big deal so I don’t get myself into trouble without knowing it.”

Damn him. Matty sighs at his continued persistence; even worse was the way she found herself wanting to stick around in conversation with him. Still, she knew. Better to shoot him down now before his plane got any wind under the wings—a fiery crash on the runway was less likely to hurt them both than a nosedive from the sky.

“Alright, fine. I’m not interested.”

“Not interested, huh?” he hums while picking at the label on his beer bottle. “That’s an interesting name. Are your parents multicultural or something?”

It surprises her how quickly his response comes; so laid back, unoffended, without that familiar lightning strike of ego that boys like him often had provoked when she said something so upfront and defensive. But what surprises her more was the laugh that once again bubbles at the back of her throat.

Definitely not good.

A cute pilot with a sense of humor? Oh no, Matty knew better than to go down that road—not fucking likely if she had anything to say about it.

“Look, Buddy—” she starts.

“Bradley.”

“Bradley,” she corrects with a huff, “I don’t date flyboys.”

“Flyboys? Isn’t that term a few decades old?” Matty shoots him a baleful look at his humorous response, to which he just shrugs with that same easy going smile of his. If she had to guess—and she was usually right about these sort of things considering the majority of men all shared the same two brain cells—he was amusing himself by riling her up because his caveman brain associated a pissed off female with a horny one. “We don’t even know each other. Why are you so certain that I’m a pilot?”

To this, she cocks a brow and a hip. “Seriously?”

“I mean, I’m more than happy to play twenty questions with you, but that sort of borders first date territory, doesn’t it?” he says.

“No thanks,” she deadpans. “Besides, I’ve been around long enough to see you pilots come through training every couple of months. I knew you were one the second I laid eyes on you, buddy.”

“It’s Bradley,” he corrects once more, amused at himself and at getting the chance to poke a little fun at her. “And how do you know I’m not a backseater?”

“Because you have that look.”

“Look?”

Matty doesn’t explain, and just as he’s about to ask, Penny settles a tray of shots into the open bar space between them. She gives Matty a look—one that says what the hell are you doing still talking to him?—which only further prompts the blonde to focus on why she was here, and not why she wasn’t.

Winking at Penny, Matty turns to Bradley, and promptly tells him, “WSOs don’t have that stupid swagger that you’re walking around with.”

Bradley leans back an inch, frowning down at himself as if he's trying to pinpoint the swagger she’s indicating, and Matty takes pleasure in poking the pair of sunglasses hanging off of his shit.

“Oh, and the aviators? They are decades old and a dead fucking give away,” she tells him before promptly throwing back the shot of amber tequila. It burns all the way down, relaxing the coiled muscles in her shoulders, and as she slams the empty glass back down onto the counter, Matty finds something cheeky worming its way along her tongue. “You meet your new instructor yet?"

His frown becomes perturbed as he coils a brow at her; no longer flirty, but curious, and slightly concerned. “No?”

Matty hums. “Well, you and your friends might want to check your egos on the tarmac then; there’s really not enough room for both of them when you’re up in the sky with that smartass.”

She heaves the tray onto her shoulder before turning away from the bar.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks, only to be ignored as she surveys the bar. Boomer and George were already making their way outside, and she figures it was now or never if she wanted to rein them in from their gambling. Matty winks at Glasses on her way past as Bradley shouts, “wait! Seriously. Can I at least have your phone number?”

“Like I said,” she coils a foxy look in his direction, taking pleasure in the way he stands a little straighter beside his friends. “I don’t date pilots.”

Matty never knew if he took offense to that.

Probably, considering that every pilot everywhere had the ego of a goddamned Olympian, but the crowd swallows her up before she gets the chance to see his reaction. Fine by her; she hadn’t come to the bar to get hit on by this month’s latest crew of aviators. Instead, she had come to get drunk with her friends.

Friends that hoot upon seeing her arrive with the shots.

“Fuckin’ took you long enough,” Boomer crows, grinning wildly when she lays the shots down on the table. Everyone grabs their respective glass as he juts his chin towards the bar. “Another newbie trying to fuck?”

“They get more and more resilient every year," she jokes with an airy sigh. Claire snorts, amused, and makes a crude joke about why women were always better than men as George tosses an arm over Matty's shoulder with an endearing smirk.

“Yeah, well, fuck them,” he tells her. “I’ll keep you company, Matts.”

“My hero,” she bats her eyes at him. The rest of the table laughs; all the boys having taken turns keeping Matty from fighting off pilots, all deeply amused each time it happens, so they know that despite her not needing the help, she enjoyed it all the same. Next, she turns her attention the only man she wants to spend attention on tonight. “Happy Birthday Eggs!’

Eggs laughs in response as the others share their sentiments, pink flushing his dark skin until his cheeks were the characteristic rosy color of someone that was a step too close to being drunk. He takes only a moment to think before raising his shot glass in return, proclaiming, “to fixing shit that shouldn’t be broken.”

“And to breaking shit that should never be fixed!” the rest of the table responds in their self-proclaimed motto.

Together, they clink their glasses, cheer, and then throw back the Jaeger with varying degrees of disgust. In unison, seven glasses were slammed onto the table, and suddenly Matty finds herself forgetting all about egos, pilots, and cute boys like Bradley.

Afterall, he was a pilot. And rules were rules.

She didn’t break them for anyone.

***taglist (thanks for asking!) @callsignbarb @coyotesamachado @shanimallina87

#bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster x oc #bradley bradshaw x oc #top gun maverick #top gun maverick imagine #bradley bradshaw series #rooster series #heart mechanics #more to come

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