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of-twilight-and-moonshadow · 1 year

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Return of the Dark Angel - Kenny x Emery x Jay

Alrighty, here we go~

Part of my Dark Angel of the Bullet Club series

Tagging a few that expressed interest @moxxieswitchblade, @summertimefun1982

Next, I guess I'll work on an introduction post for Emery (it's now done, just click on 'intro' for a direct link)

Word Count: 5864

Angsty Kenny x Emery / Jay x Emery and slight Hangman x Emery (if you squint enough)

Warnings: Angst, a few swear words, feelings of abandonment, heartbreak

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Emery stood backstage, throwing her long brown hair up into a messy bun, before she crossed her arms in front of her as she watched a match on one of the screens. Darby Allin and Jungle Boy were taking on Sammy Guevara and Daniel Garcia. Matt was out with a legitimate injury, Nick was out with a kayfabe injury. It left just her and Kenny—and Brandon, too, she guessed.

Kenny said he would meet her here to watch the matches half an hour ago, but he had yet to show. Yet again.

It seemed to be a common occurrence since he returned from the investigation. He hardly ever interacted with her like they used to; play games, go to random arcades, and go out to eat as a team (with the bucks). Even traveling together had almost become non-existent. It felt like she was losing her best friend.

Emery was so deep in thought that she hadn’t even noticed someone had joined her. His blue-gray eyes watched her curiously, his lips rising slowly into a grin as he leaned back and put his hands into his pockets. Narrowing his eyes slightly, he erased the grin from his face.

“I think I see smoke comin’ from those ears…” he muttered, seemingly drawing her from her thoughts. Her eyes refocused, and Emery looked around, jumping slightly as she realized who was beside her.

“Jay…” Emery breathed out, unsure of his intentions at the moment. Sure, while she had been in Japan, she had made many friends—even people outside of Bullet Club. People like Okada, Kota Ibushi, and even Jay—and they remained friends over the years. However, the last time she saw him was in Japan when he had taken Bullet Club from under Kenny.

“Relax, Princess,” Jay teased her, his smirk back on his face as he watched Emery release the breath she had been holding,” You act like I was a bad guy or somethin.”

“Because I know you,” Emery shot back, eyes narrowing playfully,” King Switchblade.”

Jay let out a bark of a laugh, his head tipping back briefly before he held open an arm, “C’mere.”

Emery walked over to him with a smile and wrapped her arms around him. His scent enveloped her—and for the first time in months, she felt at peace. Closing her eyes, she let herself enjoy the moment, her whole body relaxing against his. A few moments passed before someone nearby cleared their throat.

“Okay, children. No funny business,” Juice’s deep voice called out.

“Fuck off,” Jay chuckled, glancing at his Bullet Club mate, as Emery took a step away. When he looked back at her, his smirk disappeared; Jay slowly brought his hand up towards Emery’s face, his thumb brushing away a stray tear that had fallen from her eye.

“Ree, what’s wrong Princess?”

“Nothing,” Emery shook her head, trying to put a smile on her face,” I’m fine.”

“Emery,” Jay warned, raising an eyebrow,” I know you. C’mon, be honest with me.”

“I…” Emery sighed, before giving up,” It’s a long story.”

“I’ve got nowhere to be,” Jay shrugged, crossing his arms across his chest, waiting.

“Well…”

He stood there, quiet, and didn’t interrupt her once as Emery told him about the last couple of months—beginning at All Out last year in September. When she got to how Kenny had recently been behaving towards her, ignoring her and almost avoidant, Jay visibly tensed up. His jaw twitched and he wanted nothing more than to punch something. Or someone. But he didn’t- he let Emery finish, and when she did, Jay could tell she was close to crying again. Wordlessly, he cupped her face and placed a gentle kiss to her forehead, before wrapping his arms around her protectively.

“I want nothing more than to kick his ass,” Jay started, his voice soft and right beside her ear,” But for you, I’ll refrain. For now.” He pulled away from the hug, wiping away the tears that had fallen from her brown eyes as she gave him a small smile.

“My princess shouldn’t be treated that way by anyone,” he continued,” You deserve to be around people that respect you—that cherish you.”

Emery knew what he was implying. To leave Kenny, leave The Elite, and rejoin Bullet Club.

“I couldn’t…”

“Shhh,” Jay told her, placing a finger to her lips, giving her a grin and a wink when she glared at him,” Don’t make any plans just yet. Give it some time, princess. When you figure out what you want to do…”

Jay looked over her shoulder and saw Kenny approaching in the distance. It took a minute, but Kenny finally saw Jay standing beside Emery and quickened his pace. Quickly, before the Canadian arrived, Jay finished what he was saying.

“…. You know where to find me.”

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing—Emery, you okay?” Kenny asked her, looking at her briefly before turning his attention to Jay,” Just because you signed here doesn’t mean I won’t still kick your ass.”

“I’d be careful, Omega. If I’ve been told correctly, you’ve got your hands full with another club that’s out for your blood.”

“Is that a—” Kenny began, taking a step towards Jay before Emery cut him off, coming to stand between them.

“Kenny, please. Don’t start,” she pleaded with him. His blue eyes darted down quickly, before going right back to Jay—but just as quickly, his attention went back to Emery. Kenny could see in her eyes the emotional turmoil, the plea she made. Taking a deep breath, Kenny took a step back and looked back at Jay.

“Stay away from Emery. This isn’t New Japan—it’s not your show.”

“S’what you think,” Jay smirked, as Emery looked at him with a silent plea,” It’ll be the ToJay show soon.”

Taking a few steps back, he looked to Emery once more, giving her a wink as he said,” See ya around, Princess.”

Kenny and Emery watched as Jay and Juice disappeared down the hall, before Kenny turned his attention to her.

“Are you okay? He didn’t hurt you, right?”

“I’m fine, Kenny, really,” Emery told him, looking up at him,” You know Jay would never hurt me.”

“Perhaps, but he could corrupt you, my Angel- and that would be devastating.”

“I think you’ve got it wrong, Ken,” she smiled fondly as he looked at her with a confused expression,” The only one who corrupted me was a certain Cleaner.”

Kenny gave a chuckle, bringing her in for a hug,” Touché.” For the first time in months, Emery felt like she finally had her Kenny back. In an instant, however, the moment was ruined when Don cleared his throat.

“You’re all set to go on, Kenny. It’ll be right after they get done and back here,” Don said as Jungle Boys theme rang out across the arena.

“Thanks,” Kenny told him, his arm falling from Emery’s shoulder.

“Hey, Ken—how about we hang out tomorrow and play some Street Fighter?” Emery asked him, sweeping some stray brown hair behind her ear, and for a minute, he looked excited.

“Kenny’s busy tomorrow. Meet and Greets and a few interviews,” Don shook his head before Kenny could speak.

“Right…” Kenny frowned,” Sorry, Angel. Perhaps another day.”

“Yeah…” Emery sighed, wondering when that day would come. If it ever did.

--- Two Weeks Later ---

Hangman walked through the halls of the arena, energy drink in hand, keeping a wary eye on his surroundings. He knew that the Blackpool Combat Club could be lurking anywhere, and while he hated to admit it, walking alone made him an easy four-on-one target. Passing by one hallway, he peered down real quick—full intentions to keep going—but instantly took a step back. His blue eyes locked on Emery, sitting atop an equipment crate.

Her brown eyes seemed clouded over as though she was lost in thought, her eyes boring a hole into the floor below her. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Hangman walked towards her carefully- he didn’t want to spook her. Since Don Callis convinced Kenny that the Cowboy had hit him last week and knew that Kenny and Emery were seemingly two peas in a pod, he had to be careful. Not that he thought Emery would do that to him… but still, better safe than sorry.

“Ree?” Hangman softly called out, pulling her out of the deep train of thoughts she was tangled in. Her eyes seemed to refocus, and the brunette gave him a soft smile.

“Hey Cowboy.”

Instantly, he knew something was wrong. Her smile didn’t reach her eyes like usual; her eyes didn’t brighten up; even her voice sounded… different. Emery didn’t even keep eye contact with him; the moment she acknowledged him, her eyes fell toward the floor.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, taking a few steps closer to her. She gave a low chuckle, his heart dropping at how miserable it sounded—how weird it sounded coming from her.

“It’s… it’s nothing. Don’t worry—”

“No, no—Ree,” Hangman shook his head, interrupting her as he came to stand right in front of her,” Despite all the shit that’s gone down, you’re still my friend. I care about you—please. What’s wrong?”

It took a minute, silence passing between them, before Emery glanced back up at her friend, and the instant she did Hangman felt… He felt angry but more so, he felt like his heart began to shatter. Emery had tears gathering in the corner of her eyes, threatening to spill at any moment. Instantly, Hangman sat his drink down on the crate beside her, placing his hands on her legs gently.

“Ever feel… like the person you care the most about… forgets you even exist?” Emery murmured softly, holding back the tears as best she could. Her eyes trailed down, focusing on Hangman’s chest; she knew the second she looked into his eyes that she would start crying, and it was the last thing she wanted.

Slowly, she continued, her voice cracking halfway,” Ever feel like… while they mean the world to you… that—that you mean absolutely nothing to them?”

“This about Kenny?” Hangman asked softly. Emery’s brown eyes flickered up to meet his blue ones, and as she gave a small nod, a tear fell down her cheek. Adam’s eyes widened, a hand reaching up towards her face to wipe it away.

“Hey, hey… Princesses aren’t supposed to cry,” he told her, his voice almost a whisper. After a brief pause, his hand on her cheek, Hangman returned his hand to her leg, and Emery continued.

“Kenny’s been… I don’t know. He’s just been different… since coming back. And with Jay showing up two weeks ago…”

Life had gotten chaotic- they both knew that. With two Bullet Club leaders—one current, one former—it was bound to happen. Especially when Jay was the one that overthrew Kenny years previously.

“Everything happening with the titles and with combat club… it’s like he forgets I’m even there…” Emery continued on, trying to hold back her tears,” I’ve tried talking to him countless times. Not even work-related stuff—but about anything. To get his mind off it all so that he can relax… but something always comes up… I-I finally got him to stop for a moment last Wednesday…”

--Last Wednesday, mid-taping of Dynamite—

“Don—wait, hey,” Emery called out, closing the distance between her and Kenny’s manager. The bald, older man turned to face her briefly before continuing on his way. Quickly, she followed along behind him as they approached Kenny’s locker room.

“Can you let Kenny know I need to talk to—”

“Kenny’s a busy man, Emery, he doesn’t have time to chat,�� Don said dismissively.

“I know he’s busy- but I just… I really need to talk to him.”

They came to a stop at a door that read ‘Kenny Omega’ and Don turned around to face Emery.

“Please?”

“Okay, fine,” Don sighed, “I’ll let him know.”

“Thank you.”

Emery waited patiently, leaning against the wall. The minutes were ticking by, and she began to wonder if Don actually gave Kenny her message. Ever since the beginning, when Don started hanging around- she never liked him; something about him made her uneasy. Emery knew Kenny would come out of his locker room soon, to make his way to the guerilla before his match, so even if Don didn’t tell Kenny she was out there, Emery could catch him on the way. A few more minutes ticked by before the door opened and out came Kenny with Don right behind him.

“Kenny—”

“Not right now, Angel, I’m a bit busy,” Kenny cut her off, not even stopping as he walked towards the stage. Quickly, Emery followed along behind him, ignoring Don completely.

“I know you are—I just—”

“Perhaps, after his match—“Don interjected, but Emery paid him no mind. Quickening up her pace, she passed Kenny and spun around, stopping in front of him. Coming to an abrupt halt, Kenny gave her a look she couldn’t quite place.

“Emery—”

“No, I know, Kenny. You’re busy, I get it,” Emery told him,” Just… promise me you’ll call me after the show is over? I-I really need to talk to you. Please.”

Kenny and Emery stared at each other for a brief moment, his blue eyes softening slightly. It was almost as if Kenny was worried; before he could ask her, though, he felt Don’s hand on his shoulder, reminding him of his match coming up.

“Yeah, okay,” Kenny nodded, “I’ll call.”

“Thank you,” Emery smiled softly at him, stepping aside to let him continue his path. She kept her eyes on Kenny’s retreating form but didn’t miss the look that Don gave her as he followed behind.

--- Back to present ---

“Adam… he never called,” Emery frowned, swallowing the lump in her throat,” He always calls me when he says he will. Or texts me—something! But he didn’t…”

“Maybe… maybe he just got busy and forgot?” Hangman suggested. He knew Kenny wouldn’t purposely do something like this. It wasn’t like him. Then again, with Callis involved, Hangman didn’t know what to think.

“I thought so too—but a few days ago… back on Monday. I was with Matt, Nick, and Brandon. Shooting for BTE,” Emery continued,” Guess who Matt got a text from?”

Hangman felt his heart drop. Did Kenny actually forget to get ahold of her? Was he doing it on purpose? Neither scenario was one that Hangman wanted to believe, but something was going on.

“I- I don’t know what to do, Adam,” Emery said, her eyes filling with tears once more,” I don’t—I’ve always been in Ken’s corner… since day one. I’ve always been there. Every championship. Every defense. Every win or loss. Every injury! He’s my best friend…and--” By now, the tears were falling freely down her face, and Hangman felt terrible. He knew she had been close to finally admitting that she had fallen in love with Kenny. He had known it for years now, as had the Bucks.

“I don’t know…. If I can continue to be… if this is how I’m going to be treated…”

“You definitely don’t deserve it, darlin’,” Adam told her, both hands cradling her face as he attempted to wipe away her tears,” You have been there for him. I’ve seen it. Bucks have seen it. Hell, the world has seen it. You—you could come hang out with me a bit? I sure wouldn’t mind having you in my corner again.”

He gave her a smile, to which she returned a small grimace, gently pulling away from him. His hands fell back towards her legs as he waited for her to speak.

“I-I can’t… You’ve got a Blackpool problem,” Emery reminded him,” And you’re so close to being back with the Bucks… and Kenny.”

Silence fell between them for a few seconds before she raised her hand and put it on one of his.

“The four of you… you’re amazing individually, but… together? You’re magic…” Emery gave him a soft smile, but it quickly fell from her face, “… I think…. I think I need to find my own magic… Even if it leads me away…”

Hangman’s brow furrowed as he asked her,” Are you… You’re not leavin’, are you?”

“I… I don’t know… I wish I did…” Emery used her other hand to dry the remaining tears from her face, taking a deep breath as she made to get off the crate. Hangman stepped back to give her space, bracing her landing so she wouldn’t stumble. His hands came to rest on her hips, and he looked down at her with his baby-blue eyes.

She saw the sadness in them and had to look away before she started crying again. Drawing him in for a hug, Emery took a deep breath and smiled fondly. He still smelled like her Cowboy, even after all these years.

“Never, ever change, Adam,” she whispered, feeling a tear trickle down her face as she gripped the back of his t-shirt tightly in her hands. His hold on her tightened slightly- not enough to hurt, though. “Thank you… for listening.”

“Anytime, darlin’. Anytime,” Hangman replied in a whisper, biting the inside of his cheeks to keep his own tears at bay. He wouldn’t cry—not here, not in front of Emery. He had to be strong for her. After a few minutes, they pulled apart, and Emery wiped the tears away again. Giving him a small grimace, the words died in her throat. Hangman knew what she wanted to say, however, and gave her a small nod.

With no further words, Emery turned away from him and walked down the long hall, leaving Hangman standing there on his own. He watched her disappear around a corner before his eyes fell to the floor. To him… All Elite Wrestling suddenly felt cold and very lonely.

Later that night, Emery walked the stone pathway towards the front door of the house before her. The entire day, she had thought and thought more about what to do—and only one thing kept coming to mind. Taking a deep breath, Emery knocked on the heavy wooden door and waited.

Was she doing the right thing? What would—

The door opened, interrupting her thoughts, and she stared at the man in front of her with uncertain eyes.

“Hey… I…. I just….” Emery didn’t even know what to say, which was odd. Wordlessly the guy stretched his arm towards her and opened his hand, inviting her to take hold of it.

“I—”

“Shhh…” he whispered, “Come inside, Princess.”

She barely hesitated, before reaching out and gently placing her hand in his waiting one. Looking from their hands to his eyes, Emery gave him a soft smile and followed him inside.

She was home.

--- Three Months Later ---

Tonight, was a big night for All Elite Wrestling. It was their second-year hosting Forbidden Door and this year seemed bigger than last. In the past several weeks, Kenny and Hangman seemed to put the past behind them and had rekindled their friendship. All it took was Blackpool Combat Club trying to take them both out—which is when they realized, without the Bucks around, they needed each other. However, no sooner had they finally put the Blackpool problem behind them had a new, yet familiar, foe waltzed in.

Jay had warned Kenny that this was going to be his show and he had zero issues with making that come to fruition. Jay and Juice had hit the Cowboy and Kenny hard, not caring if they had just finished with a grueling match with BCC.

Weeks of constant back and forth between them, physical and verbal, had led to this night. A challenge of the Old Club vs New Club, as Kenny told Jay to find two partners—any partners—and face him and Cowboy, with two additional partners, at Forbidden Door.

Jay, with a knowing smirk, agreed without a second thought. He wasn’t dumb, he knew Kenny would immediately go to the Bucks. That was okay, though, because Jay already had his finger on the contact and was calling for backup the second he walked through the curtain. This would be his show and without a doubt in his mind, Jay knew Bullet Club would beat the Elite.

The Elite were at full strength once more, with Matt back from his injury, and it couldn’t have happened at a better time. Together, the four friends—plus Brandon and Nakazawa—stood backstage, stretching, and getting ready for their match.

“Hey, uh—has anyone talked to Emery lately?” Brandon asked as he filmed for BTE. Everyone looked at him for a moment before they thought more about it.

“It’s been a few weeks, now that I think about it,” Nick frowned, turning his attention to Kenny, “You talk to her almost every day, how’s she doing?”

Kenny stopped stretching and thought back, before realization hit him square in the gut.

“I… I actually haven’t…” Kenny pondered, wondering when he had talked to her last.

“What do you mean? You guys talk all the time,” Matt laughed. Hangman dropped his gaze to the floor, sadness flowing through his veins as he realized that none of them had talked to Emery since she left. He had tried calling her, but after the first week, she stopped responding. He then had opted to text her, message her on snapchat, anything. Luck would have it though, she responded—not often, but it was enough for him.

Brandon seemed to notice a tension growing in his friends, and respectfully stopped filming as Kenny spoke up.

“Last time I saw her… it’s been months, back at the beginning of you being out,” Kenny said, looking at Matt as he stretched on the floor, before his eyes fell to the tile below,” I hadn’t even realized…”

“You’ve talked to her though, right?” Nick asked, confusion evident on his face. He and Matt had been there when Emery and Kenny met—they had seen them grow close over the years. The brothers had noticed when the friendship seemed to change, at least for Emery, though she never brought it up.

“Haven’t you?” Matt asked, standing up from the floor as he looked at Kenny.

A silent minute passed, before Kenny finally looked up, regret evident in his blue eyes,” No… It’s been…. I don’t think I’ve spoken to her since the beginning of April sometime…”

“Kenny—that’s three months dude,” Nick frowned.

“I-I know… I don’t… I don’t know what happened. Time just… got away from me, I guess…”

“It happens,” Nakazawa shrugged,” I’m sure she’s fine.”

“I haven’t even seen her lately,” Brandon remarked.

“Tony said she had asked for some time off,” Matt explained,” But you would think she’d be back already.”

“Let’s give her a group call after the match,” Nick suggested, “Video call her, even.”

“Yeah,” Matt nodded in agreement, before noticing Hangman had been silent,” Hey, Adam, you know anything about what’s going on with Emery?”

Hangman’s head popped up, his blue eyes wide, as his friends looked at him. He had two choices—tell them the truth, or lie to them and keep their conversation to himself. They had finally all mended the fences though, could he risk lying to them?

“Y-yeah, actually,” Hangman admitted, clearing his throat. Kenny straightened up a bit, taking a few steps closer to the Cowboy.

“I came across her in the hallway one night, she seemed a bit down,” Hangman explained, unable to meet any of their gazes as his eyes darted around at the environment surrounding them,” She told me… she’d been feeling, uh… forgotten? Like… like she wasn’t important anymore…”

“That’s nonsense,” Nick scowled, “Sure Matt and I were out—but she had Kenny!”

As he listened to his friends’ words, Kenny began to feel more regret swirl in his chest as he remembered all the invitations to hang out that never got to happen.

“She didn’t feel that way,” Hangman said, still not able to meet their gaze; Matt and Nick looked over at Kenny in confusion and noticed the emotion crossing his features.

“She… she never said anything…” Kenny frowned, hating that he hadn’t even realized what was happening right in front of him.

“She tried,” Hangman bristled, a bit angry at Kenny’s blindness; he finally looked Kenny directly in the eyes,” For weeks on end, she tried. You were always ‘busy’. Hell she even asked you to call her after the show one night and you never did!”

The air in Kenny’s lungs disappeared, as he remembered that exact moment.

“No, I know, Kenny. You’re busy, I get it,” Emery told him,” Just… promise me you’ll call me after the show is over? I-I really need to talk to you. Please.”

“Yeah, okay,” Kenny nodded, “I’ll call.”

It sickened him to realize he never did call her; he didn’t even text her.

Matt and Nick were about to get on Kenny’s case, before they saw the evident regret, his eyes glistening over a bit, as he slowly sat down on a nearby chair. It was quiet between them for a few minutes, not even Brandon or Nakazawa knew what to say.

“Did she say where she was going? What she was going to do?” Matt asked, worried about their friend.

Hangman shook his head,” She didn’t know yet… just said she couldn’t keep feeling that way… Said she needed to find her own magic…even if it pushed her away…”

Kenny rested his arms on his knees, his face staring at the floor between his feet, trying to keep his composure and emotions in check. He wanted to be able to focus on the match—he needed to—but Emery… his sweet Angel… Had he unknowingly pushed her away?

Quiet stretched across them, a feeling as though they had lost their friend was thick in the air. Don walked up, a huge smile on his face until he noticed the tension.

“Come on guys! You got a big match coming up soon—we need to see some—”

“Shut it,” Nick frowned, crossing his arms in front of him.

“Just leave us be, Callis,” Hangman glared.

“Look, whatever it is, it’s not important. This match—”

“Don,” Kenny called out, lifting his head to stare at the manager. All of them would probably agree that Emery was more important to them than this match, so for Callis to say otherwise—even if he didn’t know the situation—it angered all of them.

“Just… give us some time,” Kenny said to him, his voice low. He sounded tired, like he hadn’t gotten any sleep—but the whole situation had just taken a lot out of him. Don raised his hands in mock surrender, his eyes darting around the group, before turning and walking away. Kenny’s eyes fell back to the floor, before addressing his friends.

“Let’s…. let’s try focusing on our match, get back in our mindsets,” Kenny told them, slowly standing up,” As soon as the match is over, we’ll call her. She’s my… our… Angel, and we… I… don’t want to lose her.”

Everyone nodded in agreement, eventually going back to their stretches.

One of the most anticipated matches of the night finally came up. The Elite had reunited and the crowd was going crazy over it. When Jay’s music hit, he and Juice walked out onto the ramp, pausing at the top as Justin Roberts announced them.

“And their partners…” Justin trailed off, waiting for the music to hit. Soon enough, the well-known rumble started, as 'headbanger’ blared out across the arena.

“…. Taiji Ishimori and Elllll Phantasssssmo!”

As his stablemates (and let’s face it, best friend) joined him at the top of the ramp, Jay smirked in Kenny’s direction. If possible, the crowd seemed to be louder than before, excited at seeing Bullet Club live and in AEW.

The match began and as to be expected, it was show stopping. Back and forth between everyone, flawless executions of teamwork and several moves got reversed due to knowledge they all had of each other. The Elite seemed to be feeding off the energy from the crowd, and eventually seemed to have the upper hand. Kenny, Matt and Nick stood in the center of the ring, El Phantasmo on his knees between them. Each held one of his hands, Matt and Kenny sharing the same hand, as they pointed towards the sky.

“V--!” They yelled out, but before they could continue, the lights across the arena flickered before going pitch black for a few seconds. When the lights came back on, The Elite looked around, before Nick noticed the figure at the top of the ramp. El Phantasmo lay on the edge of the apron, seemingly forgotten about for the moment, as Nick pointed out the figure to the rest of the Elite. Even Brandon turned and looked up at the top of the ramp, using his camera to zoom in as best he could. The four friends looked up at the mysterious figure, trying to figure out who it was—missing the quiet tag Jay made on El Phantasmo.

Was it Blackpool Combat Club fucking with them again?

Was it perhaps House of Black?

Or was it someone new?

The figure stood at the top of the ramp, not moving. Their entire body was covered, head to toe, in black clothing. A black hoodie, black cargo pants, black tennis shoes. The face was obstructed by an intricate venetian mask, half plain ivory with some decorative swirls, the other half a plaid purple, silver, and black joker theme. Their hands were shoved into the front pocket of the hoodie, hair pulled back underneath the hoodie. The only feature that could be seen were the eyes; and as the camera panned close to the figure, you could see the two-tone eyes. One brown. One red.

The Elite whispered among themselves, gesturing towards the figure, trying to figure out what the deal was, before seeing movement out of the corners of their eyes. It was too late though, as the Bullet Club jumped them, getting the upper hand. Juice took out Hangman with a fierce clothesline as a recovered El Phantasmo and Ishimori locked up with Matt and Nick. Kenny and Jay squared off in the ring, as they had many times before. Only one thing was different this time—and upon realizing it, Kenny seemed to lose his focus.

Emery wasn’t ringside, cheering him on.

Jay noticed the change in Kenny, and with a wicked grin, took full advantage and pulled a Blade Runner out of nowhere, making a quick cover. Matt made to run into the ring, but El Phantasmo grabbed his leg and held tightly, as the ref counted-

“1.”

“2.”

“3!”

The bell rang out, signaling the end of the match, as Jay propped himself up off Kenny. His hands resting on his knees, he smirked down at the Canadian who seemed utterly lost for a second. Jay noticed Matt free himself of El Phantasmo, so he quickly rolled out of the ring and joined his stable on the outside as Nick and Hangman slowly climbed into the ring and surrounded their friend. Kenny was sitting up, a knee bent as he shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs from his mind. With Jay’s Switchblade theme song ringing out through the arena, Bullet Club made their way up the ring, before coming to a stop at the top. The boys kept to Jay’s side, steering clear of the unknown individual, as Jay stared a hole into person. Looking over his shoulder, Jay saw the Elite still crouched in the middle of the ring, and he slowly turned to face them once more. Kenny glanced up towards them and noticed a smug smirk cross Jay’s face. One by one, the Elite turned their attention in Jay’s direction, and only when they all four were looking did Jay look to the masked individual and sweep his arm out towards the crowd as if telling the individual to do something.

Slowly, they took their hands from the pocket of the hoodie and raised their hands towards the mask. Delicately placing their hands on the mask, they tapped their dark-blue nails against the mask a few times, toying with everyone. As if moving in slow motion, they began to raise the mask up, uncovering their chin, lips and nose. Then in one fell swoop, they pulled the mask off and the entire audience gasped out in shock. The Elite couldn’t believe their eyes either. Jay watched in glee at the shock and hurt that crossed the Elite’s faces, especially Kenny’s.

“Oh my God! Excalibur, that’s Emery!” JR shouted into his headset.

“That’s not the Emery we all know and love though, JR—It looks to me like she’s reverted back to her Bullet Club days. Or a version of it—I don’t recall her having the red eye before.”

Emery stood there, her bright blue, shoulder length hair framing her face, as her two-tone eyes narrowed, an amused, dark laugh escaping her lips. El Phantasmo was losing his mind, hyping up the situation, as Juice and Ishimori stood there with smirks on their faces. Jay reached a hand over to her and Emery instantly slid her hand into his. He pulled her over, close to his body and draped an arm across her shoulders. Jay threw up a too-sweet, quickly followed by El Phantasmo, Juice, Ishimori, and lastly Emery.

“Ladies and gentleman, if you’re not familiar with Bullet Club history, what you’re seeing is the Dark Angel of the Bullet Club,” JR explained.

“I remember watching some clips a while back, JR,” Excalibur said, as Bullet Club turned and walked behind the curtain,” Dark Angel Emery is so much different from the Emery we’ve all come to love and adore here at AEW. She was cold, sadistic, and rebellious with no cares in the world.”

“I’m worried at the future of AEW with Bullet Club seeming to reform right under our noses,” JR told Excalibur.

“Indeed JR, something tells me that life is about to get even more chaotic.”

Inside the ring, it was a dark, depressed feeling sweeping amongst the Elite. Ever since she had joined the Bullet Club in their NJPW days, Emery had been in their corner. In Kenny’s corner. Now, however, it seemed to them like she had turned against them and aligned herself with Jay White.

Kenny had his arm resting on top of his propped up knee, his head laying in the crook of his elbow looking down at the ring. He was still in shock, in disbelief; aside from the match, it seemed like he had gotten the air knocked out of his lungs. There was no way Emery had aligned herself with him.

Had he really pushed her that far?

Did he just lose his Angel?

#return of the dark angel #dark angel of the bullet club #Original female character #OC #OC Emery #x Kenny Omega #x Jay White #x Hangman adam page #Kenny omega #jay white #all elite wrestling #AEW #hangman adam page #Young Bucks #NJPW #imagine #fanfiction #kitkat0723

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call-sign-shark · 1 year

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✨Angel in Distress✨

Summary: Hangman always takes care of you, but what happens when he discovers that you’re pregnant? Bonus: Bob AGAIIIIIN.

(Part 1: Angel in Disguise || Part 3: Angel in Panic)

Words: 1,5k

Tags: unplanned pregnancy, mention of unprotected sex, funny, extreme fluff

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A second red line appeared on the pregnancy test you held between your hands.

Your heart skipped a beat at such a sight. It all started with Phoenix and you sitting on the warm sand of the beach, discussing boys. While not mentioning Hangman, you told her you had a friend with benefits and that, caught in the middle of the heat, both of you often forgot about condoms but you were taking the pill, so you never worried about getting pregnant. Even though Phoenix laughed and teased you, she still warned you: birth controls, especially low-dose ones, are not 100% effective. All it took was forgetting it a few times. Her words felt like a punch in the guts. Admittedly you had not been consistent with your birth control lately, for the Uranium mission and Mav’s difficult trainings occupied all your thoughts. By the end of the day, you frequently released the stress with Hangman through steamy intercourses, then you took your shower and fell asleep as soon as your head hit the pillow. Natasha had barely left when you rushed to the local drugstore to buy two pregnancy tests coming from two different brands, which both turned out positive.

“I’m fucked.”

These were the only words that came from your lips, carried by your shaky breathing. You, a skilled and dauntless naval aviator who never thought about building a family, were pregnant. Even worse, the one whose seed belonged to was a cocky pilot who did not seem to want a serious and stable relationship. You pressed one of your cold palms against your forehead, eyes wide open in awe as you realized the whole situation. Your child’s father was Jake Hangman Seresin. Your heart pounded so hard in your chest that, at this point, you were pretty sure it was about to burst your ribcage open. Crippling anxiety crept through your body, weighting in your chest, and forming a ball of sobs in your throat.

“Are you okay?” You heard Jake’s voice through the bathroom’s door.

Silence.

The tall pilot frowned, a hint of worry glimmering in his beautiful green eyes. He waited one full minute before grabbing the handle and opening the door. His gaze caught sight of your trembling frame, sitting on the edge of the bathtub. Back bent, teary eyes set on a pregnancy test you were holding between your hands, you remained petrified.

“Hey babe, what happens?” He asked, quietly. Jake did not see the pregnancy test yet, so for a moment he thought he did something bad.

“This,” you answered in a calm yet cold voice, “This,” you repeated, showing him the positive pregnancy test. It did not take more than a few seconds for Jake to understand the whole situation. Millions of thoughts rushed to his brain, fogging his mind with fear, anxiety, surprise, and confusion. Paralyzed by the crushing news, all he could do was stand there, mouth open like an idiot. The confident and arrogant Hangman had been replaced by a stupid-looking scarecrow. To be true, you would have laughed your arse off if you were not the one pregnant.

“You don’t want this, do you?” You said softly, your sweet voice candy-coated with undeniable sadness. The pregnancy test fell from your hands, for you released it gently on the ground. Jake did not answer, he was unable to do so. The cocky pilot is still staring at you, his green emerald eyes observing each delicate feature of your face as if he expected to find a solution hidden in them. His silence broke your heart - what were you expecting? You were not officially together. Gosh, he did not even love you.

“Yeah, you’re totally ecstatic” You spat sarcasm as a snake spitting poison, “Nevermind, do what you do the best and leave me hanging.” This time you had to turn your head to the side, unable to keep yourself from crying anymore. Crystal tears started to overflow from your eyes, forming wild rivers on your cheeks.

How could you be so beautiful, even when you were crying? Hangman shook his head, coming back to his senses.

“Listen-”

“Serves me right to love the adrenaline of fucking you! Now I’m fucking pregnant, you’re going to leave and I’ll have to stop flying in my jet for at least 9 freaking months!” You started sobbing, hugging yourself in your cold arms. Usually, you made a point of honor not to show any weakness to Hangman, but it was all too much to handle. “I’m so scared…” You whispered to yourself, almost forgetting Jake’s presence. Somehow, your unconscious already did not rely on him to help you.

Jake gathered all his remaining strength, overcoming his own anxiety, and walked towards you. He placed himself between your legs and fell on his knees. His two large and warm hands gently laid on your thighs, massaging their inner parts with his thumbs.

“Then we can be scared together.”

You stopped crying, awestruck by what he just said. Yet, you probably misheard him. Confused, your glimmering eyes looked at him. Jake’s heart melt when your mesmerizing gaze met his: a faint but oh-so-sincere smile stretched his thin lips as he enjoyed the magnificent sight of your face. Your eyes tearing, your sad pout, you looked like an angel someone just hurt. The pilot took a deep breath. From the moment he carried you to bed, kissing your lips in that dark corridor, Jake knew he was fucked. He, who had never fallen in love, was smitten. Smitten with the fearless yet vulnerable pilot you were. And this time, he did not want to fuck it all up.

“I know what you think about me, and I can’t blame you. Hell, I would have probably run away if it had not been you - and I’m not proud of that. But - “ He paused, taking another deep breath in an attempt to organize his thoughts and feelings “ I’ll hold your hand. No matter what happens to us in this life, I’ll be always there to hold your hand.”

“But you don’t love me. You keep telling me we’re just having fun, no strings attached.” You shook your head. “Why would-”

“Hey, hey, hey.” Jake cut you in the middle of your sentence, only to gently cup your adorable face with his hands. His emerald eyes dove into yours, probing your very soul, “Did you ever wonder how you would wake up cozy in your bed after falling asleep in the meeting room? Did you wonder why your fridge never runs out of your favorite drink?” His voice is a bit strict, even though his tone is still coated with tenderness, “Never wondered how there’s always a bucket, a bottle of water, and ibuprofen on your nightstand after you wasted yourself at the Hard Deck?”

“Jake.” You blinked several times.

“I am anxious each time I lost sight of your plane during training and missions. I get fucking jealous every time a dude tries to hit on you” He laughed nervously, shaking his head. Jake’s thumbs gently rubbed your cheeks, “So don’t ever tell me I don’t love you,”

Your heart sunk at his words and your mind gave up all anger at the mere sight of Hangman’s perfect smile. You sniffed, nose a bit runny because of your sobs, and Jake found you even more charming. Unable to proceed properly with what he just said, your tongue reacted quicker than your brain.

“All I want to do is punch you in the face but I love you so much so I don’t mean it.” You pouted, freeing your face from his hands like a sulking kid. Jake could not help but laugh. A hearty laugh, “Fuck, we’re going to have a baby… Got a baby Seresin in my belly…” You whispered, still not believing it, “ What are we going to do now, Jake?”

“I’m going to tell you what we’re going to do.” Jake stood up, his soothing smile turning into his casual cocky, and flat-lipped grin, the kind of grin that made you want to slap his face but also made you want to spread your legs, “Come here!” Without the slightest warning, the blonde pilot carried you bride-style.

“Uh? What the hell Jake?!” You shout, surprised by being suddenly lifted from the edge of the bathtub you were sitting on.

“Well, I’m going to put you in your bed and cover you with warm, cozy blankets. Then, I’m going to buy a huge cup of ice cream we’re going to eat in front of your favorite movie. Disney included. The only exceptions are musicals.” He said, kicking the bathroom door open and laying your body on the comfortable mattress with indescribable tenderness, “Got it?”

“Got it.” You answered with a slight small, your heart beating hard.

Jake winked at you and left the bedroom. Admittedly, he was terrified. He had never thought about having a baby, and here he was, ready to buy ice cream for his pregnant girlfriend. Hell, he was afraid, but he could not deny the sparkle of joy he felt within. He had always been a family man.

As long as you were beside him, he knew everything would be fine.

He closed the bedroom door, turned around, and jumped at the sudden apparition of Bob behind him.

“WHAT THE FUCK MAN! I’m really going to put a damn bell around your neck!” He grumbled, pressing one hand against his pounding heart. “How come you always appear in that damn dark hallway, out of no-fucking-where?”

“Told ya, I snack at night.” The tall WSO said, readjusting his glasses on his nose awkwardly. He stared at Jake for a while, silently.

“What’s your problem, Floyd?” Jake asked, slightly embarrassed.

“You should buy strawberries alongside ice cream. And chocolate. A lot of chocolate. My Aunt would not stop eating chocolate when she was pregnant.”

Jake opened his mouth, struck with surprise. He looked at Bob as if he was some kind of wizard. How the hell did he know that? Bob was starting to scare the hell out of him.

Witnessing the stupefied look on Hangman’s face, the WSO shrugged and opened his own bedroom door. Yet, he took a quick last glance at Jake.

“By the way… Don’t fuck it up, Bagman. She needs you.” He said, before disappearing into his room.

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2 prompts used from @marvelhead17's pregnancy prompts

#hangman imagine #top gun maverick #jake hangman x reader #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake seresin imagine #jake seresin x you #hangman x you #hangman fluff #top gun fanfic #top gun maverick x reader #tgm imagine #tgm fic #hangman x reader #Angel In

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justfandomwritings · 2 years

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Who Did This To You? (Hangman)

Pairing: Hangman x Female!Reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count: 10.2k because I have no self control

Summary: In your most vulnerable hour, Jake 'Hangman' Seresin is the one to find you, and the one to ask you the ultimate question. "Who did this to you?"

Warnings: Mentions of Abuse and DV (NOT committed by Jake), nongraphic description of resulting injuries, a very one-sided bar fight, mention that a character is going to therapy, insults and confrontation by a past abuser. (This story is a who did this to you trope. While it is only dealing with the 'who did this to you' aftermath of what was done, please keep that in mind.)

Notes: This is just an excuse to write the who did this to you trope. This is self indulgence at its finest.

“Who did this to you?”

Your head shot up a little too quickly at the unexpected company, and the world began to spin all over again. With a groan, you laid your head back on the bartop, hoping the flat wood would help the world right itself faster.

You’d been lying there with your forehead pressed on the cool wood of the bar, sitting directly under an air vent, for the better part of thirty minutes. The Hard Deck’s AC was working overtime to keep the heat outside, and the rush of cold air blowing down the back of your shirt was doing wonders for your sore arms and back.

“Hurricane, who did this to you?”

You hadn’t been expecting anyone to be there. Everyone else was down at the beach. You thought you’d have some time alone to lick your wounds and cover your bruises and emotionally recover from what had happened that morning. Penny was too busy watching Maverick. The aviators were too engrossed in a new game Maverick had invented called dogfight volleyball, and the bar was technically closed at this hour. You thought you could slip by and start your shift sight unseen.

“Hurricane,” The voice was firm, but not demanding. Underwritten with a tone of concern that was very uncommon to that particular voice. “Hurricane,” it repeated.

You opened your eyes and rolled your head to lay facing the voice’s direction and made eye contact with Hangman.

You knew it was him before you turned, but for some reason you still did.

Backlit by the sun’s rays bouncing off his perfect golden hair with an open button-up billowing in the sea breeze, he stood in sharp contrast to your current state. Like an angel stepping out of heaven and into hell.

In some ways, this was your worst case scenario. Hangman was definitely not your favorite pilot and was very close to your least, and he was certainly not your friend. You were at best frenemies and even that was a stretch. The pair of you had been constantly bickering and making snide comments behind the other’s backs since practically the moment you made eye contact with each other. He intentionally made your life difficult behind the bar, and you rang the bell on him on multiple occasions.

He was responsible for everyone calling you Hurricane. You’d come crashing through the doors on your first day working at the Hard Deck with a torrential downpour following you in from outside. A drowned cat would’ve looked less soaked through and pathetic than you, and the moment Penny introduced you to the squad, he’d made a snide remark about the Hurricane you brought with you. The rest was history. It became like a callsign to them; your name long forgotten by most. The only pilot who didn’t call you Hurricane now was Bob, and it ground your gears just a little bit more every time you heard it.

On the other hand, this might’ve been the best case scenario. Hangman wasn’t someone who was going to make a big show of this. He wouldn’t rush down to the beach and ask for help. He wouldn’t fawn over you or ask you if you were okay a million times. He wouldn’t expect you to cry on his shoulder and incessantly pick at you until you broke down.

“Who did this to you?” Hangman took a step in from where he’d frozen in the door out to the patio.

His expression was like his voice, hard and firm with undertones of the worry that anyone would be feeling in this situation. Hangman wasn’t the nicest guy you knew, but you knew from the other pilots stories of the many times he’d saved their lives that he wasn’t evil, and you didn’t doubt for a moment that he’d at least be somewhat concerned even if he didn’t care particularly for you.

“You already know who.”

It was true. Devin had been in the bar about once a week for the last six months that you’d been dating. He’d made the rounds through the aviators, none of whom particularly liked him but all of whom had been polite enough not to say anything… except Hangman.

The second Devin left after his first introductions, Hangman had made his distaste known. ‘Something’s off about that guy,’ he’d said before the door even closed. Phoenix had teased him about being jealous that his snarky banter was no longer the center of your world, but you’d seen it for what it was. A combination of being angry he wasn’t the center of attention and looking to defy you at every turn that was a uniquely Hangman blend.

Hangman approached you slowly, taking one deliberate step at a time. Every step with such obvious forethought that it gave you the time and the option to back away. A detail you wouldn’t have expected from such an ego-centric man.

You didn’t back away. Hangman was a lot of things, most of them negative, but you could say with absolute certainty that you weren’t afraid of him. For all the times you’d yelled at him, you’d never been scared of his physicality, and for all the times he'd yelled at you, his hand had never so much as twitched.

Standing beside you, under the harsh glare of the fluorescent lights that threw your skin into sharp relief, Hangman had a full view of the damage.

“That fucker,” his voice was a harsh, raspy whisper, “I’m gonna kill him.” His hand seemed to lift of its own accord. Flat, open palmed and always within your line of sight, he reached up and stroked his fingers along your cheekbone with a feather-light touch.

“I already dumped him.” You don’t know why you felt like explaining yourself to Hangman of all people, but maybe it was the determination in his eyes. The way he stared down at your cheek like his eyes could will the twing of pain away.

Hangman gave a half-hearted, inattentive nod. “That’s certainly a start.” He looked like gears were turning in his head, like he hadn’t given up on his first idea.

A flood of memories came back to you.

‘The only active duty pilot with a confirmed air-to-air kill.’ Coyote, introducing Hangman.

‘We call him Bagman, cause he’ll kill anyone and get anyone killed. He doesn’t seem to mind.’ Omaha commenting on Hangman’s aim at the dartboard.

‘That’s his second air-to-air kill.’ Bob, telling you what he could about the mission they’d just come back from.

‘Hangman’s deadly in the sky. I wouldn’t wanna cross him.’ Rooster, finally being honest about what he thought of Hangman, after the blonde saved his life.

Hangman had killed before, and in his line of work, with his level of skill, likely would again. He definitely didn’t mean what he said, certainly not literally. He wasn’t about to rush out to his truck and go hunting Devin in the streets, but it wasn’t something he of all people would say entirely jokingly either.

You slowly sat up in your chair. The world was spinning less now. Whether that was because the nausea was finally passing or because Hangman’s hand stayed on your cheek, grounding you in the moment, it was unclear. “I appreciate your concern,” you hedged, “but really, I’m fine. I can handle myself.”

Hangman snorted and let his hand fall away. “Obviously you can; you already kicked his ass to the curb on your own. Doesn’t mean I’m not gonna kill him for good measure.” Hangman hopped up on the bar and swung his legs over.

You probably should’ve objected to his comfort level invading your workspace. Penny was very explicit that no one was allowed behind the bar who didn’t work there and even more explicit that that applied to all naval aviators. Somehow, though, you doubted Hangman would rat you out, at least not today.

“Are you going to tell Penny?” Hangman mozied around behind the bar, picking up a rag and tossing it over his shoulder. He was looking for something, but he didn’t seem inclined to ask. You weren’t any more inclined to offer.

It would’ve broken whatever moment was passing between you. Caring? Camaraderie? You weren’t sure, but there was certainly some level of understanding that remained largely unspoken.

Hangman found what he was looking for in short order anyway. He flipped open the ice cooler and pulled the rag off his shoulder, filling it with a scoop of ice and tying the ends.

“Not now,” you were disinclined to bring it up to Penny.

The Hard Deck was a Navy bar, and Penny had made a lot of powerful friends. Hell, you had a lot of powerful friends if you were willing to use them; one of them, or at least a powerful person who was willing to help you, was standing right in front of you. You could only imagine what would happen to Devin if you told anyone. All of it would be deserved of course, but you doubted most of it would be legal. And that really wasn’t what you needed right now, and you weren’t ready to have that conversation anyway.

“Hold this to your cheek. You wanna get the swelling down,” In a reversal of roles, he leaned against the bar in the place that was normally yours and offered you his makeshift ice pack.

You took it with a quiet, “Thank you.”

Hangman nodded with a thoughtful expression, watching your hand raise it to your cheek, “I’ll let you tell them in your own time, but you’re going to go to someone to help you through this until then… professionally.”

It wasn’t a question. He wasn’t leaving room for debate. It was an order as plain as any he got in the Navy.

You nodded wordlessly against the ice pressed to your face. It was a reasonable expectation, a reasonable request. You weren’t sure if you needed it or not, but you supposed that was the point. You weren’t sure. Better to go too soon than too late.

“Good,” Hangman sighed, seeming relieved, and pushed off the bar. His muscles flexed with the motion, bulging against the short sleeves of his open button-up shirt. They remained tense as he crossed his arms over his chest. His teeth gritted behind his closed lips. “I’ll keep him out of the bar.”

“Hangman, you really don’t have to-”

“He hurt you.” Hangman cut you off with a dismissive wave of his hand. He looked serious, deadly serious. “That’s all I need to know. He’s not welcome here anymore.”

Before you had the chance to respond, not that you were entirely sure how you would, Hangman’s eyes left yours, staring at something over your shoulder out towards the beach.

“Do you have any makeup for that cheek?”

Your head turned, and you saw the outlines of Penny and Mav, arm in arm, making their way back to the bar. “Yeah,” you replied, “But my shoulder is a different story. I need to go find…”

Hangman jerked his button up off his shoulders and balled it up, tossing it across the bar to you. “Go quick. Put this on.”

“Hangman, I-”

“Go.” Hangman urged, and you ran off before Penny could see the two of you.

—------------------------------------------------

Your phone kept buzzing in your pocket, but you didn’t have time to check it.

You thought you knew what it was. Phoenix demanding to know why one of Jake Seresin’s shirts was wrapped around your shoulders. Hangman’s weren’t as distinctive as Bradley’s, usually solid colors with a barely-there logo on the pocket. None of the guys had noticed you were wearing it, but you knew Phoenix had the moment she came back in from the beach. She’d shot you a disappointed, skeptical look and immediately begun whispering to Bob as they walked away with their drinks.

Penny hadn’t been much better. She hadn’t identified which pilots’ shirt it was like Phoenix clearly had, but she was two steps away from asking when the evening rush began to pour in without any sign of slowing down.

The Hard Deck was slam-packed, and none of the bartenders had a second to spare. The newest class of TopGun recruits were graduating within a week, and it seemed that everyone had turned out for the upcoming occasion.

The bar was crowded with faces new and old. All of the graduating pilots were scattered around, and most of their instructors had made their way in at some point. Some of the pilots had families, wives and girlfriends, who had flown in and accompanied them to the bar that night. There were more than a few old friends in town to visit or siblings using the graduation as an excuse to get away.

Even most of Mav’s squadron was there. Penny’s old flame had claimed a spot by one of the dart boards, and his lieutenants were all taking turns trying to dethrone Hangman as the king of darts. Normally, they would have migrated to the pool tables by now, but the bar was too crowded for even TopGun’s finest to leverage their way into skipping the line to have a game.

One of the soon-to-be graduates hunkered down at the bar, some asshole who was billing himself as the new and improved Hangman, kept snapping his fingers at you to try to get your attention from behind the bar. You were dangerously close to ringing the bell on him the next time he did it, and Penny’s fingers were clearly itching to do the same. Tragically, neither of you thought that was a very good idea. Tonight might’ve been the one night where it was simply too busy to ring the bell.

There were so many people you couldn’t see past the sea of bodies pressing in around you, and it was a miracle that you didn’t bolt from the claustrophobia.

Marg after marg. Old fashioned after old fashioned. Beer after beer. The line never seemed to stop, and it was taking its toll on you. Tonight was simply not your night.

“Go,” Penny’s hand touched your shoulder and made you jump, spilling some of the tequila shot you were trying to hand off. “I’ll clean that. You look like you need a break. Take five.”

Normally on a busy night, you would’ve protested, insisted you could hold down the fort and done your best to help Penny push through the rush, but not that night.

Your shoulders slumped in relief, and you ducked under the gap in the bar without much of a second thought, pushing your way through the people towards the door to the kitchen. There was a ‘broken’ stool by the door to the kitchen that was in fact not broken at all but had a sign taped to it that said it was specifically so it was open for when workers were on break. The seat provided some much needed relief for your aching feet and even more aching shoulders.

Shaking cocktails was really aggravating the bruises just beneath the button up wrapped around your shoulders, and you found yourself hurting almost twice as much as normal this shift. That might’ve been why you felt like you were moving in slow motion the whole time. That or the sheer number of people had simply made the task seem insurmountable.

You were just closing your eyes and leaning back against the wall when your phone in your pocket buzzed again.

It wasn’t really a conscious decision to check it, more habit than anything else. And really, you hadn’t expected it to be anything that bad. You hadn’t heard from him all day.

But there it was. His name. His name a half a dozen times over the course of your shift. Each text progressively more urgent and pressing than the last.

‘I’m still coming to pick you up from work.’

Bile rose up in your throat, and you suppressed the overwhelming urge to bolt. The room was suddenly too hot and too crowded, and there were too many faces. Faces you recognized and faces you didn’t. A wash of faces that was the perfect place for him to hide, to wait, to lurk around for the opportune moment to reveal himself.

You couldn’t do this, couldn’t deal with this. Not here. Not now. Not in front of all these people. Not alone.

You did the first thing that came to mind.

It was stupid really. You couldn’t explain why it occurred to you, why you acted on it so immediately, why you thought it was a good idea at all. It probably wasn’t; it could just as easily have backfired in your face as anything else. But your gut told you it was what you should do. Really, your gut didn’t so much tell you as wrench you in that direction with an undeniable force.

“Hey can I talk to you for a sec?”

Hangman was an easy man to find, even despite the crowd, strutting around the dart boards like he owned the place, which he very nearly did, rubbing the other pilots noses in his shots that were somehow better blindfolded than theirs were with sight.

You interrupted him boasting loudly to Fanboy and Payback about how he didn’t even need to practice. Perfect marksmanship just came naturally to him. The rest of the pilots were all gathered at the high tops near the darts boards, mostly rolling their eyes. They were having some kind of tournament, or rather a competition to see if anyone could take Hangman down.

Payback seemed almost too happy for the interruption, but Fanboy was a bit more perceptive, at least at the moment. Fanboy’s eyes darted away to Phoenix’s table, and you saw the jerk of his head when he caught her eye. Funneling the female aviator’s attention in the direction of what was unfolding.

You, wearing Hangman’s shirt since he disappeared for half an hour earlier that day, asking to talk to him alone near the end of your shift. You knew exactly what it looked like.

“Sure.” Hangman’s tone was completely casual, not giving anything away, but when his back turned on his companions, his eyes were burning. You quickly looked away from his gaze and led him from the group.

“I wasn’t checking my phone.” The words were tumbling out of your mouth the moment he was out of the others’ earshot. You didn’t even bite your tongue long enough to turn around. “He’s been texting me my entire shift. He was supposed to be my ride home tonight, and I think he might show up soon.”

When you faced Hangman, you knew the panic in your voice and in your eyes was painfully obvious. Now that you were semi-alone with him, with someone who knew, there was no hiding how much it jarred you. Your hands fumbled with your phone trying to show him the flood of texts you’d gotten, unnoticed, over the last two hours.

Hangman didn’t look down even as you turned the phone to show him. His jaw was already clenched; his expression was agitated, visibly angry. His eyes weren’t looking at you or the phone. They were searching the faces in the crowd similar to the way yours had only moments before though far more thorough. The honed, trained eye of a military fighter pilot meticulously picked through the crowd for its target, finding nothing.

“Could you…” You hesitated to ask. It was such a ridiculous request. Just yesterday, Hangman would’ve been your absolute last choice to be in this position with; you would’ve risked handling it alone before asking for his help. But here he was. The only one who knew. The first one you asked. “I’ll give you a round on the house for it. I just… Would you mind giving me a ride home? I don’t want to stumble on him alone.”

Hangman didn’t hesitate or pull his eyes from where they continuously scanned the crowd, as if his gaze alone was enough to keep a threat at bay. “No beers required, Hurricane.” The words seemed to be coming out of his mouth even as you offered. Like he’d already decided what he was going to do the minute you told him the problem. “Wait here a sec? I’ll handle it.”

Hangman walked the short distance over to the bar, glancing back over his shoulder at you every few steps like he was making sure you hadn’t disappeared, and flagged down Penny. Something on his face must’ve told her it was urgent because she forwent several regulars and big tippers demanding drinks to beeline towards him. He leaned over the bar and whispered something in her ear, gesturing back in your direction.

Penny looked concerned, and she nodded along with what Hangman was saying until he turned to leave.

“If Penny asks,” Hangman put a hand on your shoulder, a firm grip holding you to his side as he led you through the throng of people towards the exit, “a guy was bothering you, and I drove you home cause you were scared of him.”

“Not entirely a lie,” You mumbled, shifting closer into Hangman’s side.

No one tried to stop you. No hands reached out for you. No one called out your name. You made it through entirely unscathed. You could feel eyes on you, but they didn’t raise the hairs on the back of your neck. You doubted, highly, that they were Devin’s. More likely, Hangman’s squadron were watching him retreat from the bar with you under his arm without so much as a goodbye. More likely, they were plotting and planning the questions they were going to hound the two of you with the next time they saw you. More likely, Phoenix was pointing out to everyone that you were wearing Hangman’s shirt.

—------

“Does he have a key?” Hangman didn’t break the silence until he’d turned onto your block, until he’d brought his truck to a slow crawl, looking for your tiny, inconsequential cookie cutter house in a row of tiny, inconsequential cookie cutter houses.

Yours was pretty much the only house without a Navy flag or Navy paraphernalia of some description sitting in the yard or stuck to a car in the driveway. The neighborhood was not far from the Hard Deck which was not far from the base, and the tiny houses geared towards first-time-buyers were crawling with Navy pilots and newlywed military couples who wanted to live offbase.

You were on the second sidestreet, the third house on the left. Hangman already knew the way without instruction. Penny had conned every Top Gun pilot with a car into driving you home at least a couple times. And while Hangman was usually the pilot she was least willing to ask, he was also the only one who was guaranteed to always be sober.

His question came out very sober. His usual lilting, teasing tone had dropped off somewhere today and never fully returned.

“He did. He… he told me he lost it, but…” You both knew better than to believe that.

Hangman pulled into your driveway and flicked the truck into park and turned it off. “Tomorrow I’ll drive you to the hardware store, and we’ll change the locks.”

“You don’t have to…”

“Do you feel safe with him having a key?” Hangman cut you off. He was looking down at you with just a touch of condescension, so classically Hangman. Like he knew the answer already, like he knew you knew the answer already, and that you were silly if you pretended not to or refused him.

You knew where this was going, and you thought about lying, just to relieve Hangman of whatever false sense of duty or obligation he had imposed on himself by being the one to find you at the Hard Deck. But it was way too late. Hangman wasn’t stupid, but he was incredibly, irritatingly stubborn. And he’d already set his mind to helping you through this. “No.”

“Then tomorrow morning I’ll change the locks.” Hangman threw his door open and hopped out of the truck. It slammed closed behind him as he circled around to your side. You made to open your door, but Hangman beat you to it. “Alarm services are expensive,” He continued, offering you a hand, “but they make door jammers that have sound alarms on them at least, and my sister bought some cheap window versions a while back that I could help install.”

You took Hangman’s hand and dumbly followed him up to your door as he rambled on about extra door locks and doorbell cameras. All options that you could pick up tomorrow for him to put in.

“That’s too much effort,” You halfheartedly protested as you spun your keys around trying to find the one to your front door.

There really weren’t that many keys. There were a couple to the Hard Deck, one to the shed where Penny kept beach supplies, and one to Devin’s place that you hadn’t returned. They were all distinct shapes and colors, but you couldn’t seem to focus long enough to find the plain silver key to your own door. Maybe because you knew there was another one, exactly like it, somewhere across town at that moment.

“Not if it makes you feel safe.” Hangman leaned back against your door frame, his eyes skimming up and down your block as if he was still on alert in the crowded bar, still looking for signs of trouble, signs of him.

“Would you…” Your words trailed off as you watched his darting eyes. The question came bubbling up before you could stop it, before you even really thought of it. It was less a question and more a response to his vigilance, to the thought that his vigilance might be warranted and necessary.

“Would I…?” Hangman didn’t let it go. His eyes turned to look at you.

You chewed at your bottom lip, debating if it was worth asking, debating if it was necessary.

He probably thought it was, if his mannerisms were any indication, if his talk about alarms was any indication, if walking you to your door and watching your back were any indication.

“Would you come in?”

Hangman raised a doubtful eyebrow, sure you didn’t mean what those words usually meant.

“Not like that, it’s just… You’re right. He probably still has a key, and if we can’t fix it till the morning…”

Understanding seemed to wash over his face, and Hangman kicked himself up off the door jam. “If it’ll help,” he immediately conceded. “I’ll sleep on your couch.”

“It…” You hesitated, but only for a moment. “I think it would.”

The silence inside your home was almost palpable. It was late enough that going to bed wouldn’t have been awkward for either of you, but neither of you were tired. And neither of you seemed up to faking being tired just to get away.

Hangman sat on one end of the couch, and you sat on the other. At some point, you mustered the effort to turn on the tv. The local news was a quiet, bland drone of background noise cutting through the still air around the two of you.

You felt like you should say something. Maybe ‘should’ wasn’t the right word; maybe you wanted to say something. But either way you didn’t know where to begin.

You had only ever been alone with Hangman when he was dropping you off as a favor to Penny, times that were filled with snarky jokes and constant nagging from both of you, and earlier that day in the bar. You weren’t close. You weren’t friends. You were barely acquaintances. He was only here because he was in the right (or wrong, depending how you looked at it) place at the right time.

“Thank you,” That seemed like a good place to start. “For today, thank you.”

“You have nothing to thank me for.” Hangman countered quickly. His eyes stayed on the tv, though they were clearly out of focus staring at the screen.

“I do though. You could’ve told everyone.”

“You weren’t ready for that.” He added it under his breath, countering without cutting you off.

“You could’ve left me to finish out my shift.”

“Not with him coming to the bar.”

“You could’ve left after you dropped me off.”

“He has a key.”

“You could’ve turned and walked out the door when you first saw me at the bar.”

Hangman let out a heavy sigh, not of annoyance or exasperation but a sigh weighed down with duty and concern. “No, I couldn’t.”

Your eyes met his over the center of the couch, and a breath rushed out of your lungs under the intensity in his gaze.

—-------------------------------------

You woke up in your bed, mouth open, with more than a little drool pooling on your pillow.

You had no memory of falling asleep there, of getting into bed, of going to your room at all.

You remember being on the couch, talking to Hangman. You remembered the way his eyes, intense, open, and honest, compelled you to speak. The way you couldn’t bite back the story pouring from your lips. The story of Devin asking you out, of falling for him in those early weeks, of how he changed after you committed to him. The story of what he did that night, of his buddies who sat back and did nothing, of the jokes you heard the three of them cracking as you ran from the room.

You remembered Hangman crossing the space between you and putting a hand on your arm, how cautious he was touching you, how much time he left you to pull away, how gentle his touch was against your skin. You remembered throwing yourself into his lap, sobbing into his shoulder as he held you against his chest and rubbed soothingly up and down your back, whispering promises that that asshole would never hurt you again.

You didn’t remember anything after that. You must’ve fallen asleep in his lap.

Sitting up, you found the answer to your unasked question.

A folded piece of notebook paper sitting on the pillow next to you:

‘Thought the bed would be preferable to sharing the couch with me. If I’m wrong and you wake up in the middle of the night and don’t want to be alone, you can always wake me up. If not, I’ll have coffee ready for you in the morning. - Jake.’

As you read, his words the night before echoed in your head to the beat of a nonexistent drum as you read the note once, then twice, then a third time.

‘No, I couldn’t.’

You carefully folded the paper up and tucked it in the top drawer of your bedside table.

True to his word, Hangman was wide awake, standing in your kitchen pouring himself a cup of coffee when you walked out of your room.

“H-Hi,” you stuttered.

Last night, in the comfort of darkness, with exhaustion clouding over your mind and his arms holding you close, it had seemed the most logical thing in the world to open up to Hangman. And with the light of day glinting through the windows, with him dressed in the button up he’d wrapped around you the day before, with him lounging back against your counter as he sipped from your favorite mug, with an overconfident air that was too comfortable for any normal person’s first time in your home… It was odd to think that feeling hadn’t changed, that you still felt able to bare your soul to him, that you didn’t feel a need to run back into your room and get changed or freshen up, that you were perfectly comfortable being seen by him like this, a tired quaking mess with puffy red eyes.

Part of you expected to walk out into your kitchen to an epiphany that you’d made a horrible mistake, that Hangman was exactly as much of a cocky asshole as you thought he was two days ago. But the epiphany never came.

“Morning,” Hangman took a sip of coffee and set the mug aside. He looked casual, at peace, like this was just another day, like he’d done this a million times. “I’m ready to go whenever you are. I found the toolbox in the bottom of your coat closet. Hope you don’t mind. We’ll probably need a few things if we’re gonna do anything more than replace the locks.”

“Y-Yeah,” You grabbed a mug off the drying rack and crossed the room to pour yourself a cup of coffee from the pot beside him, your shoulder brushing passed his as you poured. “Sounds good.”

“Hey.” Hangman seemed to immediately pick up that something was plaguing your mind. He didn’t reach out for you like last night, quite the opposite. He took a step away and turned to face you, crossin his arms over his chest, “If you want to be alone, I’ll head out. I’ll go to the store, pick up the locks, and change them myself. You can have time to yourself if you need it.”

“No,” You immediately countered his obvious misinterpretation of your mood. “I-I don’t think I want to be alone. I’m just… antsy I guess.”

He didn’t seem to fully buy it, but he let your excuse hang. “Okay then, we’ll head out when you’re ready.”

—----------------------

All day, as Hangman worked around your house first changing the locks then installing alarms then fixing a window that wouldn’t lock and then righting a wobbly chair leg that had absolutely nothing to do with your safety, neither of you mentioned the note he left or you crying in his arms or falling asleep on his lap or his quiet ‘No, I couldn’t’.

—--------------------------

You made a vow to yourself when Hangman finally left your house late Saturday afternoon. You were never going to ring up his card at the Hard Deck again. It couldn’t really repay what he’d done for you, the feeling of safety he’d brought to you in what was probably your most vulnerable moment so far on this earth, but you knew he wouldn’t want anything more showy. Hangman loved being the center of attention, but somehow you knew he wouldn’t want attention for this.

True to your vow, the next Saturday evening, Hangman was on his third beer and had, unwittingly on his part, not paid a dime.

The Hard Deck was far less crowded that night. The graduating Top Gun candidates had all flown away, and only those currently stationed at the base, mostly Maverick’s squad, and some locals remained. A few dozen patrons milled around a room far larger than they needed with maybe a dozen pressed up to the bar. Most of the dozen fell under your responsibilities at the moment. Penny had, unintentionally, abandoned you not long before when Maverick had wandered in and taken up his usual stool.

Omaha and Halo, the first aviators to arrive, had claimed one of the pool tables early in the night, and the rest of the squad had started rotating through matchups. It appeared Fritz was on a hot streak, one that was no doubt about to end as his next opponent in line was Hangman.

All seemed right with the world. The constant buzz of voices, the crooning of the Goo Goo Dolls song that Bob had selected on the jukebox, the ready flow of beer to your usual patrons. Everything was fine.

Until the door opened one last time. Not that places of business ever ‘expected’ anyone because they hardly sent out invitations to come buy beer, but you really weren’t expecting anyone else that night. All the regulars were already inside.

The door banging against the wall as it was flung open was enough to draw your surprised eyes up to the entryway.

Face lit by the sun setting over the beach through the windows on the opposite wall, he was unmistakable as he marched into view flanked by his two buddies. They immediately began scanning the room.

Your breath rushed out of your lungs, exhaling in a gust that you couldn’t hold back any more than the wind.

No, no, no. He wasn’t here. He couldn’t be here. He couldn’t confront you here. He couldn’t corner you alone.

There was no time to think, no time to check with Penny if it was ok to leave your station, no time to get to the door or bolt out the back.

‘I’ll keep him out of the bar.’

It was your first instinct when you saw the text the weekend before, and it was your first instinct when you saw him that night.

“Hurricane?” Penny called after you as, without so much as a word in her direction, you ducked under the gap in the bar and made a beeline for the pool tables.

You barely heard her, and if you did, it didn’t register.

“Jake,” his real name leaving your lips was enough to draw most of his coworkers’ attention, all those in earshot at least. You grabbed his arm the second he was within reach, inadvertently clawing his skin with your nails as you pulled him up from where he was hunched over the pool table lining up a shot.

Jake laughed and shrugged off your arm before he even turned around and saw who it was. “Hey,” he rubbed at the red marks in his skin, “I was just…”

The words died on his lips when he turned and saw the panic in your eyes. It was brimming up inside you, overflowing and choking you off from every other sensation except the desperation for Jake to understand.

He knew better than anyone that there was only one thing that could make you look like that, feel like that. His head jerked up immediately in the direction of the door, as if he could sense the direction of the impending doom.

You watched the lighthearted smirk that constantly plagued his lips fall away. You watched the light in his eyes cloud over in darkness. As his gaze went up over your shoulder to the door, where one of the three men with angry expressions and dark eyes spotted your back amongst the khaki uniforms and began moving.

Jake’s arm twisted in your grip and grabbed you by the elbow, jerking you unceremoniously behind his back. There was no time for pleasantries, no time to be nice about whatever he was about to do.

“Fanboy, stay with her.” Jake ordered over his shoulder to the nearest aviator. His gaze didn’t waiver from the three men approaching, even as he issued commands.

Most of the aviators in Mav’s squad were scattered around the room. Mav was at the bar talking with Penny and Halo. Fanboy and Coyote had been watching Hangman school Fritz, who was being hyped up by Payback. Rooster was at a table not far from the pool game talking to a pretty girl. And Phoenix and Bob were half spectating from their perch by the jukebox discussing something that had gone wrong in a training run that afternoon.

Fanboy caught you and held you up as Jake pushed you in his direction. “What’s going on?”

Jake didn’t answer. He side-stepped in front of you, half blocking you from view, and walked to the edge of the pool area. There was a buffer zone between himself and you. He was the first line of defense, and he was giving the second, Fanboy, room to react.

“You fucking bitch!” If Fanboy didn’t know what was going on before, he instantly caught on.

Fanboy’s arms tensed around yours. His back went rigged, as if a commanding officer had just called him to attention, and he curled away, pulling you back behind him and putting his body in front of you as a shield. Even with Fanboy hovering in the way, his body didn’t hide Devin’s eyes. They sought you out around Jake’s frame and over Fanboy’s shoulder; they found you huddled up behind the Navy uniforms and the fancy stars pinned to the pilots chests. No number of medals pinned to Jake’s chest could stop the chill that ran down your spine in response to the venom in Devin’s tone. You wanted to look away, but the daggers in his gaze skewered you in place, held you hostage.

You wanted to curl up and hide, preferably behind Jake... Well, preferably in a home far away from there wrapped in heavy blankets with many deadbolts between you and Devin with Jake vigilantly standing guard at the door.

Devin tried to walk straight past Jake, like he didn’t even see him. Jake wasn’t having any of it.

A thick, muscular arm stuck out across the length of Devin’s shoulders as he tried to pass, holding him back.

Devin wasn’t a very big guy. He was well toned, but he was no naval aviator. He was no Jake Seresin. Jake had about an inch on Devin, but his well built frame made up for their near identical height. Devin had never been one to hit the gym hard while Jake certainly was, and it showed. It showed in the way a single arm without so much as a brace didn’t move even as Devin walked straight into it.

If the rest of the bar weren’t looking when Devin shouted that you were a bitch, they certainly were when he glared up at Jake. “Out of the way you fucker!”

Jake getting out of the way was about the last thing you wanted to happen, and Jake seemed disinclined to oblige either. His arm didn’t move from where it blocked Devin’s path, even as Devin glowered up at him.

The staring match lasted only a moment before Devin, impatient as always, gave up and turned back to glaring at you. He shouted, unnecessarily loudly, across the minimal distance between the two of you, “You changed the locks on me?”

There was shuffling behind you and the sound of something clanging onto the pool table.

You couldn’t bring yourself to turn your head away from Devin, couldn’t look away, couldn’t let him out of your sight. But there was the sound of footsteps as first Coyote, then Fritz, then Payback came into range in your peripheral vision.

None of them knew what this was about, but it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out where this was going. And any idiot could tell whose side they would be on in a fight between Jake and Devin.

“She didn’t. I did.” Jake declared at a similarly loud volume, pulling Devin’s attention back on him, demanding Devin shift his focus off of you. “You got a problem with that, you take it up with me.”

Devin took a step back, finally abandoning his futile attempt to confront you in favor of squaring up to Jake.

As Devin stepped back, the trio of pilots stepped forward. Fritz approached first, joining Fanboy in front of you. Payback followed after Fritz, lingering halfway between him and Jake, a bystander ready to step in if things got out of hand.

Coyote, however, had no questions about how any altercation would go down. His hand came down as he walked up behind Jake, slapping down reassuringly on Jake's shoulder to let him know he wasn’t alone. Coyote flanked Jake at such a close distance that it made it impossibly clear that, if this turned into a fight, it would not be three on one.

It wouldn’t even be three on two for that matter. Devin’s buddies, who had crossed the bar with him had hung back a few feet, giving Devin the space he wanted to scream at you or confront you or whatever else he had been planning before Jake intercepted. The duo found themselves with two bar tables between them and Devin. One of which was, ever so unfortunately for them, occupied by none other than Bradley Bradshaw and his drinking companion.

Devin’s friends would be forgiven for not realizing that they were offering up the chance to divide the group in half. Bradley, per usual, wasn’t in his Navy uniform, and a guy in a faded Hawaiian shirt didn’t exactly look intimidating. At least not while he was sitting down chatting up a pretty girl.

Seeing the escalation Coyote invited, and flashing his eyes to where you cowered behind his squadmates, Rooster got to his feet with a slow, lithe push off the table in front of him and turned his back on Devin. Not even bothering to give the belligerent asshole, currently one on two against Hangman and Coyote, the time of day, he turned his entire attention to the backup Devin brought with him.

Never in your life had you been scared of any of the naval aviators, but there was something especially intimidating about the incredibly casual way Bradley put himself alone in a fight against two men. His relaxed stance, completely unbothered by the numbers game he was playing. His head, cocking to one side to crack his neck, and then the other.

“You the latest pilot she’s spreading her legs for?” Devin snarled up at Jake, completely oblivious to what was going on behind him and unconcerned by Coyote’s presence.

Jake was entirely unphased. His voice was calm and steady even as Devin’s got more and more red with each passing moment. “No, but I am a friend. And if you have a problem with her you’re gonna have to go through me…” Jake added as an afterthought, “And him,” jerking his head to Coyote.

“You think she’ll fuck you if you play hero?” Devin spat out the word fuck as if the thought of you and sex in the same sentence disgusted him. “You don’t gotta try that hard to get her to spread.”

Jake shrugged and casually dismissed the comment. “That’s really not my business or yours.”

“She is my business; that’s my girl.”

Devin jabbed a finger over Jake’s shoulder in your direction without looking away from Jake, and you instinctively shrunk further back behind Fanboy. Until you felt the material between your fingers, you didn’t even realize that your hand had reached up to fist the back of Fanboy’s uniform.

You didn’t know, logically, why you were afraid. Whatever Jake was doing, he was doing a marvelous job of keeping Devin’s eyes off of you. You were absolutely certain that Devin would have to knock Jake out to get to you, not that he could even manage that. You were also absolutely certain that even if he did, he’d still have to make it through Rooster, Fanboy, Fritz, Payback, and Coyote, not to mention the dozen Navy guys from other squads currently spectating who would jump in to assist, or Penny or Mav. There was just something about his finger pointing at you, accusing you, that made that feeling of helplessness bubble up inside you again, that made you feel pinned, trapped under his hand.

“I’ll do whatever I want with her.”

It was like Jake knew or could sense your growing bubble of fear. He leaned ever so slightly to one side, like he was simply shifting his weight from foot to foot, before standing back up straight in between Devin’s finger and you.

“Not anymore.” Jake declared firmly. “You’re already about a mile closer to her than I want you to be.”

That declaration made Devin’s lips twist up into something akin to a smirk. “I’ve been a lot closer to her than this.”

Jake’s shoulders tensed, and for the first time it seemed like Devin got to him. “I know exactly how close you got.” His voice darkened, and you could practically picture the look in his eyes, practically knew it by heart from the night you told him what Devin had done. “Where I’m from, we don’t treat women like that.”

Devin laughed humorously, heading tilting back to let the single tone ring out in the air. “Well we aren’t where you’re from. That’s my girl, and I’ll do what I want with her.”

You shivered involuntarily, like someone had dropped an ice cube down the back of your shirt. It sent a chill through you to think of Devin alone with you, doing what he wanted with you. You remembered what he did the last time he had that power over you. You couldn’t let it happen again.

“No,” It took a moment to register that Jake was the one snarling, not Devin, not even you. The word came out in a hiss between his teeth. “You’ll do what she wants. And right now she doesn’t want you here.”

For whatever reason, Devin was getting to Jake. The unshakeable, unflappable Jake Seresin was rising to a rolling boil under the surface of his skin, and there was nothing he could do to hide it. From the tone of his voice to the tension in his shoulders, to the way his fingers twitched in and out of a fist, Devin and what he was saying was under Jake’s skin.

Devin saw it; you could tell. You couldn’t see his eyes around the bodies between the two of you, but you saw his posture change, his stance open up and his chest puff out. He leaned in and sneered, “She needed to be put in her place. She looks better roughed up anyway.”

You felt their eyes on you. The squad. The whole bar. None of them were actually looking at you. None of their heads turned, but you knew every one of them was staring at an image of you in their minds. Maybe they all figured it out before. Maybe they knew when Devin walked in or when Jake escorted you home. Or maybe they didn’t know anything at all, but either way Devin just gave them confirmation.

Payback was no longer content to play the bystander. His shoes clicked on the floor, echoing in the silence that existed throughout the bar as Jake and Devin sparred. He flanked Jake’s other side, shoulder to shoulder with him as Coyote had been since the confrontation began.

Coyote didn’t move an inch except for the hand at his side that clenched into a fist.

Jake took a step closer. But for the inch of height difference, he stood nose to nose with Devin as he said, “Where I’m from, a man lays his hands on a woman, and you take him out back and put one between his eyes.”

Devin pushed up, must’ve stood on his tiptoes to do it, to close the gap with Jake, to put himself on the same level as the pilot. “She’s mine, you fucker.” Flecks of spit, visible even at your distance, splattered against Jake’s cheek. “Get the fuck out of the way.”

Devin’s hands came up and shoved Jake in both shoulders, hard.

Jake’s shoulders didn’t give an inch. His feet didn’t budge. His posture didn’t change.

Jake’s voice dropped low, so low you barely heard it. If a single soul in the bar had been focused on anything other than the confrontation at hand, if the jukebox hadn’t run to the end of its queue of songs and left the bar in silence, if any more distance had been between the two of you, you wouldn’t have heard the rough, guttural retort from somewhere deep inside Jake’s chest, “You’re really, really gonna have to make me.”

Without warning, Devin swung.

He was standing too close to Jake, almost chest to chest with the taller aviator. There was no good angle from which to strike, and his arm took a wide arc away from his body to get the necessary momentum and distance to hit at Jake with any force.

It was like it moved in slow motion, Jake’s head turned, his eyes following the direction of the swing as it approached his face.

You gasped and clung tighter to Fanboy, who blindly reached back to clutch your arm, pulling you in closer to him.

The fear, entirely for Jake, was also entirely unnecessary.

Jake’s head leaned to one side and effortlessly avoided the blow. Devin stumbled a couple steps to the side as his momentum carried him past Jake.

It gave Jake the space he needed to counter, not with a wide, slow hook around to the side of Devin’s face, but with a swift, firm uppercut to his jaw.

The connection sent a crack echoing through the bar, and Devin’s entire body went slack before he even hit the floor.

Coyote caught his arm before he could collapse, not that it did Devin any good to be under Coyote’s care instead of Jake’s. Coyote’s grip was so tight on Devin’s upper arm that you were sure it would bruise not just the skin but the muscles underneath.

Jake bent down over the other man and bent a finger up under his jaw. Devin’s head tipped up into Jake’s face without any protest and fell back to bob loosely to one side the moment Jake wasn’t supporting him any more.

“He’ll be out cold for a while.” Jake declared, glancing up to give Coyote a nod.

Coyote dropped his grip on Devin and let him crumple unceremoniously to the floor.

“Now,” Jake left Coyote to deal with Devin, stepping over the unconscious body on the floor as one might step over a puddle in the street. He ambled over to Rooster, whose presence had been more than enough to hold off Devin’s two buddies for the brief ten seconds of fighting, if it could even be categorized as a fight.

“Are you two,” Jake wagged a finger between Devin’s two friends as he came shoulder to shoulder with Rooster, “the ones she told me helped him out last week? Cause I gotta bone to pick with them too?”

“No, we didn’t!” The shorter of the two declared loudly. “Look, we don’t want any trouble.”

Jake’s head turned to glance back over his shoulder, and for the first time since Devin confronted you, you made eye contact with Jake.

His eyes were hard, cold, unfeeling. He wasn’t angry anymore. He wasn’t upset or worried or fearful or any of the other emotions you felt warring inside of you. The mask was back on, the unflappable exterior that only you had seen beneath before tonight. He wasn’t waiting for them; he was waiting for you. A good soldier, waiting for his orders.

Imperceptibly to everyone but Jake who was watching you like a hawk, you shook your head. This had gone on long enough already tonight. You just wanted it to be over.

“Well then,” Jake turned back to the two friends in tow. “Why don’t you take your buddy and get out of here?” Jake stepped close, towering over the shorter one as he added, “Tell him if he comes back round here to bother her again; I will spend the rest of my life making sure he’s too afraid to even look at another woman.”

Beside Jake, Rooster began casually cracking the knuckles of his fist one by one, presumably for emphasis.

There was a dull thud that drew the quad of men’s attention back towards Devin.

Payback was squatting over the unconscious man. He’d seemingly been rooting through the other man’s pockets. The sound of his wallet dropping back onto Devin’s back was the noise that drew the men’s eyes and everyone else’s watching as a result.

Payback was waving a credit card in the air in Jake’s general direction.

“Good idea,” Jake wandered over and snatched up the card. “Call it payback for disturbing the bar tonight.” Jake’s teasing smirk was back as he used Payback’s callsign. He abandoned the group to amble back towards Penny at the bar, and his absence seemed to break the tension.

The patrons, scattered around, all began slowly turning back to their tables. The conversation was quieter, hushed whispers that were no doubt mostly about the fight they’d just watched ensue, but their eyes seemed to have drank in their fill of the scene.

Under the watchful eye of Rooster, with Coyote and Payback standing by, Devin’s two friends draped their friend unceremoniously across their shoulders. Despite the struggle they were clearly having, not a soul offered to help as they stumbled under his weight out of the bar.

“I hope they have to drag him to the car.”

You jumped and turned your head to find that at some point in the chaos Phoenix and Bob had come up on the other side of the pool table as a last line of defense.

“Please, I hope they faceplant in the gravel.”

You let out a humorous laugh at Phoenix’s comment as your body finally slumped under the weight of the evening, resting back against the pool table with a huff of air.

“Are you…”

“Fritz, if you ask me if I’m okay, I will walk out of this bar right now.” You held up a finger to silence him.

You were not okay. You would be okay, one day; you knew that much. But that day was not today.

In the distance, like you were hearing an echo from the other end of a long tunnel, you registered the bell ringing for a free round. Your vision was tunneling too, but you could make out Jake was leaning across the bar, ringing the bell himself as he slammed Devin’s card on the bar in front of Penny.

Maverick, always present in front of Penny’s bar, slapped him on the back and whispered something in his ear, but Jake seemed, for once, thoroughly uninterested in his commanding officer.

His eyes, you thought, appeared to be focused on you. He left the bar before he even got his own free drink and headed straight back towards the pool tables.

Coyote and Rooster tried to talk to him, but he brushed him off. By the time he reached Fanboy, still awkwardly hovering in front of you, his destination was clear, and Fanboy slid right out of his way.

“Come on,” Jake held out a hand to you. “Penny won’t mind if you don’t finish out your shift.”

It wasn’t a tunnel you were looking through now so much as a camera, the lens zooming in and zooming out, narrowing and expanding your field of vision around Jake.

Jake, the only thing in the world right now that felt safe, that felt ok.

You numbly, clumsily, flung your hand out to grasp his, and as his fingers laced through yours you thought you might have a different answer to Fritz’s question, not that you’d ever voice it.

—————————————

“Thank you.”

It was about an hour after you and Jake had left the bar.

He’d walked you out the back door of the Hard Deck and down the beach for the better part of half an hour before the two of you wordlessly agreed to find a comfortable spot to sit down in the sand.

The silence had been more comfortable than you ever thought silence with Jake could be. Every time he’d driven you home from the Hard Deck, he’d felt the need to fill every available moment with some kind of noise, compulsively turning up the volume on the radio or making snarky, sarcastic commentary about anything that passed by the window. Silence was not Jake Seresin’s forte.

Yet the silence between the two of you had felt like a comforting blanket, wrapping you in understanding. He already knew what happened between you and Devin; the hard part of that explanation was over. He already knew why Devin was there that night, what must have prompted him to show up, what he was hinting at in front of the whole bar. He knew nothing else about you, but he knew this, knew every detail of the most painful moment of your life, and he accepted it without question, gave you what you needed without question, helped you without question.

“You don’t have to thank me for doing the right thing for once in my life, Hurricane.” Jake murmured. “It’s a nice change of pace.”

You wished you could deny that, say that Jake was a great guy, say that he always did the right thing or that he was a good man. But the truth was he often wasn’t. He was flawed, deeply so, rude when it was uncalled for, inappropriate when the moment was serious, lewd when he should have been respectful, confrontational when he should have been kind. He was as flawed as any other human being, maybe more so.

But when you needed him he was there. When no one else was there, he was there. And that, to you, forgave any multitude of sins.

“What did Mav say to you when you left?”

“What?” Jake did a quick double take, looking down at you beside him. “Oh,” He chuckled to himself. “He said, ‘Good man, no push-ups tomorrow when I shoot you down.’”

“Well,” you smiled, “I owe you a lot more than a few push ups.”

“You owe me nothing.”

You squeezed his hand, his fingers which had been laced in yours since he led you out of the Hard Deck, “How about a second chance? If I remember correctly we didn’t get off to the best start.”

Jake smirked, “Not a chance am I starting over. You’re still my Hurricane.”

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