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TWELVE
cosmo and rooster
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(gif above made by me)

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"WHAT do you think about kissing?"

     Bradley isn't even sitting in a chair, but if he was, he'd have fallen out of it. The eleven year-old gapes at Celeste, sat across from him in the sand; she doesn't seem the slightest bit bewildered by the question she asked him. Blinking at her, he retrieves the yo-yo he dropped in the sand and continues rolling it up and down.

     "I don't know," he shrugs. "It looks kinda gross."

     "Have you ever kissed anybody?" Celeste interrogates him.

     Puffing his chest out a little, he rebukes, "Sure I have. Why d'you wanna know?"

     The girl nods curtly over to the couple in the sand — about a stone's throw away from them, Maverick has a new girlfriend he has introduced to the others, their lips locking every few minutes. Bradley has noticed that these women change every so often, a new face to get used to seeing, and he isn't sure how to feel about it. How does he decide which one is right for him? And why does he pick one, if he only just moves onto another girlfriend afterwards? Although he's only eleven years old, he figures he'll know exactly who is meant for him when the time comes... after all, for his mother, there was only ever one man, and Bradley hasn't seen her even try to fall for anyone else since.

     "Have you ever kissed anyone?" Bradley throws the question back at Celeste.

     "Nope," she shakes her head without a hint of insecurity.

     The two children inspect the scene from afar once more, scrutinising the quick peck on the lips between Maverick and the brunette on his arm.

     "I don't get what the big deal is about," Celeste thinks aloud, shuddering. "It looks... kinda sticky. Sounds like it, too."

     Bradley ponders this for a moment. "Well, it can't be that bad. People on TV do it all the time. It just means they love each other — it's like a secret signal, I guess."

     "Then what if I don't know how to do it?"

     "Huh?"

     "One day, if I'm gonna have to kiss somebody, I'm not gonna know what to do!"

     Bradley glances across at her. An idea occurs to him... a crazy one at that, but once he's thought it, he can't for the life of him forget it. Hold on... why is there an elephant stampede suddenly storming through his stomach? He rubs the sunburnt strip on the bridge of his nose, averting his gaze to the sand.

     "Well... you know..." he says, shyly, "I mean, maybe we should just try it? To see what all the fuss is about?"

     After initially wrinkling her nose at the idea, Celeste's eyes illuminate like a light bulb. "It'd be good practice... right?"

     "Exactly!"

     So the duo get prepared, shuffling on their butts towards each other in the sand, to be sitting cross-legged and face-to-face. His knees brushing hers, Bradley gulps quietly. There is one small lie he told her — he hasn't kissed any girl before. And in his head, he thought it would at least be his playground crush, not his best friend who he's seen laugh too hard and cause milk to shoot out of her nose. So, why does he feel so nervous?

     "You know, you're lucky I agreed to this," Bradley starts rambling, "I was gonna save this kiss for this girl I sit next to in—"

     "Just kiss me already!"

     "Alright, alright! On the count of three: one... two..."

     "Wait," Celeste pipes up, "how long do we—"

     "Three!"

     Bradley shuts his eyes and leans in until his lips find hers — it's only a quick peck, but a flush of butterflies swoops along his spine and explodes in his stomach. He pulls back just as quickly as he leant in, shocked by the sensation. There's a faint taste of raspberry on his lips, picked up from the popsicle Celeste had eaten only ten minutes before. She just stares at him, lips stretched in a thin line, her expression stuck between being stunned and perplexed.

     This is weird. Too weird.

     "So..." she finally says, after a few seconds, "... what do we do now?"

     It's a good question. What does one do after kissing their best friend? Bradley can only think of one answer, even if it comes from a place of panic. He reaches out and taps her arm.

     "TAG!" he hollers, instantaneously leaping to his feet and hurtling along the sand.

     A moment later, he hears Celeste's abhorrent cry of, "Hey, no fair!" followed by the pitter-patter of her bare feet catching up to him along the place where the tide meets the shore. Somewhere in-between, their break out into squeals of laughter, and Bradley can't help but be relieved at how the kiss has changed nothing at all...

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

Once the last day of training rounds up, it feels like a strangely sinister graduation day for the group. There's a quietness that settles in them — the knowledge that tomorrow is the real deal, where there is no room for mistakes or re-runs, or fake missiles being shot at you. It's a truth that none of them can run away from. So, what better remedy is there to the realisation that either of them could be dead in a few days?

     None other than a trip down to the Hard Deck, for a pint and a burger.

     Celeste went back home after training to shed her uniform, in favour of a pair of jeans and a vest underneath her jacket. She takes her hair out of the tightly-groomed military bun, letting out her natural curls to breathe. Then it's only a short drive back to the Hard Deck, where the hanging string lights glow from afar like a beacon as she parks outside... of course, there's also her extra passenger sat in the front with her.

She gets out and circles around to the passenger's side, opening the door. The crutches have already been retrieved from the back seat, held out ready for her brother. Quincy swivels himself around on the seat, holding his broken leg out — currently in a cast resembling a moonwalking boot — before slithering his arms through the crutches.

"This is a terrible idea, you know," Celeste says, helping him get up.

Once he's stood upright, Quincy huffs, "Oh, screw that. Nothing's gonna stop me from seeing y'all before you go on without me tomorrow. I have to say my piece."

"Alright, fine. But no drinking."

"Who said anything about drinking?"

She turns to face him, catching the slight twinkle in his eye. Quincy baffles her sometimes; he's hobbling on a broken leg and has overcome his mini-stroke, and yet he still finds time to joke about it all. She missed it though. That spark.

"Watch the step," Celeste mumbles. They work together to conquer the small step up to the door of the Hard Deck, the bustle inside merely separated by glass. "... You ready?"

Quincy nods. Without further ado, she opens the floodgates. Her eyes intrinsically leap to the corner of the room, where her squadron are all sat cosily around the large table by the beach view window. All of them are dressed down, Phoenix letting her hair down while Bradley has slipped back into one of his unmistakable Hawaiian shirts. It might as well be a group of old friends having dinner together for old time's sake. Payback, who is telling some long-winded story that will eventually have a punchline, stops himself instantly at the sight of the Sterlings walking in.

"Holy shit, it's Bullseye!" he cries out.

Like a group of excited children, all of the pilots whirl their heads around, completely stunned. Cheers ripple through the room as they leap to their feet and surround them, their eager and concerned remarks all blending into one. The Sterlings seem to be caught in a web of embraces and pats on the back; it's only when Bradley appears, dressed in one of his usual Hawaiian shirts, that Celeste finds a way through the gleefully-charged group hug.

     He holds out his hand, giving her a way out as they both laugh about the whole thing. Then before she knows it, she's in his arms, her chin rested on his shoulder as she sinks into his embrace. Celeste wishes she could stay here forever, but then he's breaking away to let Luisa through for an eager cuddle.

     "Hey, where's Ryan?" Celeste notices the lack of the Kazansky boy.

     Luisa shakes her head gently. "He couldn't make it. He said he wanted to be with his family tonight."

     Good for him, she can't help think. With Ryan always putting his work before family, it seems more fitting than ever that he spends tonight with them before the mission.

     "Are you even allowed to be here?" Bradley asks Quincy, pulling out a chair out for the hobbling pilot.

"Don't give Celeste any ideas, she might take me home again," Quincy teases; but there's a tiredness in his voice, a connect to reality that he usually transcends. He almost appears thoughtful, his gaze quietly downcast. "Look, these last few days have been rough to say the least. I've been doing a lot of thinking... it was all I could do in that bed... and I know things have to change. I went through what I did for a reason. What that is just yet, I'm not sure. But I do know I have Felicia, our baby on the way —" he pauses, a smile tugging his lips, "— and whatever happens after that, I'll take as it comes."

A few of the pilots murmur in agreement, touched by his unusual humbleness. Celeste searches her brother for signs of a broken heart; even though there are glimpses underneath, he seems determined to patch them up and look forward. She knows there could be so many paths for him still — he could do some important work on the ground, like being an instructor. Whatever it is, she knows Quincy will fulfil that duty with every beat of his heart.

It's only a matter of time before he slips back into his usual joking ways again. Cocking his head up to face his sister, he taps an empty glass and bats his eyelids at her: "No drinking for me tonight... so Celeste, sugar, won't you get me a soda?"

And with that, the party truly kicks off. The relaxed atmosphere at the Hard Deck puts them all at ease, nursing their anxieties over tomorrow with temporary amnesia and the enjoyment of each other's company. It's a little early for dinner just yet, so they start off with drinks. Celeste perches on one of the bar stools with Luisa, who flicks through photos of her daughter on her phone as her eyes overflow with love...

Observant as ever, the WSO hones in on an exchange between Bob, Phoenix and Fanboy at the other end of the bar. She can't quite make out what they are saying, but they seem to be egging him on to do something. Bob protests rather loudly, "No! Not here, not right now!" but the duo leave him with no choice. Fanboy starts nudging him in the general direction of the girls. Celeste watches the man straighten his glasses, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat through a nervous gulp.

"What?" Luisa asks, noticing her diverted attention.

"Uh..." Celeste squints, "tally, six o'clock."

Before she can give any more detail, Phoenix speed-walks past the approaching Bob, casually swooping her arm around Celeste's shoulders on her way: "Hey," she says, "why don't we give these two a moment alone?"

"But—"

Phoenix drags her into a nearby booth and ducks, sweeping her ponytail away. "Far enough away that we don't look like we're listening," the pilot whispers, "but close enough that we can hear every important detail..."

"Hear what?" Celeste hisses.

Her attention is dragged back to the scenario behind her, the leather in the booth squeaking as she indiscreetly moves to observe them. Luisa is just turning around at the sound of Bob's voice, smiling kindly at him. "Bob, hey! How're you doing?" she asks.

"I'm good, I'm– uh..." Bob's voice cracks, prompting him to clear his throat. "Actually, I've been meaning to ask you something."

"Yeah?"

Celeste freezes. Is this what she thinks it is?

"I have. I'm... well, you see, um... I don't wanna be to forward or anything, but... I just think you're amazing. Not just at your job, but as a person, you're– I mean– you're incredible, alright? And beautiful... but– but that's not the point." Bob sighs, having softened just by thinking about her; Luisa has also gone very quiet listening to him speak. "The other night when we got talking, I never wanted it to stop. But now the mission's here, and after all this is over, I was just wondering... well, hoping, if maybe you'd like to—"

"Are you asking me on a date, Floyd?"

Luisa doesn't even sound coy, or flirtatious; just touched. Her tone is gentle and careful... she might be the only person more careful about love than Celeste.

Bob snaps his fingers and exhales, somewhat relieved that she got to the point before he did. "Y-Yeah, that's– that's what I was goin' for..."

"And... you really like me?"

"Tremendously."

A beat passes. Luisa smiles. "Well then, I think that could be arranged."

"Wait, so that– that's a yes?" Bob blinks at her in disbelief, only rejoicing when she nods. "Great... that's great! I guess I'll... see you for that then?"

"Yeah, definitely– hey, Bob, wait!"

He has already started walking away — or retreating, more like — from the scene when Luisa calls his name. Bob spins back around, slightly flustered. Laughing, Luisa reminds him: "Don't you think getting my number would be a good next step?"

     "Right, of course. Sorry."

     Celeste and Phoenix eavesdrop triumphantly from afar, watching the pair exchange numbers with some indiscernible murmurs between them. Bob finally leaves, meeting his fellow WSO who ruffles his neatly-combed hair out of excitement. When the two girls reach her, Luisa is caught in a dazed smile — she's beaming like a lovestruck teenager.

     When Celeste raises an eyebrow at her, she blinks innocently. "What?"

     "Bob Floyd, huh?" she smirks.

     Luisa covers her face, the blush creeping in underneath her skin, and muffles a laugh. Yep, definitely lovestruck.

     "I thought he was never gonna ask," Phoenix says, raising her beer bottle to her lips. "Trust me, I did you a favour by giving him a little nudge."

     "Weren't you, in your words, done with 'all men in uniform'?" Celeste pries her friend.

"I thought I was, but... life's full of surprises, I guess."

"What made you change your mind?"

"God, I don't know!" Luisa exclaims, incredulous but inexplicably happy. "Do we always have to think so much about our feelings? Sometimes, you just feel something, and you know it feels right. It's that simple."

That simple? Celeste thinks. Not in her experience, it isn't.

Everyone soon sits down for a proper meal, Celeste finding herself bumping elbows with Quincy and Coyote. Bradley sits right opposite her — their gazes drift to each other as if blown by a breeze, lingering between moments of laughter amongst the group.

"Hey, look, it's Maverick!" Coyote jabs her in the side unintentionally, earning a very intentional (but gentle) kick back under the table from Celeste.

But then she catches up to his words and sees that, indeed, their captain is stood right there. Maverick seems in no mood for pleasantries — he is dressed head to toe in his ceremonial whites, adorned with medals he's earned over his long career. He finds Penny Benjamin's oblivious bliss through the room and sombrely removes his cap.

"He's sure polished up nice for the Hard Deck," says Tintin, although his voice carries an edge of nervousness.

Maverick leans over the bar and whispers something Penny in his ear... and Celeste sees all the colour drain from the woman's face. Her smile turns slack, grief sinking into her features; she leans back and looks him in the eyes, almost as if she is making sure what Maverick just told her is true. Whatever the news is, it must be bad, because Penny instantly puts on her coat and follows him outside to the waterfront.

"I guess he just broke the news to Penny," Quincy sighs pitifully.

"What news?" Bradley asks, on the edge of his seat with concern now.

Celeste turns to her brother, furrowing her brows. He kept this quiet. "Yeah, what news?"

Noticing all of the confused looks he's getting, Quincy opens and closes his mouth guiltily like a goldfish. "Ah... I forgot to mention it, didn't I?" he says sheepishly. "Maverick told me when he last visited me in hospital — they've made him mission leader."

"What?!"

"When was this?"

"Thanks for telling us in advance, Quince," Celeste rebukes sarcastically, still sobered by the news.

Mission leader was a mixed bag of news — on the one hand, knowing this mission would be led by the man who lent them his reckless tactics in the first place, was something of a relief. That is her immediate thought. But if she thinks beyond their ranks or professional relationships, Celeste is fully aware that this just adds another life to her list of loved ones at risk... she only has to look at Bradley and see how the news has afflicted him.

"Isn't that a little sudden? One minute they're grounding him, and the next he's mission leader?" Bradley starts grasping at straws for excuses, his body rigid and his breath held. No matter how hard he tries, he can't hide it anymore; how much he really does care about Maverick.

"Rooster," Quincy says, "I think you and I both know that our friend Maverick always lives to fight another day."

"He's probably the only one with the balls to fight this mission," Hangman adds, and Celeste has to pinch herself to believe those words just came out of his mouth.

Leaning into Bob slightly, Luisa is staring out at the couple on the beach — Penny and Maverick have been staring out at the water wordlessly, until the woman turns and wraps her arms soulfully around him. Luisa hums sadly. "It never gets easier, does it?" she says, "Saying goodbye to your folks before a mission. And... sometimes not knowing whether it'll be the last time."

At this, Bradley turns to look so intentionally at Celeste, it almost knocks the wind out of her.

It's impossible to tear her eyes away. There is so much they search to say, scrambling to put together the words before the moment is lost... and then it's gone again. Just as usual. Why is that? At this point, don't they know how they feel? If so, then why is it so difficult to just say it?

Celeste knows the two things that scare her the most:

What if they crash and burn? Giving up the chase and going all in, only for their relationship to be tarnished. Things would never be the same again, and he is simply far too important for her to risk that.

Or, perhaps the even worse fear,

What if they fly?

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

The evening drew to a close like a door quietly shutting. Gentle, nothing disturbed. Celeste has her regrets about that.

     On the whole drive home, she keeps replaying the last interaction she had with Bradley. It was the same broken record it always is with the two of them — but this time, she was determined to keep out the empty words or small talk they'd usually exchange, in lieu of the things that really mattered. So Celeste hugged him tightly, said goodnight and good luck, and went on her way. Neither of them fought it. Everyone kept talking about "what happens tomorrow", and she simply made the decision that they were going to make it out just fine.

There's just one problem with that...

Celeste really can't be so sure about what happens tomorrow. And the words left unsaid that mattered, really do matter.

This slow realisation, dawning on her throughout the whole drive home, keeps irritating her. Quincy dozes off in the passenger seat next to her, leaving her alone to dwell on it. It isn't until they are about halfway home when his voice startles her out of nowhere.

     "Bradley looked good tonight."

     "What?" Celeste rebukes, barely snapping out of it. Her brother has woken up next to her, suddenly alert and curious.

     "I said, Bradley looked good tonight," Quincy says pointedly. "Did you get to talk to him much?"

     "A little."

     "Hm..."

     The rest of the drive falls into heavy silence. When they get home, Celeste tries to shake off the feeling that has been haunting her since they left the Hard Deck. She helps Quincy get out again and escorts him to the door, one crutch-assisted hop at a time. The living room is aglow with the light from the TV, the two silhouettes of their parents cuddled on the sofa.

     "I'm gonna get an early night," Quincy stifles a yawn.

     "You say that every night," Celeste teases him.

"But I mean it this time. And you should, too... you're the one going on the mission tomorrow."

Oh... that. Celeste notes the slight disappointment in his voice, of his opportunity to fly being taken away from him; it's soon replaced by her own returning nerves about tomorrow. Tomorrow. Where did that time go? Sighing, she jangles the keys on her fingertips and turns to lock the door. She stares out into the framed snapshot of their front yard outside...

     Unprepared, it just hits her.

     Like a vignette, she sees a lifetime of Bradleys standing there in the doorway — when he was eight and waiting for her to join him on the swings, when he was stood looking for a shoulder to cry on after Carole died, when he turned up in a rented tuxedo just for her prom night, when he surprised her parents for their anniversary just because he was in town, when he took her home from training... she sees it all. With every moment, every memory, the first thought that pops into Celeste's head when she sees him is so blindingly obvious, that she can't believe she danced around it this long:

     She loves him.

     She love him, she loves him, she loves him...

     It's so urgent, so fervent, that Celeste can barely stand. She's been an idiot, she knows she has — they both have. But now this cannot wait a moment longer. Mission or no mission, this cannot wait until tomorrow. It has waited far too long. She has to go. She has to find him.

     "So... what're you gonna do now?"

     Quincy seems more concerned about the open door, not her grand epiphany; but when Celeste turns to look at him, charged with a new energy that wakes up every particle inside her, he gets the message. His lips quirk up in a knowing smile.

     "Go," he simply says.

     "But—"

     "Don't worry about me, I'm fine, just go. You have to tell him."

     Usually, she'd worry about how much of an open book she is to her brother, but Celeste can't even spare a thought for it anymore. She leaps straight into action and grabs the car keys off the dresser — she flies down the driveway and hops back into the car. Only stopping to take a deep breath, recalibrating, she drives off to Bradley's house.

None of this is logical. She knows that. The head and the heart never work in unison, it's just that for once it is her heart taking the wheel. Celeste keeps rolling the words on her tongue — I love you, I love you, I love you — again and again, until her blood is racing through her body, and her breath is half-held all the way with the anticipation... she's all over the place, over Bradley Bradshaw of all people. Not logical at all.

... Except the other part of her, the slightly more terrified part, which slips into professionalism. She almost views this mad chase through the lens she uses up in the cockpit. Like a mission that has to be executed. Celeste can't help but remember the other night in his car, when he had pulled away from her.

     She doesn't expect anything grandiose in return. She just wants him to know.

     The lights are all off when she gets to Bradley's house; it's been quite a few years since she was last here. Did she get the right one? Celeste practically tumbles out of the car and races up to the front door, her palms sweating as she knocks frantically. "Bradley! Hello?" she hollers breathlessly. "It's me, Celeste, I– I have to talk to you... anyone home?"

     Nothing. Impatient, she cups her hands on both sides of the glass and peers inside the windows. She can see some unzipped duffel bags lying ready for tomorrow morning, a couple pairs of his shoes lined up by the door. But no sign of Bradley. Come to think of it, his car isn't by his house either. Where the hell is he? Sighing, she drops down onto his front step, her spinning head in her hands.

     "Cel?"

     Her heart skips a beat. Slowly, she looks up, pin-pointing him in the distance. Bradley's arm is propped on the open door of his Ford Bronco, parked just across the street. He is restless with the conviction of a man on a mission, but halts right in his tracks just to look at her, all of her, for a moment. Celeste knows her expression must be a mirror of his — like they cannot believe they found each other. But there is also a tinge of confusion and hesitance.

     "What are you doing here?" he asks slowly.

     "I... forgot something," is the best Celeste can think of. Try again. "I came to see you."

     "Seriously?"

     "Yeah, but you weren't home."

     "That's because I've been driving all over town looking for you," Bradley replies, as if it's painfully obvious.

     "You– wait, what?"

     She blinks at him in disbelief. Would it be wishful thinking... or is their timing cosmic? It must be too good to be true.

     "So... what was it you forgot?" he asks, sounding hopeful.

     Before anyone can change anyone's minds about being here, Celeste is determined to say her piece — if only she could get the damn words out. Three words. Why are they so hard to say? She loves him, she has always loved him deep down, maybe before she knew what loving meant. But all the words die on her lips. Suddenly "I love you" seems inadequate, for what she wants to portray. She's never been good at this kind of thing.

     Letting out a frustrated scoff, Celeste mumbles, "I forgot how difficult this is..."

     "What is?"

     "Nothing, nothing, it's..." she sighs, rooting her feet into the ground, and her gaze into his. Deep breath. "I know things aren't exactly clear between us these days. I thought we could go back to the way things were, but that's impossible. It's never gonna be the same. I hate that we used to be able to talk about stuff so easily, and now it's weird to be in the same room with you, without– without... look, I want my best friend back... and I don't feel like that can happen again, until I at least try to say this..."

     She's losing him, she can tell. Bradley's expression has slowly faded during her speech, drained of that restless hope he'd walked over to her with. So she cuts to the chase:

     "You're my favourite person," she smiles shakily. "And I don't mean in the way we've always been to each other. What I mean is... I go to bed every night, remembering that you're not lying next to me, and I wake up every morning forgetting it all again, just for the stupid hope that you'll be there after all. You're... you're it for me. You always have been, and you always will be."

     A beat passes.

     "What are you saying, exactly?" Bradley asks.

     Great, now you're just confusing him. His attention is back, hanging onto every word, but it's more like Bradley is trying to pick apart the forensic analysis for the truer meaning underneath. Frankly, Celeste is trying to do the same. Something about the doubt on his face kicks in her instinct to sugarcoat it and back out.

     "That, given our history, I'm not expecting anything in return."

     Something snaps in his expression — as if she just said something outrageous — and his eyes widen slightly in protest, with a curt shake of his head.

     "Celeste, no—"

     "Listen," she insists, "I know we're not exactly on the same page, especially after what we talked about the other day. I just wanted to tell you how I felt—"

     "No, you've got it all wrong—"

     "Then what is it? What the hell do you want—"

     "I want you! I love you!" Bradley exclaims.

     An infinite silence stretches between them. Celeste feels her features frozen in time; her jaw slackened, her eyes wide. The night breeze rolls over her bare arms, rustling the curls around her head, but she hardly notices it. Bradley's chest rises and falls, exasperation quickly draining from his face, to leave an expression she's never seen on him before... more pure and vulnerable than he has ever let on.

     "I love you... I've always, always loved you," he repeats softly, not wanting to stop now. "Why do you think I've been driving all over looking for you?"

     Celeste's mouth opens and shuts, too stunned to speak. Bradley takes a couple of steps forward — she could reach out for him right now if she wanted. The only thing stopping her is that she's not entirely sure this is real.

     He swallows thickly, his eyes never leaving hers. "Look, I'm sorry if I've left you in the dark. I've just been... scared. It's been easier being on my own, and that's the way I've lived for– for so many years. Then these past few weeks have just made me realise, that's not a good enough reason to keep running anymore."

     Celeste hones in on him, picking apart every word and intonation like it's encrypted. What does it mean? How can she be sure she isn't making a huge mistake? Bradley senses her scepticism, he must be able to, so he gently takes another step closer — the space between their chests like nothingness, a vacuum waiting to be closed. She feels him thread his fingers between hers, bringing them up clasped to his heart.

     "I know you can end up over-analysing things, Cel... don't over-analyse this. I'm here, and I'm in love with you."

     He waits for her to respond. Celeste looks at him, really looks at him. "You know," she whispers with a smile, "you said that part already."

     She needn't ask him again. "... I love you—"

     That's it. Celeste takes her leap of faith, forward to catch his face and kiss him. Instantaneously, they melt into one another, Bradley already wrapping his arms around her the way he's always wanted to. Her hands slide up to cradle the back of his head, his trimmed hair brushing her fingertips. No room for a gap between them, sealing every corner, they hold onto each other for dear life — they have played this waiting game for years. Only now have they fully committed to it. They kiss like there is no tomorrow, tossing away all the fear and apprehension of 'what if'...

     Never has something felt so right.

     Breaking for air, their foreheads fall together, lips parted inches away to beg for more. Celeste drinks in the whiskey of his eyes, usually more coarse and closed-off, but now completely wrapped up in her. Bradley brings his hands up to her face, cradling it like she might slip away again — there is no chance of that, she knows it. Not when tomorrow is so uncertain. In a split second, she's felt closer to him than she has in years, and yet she still wants more.

She wants him completely.

     "I don't want to be alone tonight," she whispers.

Bradley tilts his head at her, a flicker of realisation passing across his face. She nods gently, hoping. He closes the distance between them again, brushing her curls away from her cheekbones. Celeste snakes her arms around his shoulders as the kiss deepens. She feels her feet lift off the ground — at first, by imagination, only to realise his strong arms wrapped around her hips and raising them. They laugh into the kiss, Bradley carrying her up the steps and inside. Stumbling as if through spontaneous dance steps, they stagger around, peeling back the layers, exploring each other...

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

Celeste had always thought she knew Bradley inside out. She just assumed, in the thirty-something years they had been in each other's lives, they had been so close that it felt like there was nothing left to know about the person... tonight, she has discovered how wrong she was.

     They are lying in bed, bodies pressed skin to skin in a relaxed tangle of limbs, half-covered by the duvet. Celeste has now forgotten where she ends, and he begins — they are one. It was something she never thought they would experience together. Now that they have, she could never even dream of going back. In fact, afterwards it was like a door had miraculously been opened, back into their ease of being with each other that they'd both missed so much. Closer than ever. Now they just lie here, quietly soaking up every minute they have before tomorrow, talking about whatever comes to mind.

     Her head is nestled just beneath his jaw, while his hands gently trace figures along her bare back. It is now that she finds herself discovering new things about Bradley Bradshaw. Like, the very thin sheen of freckles across his chest, that she never paid attention to in childhood and has certainly never seen since. Or, the way the rise and fall of his chest stills, almost like death, when he's deep in a troubled thought. She finds herself breathing steadily on purpose, so that he will match her rhythm.

     Celeste carefully observes scattering of scars across the side of his face, that extend further down to his neck. He has had them for many years now, but has never been able to ask about them. She gently brushes her fingertip over the long scar on his throat.

     "When did you get this?" she asks quietly, voice tinged with concern.

     "Shrapnel. It was a long time ago, on a mission. Don't worry about it."

     Her fingertips draw shapes on his chest; a meandering river down his sternum. Bradley kisses the crown of her head, atop of her curls surrounding her head on the pillow like a halo. Celeste lifts her chin up to look at him. Continuing their game of scar-spotting, he brushes his thumb along the small one hidden underneath her eyebrow. "I know where this one came from, though," he says, grinning.

     "Yeah, and whose fault was it that I ran smack into the corner of a wall?" she asks pointedly, remembering the game of tag gone awry when they were kids.

     "Uh... it was your fault, actually."

     "My fault?"

     "Who doesn't see a literal wall in front of them?"

     They chuckle softly, Celeste feeling Bradley's shoulder shake underneath her cheek. She rolls back so her head falls on the pillow, looking right at each other. He blinks innocently at the lingering smile on her face. "... What?" he asks.

     "It's just... we're finally here," she says.

     The corners of his lips quirking a little, Bradley echoes: "Finally?"

     "Mhmm. Finally."

     With the arm still underneath her, Bradley pulls her body into his again, sighing into a long kiss. Celeste's eyelids cling together when their lips part — but when she finally looks at him, she notices the pooling doubt in his expression. "Alright," she hums, "what's going on in that head of yours?"

     He hesitates at first. Then, grimacing slightly, he says, "It's just... tomorrow..."

     "I know," Celeste says, falling back onto the pillow again. Her fingers anxiously rub the skin on her collarbone at the thought of it. With every minute that passes, she knows they get nearer to the time when she'll have to get up and leave. They both will... and who knows what happens after that? Turning her head, she asks him: "How are you feeling about the mission? And be honest. I know you were pretty surprised to hear the news about Maverick."

     "I mean, it's not surprising, I guess... he's Maverick, after all." Bradley swallows thickly, staring up at the ceiling. "I guess it's just easier to be angry at him, than to– than to actually stop for a minute and think about the bigger picture. When he pulled my papers, I was just so confused. He'd encouraged me so much when I was a kid, inspired me, even when Mom was more paranoid about me going into the navy, and then he did that. I've just never known how to forgive him for that."

     "Maybe he doesn't know how to forgive himself, either," says Celeste.

He nods in reluctant agreement, sighing. "You were right. I can't hate Mav forever, and I really, really don't want to."

"Then don't. Holding onto that forever will be the death of you."

Bradley raises an eyebrow at her, with an amused scepticism; like this advice is strange coming from her. "Speaking of holding onto things—"

"Nope, you're deflecting again—"

"How do you feel about your NASA application still? You've seemed... different, the last few days."

He must be psychic, Celeste thinks. But clearly not psychic enough. Because when she just smiles, shaking her head softly, his brows shoot up in surprise. "I'm think I'm gonna let it go," she says.

"Wait– seriously? Are you sure?"

With a sigh, she rolls onto her front, propped on her elbows so she can observe Bradley properly and look at his face. Her hands resting clasped on his chest, Celeste stares out of his open window for a moment — the stars are bright tonight, moonlight pouring straight into his room in a milky beam. All she can feel is peace.

"I'm sure," she says. "And there's not really much to explain, except... I'm done clinging onto the past, just to pick apart every little thing I did wrong or missed out on. All I wanna do is look to the future. Because when I do, I feel free."

Bradley smiles at her, almost proudly, reaching across to hold her hand. She sees a bit of future in him, too.

"But until then, we have to get the immediate future out of the way," Celeste reminds him, steering their attention back to the mission tomorrow. She squeezes his hand affectionately. "I can stay for a little while longer, you know."

Without asking for more, she crawls back up into his embrace, nestling into the shape of his body which she fits so perfectly with. No more questions asked, nothing else to expect. All they want to do is hold each other for as long as possible, making up for lost time... and then the sun will rise. Just not quite yet.

☆.｡.:*　　.｡.:*☆

AUTHOR'S NOTE

BRADLESTE NATION, HOW ARE WE FEELING?? ❤️❤️❤️

you got a confession, a kiss (plural) and maybe a little something more... *wink wonk*

you have no idea how long this chapter took me to write. this is basically my first love confession scene i've written — or at least, the first one in a LONG time, probably quite a few years with some older/deleted fics of mine — so i was being sooo perfectionistic about this chapter. there have been so many versions of how the confession/kiss/aftermath went down, but i finally settled for this. the build-up in the first half felt kind of "meh" to me, but screw it, because CELESTE & BRADLEY ARE TOGETHER, WEEEEE

only three chapters left, can you believe it? the next two chapters cover the mission at last, so buckle in, because it's gonna have lots of action! (also they should be a lot easier to write on my part, apart from the technical terms, but i think i've got them down now). as for the ending chapter... i don't actually know *exactly* what the ending is, but i'm sure i'll know when i get there 😂

──

published: august 16th, 2023