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bovaria · 3 months ago

Text

Pain & Joy

pairing: bradley "rooster" bradshaw x f!reader, no physical descriptions, no use of y/n, just petnames

synopsis: Holidays can bring up ghosts that we forget are haunting us.

warnings: 18+, pregnancy, tears, loss of parent/mother, a sad bradley bradshaw (this is absolutely a warning okay? but he is loved, don't worry)- I think that is it but please let me know if I need to tag anything else!

I do not consent to my work be posted elsewhere or translated but please reblog, comment, and like to your hearts content!

word count: 3.3 k

Hello Friends! This my first fic I am sharing (yay!) so please be kind but offer constructive advice- I would so appreciate it! I do not have a beta reader so forgive any mistakes. Anyway, the weekend before Mothers Day is so heavy for so many for so many reasons- I thought of Bradley and was inspired to write. I love you all and are sending you all of the kindness! <3

Zach Bryan's "Sweet DeAnn" is central to the story so I would suggest giving it a listen before you read!

The weather was awful today- Bradley had felt it in his bones when while his jet was loaded into the catapult. He knew it was going to be a rainy, stormy ride as he practiced dogfighting over the California desert. His neck tightened with each jerk of the stick, feeling tension build as he forced himself to not think and let instinct take over his mind. Visibility worsened by the hour. Hangman became snarkier by the minute. Rooster grew more unnerved with every passing second. When Mav grounded everyone, relief fled through his body as he made the turn back towards Fightertown.

As the wheels touched down and Mav started assigning ground duties, Bradley couldn’t shake this feeling that he just needed to be home, in soft clothes, not in a flight suit or in a ridged metal seat. He is a good solider and would never leave the rest of his crew to do his job. When Hangman grows as he stands after crouching by his engine for all of fifteen minutes, Rooster’s back tenses, bracing for whatever excuse will pour out.

“Hey, Mav, not that I am trying to get out of maintenance runs, but I do have a flight home to Texas later this evening,” Jake’s southern drawl deepens as he gets to his point through a flashed smile, “and I would not want to disappoint my niece by showing up late to her dance recital without flowers in my arm.” Well the man does live up to his name.

Phoenix and Bob share a look before rolling their eyes but Bradley is just too exhausted to even throw a half-hearted look his way. He just simply wants to go home and watching Jake Seresin walk out early emphasizes that. The tension in his neck is blooming into a full on migraine- it’s just a maintenance run and then he’s home. That is what he focuses on for the next hour and half until Mav finally sends them all packing for the weekend.

The next thing Rooster remembers is walking up the stairs to the house with his keys in hand to unlock the door. The smell of supper hits him as he steps in, carefully removing his boots. The air is warm, the soft light welcoming, the quiet music curling around his heart and he is more grateful than normal to be home.

“Honey, is that you?” his wife calls from the kitchen. He tries to answer but it feels too heavy in his throat. Soft clothes, her. I’ll feel better once I have both, he tells himself as he rounds the corner to find her stirring the sides on the stove. He slots himself in behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist, letting his frame rest on her. She readjusts her stance to support the weight of his body. “Rough day?”

“It was just long. Bad Weather. Tight flying. Tension headache. And Jake Seresin,” he groans into her shoulder, hiding his eyes from the heat of lima beans floating up into the air.

“Go put on your pajamas from Christmas and I’ll come rub your neck before we eat, hmm?” She shoves him in the direction of their bedroom, tangling her finger tips with his. He discards his uniform and his dirty flight suit in the utility room as the song changes to a familiar tune. The soft flannel smooths over his inflamed skin from a much too hot shower on post. He lets out a sigh as he grabs the jar of lavender beef tallow that his girl says solves everything.

“Do you only listen to Zach Bryan while I am at work?”

“He motivates me. You wouldn’t have baked spaghetti tonight if it wasn’t for him. I wouldn’t be complaining,” she winks towards him as she settles him between her legs on the couch.

Her warm fingers dance along his neck as she lets the cream melt on his skin before she starts to work out the knots.

“Oh darling, you just don’t know how good that feels,” he almost moans as her knuckles dig into his taut muscles. This everything he had dreamed off all day. His girl, soft pjs, a hot meal coming soon, and a warm house. She spends almost half an hour meticulously rubbing each tension point and whispering sweet nothings to him. He almost feels a tear shed as she goes to fetch supper as they had silently agreed that it would be an eat on the couch night. The heaviness in his heart isn’t fading as fast as he thought it would, but he hasn’t eaten yet either so he shoves off the thought as a biological need.

Rooster is running his fingers through the hair of his personal angel as she nearly drifts to sleep curled up next to him with her head on his chest. Their couch is honestly too small for these antics these days but she cannot give up the position she claimed just a few weeks into their relationship. She’d been called to North Island because he had injured himself and found an exhausted, bloodied Bradley laying passed out in a hospital bed. She climbed up there with him and slept for another eight hours until he woke. After that, it was just tradition.

To think about how long ago that was is somewhat incomprehensible to the pilot now. She has been the cornerstone of his life for so long, he can barely remember life before her. Some things are ingrained in his memory, however. Glimpses of his parents fill the happy moments but much of what he remembers is the pain that life hands to you. He used to pack it away- now he tries to analyze it carefully so he can keep it far away from his daughter. His rough hand rests on his wife’s growing belly- if only his little girl would kick right now. The heaviness in his body is still present despite his whole world being perfect at the moment. Sleep will let me shake this.

When he comes to, Rooster sees the clock on the mantel is blinking 1:00 am. Zach Bryan is still playing softly and his wife is still fast asleep next to him. He treats her like crystal as he slides carefully out of her grasp to make his way to the kitchen for something, anything, to get rid of the vice-like tension throughout his whole body. He doesn’t want to have to go to sick call over a general complaint of feeling awful- Hangman and Coyote would never let him live it down- but something had to give. Sunday was his beautiful wife’s first Mother’s Day and he wanted her to be cared for like she deserved. She was growing his baby while still loving him and he didn’t have enough ways to show her how much gratefulness he has in his heart.

He’s shuffling through the cabinet where his angel keeps all the remedies she offers him to keep him up and running, from NyQuil to homegrown herbs, when the lyrics stop him dead in his tracks.

I’d be calling you right about now Tell you stories of a pretty fine gal Remind you of the things that your boy's into How he looks and he acts and he talks like you

He wants to pick up the phone and call his mom. Ask her what she did when he was restless like this as a child. Tell her about how he’s learning about how to be a girl dad so he can be the very best.

This world's not meant for showin' mercy I got pictures of us that hurt me 'Cause I'm squeezin' you and you're smilin' through That flash up on the wall

He glances up the wall to see the picture of infant him in his dad’s arm with his mother hugging them both on a tarmac in Florida after her graduated from flight school. The first tears start to run down his face as he thinks about how he had always planned to recreate that photo for his mom when he graduated, but she had been stolen from him too.

His heart clinches and the top of his shirt sticks to his skin as the song plays through the quiet house. He always misses his parents. It’s become a permanent fixture in his life, but tonight? Standing alone in the kitchen, the loss of his mother is front and center, crushing the air out of his lungs like 10 G climb.

Then I think about the moments It's a shame you'll have to miss My wife and I's first kiss And your baby raisin' kids

His wife stirs on the couch, pulled from her slumber by a muffled wail from her kitchen. Cold from where Bradley isn’t laying next to her, she wanders through the house to find him. As she turns the corner to the kitchen, the sight of her husband curled up in tears on the floor breaks her heart in two.

“Oh Honey,” she breathes as she kneels next to him on the floor. Her arms wrap around him and she pulls his head to her chest, humming softly to calm his nerves. His skin is flush against hers, hands shaking as they grasp at hers. The last lines of the song float through the air and she realizes what happened. “Sweet DeAnn,” she whispers as she presses soft kisses to his hairline. His tears are soaking her t-shirt- she can feel the sorrow washing over him like waves as he shivers in her arms. She squeezes her eyes shut as she tries to offer him enough peace to get through.

The thing about love is pain comes along with it. His pain is hers, she feels it in her chest. The weight of not being able to fix it accompanies the pain, as if she was drug down to the bottom of the ocean. His grip on her tightens as new tears wash over him, afraid he will wake up to find out that her, that his daughter, are all just figments of a grief strained mind. As her fingers card through his damp hair, he considers if this is how it will end for his own unborn child: crying in the kitchen over the loss of her dad who couldn’t learn from what hurt him.

Suddenly, he wrenches back from his wife’s embrace, frantically wiping away the streams on his cheeks. “Sorry, angel,” he chokes out, “I didn’t mean to wake you. Go back to bed so y’all can sleep.” He musters the smallest, tight lipped smile, holding back a new round of tears.

She stares at him for a moment in disbelief as she tries to process the sharp change in behavior. He is distancing himself from her, closing up on himself. The Navy told her about this in the spousal support classes she had been taking- tears, vulnerability, pain, was consider weaknesses and sailors don’t want to be weak. They don’t want to burden their families with their own fears and sorrow.

“Honey, there is no need to apologize. This is what it means to be loved by someone.” She speaks softly, with gentleness lacing her every word. Her arms reach out in the dark to pull him back in to her chest but he evades her carefully.

“Just go to bed. I love you both.”

“Bradley,” she says with caution, placing her hand on his thigh, desperately trying to comfort him, “Just let me hold you for a while longer.”

“No. You need to sleep.” He bites.

“We’re a team. You’re awake. I’m awake.” There is a beat of silence as he struggles to find his words.

“I don’t even know why I’m crying except that dumb song and there is no man who should have his pregnant wife on the floor at all hours of the morning,” he whispers, a tremble in his words. The house is near silent now, the music almost tuned out of both their minds. She doesn’t dare to move her hand any further. As each of them waits for the other to move, her own tears roll silently down her face. She has never seen him this distraught and all she wants to do it hold him and make the pain go away.

She is the first one to move. She pushes herself back until her shoulders meet the cabinets, her hand leaving his thigh. She rolls up her shirt to expose her stomach to the cold air. “Come tell your best girl about it, Daddy,” she whispers as she reaches out for his hand. His lip quivers as he looks toward her. His heartbeat is loud in his ears. This feels wrong to a naval aviator- to be vulnerable for such a long period- but talking to his daughter has become his favorite pastime. He caves after a few minutes, settling his head in her lap where his little girl could hear him. His wife ran her hand carefully through his hair, keeping the other firmly planted against his chest to feel his beating heart.

“Hi baby,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to where her head was at her last ultrasound. “I’m sorry to wake you. I know you and mama need sleep. You’re both doing such big things right now.” He pauses as he rests his forehead against her stomach. “I always wonder who you are going to be. What your eyes will look like, how your laugh will sound, whose personality you will inherit. Let’s just hope it’s not Uncle Jake’s- I don’t know if I could handle both of you.”

His wife laughs lightly above him. Rooster and Hangman may not see eye to eye on many things, but one thing is clear: Jake Seresin will never leave you hanging when it counts the most. Rooster stood terrified before he climbed in his jet for the first time since he saw those two little pink lines and it was Jake that told him: “I’ll always protect you for your family.”

“I’ve been thinking about your mama so much more this week. Because of you, sweet girl,” his voice catches as he tries to continue, “this is her first Mother’s Day and I want it to be perfect for her. I’ve been so tired today. I thought coming home to you two would make it all wash away so I could focus on my girls. But here I am laid out on the floor with no energy.” Falling to whisper, “I don’t even know if I remember how to celebrate Mother’s Day. It has been so long since your Nana was alive.” His tears cloud his voice, his body involuntarily curling in closer. “She would have loved to meet you both, my Bradshaw girls.”

Tears are streaming down her cheeks, running into his hair as she begs herself to stay quiet and give him the moment he needs with his daughter. She should have known- the tension that was building in his body all week was his body remembering something his brain wouldn’t allow him to dwell on yet. The weight he couldn’t shake wasn’t an illness- it was grief. Whilst it may be her first Mother’s Day, it was his first one where he had to celebrate someone else. His first that he was not a child, but a father. And there would never be one that he was both.

Life marches forward, regardless of whether we are ready for it or not. Pain and joy are often commingled together like a knot that can never be undone. The joy of celebrating this new season was juxtaposed by the pain of loss. Hearing Sweet DeAnn triggered memories in his bones that he hadn’t even considered yet. He had no mother to call and ask what she would have wanted for Mother’s Day when she was pregnant with him. He felt as if he was flying blind into a storm, searching for home.

“Truth be told, baby, I don’t know if I can do this without her. I don’t know how to take care of your mama or how I’ll do at being your daddy,” Bradley whispers to his daughter, but his wife overhears, her fingers tightening slightly in his hair, a tear splashing onto his temple. He turns to glance up at her splotchy face and his heart seizes at seeing her in pain because of him.

“Bradley Bradshaw, you are the very best daddy in the world. You take phenomenal care of me, always have and always will,” she coos, trying to wipe the heat away from his cheeks. “I couldn’t think of a more honorable and loving man to be my husband and the father of my babygirl.” Her eyes are glossy but they are rich in sincerity. They are silent for a while, focusing their attention on each other until she pulls him up and leads him to the new vintage clawfoot tub he installed for her two weekends ago. She had been complaining about how in a week or so, their old tub wouldn’t be deep enough to cover her belly so he took it upon himself (and voluntold the Daggers that they would be assisting) to get her the tub of her dreams.

Under dim light and reeling thoughts, he doesn’t realize that she had filled the tub, nor that she had pulled him out of his damp pajamas until her hand is guiding him to sink down in between her legs.

“It’s two am, angel. You and the baby need to sleep,” he protested lightly as she pulled him near to her chest.

“No, we are exactly where we are supposed to be,” she whispers, pressing a kiss to his neck, “Please tell us about Nana, Daddy. Your girls want to know about the woman that raised you.”

With a deep sigh, Bradley begins to talk about his mother, his father, what their life was like after they lost him, everything she had ever taught him. With each memory, each laugh, each tear, the tension he has been suffering under begins to release from his muscles. His wife draws circles on his thighs as she listens intently and never once chastises him. Each passing moment brings a bit more relief as he tells his girls about his mother until sleep takes over his body, his head tucking gently in the crook of his wife’s neck where he sought solace nearly 10 hours ago when he first walked in the door.

On Sunday morning, as he brings breakfast in bed with flowers to his own Mrs. Bradshaw, he feels more settled- as if he can learn to balance this new season with the grief of what is no longer. As she eats her pancakes, she presses a small, wrapped book into Bradley’s hands.

“It’s not my day for presents, angel.”

“I was going to wait until Father’s Day but I think you need this now. I found it in the storage container a few weeks ago while looking for your baby pictures for the nursery” she smiles. His hands begin to shake as he carefully tears back to the paper to reveal an old journal. On the front he recognizes his mother’s handwriting, instantly tears springing to his eyes as he reads:

For my baby, when he has a baby.

Authors Note:

Thank you for reading! I hope you liked it! Gosh the way he breaks my heart and i just want him to be happy. Please direct any advice or notes or requets to the ask box!

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