Nobody was ever worried about the two of you getting too close.

From the first day of training, you and Hangman moved against each other like opposing currents. He thought you were uptight, too disciplined, too careful to ever trust instinct over protocol. You thought he was exactly the kind of pilot people wrote memorial speeches for.

Every conversation turned into a challenge, every challenge turned into a competition.

He’d lean back in his chair during briefings with that infuriating smirk while you sat forward taking notes. He called you ma’am just to get under your skin. You snapped at him for showboating in the air; he accused you of flying scared.

And still, somehow, he was always there.

At the Hard Deck across from you with beer bottles sweating rings into the wood table, walking beside you after training flights, throwing smug glances your way before takeoff like he was waiting for you to roll your eyes at him again.

It became familiar before either of you realized it.

Then the mission came.

When Maverick and Rooster disappeared behind enemy lines, the carrier changed. The noise died. The atmosphere turned tight and quiet and wrong.

You stood near the edge of the tarmac staring out at open water, headset hanging around your neck, trying not to think about what burning wreckage looked like from thirty thousand feet.

Then came the radio chatter.

An incoming aircraft.

Enemy fighters behind them.

The carrier erupted the second the wheels hit deck, after Jake’s quick interception. Relief crashing through everyone all at once. Applause, shouting, laughter breaking loose after hours of tension.

But your focus narrowed to one person.

Hangman climbed down from the cockpit ladder slower than usual, helmet tucked under his arm. Wind pushed through his hair as he scanned the crowd instinctively until his eyes found yours.

And stopped.

For once, he didn’t smile immediately.

You crossed the tarmac before really deciding to. Boots hitting metal hard enough to echo beneath the noise around you. He met you halfway, still catching his breath, adrenaline visibly lingering beneath his skin.

“You good?” you asked quietly.

It was probably the first genuinely gentle thing you’d ever said to him.

Something in his expression shifted at that.

“Yeah,” he answered after a second. “Yeah, sweetheart. I’m here.”

You looked at him for another moment like you were making sure of it.

Then your hand caught briefly against the sleeve of his flight suit before either of you could think better of it.

Jake glanced down at where you touched him.

Then back at you.

And for the first time since meeting him, neither of you had anything smart to say.