ill be here when you land ~ rooster x reader

cant get distracted

0500

San Diego, CA

After waking up, I'm immediately glad that I am not hungover. My joy is brought to an end as soon as I remember the fact that I had spent my night flirting with a pilot who I was now going to be partially in charge of for the unforeseeable future. Now that I think of it, a hangover doesn't sound too bad.

My reporting time is early. Flight doesn't commence until 0700, when the sun won't cause any visibility issues for the pilots. I have around an hour and a half once I get there to discuss the mission with the Admirals and instructing staff before the pilots arrive. I live ten minutes from the base, but because I'm not on post, and the Marine uniform policy is wildly different from the rest of the branches, for whatever reason, I have to wear civilian clothes until I get there. I do my hair in the standard slick low bun, put on a bit of makeup, get dressed, and grab my uniform. I figure I can get food on the way there, so I don't make myself anything. Not like there's anything in the fridge for me to make anyway. I get my briefcase and ID, and I'm out the door.

As I'm driving, I'm getting increasingly nervous. I feel a lump forming in my throat, and my stomach is churning. I have never had a post like this before, nevertheless a managed a mission. They'd only pick me if I was qualified, right? I have every capability of doing this. Can't get distracted.

Can't get distracted.

0520

MCAS Miramar

San Diego, CA

Usually, Top Gun is held in Nevada. Not for missions. MCAS Miramar, now a Marine base, is used for mission prep for easier access to carriers. I thought this would spare me from dealing with the regular Navy bullshit, but unfortunately, this mission called for Navy pilots.

I got on base with no problem. A quick flash of the ID, a salute from security, and I was in. I'd stopped for coffee and a sandwich at a Dunkin nearby, so I was basically ready to go for the day. I get into the main building, separate from the hangars, and realize I have no idea where the locker room is. I scope my surroundings, seeing if there's anyone I can ask. I quickly realize that since my reporting time is early, I am most likely one of the first people there. I end up wandering the halls of the building, reading plaques on the walls, names and picture of distinguished pilots who had flown there in years gone by. I keep looking around for any sign of a locker room. Geez, this place is like a maze-

"Captain." I hear a voice exclaim behind me.

For fuck's sake.

I turn around, hoping it wasn't who I thought it was. Naturally, it was exactly who I thought it was. I look him up and down. He had clearly been on a run, his skin was flushed, his hair was sweaty, and, oh my God. His shirt was stuck to his torso. Even from just a glance, I could make out every muscle under his shirt. I quickly look back up at him, before I made it too obvious that I was staring.

I can't get distracted.

"Lieutenant Bradshaw. Good morning." I greet, trying to remain composed.

"Funny seeing you here so early." He said, same smirk on his face as he had the night before.

"You shouldn't be so surprised. I'm meant to report here before you are." I respond.

"And yet, you're not in uniform. That can't be regulation."

I'm shocked he'd keep the same attitude with me, knowing I'm one of his supervisors. "Watch your tone, Lieutenant. Getting smart with me will get you in trouble."

He straightens up his posture, just for a moment. "Yes ma'am." He says, smiling.

"I'll see you at the briefing, Lieutenant." I remarked. I turn around and begin to walk away.

"Captain L/N."

I turn around, making it clear that I was pissed off. "Bradshaw, watch your next words carefully. I don't want to write you up before the mission starts for failure to respect a supervisor."

"I was just going to show you where the locker room was, ma'am."

I'm slightly stunned, and glance behind me for a brief moment, before looking back at him. His thumb is pointed the opposite direction, and I realize I have no choice but to follow him. I sigh. "Proceed."

I trail behind him to the locker rooms. We both stay silent. The tension could be cut with a knife. I feel like I should apologize for last night. I mean, it's not like my orders had pictures. I had no way of knowing he'd be on my mission. My shutting him down was appropriate, I need to keep this a professional relationship. I can't get distracted.

"Here we are." Bradshaw says, as we get to the doors to the locker rooms. He goes to open the door for me.

"I can get that myself." I say.

"What's with the hostility? Is this because of last night? I thought we called it eve-"

"Please just let me get changed." I snap.

His face goes from smug to confused. "Alright, if you don't want to talk about it."

"I don't. I will see you in a few hours, Lieutenant." I say, closing the door.

I lean against the closed door. I take a deep breath. Everything in my heart is telling me to go back and apologize, telling me to talk to him. I didn't want to shut him down like that.

I push my feelings down. I have to listen to my head, not my heart.

After changing into my service uniform, I lock my bags into a locker, put a lock on it, grab my briefcase, and leave. I, thankfully, know where the office I'm called to report at is, and am not aimlessly wandering the halls of an unfamiliar base, as I was earlier. As I approach the room, I feel the lump form in my throat again.

Breathe Y/N, Breathe.

I take a moment to compose myself, and open the door.

"Good morning Admiral Bates, Admiral Simpson."

"Good morning Captain L/N." Simpson says. He looks down at the files in front of him.

"Let's talk about what you found."