FLYBY (b. bradshaw)

𝙏𝙒𝙀𝙉𝙏𝙔-𝙀𝙄𝙂𝙃𝙏

The admiral's called me to their office the moment the ship departed. Maverick was on my heels, muttering to himself. I didn't bother to try understanding what he was saying, it was all gibberish.

We reached the door. Mav and I gave each other a quick glance.

"Rock, paper, scissors?" Mav questioned, making a fist and putting in on his flat palm.

"Deal." I said, mimicking his movement.

"Rock, paper, scissors, shoot." we said in unison, the smacking of our hands against our palms filling the empty hallway. Mav held a flat hand, paper. My hand was in a fist, rock.

"Shit."

I knocked once, twice.

"Come in." Simpson's deep voice called from inside. Mav opened the door for me, letting me enter first. "Ah, if it isn't my two least favorite pilot's."

"Excuse me, sir-" I tried to start but he cut me off with a quick glare.

He laid a stack of paper's back onto the desk. "As much as I would love to waste our very valuable time on whatever shit's about to come out of your mouth, Hurricane, we have more important matters to intend to, maybe like the mission that launches in less than 32 hours?"

"Ah, yes, that," I said, plopping into one of the crappy chairs he had in his makeshift office. Mav did the same, crossing his legs and pretending to look interested.

"I understand you both have a personal relationship with a certain pilot aboard, one like a father-figure, the other romantically." Warlock's voice came out of nowhere. I almost jumped out of my seat.

"Where the fuck did you come from?" I basically shrieked, holding my chest. "It's like Simpson pulled you out of his ass."

"Captain," Cyclone growled, giving me a warning. "I will not hesitate to turn this ship around and drop your ass back on the mainland."

I flicked a piece of sand from my nail, my mind flashing back to the night before's activities. "Don't be silly, Admiral, you need me."

"We have Maverick." Warlock said, tipping his head to the half-asleep pilot beside me. "And the countries best on this carrier as well. You'll remember who the boss is, from now on."

"Yes, sir," I saluted, strike three. Cyclone got up from his seat, ready to reach over the desk and strangle me. I continued, as Warlock placed a firm hand on his fellow admiral's shoulder, pushing him down, "My personal relationship with Lieutenant Bradshaw, callsign, Rooster, doesn't concern you or this mission."

Cyclone raised his eyebrow, slightly surprised. "Really, Captain Kazansky? You aren't compelled, even the slightest, to keep him here safely, away from danger?"

I did, but I wasn't about to let that asshole know that. My intention, and it being my only intention was to ground Brad's ass and face the consequence's later.

"No," I lied, shrugging. "He's a great pilot, a pilot that I just so happen to be close to, work an pleasure do not mix, not when lives are on the line."

Warlock looked pleased at my answer, feeding right into my dogshit. Cyclone, on the other hand, wasn't having it. Neither was Maverick, his eyebrow scrunched so violently, they were almost touching each other.

Cyclone waved his hand up in the air, "So if I were to order you to put Rooster on this mission, you wouldn't object, wouldn't fight, said order?"

"No," I bluffed again, willing my voice not to tremble. "If you believe Rooster is the pilot for the job, then I would walk out of here with my final decision's as to who was going to fly on this mission."