MOON @buckvoidsyy - Tumblr Blog

Nov 2, 2025

Roostering It (Part 2)

Part 1

Bob Floyd x Reader

Summary: After years of friendship, you finally decide it’s now or never to confess your feelings to Bob—only to have him appear at the Hard Deck, hand-in-hand with someone else.

Roost•er (ˈrüs-tər) verb: to wait too long to act and miss one’s opportunity; to hesitate at a critical moment

a/n: I also hurt my own feelings writing this.

warnings: panic attack, AGNST, like… so much angst, feelings of low self worth, spiraling thoughts, self doubt, Bob x oc in bed (not graphic but implied), like… one or two uses of Y/N - IM SORRY, everything is FINE, Bob kinda sucks in this one but like not on purpose, also why do I like low key love Hangman in this? IDK probably more warnings so read at your own risk.

___________________

Time didn’t slow down, logically you knew this, but right now it sure as hell felt like it did. It took your brain a moment to process and when it did your body flashed hot and then ice cold, your legs turning numb the way they did when you experienced an adrenaline rush. Your heart pounded against your chest and you were sure that you could hear your blood rushing through your veins.

Bob seemed to be unaware of your internal breakdown and he continued smiling at you with that adoring grin. The one you had mistakenly thought was directed towards you.

“She’s coming here tonight and I wanted you and the crew to meet her,” he glanced at his phone again with a smile. “She should be here in like 5 minutes, you’re going to absolutely love her.”

You followed him as if in a trance as he walked back to the pool table, your drink abandoned on the bar as he continued telling you about her. He stopped abruptly almost causing you to run into him and his hand reached out to steady you.

“Whoa, you ok?”

It was as if someone else was controlling your body as you nodded your head, giving him a weak smile and looking past him so as to not meet his eyes.

“Sorry, you said you had something to tell me too…” he trailed off expectantly, looking for you to fill him in.

You gave your head a small shake, forcing the haze from your mind. All those feelings you’d foolishly let yourself nurture were shoved back into a box, locked tight, so you could at least pretend to be normal.

“Nothing,” you croaked and cleared your throat. “It’s nothing, don’t worry about it. I’m excited to meet her, Bob, what’s her name?”

The words were ash on your tongue but you pushed through. This was your own damn fault. Of course someone out there would also see what a catch your best friend was. Of course they would fall in love with his kind soul, sarcastic personality, and sharp wit.

You had waited too long, been too scared to mess everything up, and now it was too late.

“Who’s name?” Phoenix pipped up from her hightop table next to you.

“Bob’s new girl!” Your attempt at excitement was passable, but Phoenix’s keen eyes shot to you and yours glanced away, not able to meet them.

You had to do this, you had to be the good best friend, Bob could never know.

“Bob has a girlfriend?” Hangman blurted, his surprise loud enough to draw a few looks.

“Easy there big guy, don’t need to announce it to the whole bar,” you tried to joke.

“So he finally made his move huh,” your blood turned to ice as his gaze darted between you and Bob, the assumption clear. You shook your head ever so slightly, begging him not to push it.

“Yeah,” you forced out a laugh before Bob could respond, chest tightening. “She’s swinging by to meet us all soon, so be on your best behavior, Seresin.”

You wagged a finger at him in mock warning, even as the ache in your chest deepened. The moment Jake realized what you meant, pity flickered across his face, and heat rushed to your cheeks when his gaze caught yours.

Unable to bear the look, you quickly turned back to Bob.

“Can’t wait to meet her, dude. Brave of you to bring her to meet these idiots though.”

Bob laughed and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Yeah, well I wanted to make sure she gets along with the team before things got too serious.”

You knew realistically that hearts couldn’t actually break, but you could have sworn you felt yours cleaving in two at the genuinely happy smile on his face. The rest of the squad was pelting him with questions and although you didn’t want to know, you couldn’t help but listen, torturing yourself even further.

How long had they been dating? What was her name? Where did they meet? The questions didn’t stop coming and you listened in horrible fascination as he answered each one.

A month, but just made it official last week. Leah. At a coffee place right around the corner from your townhome.

The following half hour played out like a fever dream, a chorus of cheers going up from the squad when she strolled up to the table and placed a kiss on Bob’s cheek, causing him to flush red at the attention. You weren’t entirely sure what you said when she shook your hand with a genuine smile on her face, but it mustn’t have been anything out of the ordinary based on her genuinely nice reaction. You watched as she met the team, easily joining into the conversation like she was meant to be there.

You waited until everyone was distracted grilling them both, wanting to know every detail, before slipping quietly out the door.

The moment your feet hit the deck the pressure inside you threatened to burst. Your chest clenched, tears stung your eyes, and your breath came in short panicked gasps as you gripped the railing for support.

It felt like drowning, like an elephant pressing down on your ribs, every inhale a losing battle.

You spiraled, thoughts clawing at you, cruel and unrelenting.

Weak.

A coward.

If you had told him sooner it could have been different.

Worthless.

Even if you had told him, why would he want you?

Desperate.

Disappointing.

Pathetic.

Your vision started to go black around the edges as your body was deprived of oxygen when a pair of arms encircled you, pulling you into a muscled chest and grounding you in reality.

“Whoa, whoa, just breath Fury, deep breaths,” Jake fucking Seresin of all people held you as you fell apart.

You sucked in a ragged breath, barely any of it making its way to your lungs and wrenched yourself away from him, not wanting any of your team members to see you like this.

“I’m,” you rasped out, attempting another breath but getting nothing, your lungs burning, “fine.”

“Sure you are,” the sarcasm in his voice was overshadowed by the concern. “Hey look at me, okay?”

If you had been in a better mental state you would have balked at the soft concern in his voice.

“Just try breathing with me, alright? Inhale 4 seconds, hold 7, exhale 4, easy as breath-” he cut himself off, “easy as pie”. Come on, inhale,” you tried desperately to pull air into your lungs but it stuttered and you let it out with a harsh whoosh, your chest tightening even more.

“You got it,” his palm rested over your sternum, “inhale,” he started counting and you tried again, getting in a little more air this time.

You weren’t sure how long it took for your breathing to even out, but by the time it did you were emotionally and physically drained. You angrily scrubbed the tears that had fallen during your panic attack from your face and wiped your nose on the sleeve of your jacket.

Embarrassment set in quickly as Jake continued to soothe you, stroking up and down your arm to help you relax. You took a step away from him, hugging your arms to your chest.

“Sorry,” you croaked. “Thanks…thank you for helping with that.”

You could feel the heat from your cheeks as you evaded eye contact. You could practically hear the taunting now, the harsh remarks about why you weren’t cut out for a cockpit. Instead he just shrugged and shoved his hands into his pockets.

“I may have some,” he held his fingers up to gesture to a small amount, “ experience with panic attacks myself.”

At that your gaze snapped to his, waiting for the other shoe to drop but all you saw was raw honesty. You dropped your arms from around yourself, forcing your shoulders back and your head up as you grasped for some semblance of self control.

“Well like I said, thanks. I understand if you feel obligated to report this to command, but I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone on the squad.”

He sighed and shook his head.

“You really do think the worst of me don’t you? Look, I may come off as an asshole pilot that’s the best in the game, because I am, but I’m not an asshole about stuff like this. Your secret is safe with me.”

You sighed and nodded in thanks.

“As is your undeniable love for sweet Baby on Board,” you swung around and landed a hard punch to his bicep.

“Fuck off! That’s not…that wasn’t why…” you trailed off as your cheeks flared again and he let out a warm laugh.

“Oh come on, man. He is literally the only one who doesn’t know!”

You forced your face into neutrality though your stomach dropped at the fact that apparently everyone else had seen it. That you had been so embarrassingly obvious.

You glanced back towards the bar.

“Not like it matters now.”

Jake sighed and leaned his forearms against the railing, looking out at the Pacific.

“You Roostered It, waited too long to take your shot,” you let out a snort at that and hip checked him as you also leaned against the railing, letting the cooler night breeze dry the sweat that was still clinging to the back of your neck.

“You’re just happy you can use Rooster as a verb, you loser.”

He grinned at you and nodded.

“Guilty. So, what are you going to do?”

You shook your head, watching the waves crash onto the shore as the moonlight reflected off the surface of the water.

“Nothing. He’s my - he’s my best friend, so I’m going to try and be happy for him.”

“Oh come on, you sure you don’t want to march in there and just plant one on him?”

Part of you was tempted.

“Did you see how happy he looked? He was so excited to introduce her to us. I can’t stand in the way of that.” “You’re a better man than me then,” you punched him on the arm again.

“Also not a man, asshat,” Jake laughed and put his arm around you, pulling you close to him and giving you a noogie which you swatted away.

“For what it’s worth, and I’m saying this totally as a friend and NOT in a flirty way, he doesn’t know what he’s missing.”

You smiled and shook your head at him, a gentle understanding and camaraderie forming between the two most unlikely of teammates.

Neither of you noticed the spectator just inside the deck doors.

Bob’s gaze fell on Jake’s arm around you, the easy smiles you shared, and a sudden, unfamiliar weight pressed on his chest. His stomach knotted, his heart thudding in a way that made no sense, and a strange heat rose up the back of his neck.

He couldn’t name it, didn’t understand it, but it rooted him in place, eyes fixed on you two. He finally pushed away from the door and turned back to the crowd, and to the woman waiting for him at the bar, a drink in hand and a smile on her face.

_______

As you walked into the training room the following morning your heart skipped a beat as you made eye contact with Bob, zeroing in on your usual seat behind him and Phoenix. You had successfully avoided him since the bar, locking yourself in your room and leaving early this morning to go for a run and grab breakfast before heading straight to base, forgoing the ride he usually gave you.

He turned around with a narrowed gaze and you cocked your head in response.

“So where’d you disappear to last night?”

You plopped down in your seat with a groan, massaging your head which was pounding with a post-cry migraine. You prayed that he didn’t notice the puffiness around your eyes.

“Good morning to you too, Bobby.”

You could practically feel Phoenix’s eyes burning a hole through your head which you studiously ignored, pressing down on your temples and willing the ache behind your eyes to dissipate.

“You didn’t answer my question,” your eyes snapped open at the sharpness in his tone, narrowing your gaze right back at him.

“Well sorry I didn’t realize I had to run all my movements by you, Mr. Bossman. Who pissed in your cornflakes this morning? Jesus Christ.”

Bob opened his mouth to no doubt snark something back but Phoenix beat him to it, side eyeing her back seater like he’d grown a second head.

“I think what Bob is very rudely and weirdly trying to say is that we were worried about you. You just Irish exited without saying goodbye.”

“I wasn’t feeling great,” not a lie. “I went outside to get some fresh air and figured I’d call it a night so Jake drove me home.”

Phoenix’s eyebrows flew up at that bit of information and Bob sputtered.

“Hangman drove you home?” he said, incredulous, like he still couldn’t wrap his head around the guy doing something selfless.

With the most impeccable timing the man himself walked through the door, a toothpick hanging carelessly out of one side of his mouth.

“You say that like I don’t drive pretty ladies home almost every night, Bob-o.”

Bob scoffed and you rolled your eyes at the insinuation.

“In your dreams, Seresin,” he winked at you and you gave him an unimpressed stare back.

“You sure are, sweetheart.”

“Pig,” You threw your pen at him, glaring when he caught it and shoved it behind his ear before taking a seat.

His ridiculous antics, which normally grated on your last nerve, made you chuckle and Bob’s eyes bugged out of his head at the sound. He looked between you and Hangman like he was trying to compute an impossible equation but before he could ask, Maverick stepped into the room and everyone turned their attention to him.

The briefing passed in a blur, and before long, the room had emptied out again.

“Dude, did you pay attention to anything that we just covered?”

Bob glanced up from where his gaze was trained on his empty notebook to find Phoenix staring at him. He glanced around and realized the classroom had cleared out while he was daydreaming.

“Hello?” she waved her hand in front of his face and he flushed, scrambling to shove his notebook into his bag and stand up.

“Sorry, sorry.”

Phoenix eyed him warily and shook her head.

“Are you ok? You were on a different planet during that briefing.”

Bob felt shame wash through him at the fact that he hadn’t, in fact, paid a lick of attention to Maverick for the entire 30 minutes they were there.

“Yeah, yeah, sorry. What’d I miss?” he rubbed a hand over the back of his neck avoiding Phoenix’s gaze.

“Are you sick?” Her hand came up to his forehead to check for a temperature and he swatted it away. “I’ve never seen you miss even a sentence in that room let alone an entire briefing. What gives, man?”

“I’m not sick. I just… had a lot on my mind.”

“Dude, were you daydreaming about your new girlfriend during briefing? Not cool, Bob.”

He sputtered and blushed, shaking his head in denial as he followed her out of the room.

“What? No of course not! I just…” he trailed off and Phoenix gestured for him to continue. “Do you think Fury and Hangman hooked up?”

Phoenix bit back a smile and continued walking, shrugging her shoulders.

“I don’t know. Would it matter if they did?”

Bob unclenched his jaw and shook his head.

“I suppose not,” he continued walking towards the locker rooms. “I just don’t want her to get hurt.”

It took everything in her not to roll her eyes at her oblivious backseater.

“She’s a grown ass woman, I think she can handle herself.”

“I know that. Hangman is just an asshole and I’ve seen the way he treats the women he brings home.”

“I don’t know, those girls always come out of his place in the morning looking like they won the lottery.”

Bob sputtered and gaped at her.

“Phoenix!”

She laughed and nudged his shoulder with hers.

“What? All I’m saying is that it wouldn’t be the worst thing for her to get laid! And he seems to know how to treat a lady well, if you know what I mean.”

Bob followed her into the parking lot, not liking the feeling in his stomach, exactly like the one the previous night. He didn’t bother to think too hard about why his chest felt tight at the thought of Hangman and his best friend together like that.

_______

You had given yourself 24 hours.

One full day to crash out and lose your absolute shit about the fact that Bob had a girlfriend and it wasn’t you. 24 hours to cry, yell, drink, and disassociate before you got your shit together and tried to make things go back to normal like the grown ass adult you were.

You were great at compartmentalization - you’d be fine after you shoved all your Bob-related feelings into a deep deep dark box inside you.

That night you had a date with yourself, a bottle of wine, and the newest superhero movie. You felt like a gremlin as you laid in your nest of blankets on the couch, attempting to take a sip out of a stemmed glass without spilling wine all down your front.

Bob was out with his new girlfriend and your thoughts flicked to him, regardless of your futile attempts not to. He was probably the type that would show up with flowers and hold open doors, a gentleman through and through.

You let out a groan and successfully took a sip of wine without spilling a drop, unable to focus on the television in front of you as your thoughts spiraled, running through your friendship like a twisted movie reel.

You hadn’t been waiting for him, not exactly, but somewhere deep down, you’d always assumed that Bob would be there in your life. When you pictured the future it was always you and him, side by side no matter what.

Looking back, you really couldn’t believe it had taken you so long to understand why.

His presence was a quiet certainty that had shaped your life in ways you’d never questioned, until now.

The wine left a slow warmth in your chest as you leaned back against the pillow at the arm of the couch. Beneath the haze, a sharper truth took hold: the future you’d always pictured wasn’t waiting for you anymore.

You couldn’t rely on him anymore. Not in the way you wanted to. Whatever came next had to be yours. You’d make sure of it.

And as Mr. Fantastic droned on about dimensions and spaceships, something steadier than hope flickered in your chest. Not a dream, not a wish, just… resolve. A path, still forming, that you would walk on your own.

______

The next few weeks were…hard. Hard in a way that you’d never imagined they would be with your best friend. You tried to keep things normal, truly you really did.

You still woke up at the crack of dawn to run along the beach together, carpooled to base with him, picked up his coffee order, joked with the rest of the crew in between learnings, training, and flight time. You still sassed each other over comms and teamed up to make fun of Hangman when he shrieked at the spider that crawled across his nav display.

You’d even gone to dinner with him and Leah, pretending it was easy, that it didn’t twist something in your chest to watch them side by side. You laughed when you were supposed to, matched her banter, and let the wine do the rest. You played the dutiful best friend flawlessly, while something in you splintered, slow and quiet.

The worst part? You liked Leah.

She was sweet and funny and clearly head over heels for your best friend.

She asked insightful questions, remembered small details, and made a real effort to know you. All because she knew you mattered to him.

The squad had taken to her as well, and she was able to hold her own with the best of them like she was meant to be there, carving out a space that you hadn’t realized you were holding for yourself.

It would’ve been easier if she were some sort of evil villain - self-centered, rude, dismissive. But she wasn’t. And somehow, that made it worse.

So the weeks turned into months and with each forced laugh or kiss goodbye you had to watch you could feel yourself slowly slipping away.

-----

Bob wasn’t stupid. He knew things had been weird between you since he told you about Leah.

It wasn’t obvious, probably only he noticed the changes, but they were there. He watched you laugh at Payback’s joke, your shoulders relaxing just enough to look like your normal self. You joined in the banter, tossed out the occasional playful jab, all perfectly timed, but there was a flicker in your eyes that he couldn’t place. Something nagging at him that he couldn’t put a name to.

He wracked his brain, trying to figure out why you seemed off. He could only think that you were insulted that he didn’t tell you about her sooner. After all you were his best friend and his roommate, you shouldn’t have found out about his newly non-single status at the same time as the rest of your friends.

You had been friends and roommates through plenty of relationships in the past. Back then, things had been easy, your routines together comfortable, predictable, steady. Now, even in ordinary moments, there was a tension to your movements, a carefulness in the way you interacted with him. He noticed the way you hesitated before touching him, the slight pullback when he reached for your shoulder. When you had movie nights, your feet no longer ended up in his lap. You no longer gently woke him up with a brush of his hair off his forehead if he fell asleep on the couch so his neck wouldn’t crick in the morning.

Something had shifted between you, subtle but undeniable. He could feel it in every silence, every almost. And no matter how he turned it over in his head, he couldn’t figure out what he’d done wrong, only that he must have done something. Because the ache in his chest told him he was losing something, and he didn’t even know what it was.

______

It was Thursday and you had just closed the door to the townhouse, calling out as you struggled to balance the pizza boxes and kick off your sneakers.

“They ran out of pepperoni, Bob, pepperoni! What kind of fucking pizza place doesn’t have the most popular pizza topping to ever pizza top!”

You yelled with a smile as you strolled into the kitchen, expecting him to be blending up a batch of his infamous margaritas. It was the first Thursday of the month and neither one of you ever missed your ongoing Thirsty Thursdays tradition. It had survived a decade of cross country moves, Zoom calls, even deployments when possible -using MREs and burnt coffee as stand ins. Nothing stood in the way of tradition when you could help it.

You were met with silence, the house empty as you placed the boxes down on the counter.

“Bob?”

Silence answered you and you glanced at the clock. Maybe he got held up at work, or needed to run to the liquor store for the good tequila that you insisted on even though it was being mixed.

You grabbed your phone and sent him a quick text, taking a picture of the pizza boxes, and writing a quick text.

These pizzas are thirsty for some margs, Bob!

The message sent and you pulled open the cabinet, grabbing the blender and hunting for the rest of the margarita ingredients. You whipped up a batch, though they were never as good as his, and poured one for yourself, taking a sip and looking back at your phone.

The message sat unread.

You left the pitcher of margs and the pizza on the counter and meandered into the family room, flopping down on the couch and telling yourself that Bob would be here any minute as you turned on the TV.

He never missed Thirsty Thursdays.

You tried not to look at your watch as the minutes ticked by, barely paying attention to the Parks and Rec reruns you had put on. You put the melting pitcher in the freezer when he was 15 minutes late, and put the pizza boxes in the oven five minutes later to try and keep them warm.

Your heart sank at the 30 minute mark and you tried to call him, wanting to ensure that he was ok.

The phone rang twice and went to voicemail and your stomach dropped. He had ignored your call.

Hey dude, are you ok?

Your text went unanswered again.

After an hour crawled by, you heated up a slice of pizza and plopped the margarita pitcher in front of you on the coffee table, drowning your sorrows and anger in grease and alcohol.

You had just poured yourself your third drink when your phone lit up, the dumb picture of Bob making a dumb face in the back of your dumb jet from your first go at Top Gun glaring back at you.

You had half a mind to let it go to voicemail, but there was a small part of you that wanted to ensure that he actually was ok.

That part won out and you slid your finger across the screen to answer the call.

“Fuck,” his panicked voice came through the phone. “I am so sorry, Fury! Leah and I were at a movie when you called and my phone went off which is why I ignored the call and I totally forgot today was Thursday until I saw your text after we got out…”

He sounded breathless as he rambled and you could picture the horror on his face as he realized that he had missed your monthly tradition. He was probably pacing back and forth in the lobby of the movie theater, running his hand through his hair in frustration at himself.

You let him ramble, staying silent as he tried to explain. When he finally trailed off with another heartfelt apology you felt a tightening in your chest. You were so angry, so disappointed, not only at him, but at yourself for getting your hopes up.

You let out a sigh and sunk into the couch. You’d always had trouble staying mad at him, and now was no different.

“It’s fine, Bob,” you wondered if you sounded as tired as you felt.

“No it’s not. I’m so sorry. You bought pizza and everything…” he trailed off, regret threading through his words. “It’s not that late, I can come home and we can-”

“Bob,” you tried not to snap. You took a calming breath and unclenched your jaw. “It’s 9 o’clock, seriously don’t worry about it. And hey, there’s some leftovers for you for tomorrow so…silver linings.”

Your attempt at a joke fell short and you were met with silence.

“I promise,” he whispered, “I promise I’ll remember next month, Fury.”

“I know you will, dude, don’t stress about it. Go have fun, I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

You didn’t let him respond before hanging up the call, blinking back the stinging behind your eyes and eyeing the pitcher once more.

From that day on, you started distancing yourself as a means of survival. Not all at once - just small things, the kind that could almost be explained away.

You stopped grabbing morning coffee together before work, he went with Leah now most days anyway, and you told yourself you didn’t mind. You started staying a little later at the gym on base, waiting until you knew he’d already gone home so you didn’t have to sit in the car with him.

He still texted, still struck up conversation, but it was different. You tried to keep things short and light, tried to distance yourself where possible to save yourself the hurt of disappointment. And when he invited you to join them for dinner or drinks, you made excuses. You told yourself it was easier this way, that maybe you could give yourself room to try and get over him.

Bob noticed too. The empty coffee cups in the mornings, the keys missing from the hook by the door. The quiet where there used to be easy chatter. He thought maybe you were still upset over Thirsty Thursday, maybe you were feeling left out. So he tried to include you more, bringing Leah along to movie night, suggesting the three of you grab breakfast after a late night out.

He thought he was helping.

But each time Leah sat between you on the couch, or laughed at a line you used to quote with him, something in you tightened a little more. You’d smile, because that’s what you did. Because you refused to be the reason he felt guilty for being happy.

And Bob, seeing you laugh, thought things might be getting better. He didn’t see the way your hands fidgeted under the table, or how you avoided his eyes when Leah leaned against his shoulder.

You were both trying, just in completely different directions.

______

Four months after the night at The Hard Deck that changed everything found you standing in Maverick’s office. He grinned as he took the packet from you, eyebrows raising at the recommendation section.

“You do realize if you’re selected you’ll no longer be a part of this squadron? It’s a total transfer.”

You nodded in acknowledgement.

“I do, Mav.”

“I thought you were happy here lieutenant?”

“I was,” you cut yourself off. “I am happy here, Sir. The chances I’ll even make it to the next round are slim to none but I figured I’d throw my hat in the ring. It’s something that I've always wanted to do, and they opened up applications for the first time in 6 years, so I figured why not.”

Maverick leaned back into his seat and steepled his fingers in front of his face, giving you a once over.

“I’d say you have more than a slim chance, Fury. When do you need this back?”

“March 30th, Sir. Does that mean you’ll provide the recommendation?”

“It would be my honor, Lieutenant. Although when you do end up getting shipped off to Houston I think you’ll break poor Bob’s heart,” he joked and it took everything in you not to wince.

“Something tells me he’ll be just fine.”

______

The months following were…somehow even more difficult. It was like Bob was determined to make up for his oversight, plying you with coffees and sweet treats, cooking for you whenever he could and taking over the responsibility of driving to work every day so you wouldn’t have to put miles on your already unreliable Jeep.

No matter how many times he apologized you reassured him you weren’t mad, and always tried to change the subject to something else.

He didn’t realize how much it hurt every time he apologized for forgetting about you, how each apology dug the knife in a bit deeper.

You did your best to act normal, to stay steady and supportive, but it was as if, when Bob missed your standing engagement, something shifted. It was the first crack in a dam that had been holding back more than you wanted to admit. And no matter how hard you tried to keep it together, every small thing he did without realizing only deepened the fracture.

It was a rare rainy day on base, the team was grounded and Mav had been pulled into a meeting with his hire ups, leaving the lot of you lounging around, entertaining yourselves while you waited for quitting time.

“So, my buddy is having people over on Saturday for a pool party. He’s new in town and wants to meet people, so he told me to bring whoever, so I guess I’ll extend the invite to you losers. Feel free to bring any and everyone.”

The group rolled their eyes at Hangman’s poor attempt at humor and the invite acceptances came rolling in. You were just about to tell him you’d be there when Bob spoke up from his seat to your left.

“I think we can be there.” You almost let out a teasing quip - wow, look at you RSVPing to plans for me - before he continued. “I don’t think Leah has anything going on but I’ll double check and let you know.”

We.

Him and Leah.

Not him and you.

Heat rose to your cheeks, your chest tightening as your stomach dropped. The words you’d almost said stuck in your throat, hollow and useless. The gang kept chatting, unaware, and everything that had finally started to feel normal now seemed impossibly off.

_____

A week later Rooster was, yet again, at the piano banging out a tune like he had a million times before. He finished up to a cheer from the crowd and the beginning notes of Piano Man floated across the bar. A wide smile split your face and you instinctively looked for Bob.

This was your song. Your ride or die. Your, no matter what I’m doing, drop everything and belt at the top of your lungs, ballad. There hadn’t been a single time, a single bar, that the song had played that you and Bob hadn’t thrown your arms around each other and belted the words off key at each other.

You looked over at him, expecting a matching excited grin on his face, but he was turned away from you. Laughing at something that Leah had whispered into his ear, as if he hadn’t registered the change of tunes. You gave it a few seconds more before the smile dropped from your face and you turned back to the piano, squeezing Rooster on the shoulder in thanks for playing your favorite, forcing a smile back to your lips as Phoenix leaned in and started singing along with you and Rooster.

_____

You’d thought you were holding it together, keeping your real feelings tucked neatly out of sight. But when Bob cornered you at home that night, the look in his eyes told you you hadn’t hidden them nearly as well as you’d hoped.

“Are we okay?”

His voice was small, tired and sad in a way that had you clenching your jaw. You nodded, staring past him to a point on the wall so you wouldn’t have to look into his eyes.

“Of course we are,” you lied through your teeth and he let out a frustrated sigh.

“Come on, Y/N, I know something’s wrong. Why won’t you talk to me?”

You could hear the frustration bleed through his words as he frantically tried to catch your gaze and your heart pounded against your ribcage.

“Nothing’s wrong, dude. We’re good. Everything is good. It’s fine.”

He narrowed his gaze at you and your throat tightened. You’d recognize that stubborn look anywhere. The one that meant he wasn’t going to stop before he got answers, no matter what.

“You’re my best friend. You mean…so incredibly much to me. And it’s killing me to know that I did something to upset you. We’re best friends, why won’t you just tell me what’s wrong so I can fix it!”

Your blood rushed through your veins at his words, at the desperation behind them. They were so, so close to what you desperately wanted to hear. But they’d never be enough, would always stop at ‘best friends’.

“You didn’t do anything-”

“Bullshit,” he cut you off with a bark. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath as if to calm himself, reigning himself in.

“You’ll always be my best friend.”

You wished the ache those words caused would dull, just once. He parted his lips to say something else, but the door creaked open. Leah entered, weighed down with grocery bags and blissfully blind to the storm she’d just walked into.

You jumped at the chance to flee and quickly scuttled out of the hall, flashing her a smile and grabbing your keys.

“Oh, are you not joining us? I bought enough for three.”

You could cry at how fucking sweet this woman was, and your guilt weighed heavy as you shook your head.

“That’s so sweet, but I promised Phoenix I’d help her put together some new furniture tonight. You two have fun though!”

You didn’t look Bob’s way but you could feel his piercing gaze, knew that he clocked your lie from a mile away.

____

It was Friday night and the apartment was quiet. Too quiet. You’d been half-expecting Bob to poke his head in, suggest a movie or a late run to the store to cook dinner like he usually did, but the hours stretched and stretched.

Around nine, you finally gave in and scrolled Instagram.

Phoenix’s photo appeared in your stories and you clicked on it, the first photo blurry, flushed with neon lights and laughter. The whole squad at the bowling alley downtown. Rooster flipping the camera off, Hangman doing his best Blue Steele, Fanboy throwing up a peace sign.

And Bob. Right in the middle.

Leah was tucked into his side, his arm draped casually around her as he grinned at the camera, glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose.

Your heart sank.

You clicked through the story. More photos. More laughter. Everyone was there.

Everyone but you.

You knew, logically, they hadn’t meant to exclude you. They’d probably assumed Bob would tell you. He always told you.

You were notoriously bad at checking text messages and that’s how it normally worked. Someone organized, someone else texted Bob, and you got the invite through him. It had always been seamless, automatic.

But not tonight.

Tonight, he hadn’t thought to mention it.

You turned your phone off and tossed it onto the couch like it burned, staring at the ceiling until your vision blurred.

It wasn’t that you wanted to bowl, or drink cheap beer, or laugh until your sides hurt. It was that they’d all gone on being them without you, and the one person you trusted to keep you looped in hadn’t even noticed you were missing.

An hour later, after you had skulked to your room, the front door creaked open. You held your breath, not making a noise as you listened to Bob ease inside before throwing the lock and kicking off his shoes. His soft footsteps trailed down the hallway and you sucked in a breath as they stopped outside of your closed door. He hesitated there for a moment, like he might wake you, then padded off to his room.

You waited until you heard his door click shut before you let the tears spill.

______

“Okay, Fury’s seriously late,” Phoenix said, squinting at her phone for the tenth time. She was perched on the edge of the booth, nursing her beer as the others laughed around her. “Did she text anyone? She saw my insta story so I know she’s not dead.”

“I called twice,” Hangman said, tossing his phone onto the table. “Straight to voicemail. Maybe she bailed?”

“She wouldn’t just bail,” Rooster said firmly. He thumbed at his phone again, firing off another text. Bob sat stiffly, a pit in his stomach growing with each passing second.

“What’d she say when you told her we moved the time?”

Rooster’s question was innocuous, but for Bob it dropped like a bomb.

The look on his face must’ve said it all, because Hangman groaned loudly.

“You fucking didn’t invite her? Oh my god, Floyd!”

“I thought,” he stammered. “I thought I mentioned it.”

His heart hammered as he scrambled for an explanation.

“She…she usually just-”

“Shows up because you tell her,” Payback snapped, sharper than usual. “Damn it, Bob.”

Phoenix sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Well, call her now.”

“Her phone’s off,” Bob ignored Coyote as he frantically clicked her contact and pressed the call button. Swearing at her voicemail and trying again and again.

Hangman shook his head in disappointment and Bob felt like the lowest scum of the Earth as the truth settled heavy over the table.

She wasn’t just missing. She wasn’t just late.

She knew.

And she wasn’t coming.

_____

Bob hadn’t slept. Not really.

Leah had dropped him off with a quick kiss to the cheek and a heartfelt reassurance that everything would work out with you in the morning. He’d given her a weak nod but the whole drive home he couldn’t stop replaying the night, the empty space at his side where you should have been. How quickly the night had come to an end after they realized his mistake.

He tossed and turned as Phoenix’s first words when they all arrived at the bowling alley still echoed in his head.

“Where’s Fury? She’s coming, right?”

Bob had blinked, caught off guard. “Uh… yeah. She should be.”

Except you hadn’t walked in ten minutes later, or thirty, or even an hour after that. He’d shrugged it off, thinking maybe you weren’t comfortable after he tried to ask you what was bothering you. But when Phoenix brought up that you were seriously late, and then Hangman and Rooster had tried calling you, the truth had sunk in with a cold, heavy weight.

He never told you.

He hadn’t passed along the invite like he always did. He’d just…forgotten.

And now, the following morning, sitting on the arm of the couch watching you sip the coffee he’d made you as a peace offering, he wanted to kick himself. You looked tired, drawn, like you hadn’t really slept either.

But worse than that, you looked guarded. Even more so than you had been the previous months.

“I thought I told you,” he started to say, wincing as soon as the words left his mouth. Because deep down, he knew he hadn’t. And the look on your face, the polite, closed-off little smile you gave him in return, felt like a door slamming shut.

What the hell is wrong with me? He thought, guilt gnawing at his gut. You’re my best friend. How could I forget you?

He winced. “I’m sorry. I should’ve… I mean, I just assumed you knew. Everyone else thought you were coming.”

You nodded once, lips pressed tight.

His knee bounced nervously from his perch on the arm of the couch.

“We missed you. Wasn’t the same.”

The words might’ve landed once. Once, you might have given him hell for forgetting to invite you, might’ve held it over his head and demand he do any number of ridiculous things to make it up to you. Once, you would have ribbed him and given him shit while laughing about the fact that you were so bad at checking your phone that Bob was basically your personal assistant. Once, those words would have been the catalyst for friendly apologies and forgiveness.

But now, they felt like salt in a wound. The pictures you’d seen had told a different story, they looked plenty fine without you.

So you gave him a thin smile, the kind that didn’t reach your eyes.

“It’s fine, Bob. Don’t worry about it.”

He frowned. “Fury -”

“I said it’s fine.”

You sipped the coffee, letting the heat scald down your throat, using it as an excuse not to look at him.

He fell quiet after that, but you could feel his eyes on you, searching, trying to piece together pieces that he broke.

And you hated yourself for how much it hurt, that he could forget you like that. That maybe you weren’t the person he thought to tell anymore.

But he didn’t press. Didn’t push. Just sat there, staring at his own hands, while the silence between you stretched wider than it had in years.

_____

The following Monday morning had a cheer going up when you walked into the hangar.

“Ayy there she is!” Rooster exclaimed, throwing an arm around your shoulders while you stared at him in bewilderment.

“Are you on drugs?”

He let out a laugh and led you over to the break room.

“She’s a comedian, everyone,” he quipped back sarcastically. “Nah we all just feel like a bunch of fucking assholes for Friday. Not that it was really anyone’s fault besides Floyd’s but still, we should have realized sooner.”

There was a box full of your favorite pastries waiting on the break room table, the ones from the fancy patisserie across town that you rarely splurged for. You bit back a smile and shook your head at the poorly made “We’re sorry” banner sloppy laid out across the front of the table.

“You’re all ridiculous,” you said fondly, grabbing a pasty from the box. “You didn’t need to do this. It’s really not a big deal.”

“Well technically, the pastries were Bob’s idea, but we all chipped in on the sign.”

You snorted and took a bite, relishing the taste of buttery sugar on your tongue.

“I told him it was fine too.”

“Oh bulllllshit,” Hangman piped up from where he was scrolling on his phone. “That idiot came in here looking like someone kicked his puppy and killed his grandma. He knows he fucked up. And we all have made sure to remind him of it since the moment it happened.”

Phoenix grabbed a pastry and gently hip checked you with a smile.

“Seriously dude, we all feel terrible. We thought you knew.”

You shrugged your shoulders and took another bite to avoid answering.

“Probably my fault anyway, shouldn’t have to rely on someone else for my social calendar.”

“Oh please, don’t make excuses for him. He knows he messed up. He’s doing all your paperwork for the foreseeable future by the way, as a way of saying sorry.”

She gestured to where Bob was squatting under your bird, glaring at the landing gear like it personally offended him and you rolled your eyes.

“Really, it’s fine… maybe just, text me directly with plans next time, yeah?”

Phoenix’s gaze saw too much but she nodded.

“Yeah, of course. Although something tells me this isn’t something your better half is ever going to do again.”

You sucked in a breath and shook your head.

“He’s not my -”

You glared at her smirk and flipped her off.

“You’re the worst.”

The rest of the guys cleared out of the room and headed towards their own rigs to do their flight pre-checks. Her smirk softened into something that you wanted no part of.

“Seriously though, are you ok?”

You clenched your jaw against the emotion welling up inside you.

“I’d…like to not talk about this right now. Please.”

You must have sounded pathetic since she immediately nodded with a solemn set to her jaw. Normally she was like a dog with a bone when she wanted information on something so the fact that she just dropped it screamed loads about your current state.

“Alright, but we need a girls night soon. I’m tired of all the dick measuring going on in this squad. Lord knows we all don’t own microscopes.”

You let out a real laugh at that, inhaling powdered sugar and coughing up a storm. She let out a cackle and slapped you on the back. You grinned back at her and let out a deep breath, your feelings about her back seater momentarily falling away as you got to work.

That night you stayed late to work out at the gym on base, pushing yourself hard in the weight room before showering and heading back to Bob’s townhouse, hoping beyond hope that he’d be in bed or sleeping at Leah’s.

When you silently pushed the door open and heard music coming from the Alexa you bit back a sigh at your bad luck. You toed your boots off and hung up your bag, thinking maybe you could sneak into your room without having to see him.

As if drawn by your thoughts Bob appeared in the front hall out of nowhere and you swore in surprise.

“Jesus Bob, you scared the shit out of me.”

He rubbed the back of his neck.

“Sorry. I just wanted to make sure I caught you.”

You took a deep breath and met his gaze.

“What’s up?”

He blinked at you like he couldn’t believe you just asked that.

“Come on,” he gestured over his shoulder to the kitchen and you had no choice but to follow him.

The table was set for two and he gestured for you to sit at one of the chairs, scurrying into the kitchen and grabbing two pizza boxes from the oven, placing them on the table and then grabbing the blender pitcher from the freezer. He poured you each a glass and took a seat across from you, placing your margarita in front of you.

“Bob-”

“Please,” he cut you off, gaze imploring as he looked at you. “Please, just let me say this.”

You nodded at him to continue, pizza and marg sitting untouched in front of you.

“I fucked up. God,” he ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “I fucked up, so, so, badly. Not just on Friday, which, I really did, but I’ve been fucking up for months.”

His gaze bore into you and you took a drink of your marg to give your hands something to do.

“I am so sorry, Y/N. I know things have been… off with us. Ever since Leah and I started dating, and I haven’t been there for you the way I should be, the way I normally am.”

“Bob, that’s-”

“No, I haven’t. I haven’t been there and I’m so sorry. You mean, god, you mean everything to me. You’re my best friend and I hate, I absolutely fucking hate, that we’re not ok.”

You stared down at the condensation dripping down your glass, throat tight.

The thing was, you missed him too. Missed the late-night takeout runs, the easy laughter, the quiet comfort of knowing someone always had your back. Things hadn’t felt right in a long time, but hearing him say it out loud made you realize just how bad things had gotten.

“I don’t want us to be like this either,” you finally said, your voice low. “I hate it. I hate feeling like I lost my best friend.”

He looked up sharply at that, blue eyes searching yours.

“You didn’t. You haven’t. I’m right here.”

You gave a soft, humorless laugh. “Are you though? Because lately it feels like you’re halfway here, halfway somewhere else.”

Bob winced, the truth of that statement hitting him square in the chest.

“I know. And you’re right. I’ve been trying to balance things and…I just keep messing it up. Leah’s amazing, she is, but-” he exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck again, “I should’ve made more of an effort with you. I never wanted you to feel like I chose her over you.”

The words made your stomach twist, your breath leaving you like you’d been punched in the gut.

You wanted to say it wasn’t about choosing, that you understood, but that would be a lie. Some selfish terrible part of you had wanted him to choose you, even if you knew he couldn’t.

You swallowed hard.

“I haven’t exactly made it easy either. I’ve been… distant. I’ve been weird and I’m sorry for that.”

Bob’s expression softened.

“You don’t have anything to apologize for.”

“Yes, I do,” you said, shaking your head. “You didn’t deserve the cold shoulder. You’ve always been there for me,” you took a sip of your drink and raised an eyebrow at him. “Friday night and Thirsty Thursday notwithstanding,” you tried for a joke and he winced causing you to smirk.

“And I’ve been acting like you haven’t been there for me for the better part of a decade.” You hesitated, fighting to keep your voice from shaking. “I just… I want things to be okay again. I want us to be okay again.”

For a long moment, neither of you said anything. The only sound was the low hum of the fridge and the faint music playing from the Alexa. Then Bob reached across the table, his hand hesitating for a brief moment before brushing against yours.

“Then let’s fix it,” he said simply. “Whatever it takes. Whatever you need. I’ll do it.”

You felt your throat close up again. You wanted to believe him. You wanted to believe you could do it too, that you could be around him without that ache in your chest. That you could go back to how easy things used to be. That you could go back to a time where you didn’t wish for something you couldn’t have.

You managed a small, but genuine, smile.

“Yeah. Let’s fix it.”

Bob’s shoulders dropped in relief, a smile brightening his face in a way that you hadn’t seen in months, as he grabbed your plate and slapped a slice of pizza onto it.

“Good. Then we start with pizza and margaritas. I know it’s Monday, but we can pretend it’s Thursday. And you better drink all of your margs cuz I splurged for El Tesoro and the guy at the liquor store about fainted when I told him I was putting it into a margarita.”

You snorted a laugh, causing him to smile wider, the tension finally easing just a little.

He raised his glass, eyes warm again.

“To fixing it.”

You clinked your glass against his.

“To fixing it.”

You took a sip, the tequila steading you.

As he started talking, about work, about a movie he’d seen, about how much shit the squad had given him for his stupidity in the hangar that morning, you listened. You laughed when he did, smiled when he smiled, and somewhere between the warmth of the margarita and the easy rhythm of his voice, you made a quiet promise to yourself.

You were going to move on.

You were going to stop wishing for something that could never happen.

You were going to be his best friend again.

Even if it broke your heart to do it.

______

The next few weeks slipped into something that felt almost easy again. Back like your days in LeMoore, before your pesky feelings made themselves known and threw your entire existence into a tailspin.

You and Bob found your rhythm again, morning coffee runs, fighting over the aux on the drive to base, sarcastic banter echoing through the hangar like nothing had ever gone wrong. The squad noticed too, the awkward silences and sidelong looks faded, replaced with the same teasing camaraderie that had always defined you both. You no longer avoided Phoenix’s questioning gaze or Hangman’s knowing glare.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was comfortable. Predictable. Safe.

You started to remember what it felt like to just be with him, without the tension, without the ache. He’d text you memes in the middle of the day, nudged your shoulder when you zoned out during Cyclone's lectures, dragged you to that super sketchy sushi place for lunch that he loved like nothing had changed. And you began to realize maybe that was the point, that nothing had to change.

Little by little, you let yourself believe it. You stopped overanalyzing every word, every look. You let the soft, familiar rhythm of your friendship fill in the empty spaces where longing used to live.

Some nights you’d still catch yourself watching him when he laughed too hard, or when he pushed his glasses up with that absentminded frown, but you forced yourself to look away. To remind yourself that this was enough.

Because it was enough.

It had to be enough.

He was happy, and you were okay. Better than okay, even.

You could breathe again around him. You could tease him without feeling like you were breaking your own heart.

You told yourself you were over it… over him.

And most days, you gaslit yourself into believing that.

That particular night you were proud of yourself for it. Bob was out with Leah, and for once, the thought didn’t sting. You’d made dinner, showered, folded laundry with music playing low in the background. Just quiet normal ordinary things that didn’t revolve around him.

When you finally climbed into bed the house was quiet around you, and you let yourself revel in the calm. You were getting there. You really were.

You were just drifting towards sleep when the lock clicked.

The familiar squeak of the front door, the shuffle of shoes on the mat, Bob’s routine, as ingrained in you as your own. But tonight there was another sound layered over it. Light, breathless laughter. Leah’s.

You froze, eyes snapping open in the dark.

The hall light cut a thin strip under your door and you heard the low rumble of Bob’s voice, muffled, followed by a sudden recognizable thump against the wall and a high pitched giggle. You didn’t need to see it to know what it meant.

You throat went dry and you pressed your face into your pillow, clutching it tighter and willing yourself not to listen. But then you heard the unmistakable sound of his bedroom door closing, and a silence that lasted only a few seconds before it filled with soft gasps and broken laughter, escalating into something so much worse.

You shove the pillow over your head. Not enough.

You jammed your AirPods into your ears, swearing when the beep of a low battery met you. You turned on the noise canceling function anyway.

Still not enough.

The walls in this townhome had never felt so thin.

Your chest felt like it was being crushed again, breath struggling into your lungs as you desperately tried to not picture what was happening on the other side of your bedroom wall. Your mind betrayed you, images flying behind your eyes like the worst kind of movie.

You thought you had this under control. Thought you had it on lock down. But this… this was too much.

Tears stung behind your eyes, but you blinked them away, furious at yourself. You had been doing so well. Taken such strides to draw that line between best friends and what you craved. And in one intimate sound it felt like all your progress had vanished.

When the rhythm of the sounds next door sharpened, you couldn't take it anymore. You slipped out of bed, pulled on a sweatshirt, and grabbed your keys as quietly as you could, AirPods still jammed into your ears like they could actually block out what your brain had fine tuned into.

The front door clicked shut behind you, the cool night air biting into your skin.

For a moment, you stood there on the front stoop, staring up at the sky, and the faint stars you could see beyond the light pollution of the California coast. The few that cut through the haze blinked back at you, mockingly.

You whispered to yourself, to them, “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

And then you walked. Anywhere but there.

_____

Bob found you in the hangar, bent over a maintenance checklist with a grease pencil in hand. You looked collected, hair pulled tight, every line of your body screaming ‘focused professional’. Still, his stomach churned with the knowledge that you had definitely overheard something you shouldn’t have last night, especially when you weren’t in your room this morning, and he couldn’t shake his unease.

“Hey,” he said quietly, almost tentative. “Got a second?”

You glanced up, brows raised, that familiar grin flicking across your mouth a split second too late.

“For you, Lieutenant? Always. What’s up?”

Bob swallowed. That smile didn’t look quite right, it was there, but didn’t reach like it normally did. He shifted, rubbed at the back of his neck.

“I, uh… about last night. I didn’t mean to…” he cleared his throat and his face flushed in embarrassment. “It got… louder than I thought.”

“Louder?” you repeated with a laugh, light and breezy. You shoved the pencil into your chest pocket. “Relax, Bob. It’s not like I haven’t heard worse. Two pilots sharing a house - you think that’s the worst thing our walls have ever heard?”

Your tone was teasing, easy. You made it sound ridiculous that he’d even bring it up.

Still the guilt twisted tighter.

“Shouldn’t have happened,” he said softly.

“Forget about it,” you replied, turning back to your checklist. “It’s already forgotten.”

You made it sound final, like a door closing. Bob hesitated, then nodded, retreating without pressing further. But the unease stuck with him as he walked away, because even if you said it was forgotten it sure as hell didn’t feel that way.

Neither one of you noticed your teammate, eyes wide, disbelief written across his face as he watched your conversation unfold from behind your aircraft.

The apartment was quiet when you got home, the kind of quiet that vibrated against your skin. Bob’s door was shut, light glowing faint under the crack. You didn’t knock, didn’t pause.

Your own room welcomed you with silence. You tossed your bag on the floor and sat on the bed’s edge, elbows on your knees, palms pressing against your eyes.

All day you’d worn the mask at work. You’d smiled with Phoenix, tossed jokes back at Rooster, acted like Bob’s apology was more than enough.

It’s already forgotten, you’d told him - crisp and convicting.

But it wasn’t.

Not when the memory still rang in your ears. The giggle, the thump against the wall, the moans that cut through your pillow, through your dead headphones, through everything you tried. Not when the man that you loved had held another woman only a few feet away, completely unaware that he was tearing you apart.

And this morning. This morning. His apology. Awkward. Half-formed. Like all he thought you cared about was the god damn noise.

If only it had been that simple.

You curled onto your side, staring at the ceiling. Your chest ached with the effort of holding yourself together, and this time you didn’t fight it. A hot sting welled in your eyes. You pressed your fist to your mouth until the urge passed, until your breath steadied again.

Tomorrow, you’d be Fury again. Smiling, unshaken, sharp-tongued, indestructible.

But tonight, in the dark, you let yourself break.

_____

The drive to base the following morning was quiet, the radio softly playing in the background as you stared out of the window of Bob’s truck, hoping that your face didn’t look as puffy as it felt.

You felt your phone vibrate with a notification and you pulled it out, absentmindedly looking at the email notification that appeared on your home screen. Your breath caught at the sender and your thumb hesitated before opening the lockscreen to read it. Your eyes flew over the message, and it took everything in you not to react outwardly at the words on the screen.

Despite your efforts, you must have made a noise because Bob glanced your way.

“Everything okay?”

You cleared your throat and nodded, pressing the side button to lock your phone with forced nonchalance.

“Totally, just one of those videos from that guy in Thailand that rescues street dogs. You know they always get me.”

Bob chuckled, the sound easy and unsuspecting, and turned his attention back to the road.

You kept your gaze out the window, heart still racing, the words on your screen looping through your mind. No matter how hard you tried to play it cool, a smile tugged at your lips, small, hopeful, impossible to hide. For the first time in a long time, the road ahead didn’t feel so uncertain.

____

You were in the comms room with Hangman, both of you winding down from your flight and listening to the rest of the team that was up in the air over the radio. He was flipping a pen in between his fingers and looking between you and the comm system.

“Soooo,” he drawled. “Interesting convo between you and Bob yesterday morning.”

You clenched your jaw and rolled your eyes.

“Was there a question in there that I missed?”

He scoffed and leaned forward, forearms braced on his bent legs, pretty green eyes all too knowing.

“You okay?”

You pasted on a smile and pretended to look at the generic memo in front of you.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

His stare let you know unimpressed he was with your answer.

“I don’t know… If I had to listen to the girl I was in love with get busy with her boyfriend, in my own damn home, I think I’d be a little upset.”

You shot him a glare and looked around the room.

“Would you shut the fuck up please?” you hissed. “We are at work.”

He ignored you and flipped the pen in his hand, his gaze entirely too wise for someone that pretended only to care about himself.

“You know, you can always crash at my place if-”

You cut him off with a glare.

“I don’t need… I’m fine, okay? It’s not a big deal. It’s fine. I’m fine everything is-”

“Fine?”

You flipped him off and turned to look out the window onto the tarmac.

“Look, I get that you’re ‘fine’,” the words were accompanied by air quotes. “But seriously if you need to talk, or you need somewhere to crash to get away from all that,” he gestured to the sky where Bob and Phoenix were flying. “You know where to find me.”

“Careful, Hangman,” you tried to jest through your tight throat, “or people here might actually think you have a heart.”

He stared at you for a beat, blinking in a way that made you feel entirely too exposed.

“Don’t flatter yourself sweetheart, I’m just trying to get brownie points so you’ll share some of those pastries with me the next time Baby on Board ultimately fucks up.”

You let out a bitter laugh, ready to drop it, but his hand landed on yours and your entire body tensed.

“Seriously,” the weight behind his voice made you pause. “You don’t have to live like this. I… I've been where you are before. And you might think that you need to be strong and push through, but you’re allowed to take care of yourself and do what’s best for you. Even if it means stepping away from him.”

You tried to speak, but the words caught behind the knot in your throat. Swallowing hard, you managed a small nod, eyes fixed on the horizon. On the fading light ahead, and the man who would never be yours.

______

You’d left in a rush the next morning, late for an internal meeting, mail scattered across the kitchen counter. Bob came back from his run, tugging off his hoodie and paused when he saw the NASA letterhead staring up at him from the counter.

He froze.

The envelope was torn open, the single sheet half-tucked back inside. His name wasn’t on it, but it was impossible not to see the words bold at the top:

“We are pleased to inform you that you have been selected for a final interview in Houston…”

His chest tightened. He skimmed the first few lines, heart thudding harder with every word, until guilt made him shove the letter back exactly where it had been. He sank onto a stool, running a hand through his damp hair, trying to breathe around the weight settling in his chest.

When you came home later, still in uniform, you barely noticed him sitting in the kitchen. You dropped your bag with a sigh, reaching for the stack of mail.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Bob’s voice was soft, but it cut through the quiet like a blade.

You froze, fingers brushing the envelope. Slowly, you looked up, reading the expression on his face.

“Oh,” you said. Your throat was dry. “You saw it.”

“I wasn’t trying to-” he gestured helplessly. “It was just there.”

Silence stretched.

“I didn’t tell anyone.”

Bob’s brow furrowed.

“Fury, this is… this is huge. Why didn’t you want to tell me? You’ve wanted this forever.”

Your laugh was brittle. “It’s not a big deal, there’s gonna be nothing to tell when I don’t get selected. I wanted… better to keep it quiet you know? Fewer people to disappoint.”

Bob shook his head immediately, earnestness flooding his voice.

“You wouldn’t disappoint anyone. You’ve got this. I know you do.”

The way he said it, the conviction behind his voice. Certain, steady, like he believed in you more than you believed in yourself, made your throat ache. You had to look away, staring at the envelope instead of his gaze.

“Please don’t tell the others,” you whispered, a rare moment of vulnerability peaking through.

Bob hesitated, then nodded once in agreement.

“Okay. Just me.”

The quiet stretched again, heavier this time, filled with all the things neither of you could say.

_____

It was one of those rare nights when the entire squad had a break, a collective exhale, and somehow everyone ended up crowding into a bar that wasn’t the Hard Deck for once. The noise, the laughter, the haze of neon lights wrapped around you like something familiar and safe as you sipped your drink.

Things with Bob had been… better. Easier. He’d been warm again, attentive in that quiet way that was so him. It almost felt like old times, if you ignored the echo of that one night, buried deep where you refused to touch it.

You were at the bar with Leah, of all people, waiting for another round of drinks while the others fought over the TouchTunes. She flashed you a bright smile, casual and easy.

“So,” Leah said, leaning in just enough to be heard over the music. “Bob told me about your NASA interview. That’s incredible! I can’t imagine how excited you must be.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, any warmth from your buzz evaporating as your chest hollowed out.

You'd forced a smile to your lips, but your fingers had tightened hard around your glass.

“Oh. He told you about that?”

Leah nodded, blissfully oblivious to the way your voice cracked.

“Yeah, he’s so, so proud of you. He said you’d kill it up there. Honestly, it makes sense. You’ve always seemed… bigger than this,” she gestured around you. “You know? Like you’re meant for more.”

She’s sincere, earnest, the kind of woman that means every kind word.

You'd managed a weak laugh, nodding along, because what else can you do?

But inside, something fractured.

Because Bob had promised. He’d promised it was just between the two of you. And now, she knows. Leah, of all people, sitting there smiling like it’s nothing, but it feels like everything.

And she wasn't being cruel, not even close. She was being wonderful, the way she always is, and somehow that makes it just so much worse.

Because how can you be angry at her? She’s being so gracious and supportive and everything you wish you could be. The only person left to blame for the sick feeling in your gut is yourself, for caring too much, for letting it sting, for being the fool who thought something so private could stay between you and your best friend.

The bartender slammed a tray of drinks down in front of you and Leah squeezed your arm warmly before grabbing it and carrying the tray back to your table. You stayed rooted where you were, staring at the condensation sliding down your glass, trying to swallow the ache rising in your throat.

From across the bar Bob caught your eye and smiled, soft and steady, the way he always did. Unaware of the bomb that had just been dropped.

And you… you couldn't even look at him.

Later, outside the bar, you allowed the night air to cool the heat in your chest. Bob followed you out, concern etched all over his face at the fact that you'd been avoiding him since he saw you at the bar with Leah.

“Hey,” Bob said softly. “Everything okay? You kind of disappeared back there.”

You let out a shaky breath, exhausted from the boomerang of your emotions when it came to your best friend.

“Yeah, just needed some air.”

He didn't buy it, of course he didn't, but he waited patiently like he knows there’s more. And that’s what hurts the most, that he still knows you, still gets you better than anyone, even when you wish he didn’t.

You finally let some of the emotions you've been bottling up slip out when you turned to him.

“Thought it was just supposed to be between us,” you said finally, voice low and bitter. “The NASA thing.”

Bob froze, eyes widening as realization hits.

“Oh…shit. Leah…she said something? Fury, I didn’t-”

“I know you didn’t mean to,” you cut in, swallowing against the lump in your throat. “I know. It’s just…” you forced a breath, shaking your head. “It’s my fault for thinking things could just be like they were. You have her, and that’s fine. Really, it is. I just… need some time to get my head around this new normal.”

He stepped forward, and you matched it with a step back.

“Please, Bob,” you try your hardest to keep your voice steady. “Just… give me a little space, okay?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-” you held up a hand to stop him and nodded.

“I know. I just… need some time.”

He nodded, stricken, and for a heartbeat you almost take it back. The look on his face made you want to tell him it’s okay, that you’re fine. But you’re not. So you turn and walk away before he can say anything else.

You don’t tell him you’re going to Houston the following week. You don’t tell anyone except Mav when you drop your leave request on his desk.

It’s easier that way. Easier to pack your bag in silence, board a flight, and keep your phone on Do Not Disturb. Two weeks of training, evaluation, interviews and maybe, if you’re lucky, enough distance to finally breathe again.

Bob gives you 24 hours before he texts, concern evident since he hasn’t seen or heard from you. The text he receives back from you makes his heart drop.

In Houston for eval and training. Will let you know when I book my flight back.

Bob tells himself not to worry, that you’re chasing your dream and are too busy to answer any of the dozens of follow up texts he sends your way. But the empty chair behind him in the ready room feels wrong. The silence in the car on the way home from base feels worse.

The squad is hounding him about your whereabouts, Mav only letting them know that you requested leave for two weeks, but not budging on additional details.

Bob is also silent about where you disappeared to, not stupid enough to make that critical mistake twice.

He hadn’t been malicious when he told Leah. He’d just been so proud, bursting even. He’d been talking about you, about the two of you sitting on the roof years ago watching a launch on your outdated iPad, you declaring one day you’d be up there.

And he’d told Leah how that same fire was still in you, how the NASA interview was proof of your drive and unlimited gumption. He hadn’t even thought to say don’t mention it.

Now, as he thinks he might have broken your friendship beyond repair, he wishes he hadn’t said anything.

You’ve gone dark in Houston, and he feels it in every part of his day. He’s quieter than normal in briefings, slower to joke. When your name comes up in squad chatter, he looks away.

Leah starts to notice the distance too, the late replies, the distracted looks, the almost obsessive checking of his phone. When she lightly teases him about missing you, his face falls just enough to tell her everything she needs to know.

He doesn’t say it but he feels it deep within his soul, the echo of something critical missing.

At first, it was just the little things.

He’d come home and catch himself calling out your name before remembering you weren’t there. He’d still make two mugs of coffee in the morning without thinking, setting one on the counter before realizing it would stay untouched.

He tried to fill the silence, dates with Leah, music, TV, late nights at work, but none of it helped. The townhouse felt too big, too empty, like it echoed with ghosts of conversations and laughter that used to fill it.

At work, he found himself glancing at your locker every time he walked past. The small sticker you’d put on it, a faded NASA logo, had started to peel at the corner. He almost fixed it once, hand halfway raised before he stopped himself.

Phoenix noticed the way he’d gone quiet. “You good, Bob?” she’d asked one afternoon after a post flight debrief.

He’d nodded. “Yeah. Just tired.”

It wasn’t a lie exactly. He was tired, but not from flying. From thinking. From missing you in a way that gnawed at the edges of his focus.

He started replaying the last few weeks before you left, before he had fucked up everything more than he knew.

He thought about the sound of your laugh in the car, fighting him for the aux and playing Chumbawumba on repeat much to his dismay. He thought of you sitting on the couch, bathed in the setting sunlight, looking up at him like he hung the moon.

He couldn't stop seeing the moment from that night, when your eyes dropped from his at the bar while Leah walked back with a tray of drinks. The moment that something in you seemed to give up.

And the thing that had hurt the most:

You hadn’t just needed space. You’d needed distance — from him.

And the worst part was, he couldn’t even blame you.

So he threw himself into work. Stayed later. Ran drills he didn’t need to. Anything to keep his hands busy, his mind too full to wander.

But at night, when the world finally went quiet, he’d catch himself scrolling through old photos, your shoulder pressed against his, your smile easy and unguarded, and he’d feel it again.

That sharp, hollow ache of missing something he hadn’t realized he’d already lost.

------

It all came to a head a week and a half after you left.

Bob had gone through the motions, flying, briefing, pretending everything was fine, but the silence in the townhouse grew louder with every passing day. Your coffee mug stayed in the sink. Your jacket hung by the door. He’d stopped even trying to text after the umpteenth unanswered message, but he still found himself unlocking his phone, staring at your name.

Leah noticed. Of course she did.

They had been taking a walk by the beach after dinner, the setting sun bleeding out over the water, when she finally said it.

“You don’t have to keep pretending, Bob.”

He blinked, caught mid-step. “Pretending what?”

She smiled, soft and sad. “That everything’s okay. That you’re okay.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but she shook her head.

“I think we both know your heart isn’t in this anymore.”

Bob froze. The words hit like a hundred G's, sudden and crushing, inescapable.

“Leah, what’re you-”

“It’s alright,” she said gently, cutting him off before he could stumble through the question. “You’re a good man, you know that? Too honorable to follow your own heart.”

Her eyes met his, clear and steady. “I’ve seen the way you look when her name comes up. The way you go quiet. I think… maybe you’ve already found the person you’re supposed to be with. And that person isn’t me.”

He swallowed hard, gaze darting away toward the horizon. He knew he should say something, deny her observation and tell her that she didn’t know what she was talking about. He should have fought, insisted that Leah was the one for him.

But he couldn’t.

Her observation froze him, rewiring his brain in a way that made it seem so obvious.

Leah smiled again, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “You don’t have to say it. I already know.”

Bob squeezed his eyes shut in shame, gutted by her kind words. She wasn’t angry, wasn’t cruel, wasn’t even surprised. Just quietly heartbroken and willing to step away gracefully like the best kind of person.

He had walked her to her car, feeling like the world’s biggest ass when she kissed him on the cheek one last time and wished him luck. He had apologized softly, insisting that he did have feelings for Leah during their relationship, wanting her to understand that he never meant to make her feel like he wasn't fully committed. This made her quietly chuckle as she shook her head.

“I know, Bob. I could practically see your head explode with the realization when I brought it up just now.”

He apologized again, feeling like the scum of the earth and watched as she drove away.

He realized he should be feeling a lot more upset for a guy who’s girlfriend of 6 months just dumped him. He should be gutted, wrecked. But when he got home and shut the door behind him, the silence didn’t seem to crush him as much as it had before.

He kept waiting for the ache to hit, for regret to roll in like a wave.

It never did.

Instead, something quieter settled over him. A sense of clarity that left him equal parts relieved and terrified all at once.

In the days leading up to your arrival home, he found himself replaying every conversation you’d had before you left. Your lack of physical contact, pulling away, careful tone, the way you’d said you needed time, how you wouldn’t meet his eyes when you said it, but he could still see the hurt and disappointment radiating off you.

At the time he thought you had just been upset at the change in the dynamic, had been hurt because he told a secret that wasn’t his to tell.

Now, he knew that was partially the case, but he also knew there was something more.

Because the more he thought about it, the clearer it became.

You weren’t just his best friend. You were the measure, the baseline he unconsciously held everything else against. Every laugh, every quiet morning, every woman he’d tried to love since meeting you.

And now that you were gone, he couldn’t unsee it.

He couldn’t unfeel it.

_____

Bob scowled at his phone, the group chat lighting up with a text from Natasha letting everyone know that you were on your flight back and she’d be grabbing you from the airport. That was followed by a threat to be at The Hard Deck at 6pm sharp for a welcome home party.

Bob knew he had brought it on himself, that he had royally fucked up before you took off to Houston, but it still hurt that you hadn’t deigned to text him your plans or ask him for a ride from the airport.

The bar was buzzing with energy when you and Natasha walked in. Rooster spotted you first, shooting off his barstool and crushing you into a hug that knocked the wind from your lungs. Hangman followed with a clap to the back and a drawled “Look who decided to grace us with her presence.”

The rest of the team crowded in at once, laughing, easily believing your lie that you were visiting family, but your eyes found Bob almost instantly.

He stood off to the side, beer in hand, posture just shy of stiff. He hadn’t rushed forward like the others, unsure of his place. He just… looked at you, like he wasn’t sure you were real. Like you had hung the sun and the moon in the sky.

And that one look undid all two weeks of mental barriers you had erected around your feelings for Bob Floyd.

When the noise finally settled and Phoenix dragged the rest of the squad toward the bar, you found yourself walking over before you could second-guess it.

“Hey,” you said softly.

Bob blinked at you like you were an apparition before nodding back.

“Hey.”

The silence stretched, thick and awkward. This was Bob, the one person you’d never had awkward silences with and now neither one of you knew how to fill it.

He offered you his bottle of beer and you nodded in thanks, taking it from him and swigging a drink to give yourself something to do.

“How was it?” he asked finally. His voice was careful, like he was afraid of the answer.

You shrugged, trying for lightness.

“Grueling. Long days, lots of testing. I’m pretty sure I won’t want to see another centrifuge for the rest of my life.”

That earned you a small laugh, his gaze open and honest, boring into yours and pinning you where you stood.

“I’m glad you’re back,” he said. Quiet, earnest. “I…hated the way that we left things. Hated that I fucked up so bad. That I hurt you-”

“Bob-” you cut him off. “Let’s not do this here okay? I’m happy to be back, we can talk more at home alright?”

He let out a deep sigh but nodded, bringing his arms up and pulling you into a hug before you could second guess it.

His arms were a solid weight around you, pulling you tight to his chest, encompassing you in a way that screamed ‘home’, and had the backs of your eyes burning. You returned the hug, holding him close while you could before pulling back, avoiding his gaze as you took a step away, your body singing from the close contact with him.

You were so fucked.

The rest of the night passed in a drunken blur as your body settled back into this known routine. You laughed and drank and played pool with your friends, always hyper aware of Bob on the periphery.

You hadn’t conversed with him outside of your conversation leading up to the hug, and when it was the wrong side of midnight he gently helped you into the Uber he called, making sure to grab your bag out of Natasha’s car before sliding into the other side.

The trip home was quiet, the air thick with something that you couldn’t name.

You’d followed him into the kitchen, sliding onto your barstool as he poured two glasses of water, sliding one across the counter to you. His face was a little flushed with alcohol, his normally perfect hair mussed in a way that made you want to run your fingers through it.

He took a large drink and met your gaze. There was a pause, the kind that used to be comfortable between you. Now it felt like a minefield.

He took a breath, “Listen, about before you left… about Leah-”

You shook your head before he could finish. “It’s fine, Bob.”

“It’s not,” he said quietly, resolute. “I keep saying sorry to you lately, and I know that’s not fixing anything, but I just-” He stopped, exhaling hard. “I’ve been a shitty friend. I hate that. I hate that I made you feel like you couldn’t trust me.”

You looked down at the drink in your hands, throat tight. “You didn’t mean to.”

“No, but I still did it,” he said. “And I keep doing it. And I don’t know how to make it right except-” He stopped himself before he said too much. Except by earning you back.

When you finally met his eyes, he looked raw, open in a way that made it impossible to stay angry. You sighed, the smallest bit of your guard slipping.

“It did hurt,” his jaw clenched and he nodded. “But I get it. I know you didn’t do it to hurt me."

You took another sip of your water. "Look, I had two weeks to…think about things. And we can just call it water under the bridge, okay? I missed you and want things to go back to how they were…before. Can we just try to do that?”

His shoulders eased a little, that quiet hopeful light returning to his eyes. “Yeah. Okay. We’ll try.”

You gave him a small smile, the first real one since you’d come home.

He’d take it.

For now, that was enough.

Even if every part of him wanted to tell you everything. That Leah was gone, that he’d meant it when he said you were the person who mattered most, that he finally understood what it felt like to lose you.

That he had definitely been in love with you for the better part of a decade, but was just too damn stupid to see what was right in front of him.

Instead, he just asked if you wanted some more water, and when you said yes, he smiled like maybe, just maybe, he hadn’t ruined everything after all.

_____

After that night, Bob started trying. Really trying.

You could see his regret for his actions, his desperation for normalcy, in a hundred small ways.

Your favorite coffee waiting on the counter before you woke up. The playlist he coordinated for your morning runs. The way he’d start cooking dinner before you got home every night, pretending it was “way easier to cook for two.”

He’d linger longer in conversation, laugh a little louder at your jokes, meet your eyes a little too long when you talked. It was the kind of attention that used to come so easily between you, but now it felt… deliberate. Careful. Like he was trying to prove something to you.

And it was killing you... again.

Because every thoughtful gesture, every quiet kindness, every soft look across the table chipped away at the fragile resolve you’d built in Houston. You’d gone there to remind yourself that your life could be bigger than this, that you could stand on your own without orbiting around Bob Floyd.

But now, he was right there again. Making it so damn hard to breathe.

You told yourself he was just being a good friend. Making amends. Feeling guilty about letting your secret slip to his girlfriend.

Because that’s what it had to be. It wasn’t fair to think otherwise, not when he was still in a relationship.

So you smiled. You thanked him. You laughed when he teased you, and tried to ignore the way your pulse jumped when he brushed past you in the kitchen, large hand on your waist as he gently moved you out of the way so he could get to the fridge. You told yourself to stop reading into it, stop hoping.

But then there were moments that broke your resolve.

Like when you came home late one night and found him asleep on the couch, a movie paused on the screen and your NASA sweatshirt balled up under his head like a pillow. A handwritten note left for you on the counter that dinner was in the fridge and instructions on how long to put it in the microwave. The small smiley face and heart finishing the letter off.

Or when he looked at you across the bar one Friday and smiled, soft, open, like he’d finally found his way home.

You kept telling yourself he was just being Bob. Kind, thoughtful, good to his core.

You kept telling yourself not to read into it.

You kept failing.

Because every laugh, every shared look across the ready room, every casual touch of his hand against your back when he leaned close to point something out, it all felt like more.

You’d lie awake some nights, staring at the ceiling, furious at yourself for hoping. For letting yourself imagine he might look at you the same way you looked at him. Because Leah was still in the picture, at least, as far as you knew. And the guilt over loving another woman's boyfriend only added to your anger.

So every time he showed up with your favorite takeout, or left a Post-it note on your desk that said something stupid like Don’t forget how amazing you are, the ache sharpened.

Because kindness from Bob Floyd always came from love, and as always, the love that he was giving wasn’t the kind you so desperately craved.

And he didn’t know that every time he tried to show you how much he cared, he was breaking your heart all over again.

______

The first thing Bob heard when he opened the door with an armful of groceries was the chime of a FaceTime call, coming from your open laptop on the kitchen counter. The name of the caller lit up the screen and Bob’s heart leapt to his throat at the name: Johnson Space Center - Houston, TX.

The call cut off and he heard your muffled voice from your room where you had answered it from your phone.

He tried his best not to eavesdrop on your conversation, focusing instead on putting away the produce he had bought for tonight’s dinner.

You emerged from your room a few minutes later, shoulders tight, eyes rimmed red. You stopped dead when you saw him in the kitchen, fully expecting him to be at Leah’s. His heart broke at the rejection written on your face and he watched as you attempted to pull yourself together, to not allow him to see you break.

“You okay?” he spoke softly even if he already knew the answer. He left the question open ended, leaving it up to you to choose whether or not to fill him in.

You forced a nonchalant shrug, and stared at a spot on the countertop, not meeting his gaze.

“Guess I should’ve known I’m not what they’re looking for.”

His chest ached. You looked so small standing there, fighting to hold yourself together. He wanted to fix it, to make it right, to call up god damn NASA and tell them what a bunch of fucking idiots they had to be to not see your potential.

But all he could offer was the truth.

“They’re wrong,” he said firmly. “You’d have been perfect.”

You shook your head, but before you could argue his palms cupped your shoulders and he forced you to meet his gaze.

“They’re wrong, Fury. And just because you weren’t selected this time doesn’t mean it’s a ‘no forever’. It’s just not right now.”

You froze, the words and the conviction behind them hitting deeper than you wanted them to.

Bob’s gaze didn’t waver.

“And when the time is right? You’ll be ready. And you’ll show them just how fucking wrong they were for not seeing how incredible you were the first time.”

Something in your chest cracked at that, because you almost believed him.

______

Things with Bob got worse before they got better, though “better” wasn’t the right word anymore.

Bob kept finding new ways to show up for you. The car battery mysteriously replaced before you could even complain about it dying. The oil in your jeep changed. The boots that you’d been meaning to take to get fixed somehow magically appearing in the front hall, looking like new. Fresh flowers waiting for you on the counter at home because 'they reminded him of you'.

He’d act like it was nothing, brushing it off with that shy, easy grin of his.

“Just figured I’d take care of it while I was there.”

“You’ve got enough on your plate.”

“Don’t mention it.”

And you didn’t. You couldn’t. Because every time he did something kind, every time his voice went soft when he said your name, you felt that quiet, impossible hope claw its way back up your throat.

And then you’d see a text light up on his phone, and you knew who it was from, and the air would go out of your lungs.

So once again you attempted to build walls for your own sanity. Little ones at first. You stopped lingering in the kitchen after dinner, started volunteering for more late exercises, more simulator time. You told yourself it was good. You needed distance, discipline, control.

But Bob noticed.

He noticed the way you smiled without really looking at him again. The way you laughed with everyone else just a little louder, a little brighter, like you were trying to prove something. The way you always had somewhere to be.

One night he finally said it, quiet but steady.

“Did I… do something wrong again?”

You looked up from the report you were pretending to read, your pulse jumping at the uncertainty in his voice.

“No, Bob. You didn’t.”

He nodded, but the crease between his brows didn’t ease.

“You just feel… far away lately.”

You forced a small smile, soft but tired. “Sometimes things like that happen in friendships.”

He looked like you’d just punched him.

You couldn’t stand it, the guilt, the ache, so you stood and brushed past him toward the hallway, pretending not to see the hurt in his eyes.

Behind you, you heard him exhale, quiet and shaky.

And later that night, when you passed by the living room, you caught sight of him sitting on the couch. The lights off, a half-drunk beer in front of him, staring at nothing.

It was the first time you’d ever seen Bob Floyd look lost.

And it broke something in you that you’d worked so hard to keep whole.

After that night it was like Bob doubled down on his efforts. Like he was determined to rip down the walls you were frantically trying to build.

Bob was everywhere.

He’d wait for you after debriefs, walk you to your car, drop off your favorite snacks “just because.” He started remembering the little things again, the brand of protein bars you liked, the playlist you used to play before a mission, the fact that you hated when people talked during takeoff.

It was familiar. It was safe.

And it continued to hurt like hell.

So you laughed when he made jokes. You thanked him when he did something kind. You smiled and deflected, keeping your voice light even when your chest felt too tight.

You built the walls back up one polite sentence at a time.

And Bob...

Bob could feel every brick, and worked valiantly to rip each one back down.

He didn’t know what else to do. He thought he was showing you, really showing you, how much you meant to him. But every time he reached for you, you seemed to pull just a little further away.

He’d catch you watching him sometimes, quick glances that vanished the second he turned his head. The kind of look that made his heart race, even as doubt started to creep in around the edges.

Maybe he’d waited too long.

Maybe whatever you’d felt for him was gone.

He replayed every conversation, every time he’d seen your smile falter, every time you’d chosen distance over closeness. The thought that he might have missed his chance tore at him. Not because you didn't care, but because he'd unintentionally hurt you too deeply for you to ever let him back in.

His mind tortured him with all the ways he hadn't realized he'd hurt you during his relationship. But the one thing it kept coming back to was the night that you overheard him and Leah having sex, the forced nonchalance in your tone the following morning. The way you looked like you were just holding it together.

And he had thought you'd been upset about the noise.

He started second-guessing everything. Should he say something? Should he tell you that Leah was gone, that it had been over for more than a month, that he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about you since?

But then he’d see you laughing with Hangman or teasing Rooster, that same easy grin on your face, and the words would die in his throat.

You looked happy.

And Bob Floyd had never been good at taking something that wasn’t freely offered.

So he stayed quiet.

And he waited.

______

The ready room was nearly empty, just the hum of the air conditioner and the shuffle of papers. You were perched in one of the jump seats, half out of your flight suit, running through your checklist like it held the answers to life’s mysteries.

Bob hovered nearby, like he always did. He’d been watching you for days now. Watching as you smiled when you should’ve been upset, cracking jokes too quick, and acting fine when something about you screamed otherwise. He could tell you were getting to your breaking point with something… him most likely, he thought. And he wanted to be there to catch you in the fallout.

“Hey,” he said gently at first.

"Hey," you continued to scan the list in your lap.

"You alright?"

"Just peachy, Bob."

He ignored the sarcasm behind your words.

“It seems like you’ve been off lately.”

You didn’t look up from your checklist, even though he knew damn well it had been completed minutes ago.

“Just tired.”

“You’ve said that a lot.”

“Because it’s true,” you snapped a little too fast, eyes still glued to the page.

Bob shifted closer, frowning.

“It’s not just that. You’re different with me again.” His voice dropped, almost pleading, sick of this same old song and dance. “Did I do something?”

You sharply exhaled, flipping the clipboard shut.

“Bob, drop it.”

“No,” your gaze snapped to his at the finality in his tone. “You’re my best friend. You think I don’t notice when you’re pulling away from me… again? When you won’t even look at me when I’m trying so hard to make things normal? Tell me what’s going on.”

Your grip tightened on the clipboard.

“It’s nothing.”

His gaze burned into you as he took a step closer. The air seemed to tighten, shrinking the space between you until you could feel the heat of him.

“It’s not nothing,” he said, his voice low but sharp now, that rare edge cutting through the calm he usually clung to. “These past months have been killing me. So just…fucking tell me. Please,” he begged. “Whatever it is, I can take it.”

You froze. His words hit something buried, something you’d worked so hard to keep locked away. For a heartbeat, all you could hear was the rush of your own pulse. The silence between you was heavy, trembling with everything unsaid.

You’d spent months pretending, mastering the smile, the glance away, the practiced silence every time his name was mentioned. It was easier to lie, to carry the ache quietly, than to risk everything by speaking it aloud.

But now, with him standing there, eyes fierce, chest rising and falling like he’d been running, it was all too much. The weight of it cracked something open inside you.

“You want the truth?” Your voice came out sharp, brittle, almost a laugh but not quite.

“Yes!” His frustration boiled over, raw and desperate. “Please, Fury.”

And the dam finally broke.

You shoved to your feet, chest heaving as you threw the clipboard onto your chair and spun towards him.

“The truth is I can’t do this anymore, okay? I can’t sit here pretending everything is fine, holding myself together while I watch you with someone else. While you forget me and then treat me like I mean more to you than just a friend. I can’t fucking stand another night when you bring her home and then act like the only problem is the noise.”

The color drained from Bob’s face.

“I was never mad about the noise, Bob!” your laugh broke, jagged. “I’m mad because it’s you. Because I’ve been in love with you this whole fucking time, and every day I have to watch you give yourself to someone else, when all I want is to be that person! I have to watch you touch her and kiss her and laugh with her like it’s not fucking killing me. And I have to sit there and just be the best friend because I was a coward and didn’t tell you how I felt after the Uranium mission.”

Just as quickly as the fire had lit within you it sputtered out. The room went silent but for your ragged breathing. Bob just stared, stricken, like the floor had dropped out from under him.

You were shaking, staring at a spot on the floor as your voice dropped to a whisper.

“You wanted the truth? There it is.”

And before he could speak, you shoved past him and stormed out, the slam of the ready room door echoing in your wake.

______________________

Me, leaving y'all on that cliffhanger: