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Glen Powell Masterlist
Jake "Hangman" Seresin
Love In The Sky
Jake "Hangman" Seresin and Ava "Nova" Brooke return to TopGun for classified training. But they must keep their relationship secret from Nova's very strict Admiral father. (COMPLETED)
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four - smut warning on this chapter!!
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven - smut warning on the chapter!!
Chapter Eight - smut warning on the chapter!!
Chapter Nine
Talk To Me
New pilot Ryder takes an interest in Nova. Disregards her relationship with Jake. Things take a dangerous turn. Protective Jake. (COMPLETED)
Chapter One
Chapter Two - smut warning on the chapter!!
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Gravity
Ava "Nova" Brooke arrives to TopGun from her elite special tactics squad - Strike Squadron Six. She is trained to be lethal. What she did expect was to catch the eye of a particular pilot and have her secret revealed. (ON GOING)
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Gravity
Jake "Hangman" Seresin Fanfic
Chapter Fifteen: Coffee and Sunlight
The sky was melting into a deeper shade of twilight, streaks of lavender and rose fading slowly into the ocean. Nova leaned into Jake, her cheek against his shoulder, one hand gently curled near his chest. The sounds of base life were distant now—muted by the hush of the hour and the heaviness of everything unsaid.
As the final sliver of sun dipped beneath the horizon, Nova sighed softly.
“I don’t want the night to end,” she murmured, barely louder than the breeze.
Jake looked down at her, eyes soft and thoughtful. “It doesn’t have to.”
She tilted her head slightly, curious.
“Come back with me,” he said gently. “To my place.”
Nova blinked at him, warmth blooming quietly in her chest. She gave a small nod, her lips curling into the faintest smile. “Yeah. I’d like that.”
The drive was quiet, but not in a way that felt empty. Jake’s hand rested lightly on the gearshift between them, close enough that their fingers brushed once or twice. Nova kept glancing out the window, watching the last of the golden light vanish behind the rows of buildings and tarmac. And yet—she didn’t feel darkness. Not with Jake beside her.
They pulled up outside a modest home near the edge of base housing. It was quiet here, far enough from the barracks and comms towers to feel like a different world. Jake stepped out first, then circled around to her side, his hand gently brushing her lower back as he guided her to the door—instinctive, protective.
Nova stepped inside and paused.
The air was warm, lived-in. Not overly decorated, but clean. Simple. There were framed photos on the wall—some from flight school, others from the Academy, and a few more recent ones of the Dagger team mid-laugh or grinning with flight helmets tucked under their arms. One of Jake with Rooster, another with Coyote and Fanboy. Life frozen in snapshots.
Nova smiled faintly. “You’re a sentimental sap, Seresin.”
Jake chuckled as he closed the door behind them. “What gave me away?”
She pointed to a picture of a much-younger Jake, shirtless on the beach, holding a surfboard and grinning like the sun was his best friend. “This one’s a dead giveaway.”
He winced playfully. “Damn. Thought I took that one down.”
“Nope,” she said, eyes still scanning. “It’s cute. All of it.”
Jake let the moment linger a beat longer before he stepped past her into the kitchen. “Come on, I’ll get you something to drink. Water?”
Nova raised an eyebrow and leaned on the counter. “What, nothing stronger?”
Jake smirked as he pulled two glasses from the cupboard. “I’ve got bourbon. But you’re on painkillers. And I’m trying to be responsible.”
She let out a playful scoff. “Wow. Hangman being responsible. Who would’ve thought?”
He turned to hand her a glass, eyes catching hers as he said, “When it comes to you, I’ll always be responsible.”
Her breath hitched. The smirk on her lips faded into something softer, quieter. They stood like that for a moment—neither speaking, neither needing to. Then Jake cleared his throat, tilting his head toward the living room. “Come on. Let’s go sit.”
Nova followed him through the house, trailing her fingers along the back of the leather couch as she moved to sit. She eased down carefully, ribs still tender, and Jake settled beside her. Not too close at first—until she leaned subtly into his side, resting her head against his shoulder like it belonged there.
Jake smiled as his arm wrapped around her shoulders. “Comfortable?”
Nova murmured, “Very.”
They sat like that in the quiet hum of the room, the glow of a nearby lamp casting a warm pool of light over them. Outside, crickets had begun to chirp, and the world seemed far away from where they sat—tucked into something safe and almost sacred.
Jake reached for the remote and muted the TV. “I usually have some sports thing playing. Feels weird with it this quiet.”
Nova tilted her head to look at him. “Weird isn’t always bad.”
He turned toward her too, their faces close now, inches apart.
“No,” he said quietly. “It’s not.”
A beat passed. Their gazes lingered. Something thick and sweet swelled in the space between them.
Nova broke the silence with a small smile. “Are you always this charming at home?”
Jake chuckled under his breath. “Only when I’ve got someone worth charming.”
Nova’s smile deepened.
They were still smiling when it happened—the pause that turned electric. The breath that caught. The way their eyes dropped to each other’s lips before locking again.
Jake leaned in and kissed her. Slow. Sweet. The kind of kiss that said I’ve missed you, I’m glad you’re here, Don’t leave again—all without a single word. Nova kissed him back, her fingers curling into the front of his shirt, her body rising to meet his with each soft press of his lips.
The kiss deepened naturally, like gravity had taken hold of them both. Jake shifted, one hand bracing beside her head, the other hovering cautiously near her waist. Nova reclined slowly, guiding him with her until she was flat on her back, nestled into the cushions.
He hovered over her, careful not to let his weight rest on her.
“Are you sure?” he asked against her lips.
Nova nodded, eyes half-lidded.
He kissed her again, slow and heated. Their bodies aligned in a way that felt inevitable, their breathing turning shallow. Her hands explored under the hem of his shirt, and his lips traced the line of her jaw, her throat, the spot just beneath her ear that made her sigh softly.
And then—a jolt of pain.
She winced.
Jake pulled back instantly. “Nova—?”
She closed her eyes. “It’s okay. I just… forgot how bruised I am.”
He leaned back just enough to study her. His eyes scanned her face, then her side where the bandages sat hidden beneath the fabric of her clothes. His heart was pounding, but it was laced with concern, not lust.
“Nova…”
“I’m fine,” she says again, leaning up for another kiss.
Jake stops her with a look. “You’re not.”
Her lips part—half protest, half plea. But then she sees the tension in his jaw. The guilt already forming in his eyes.
“You think I’m fragile?” she teases gently.
“I think you nearly died four days ago,” he replies, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “And I’m not about to let my hormones be the reason you end up in the med bay again.”
Nova exhales and collapses back onto the cushions, staring at the ceiling with a groan. “These fucking cockblocking bandages.”
Jake throws his head back and laughs—a real, full laugh that vibrates in his chest. He looks down at her, shaking his head.
“You’re gonna be the death of me, Brooke.”
She tilts her head and gives him a sly smile. “If I wasn’t injured, Seresin… I’d let you take me right here on this couch.”
Jake groans loudly and scrubs a hand over his face. “Jesus, you can’t say stuff like that right now.”
Nova smirks. “Why not?”
“Because I’m trying very hard to be a gentleman,” he says, leaning over her again, nose brushing hers. “And you’re not making it easy.”
She lifts her brows innocently. “But you can cuddle me.”
He narrows his eyes, nods once. “You’re damn right I can.”
With careful movements, Jake helped her sit up, then pulled her into his lap sideways. She curled against him, her cheek pressed to his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her and held her there, his lips pressing a soft kiss to her temple.
“You’re not just someone I care about,” he murmured. “You’re it for me, Nova.”
She looked up slowly.
Jake’s eyes burned with honesty. “You’re the one I think about when I wake up, when I fly, when I’m not sure if I’m doing anything right. And when I thought you were gone…” His throat tightened. “It felt like someone ripped the sky out from above me.”
Nova reached for him, brushing a hand through his hair, then across his cheek. “I’m not going anywhere,” she whispered. “Not if I can help it.”
He leaned in and kissed her again. This time, there was no rush. Just warmth. Trust. A quiet promise in the dark.
They stayed on the couch like that, the weight of their bodies pressed close but gentle. No urgency, no need for more than what they had right then.
Eventually, Nova’s breathing slowed. Her hand rested against his chest, and Jake’s fingers traced lazy circles along her spine.
“You’re safe now,” he murmured against her hair. “You’re home.”
For the first time in days, weeks—maybe longer—she believed it.
The room was quiet—too quiet. Outside, the hum of base life was distant, swallowed by the thick veil of night. Inside Jake’s living room, the only sounds were the soft creak of leather beneath him and the rhythmic ticking of the wall clock above the mantel.
Nova lay against his chest, her breath feathering lightly over his shirt, one arm curled around his waist, the other tucked between them. She had fallen asleep like that—curled up, bandaged, tired. Still healing.
Still here.
Jake hadn’t moved in almost an hour. Not because he couldn’t, but because he wouldn’t. He was afraid if he even shifted, it would break the spell—that somehow, she’d vanish, and he’d wake up back in that locker room, staring at Cyclone’s pale face as he delivered the news.
MIA. Presumed KIA.
Those words had gutted him. Stripped him bare, and now here she was. Her skin warm against his. Her body curled into him like it belonged nowhere else.
Jake looked down, his chest tightening. Her face was soft in sleep. A healing bruise curled just under her eye, and a bandage peeked out from beneath the neckline of her sweatshirt.
That nearly broke him. Jake’s hand moved gently, carefully, brushing back a strand of her blonde hair. His fingers lingered at her temple, tender. Reverent.
“I thought I lost you,” he whispered.
The words felt foreign in his mouth, like he hadn’t earned the right to say them. But they were true. And truth had a way of crawling out of him when she was near.
“I didn’t get to say goodbye.”
His jaw clenched.
“I didn’t get to tell you how much you meant. How much you mean.”
She didn’t stir. But her grip on his t-shirt tightened slightly, like some part of her heard him. Felt him.
Jake blinked, and a single tear slipped free. He didn’t wipe it away.
“I love you,” he said quietly, almost breathlessly. “I think I’ve loved you for longer than I realized.”
He didn’t expect an answer. Didn’t need one. It was enough to say it out loud. To lay it bare between them, even if only he was awake to feel its weight, and God, what a weight it was.
She’d nearly died. He’d nearly lost the one person who made him feel more grounded in the air than he ever did on the tarmac.
Jake leaned his head back against the cushion, eyes closed, his arms tightening around her instinctively. Holding her as if to promise the universe he’d never let her go again, and as Nova breathed softly, curled into him like she was made for him, Jake let his heart settle. Let the fear slip away, replaced by a deeper, heavier truth.
He didn’t just love her. He needed her, and now that she was home, he’d never take a single heartbeat with her for granted again.
The morning sun spilled through Jake’s living room windows in long, golden rays, wrapping the quiet space in warmth. Nova stirred slowly, her cheek still pressed against the couch pillow. Every muscle ached, her ribs pulsed with dull pain—but it was the kind of pain she could bear. Because she was alive. Because she was here.
She blinked the sleep from her eyes and turned her head toward the kitchen. There, standing shirtless in sweatpants, Jake moved around the space with an easy familiarity—grinding coffee beans, pouring water, humming something low under his breath. Home looked good on him.
Nova pushed herself upright with a soft wince.
Jake looked over at the sound and smiled instantly. “Mornin’, sunshine.”
“Barely,” she rasped.
He crossed to her, cupping her face as he leaned in for a slow, grounding kiss—his lips soft, warm, and reverent. When he pulled back, his thumb brushed her cheekbone. “Sleep okay?”
Nova nodded. “You make a good mattress.”
Jake smirked. “Is that so?”
“Mm-hmm”
“You'll have to sleep on me more often then...”
She gave him a lazy shove and groaned at the movement, laughing through the pain. He helped her stand, his arm steadying her until she caught her balance. She followed him into the kitchen, breathing in the rich scent of coffee.
He handed her a mug. “Cream, two sugars. I remember.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Stalker.”
“Observer.”
Nova took a sip and sighed in appreciation. “God, I missed this.”
“Coffee?”
“Everything.”
They stood in the kitchen, sipping quietly for a moment before Jake pulled a carton of eggs from the fridge.
“I’m making breakfast,” he declared.
Nova blinked. “You cook?”
Jake gave her a look. “You think these abs are just good genetics?”
“I think they’re dangerous and distracting,” she said, dropping onto one of the bar stools with a smirk.
He grinned, with a soft chuckle.
They moved through breakfast in an easy rhythm—Jake at the stove, Nova stealing strips of bacon, mock-bickering the way only two people deeply comfortable with each other could. Between teasing comments and casual touches, it felt like something they’d always done. Like something they could do forever.
As Jake set a plate in front of her, he nodded toward the clock. “I need to swing by base for a bit.”
Nova looked up. “I’ll come with you.”
He hesitated. “You sure?”
She nodded. “I should check in, see the team. I’ve missed them.”
Jake smiled softly. “They’ve missed you too.”
The warm afternoon sun cast long lines across the hangar floor as Nova stepped out of Jake’s truck, her boots hitting the ground with steady purpose. Her ribs still ached, her stitches pulled slightly when she moved, but none of it mattered. Not now. Not when the sky stretched blue and endless above her and the scent of jet fuel lingered in the air like a homecoming.
Jake was by her side instantly, his hand finding the small of her back like it belonged there. Protective. Steady. She leaned into it with a subtle smile.
They made their way across the tarmac together, the familiar shapes of the jets lined up in formation making Nova’s heart ache in the best way. As they rounded the corner of the main hangar, she spotted her bird—her jet—gleaming under the sun.
Nova drifted toward it, her hand rising to trail her fingers along the cool metal of the fuselage. Her chest tightened at the touch. She hadn’t realized just how much she’d missed it.
“You’ll be back in the sky before you know it,” Jake said quietly beside her.
“I can’t wait,” she whispered.
Before she could respond further, voices rang out behind them.
“Look what the ocean spit back out!”
Nova turned just in time to see Rooster striding toward her, sunglasses perched on his nose and a wide grin on his face. The rest of the squad followed close behind—Payback, Fanboy, Coyote, Bob, and of course, Phoenix, her eyes wide with disbelief and joy.
“Brooke,” Rooster said, pulling her into a gentle but firm hug.
Payback laughed. “Welcome home, Lieutenant.”
Before Nova could respond, Rooster took a step back and eyed her with mock admiration. “Damn, even injured, you still look better than Hangman.”
Jake raised a brow. “Easy, Bradshaw.”
Rooster grinned. “What? I’m just saying.”
Jake stepped closer, wrapping an arm around Nova’s waist—not possessively, but with a casual confidence that made his point.
Rooster caught the movement and tilted his head. “Wait...”
Phoenix narrowed her eyes at the way Jake’s fingers splayed across Nova’s hip. She looked at Nova, who met her gaze with a small, knowing smile and a soft nod.
Phoenix’s mouth twitched. “Well, it’s about damn time.”
Nova blushed faintly. “Yeah.”
Bob gave her a warm smile. “We missed you.”
“I missed you all,” Nova said sincerely, eyes scanning the familiar faces.
Coyote gave her a fist bump. “Glad you’re back, Nova. This place felt off without you.”
She was about to reply when footsteps echoed nearby. The squad instinctively straightened as Cyclone approached, clipboard in hand and his usual unreadable expression in place.
“Lieutenant Brooke,” he greeted, nodding once.
Nova snapped to attention instinctively, wincing slightly. Jake’s hand stayed lightly on her back, grounding.
“At ease,” Cyclone added. “It’s good to see you on your feet.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“We’ll debrief in a few days, once medical gives the all-clear. For now, your job is to recover.” His gaze flicked to Jake, then back to Nova. “Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
Cyclone gave a short nod and moved on, leaving the squad in a quiet beat of respectful silence—until Rooster leaned in again.
“So,” he said, voice low, “you two finally happen and I miss it? What the hell?”
Jake rolled his eyes, clearly fighting a grin. Nova giggles softly beside him. Phoenix looped an arm around Nova’s shoulder carefully, her voice quieter now. “You really okay?”
Nova nodded. “Yeah. Still hurts. But I’m here.”
Phoenix squeezed her gently. “And we’re not letting you go anywhere.”
Nova looked around the circle—these people who had become her second family. Their faces lit with relief and happiness, their voices buzzing with genuine warmth.
Jake leaned in and whispered, “Told you they missed you.”
Gravity
Jake "Hangman" Seresin Fanfic
Chapter Fourteen: Say It Now
The helo touched down like a ghost returning from the edge of the world. Even before the aircraft kissed the runway, the base had gone silent. Word had spread fast—Strike Six help was inbound. Nova was on that help. Alive. Scarred. But alive.
The squad had gathered by the hangar, a quiet, tense group lined up along the tarmac. Jake stood slightly ahead of the rest, his fists clenched at his sides, jaw locked so tightly he hadn’t said a word since the call came through.
Then he saw it—the familiar markings of Strike Six’s fleet. The helo slowed, landing gently against the concrete. His breath stilled in his chest. A medic descended first, followed by a slower, smaller figure.
Nova.
Her boots touched the ground, and for a moment, she didn’t move. She stood at the base of the helo like it had taken everything she had just to make it this far. Her hair in its usual waves, but with a white bandage that wrapped around her head. She was pale. Worn. Her left arm was tight against her ribs. But her eyes—her eyes were searching.
Until they found his.
Jake stepped forward instinctively, stopping just a few feet from her. The distance between them was barely anything at all, but it felt like a canyon.
She looked at him, eyes shimmering but dry. “Jake,” she said, her voice soft, like it hurt to speak.
His chest rose sharply. He didn’t touch her. Couldn’t. She looked so fragile, like she might splinter if he breathed wrong.
“You’re here,” he rasped.
“I'm okay,” she said, though she clearly wasn’t. Still, she raised a trembling hand and placed it gently on his forearm. “Jake...Please just hold me.”
He broke.
Jake stepped into her space and wrapped his arms around her, gently but firmly, like if he didn’t hold on tight enough she might disappear again. One hand cradled the back of her head, his palm splayed against her bandage as he pressed a kiss to her hair. Her arms circled around him, tighter than he thought she could manage, her face burying into his chest like it was the only place in the world she could breathe.
Around them, the squad watched. Phoenix had a hand over her mouth. Rooster blinked furiously. Bob looked down, eyes glassy.
But no one moved. No one interrupted. Even Cyclone, who had emerged silently from the hangar doors, stood with his arms folded and said nothing.
Jake didn’t speak at first. Just held her. Let the steady thud of his heart anchor them both.
After a while, Nova tipped her head up slightly, cheek resting against his chest. “I didn’t think I’d make it back.”
He pulled her even closer, brushing his cheek against her temple. “Don’t say that.”
“I needed to,” she whispered.
Jake’s throat worked as he fought for composure. “You scared the hell out of me.”
“I know,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t get to be sorry for surviving.”
She gave a soft laugh—wet, tired, broken. “Jake?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t let go.”
“Never,” he breathed.
They stayed that way for a long moment, just wrapped up in each other, two battle-worn souls trying to remember what it felt like to be whole. The sun dipped lower, turning the sky a wash of gold and lavender behind them.
They stayed wrapped in each other, holding on like it was the only thing keeping them steady. Nova’s cheek was against Jake’s chest, her breath warm and shaky. His hand moved slowly along her back, grounding her.
But then she shifted.
Reluctantly, Nova eased out of Jake’s embrace—not all the way, just enough to glance over his shoulder.
Her eyes found them. Her squad. Her family.
Phoenix stood a few feet back, eyes bright with unshed tears, jaw tight from trying not to fall apart. Bob stood beside her, glasses slightly askew, his mouth parted in a rare moment of pure emotion. Rooster looked like someone had knocked the wind out of him and forgotten to give it back.
Nova stepped toward them. Jake watched with a soft smile. She walked slowly, ribs clearly aching, but she held her head a little higher now. Phoenix moved first. They met halfway. There was no hesitation. Phoenix threw her arms around Nova without a word, careful but fierce, her hands gripping the back of her flight suit like she was making sure she was real. Nova clung just as tightly, her chin tucked into Phoenix’s shoulder.
“I thought you were gone,” Phoenix whispered into her hair.
“I know,” Nova breathed. “I’m sorry.”
When they pulled apart, Bob stepped in. He didn’t say anything, just opened his arms and waited. Nova leaned in, resting her forehead against his as his arms folded gently around her shoulders.
“Hey, Bob,” she murmured.
“Hey, Nova.” His voice cracked on her name. “Welcome home.”
Rooster was next. He looked torn between hugging her and standing at attention. Nova didn’t wait—she reached for him, and that broke the last of his hesitation. He pulled her in, murmuring something inaudible into her hair before pressing a quick kiss to the side of her head.
“You’re tougher than the rest of us combined, you know that?” he said, clearing his throat.
Nova gave a tired smile. “Don’t let Cyclone hear that.”
Speaking of—Cyclone had quietly stepped forward, nodding once in acknowledgement. “Lieutenant,” he said gruffly.
“Sir,” Nova replied, giving a slightly shaky salute. He returned it with a nod and a rare softness in his gaze before stepping back to give her space.
Jake stepped back into her space, she looked at him, he offered his hand. She took it, with one arm around Jake and the other brushing Phoenix’s as they walked, Nova let herself breathe—really breathe—for the first time since she hit the water, and in the fading light of day, surrounded by the people who had become her home, she walked off the runway and back into her life.
Later that day, Jake stood by the door, still in his flight suit, reluctant to go.
“You sure you’re okay on your own?” he asked, his hand gently brushing her bandaged arm.
Nova nodded with a small smile. “I’m fine. Go. Your simulator won’t wait forever.”
He lingered. His gaze clung to her like he didn’t quite trust the moment to last. Like if he blinked, she’d be gone again. Eventually, he gave a quiet nod. “I’ll come back after. Don’t unpack too fast without me.”
She smirked, a trace of mischief breaking through the exhaustion. “No promises.”
He leaned in and kissed her forehead. Soft. Steady. Grounding. Then he slipped out, the door clicking softly behind him.
Nova let out a slow breath. The silence returned, gentle but a little too still.
She turned toward her duffel bag and began unpacking with care. Folded shirts. A worn book. A small framed photo—Strike Six, standing proud on the deck, arms around each other. Her fingers hesitated on Grayson’s face. She studied it, eyes tracing the shape of his smile.
Then, quietly, she slid it behind another photo—one of her and Jake, taken at the beach bonfire weeks ago. Wind in her hair. His eyes on her, though the camera hadn’t asked for it.
A knock sounded, before she could answer, the door opened just enough for Phoenix to step through.
“Hey,” Nova said softly.
Phoenix lingered in the doorway. No flight gear. No swagger. Just Nat. “Hope I’m not interrupting.”
Nova shook her head. “No. Just settling in.”
Phoenix hesitated. Then nodded toward the bed. “Can I?”
“Of course.”
They sat side by side. Close but not crowding. The fading sunlight painted the walls in quiet amber tones. For a while, they said nothing.
“I couldn’t sleep when you were gone,” Phoenix said finally, voice barely above a whisper. “None of us could.”
Nova swallowed. “I didn’t mean to scare anyone. It just… happened so fast.”
Phoenix turned slightly, her expression etched with something deeper than words. “You almost died, Nova.”
“I know.”
“I mean really died.” Phoenix’s voice caught. “When they told us you were MIA, I couldn’t breathe. It felt like someone just—” she stopped, eyes burning.
Nova’s own voice wavered. “It was close. Closer than I want to admit. When I hit the water, I thought… this can’t be it. Not without saying goodbye.”
Phoenix reached out, curling a hand gently around her friend’s hand. “But you came back.”
They leaned into each other without another word. Arms wrapped tight. Faces pressed close. A raw, trembling hug between two women who knew what it meant to almost lose.
When they pulled away, Phoenix wiped her cheek and let out a breathy laugh. “God, we’re a mess.”
Nova smiled through watery eyes. “Yeah… but the best kind.”
Their laughter faded into silence. It wasn’t heavy this time. Just full. Then Phoenix shifted, her tone softer now. “Nova...”
Nova looked up, something taut and expectant in her chest.
“Jake...I’ve never seen him like that before,” Phoenix said. “Not even close.”
Nova’s heart jumped. “What do you mean?”
“When we thought you were gone…” Phoenix shook her head. “He stopped talking. He wouldn’t eat. Barely slept. Just sat in the locker room or stared out at the runway like… like if he just looked hard enough, you’d walk off a jet and come back to him.”
Nova blinked. Her mouth parted slightly. She wasn’t sure she was breathing.
“I’ve flown with him for years,” Phoenix continued. “Jake Seresin doesn’t do fragile. But you? Losing you broke him.”
Phoenix reached over, brushing her thumb over Nova’s hand. “He loves you, Nova. Like, really loves you. He’s probably been in love with you longer than even he knows.”
Nova didn’t respond. Not with words. But her silence said everything. The way her jaw clenched. The tears she fought back. The longing in her eyes.
“I should’ve said something,” she whispered.
Phoenix gave her a soft smile. “You still can.”
For a while, they sat with that truth. Let it breathe, the room steeped in stillness after Phoenix's words. Nova’s gaze was distant, eyes glassy as she processed the weight of it—Jake, his love, the days lost. Her fingers tangled loosely in the edge of the comforter, her breath shallow.
Phoenix let the silence sit for a moment longer before nudging her gently.
“Come on,” she said softly, offering a small, steady smile. “I’ll help you unpack.”
Nova blinked, then nodded—grateful. No more words were needed. Just the quiet rhythm of two friends, side by side, bringing her back to life one folded shirt at a time.
The sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows across the base as Jake made his way down the quiet hallway. Gone was the pressure of simulator training; he’d changed into jeans and a soft gray t-shirt, but the tension in his chest hadn’t faded. Not until he reached her door.
He raised his hand and knocked lightly.
It opened within seconds.
Nova stood there, eyes bright but tired, a small smile tugging at her lips. She was in an oversized hoodie, hair slightly tousled, and for a moment, Jake could only stare.
“Hey,” he said softly.
“Hey,” she replied, her voice almost a whisper.
He stepped forward, brushing his hand down her arm before pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. “You look better.”
“I feel better,” she said with a breath, then stepped back to let him in. But instead, she added, “Come with me?”
“Anywhere.”
They walked in silence across the base, the golden hues of dusk bathing the buildings around them in warmth. There were few people out now—most tucked away for the evening. Nova led the way to their usual spot—a quiet overlook that faced the sky and ocean beyond, where jets danced by day and stars emerged by night.
They sat side by side, not quite touching.
For a long moment, neither spoke.
Then, softly, Nova broke the silence. “Before I hit the water… before everything went black… all I could think about was you.”
Jake turned his head, startled, but didn’t interrupt.
“I wasn’t scared of dying. I was scared I’d never see you again. That I’d never get to tell you,” she whispered. “That I waited too long.”
Jake's breath hitched.
“When Cyclone told us,” he began, voice rough, “when he said they hadn’t found you… that they thought you were gone…”
He shook his head.
“I felt like the ground disappeared under me. I couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe.” He looked down at his hands. “All I could think was—I didn’t say it. I let you walk away and I didn’t say it.”
Nova turned her face toward him, her eyes shimmering in the light of the setting sun.
“Say it now,” she whispered.
Jake looked at her—really looked. And with no hesitation, no fear, he said, “I’m in love with you, Nova. Have been since that night at the jukebox.”
A soft breath escaped her lips. Then she lifted her hand and cupped his jaw, fingers brushing gently across his cheek.
“I’m in love with you too,” she said.
Jake smiled—something deep and full—and leaned in.
Their lips met slowly, tenderly, like they were sealing a promise. A kiss filled with all the words they hadn’t spoken, all the time they’d nearly lost. His hand slid around her back, hers into his hair. The warmth of each other, the safety, the love—they melted into it. When they finally pulled away, Jake rested his forehead against hers, breathing her in.
“Say it again,” he murmured.
She let out a soft laugh, brushing her nose against his. “I’m in love with you.”
He kissed her again, deeper this time. Then whispered, “I’m in love with you too.”
And this time, nothing was left unsaid.
Gravity
Jake "Hangman" Seresin Fanfic
Chapter Thirteen: The Weight Of Silence
The sky was streaked in shades of bruised lavender and gold when Jake finally slipped away.
The base still buzzed behind him—voices tangled in disbelief, boots on pavement, the low hum of jets and humming engines that somehow continued like the world hadn’t just shifted. But Jake Seresin couldn’t hear any of it. Not truly. Not since Cyclone’s voice had gone low and steady and said the words no pilot ever wanted to hear.
“She went down over the water. Strike Six is conducting search and rescue but… she’s presumed KIA.”
It echoed in his head like a curse. Like a joke the universe thought was funny.
Presumed KIA.
Not confirmed.
Not recovered.
Just… gone.
Jake’s boots hit the gravel path that lined the cliffs west of the base—the place they all went when they needed space. When they needed to be alone with their thoughts. But this time, no one followed him. Not even Rooster.
They’d tried to talk to him. Phoenix’s voice was sharp with grief, Bob’s eyes rimmed in red, and even Payback had looked like he might throw up. Rooster had gripped Jake’s shoulder and said something like, “We don’t know for sure, man. She’s the best damn pilot out there. If anyone’s surviving this, it’s her.”
Jake had nodded.
But then he’d walked.
Now, the Pacific stretched before him, glimmering under the fading light. Wind tugged at his shirt and salted his lips. And he stood there, just beyond the base fence line, where the cliff edge dropped into wild sea. Where the horizon blurred between sky and water. Where he could pretend she was just… up there. Flying.
He let out a slow breath and ran a hand over his jaw.
“You promised,” he said softly, his voice cracking like thin ice. “You promised you’d fly safe.”
His fingers curled into fists.
A gull called somewhere above. Waves crashed below. The wind howled through the empty silence, but Jake didn’t flinch.
He tilted his head back, staring into the heavens, the same endless blue Nova had disappeared into. “I don’t believe it,” he whispered, “I don’t care what they said. I don’t believe it.”
But God, it hurt to hope.
It felt like something was lodged in his throat. Something jagged and sharp and breaking him from the inside. He sank to the ground, knees hitting the cold stone. One hand braced against the earth, the other fisting in his hair. And then—just like that—he broke.
His shoulders shook. Not violently, not loudly. Just tremors, small and aching. The kind that came from someone who never let himself fall apart.
“She can’t be gone,” he whispered. “Not her.”
He dragged a hand down his face and let the salt sting his eyes, though he wasn’t sure if it was sea spray or grief anymore. Jake didn’t cry. Not when his father left. Not when he lost his wingman during his first deployment. Not when Tiffany finally walked out that night after the beach.
But now?
Now he couldn’t stop.
“She’s supposed to come back,” he whispered. “She’s supposed to walk through that damn hangar, cocky smirk on her face, telling us how Strike Six handled business.”
He stared at the waves like they might answer him, and then he started talking. Not to anyone. Not really. Just… to her.
“I never got to tell you,” he murmured. “Not really. Not how you make everything feel different. Like it’s not just about flying or rank or who we’re supposed to be. You made it all feel—” He swallowed. “Real.”
He closed his eyes. “I was going to tell you. I was going to wait until you got back. Buy you that stupid drink I owe you, take you to that diner outside base you said you liked. I was going to look you in the eyes and say it.”
“I love you, Brooke.”
It slipped out like breath. Like prayer. He let it sit in the air. Heavy and quiet and unbearably true. Then he glanced skyward again.
“I know you can hear me,” he whispered. “Wherever you are. I know you wouldn’t leave me without one hell of a fight.”
Silence.
Then the wind shifted.
It wasn’t much—just a warm gust that swept over him, brushing the tears from his cheeks and ruffling his hair. But it felt like something. Something real. Something Nova.
He stood, slowly, and he made himself promise, right then and there, that until someone found her—until there was a body, a crash site, anything—he wouldn’t believe it.
Not for one second. Nova Brooke wasn’t dead. Not while Jake Seresin was still breathing. He glanced back toward the base. The sun had almost set now, fire curling along the water’s edge. He took one last look at the horizon, then whispered:
“Come home, Nova.”
Then he turned and walked back. Hope clutched in his chest like a prayer he refused to let go.
The ocean was vast.
It stretched beneath the waning sun like an endless sheet of glass—peaceful, quiet. Deceptive.
Until the silence split.
“Mayday! Strike One is down! Repeat—Strike One is down!”
The comms crackled with chaos as Strike Six’s jets cut back over the last known coordinates. Charles's voice was strained with panic, his fingers clenched on the stick. “I saw her chute—she had to have ejected—keep scanning that water!”
From above, the ocean looked empty.
But they didn’t stop.
A rescue chopper was already in motion, its blades chopping against the wind as it raced toward the GPS ping of Nova’s emergency beacon.
Inside the bird, medics were already prepping for trauma—neck brace, compression bandages, oxygen mask. No one spoke, but every glance said the same thing:
Please be alive.
The sea gripped her like a cradle, salt in her mouth, her nose, her cuts. Her flight suit dragged like lead. The impact from the missile still echoed in her bones. Consciousness flickered in and out, but she stayed afloat—barely.
Nova didn’t know if she was alive or dreaming.
Didn’t know how long she’d been in the water.
She just knew her body was failing. Limbs numb. Vision tunneling.
A single thought rose through the fog, fierce and steady.
Jake.
Then came the sound—the unmistakable thrum of a helicopter.
“Visual! Visual on Strike One! She’s floating—westward drift, forty meters out!”
Spotlights slashed across the sea as the rescue diver plunged into the water, fighting the current as he kicked toward her. Her head lolled. Her lips parted but made no sound.
Then—hands on her arms. A voice calling her name. A sharp tug as the harness clicked around her.
“Hang on, Lieutenant. We’ve got you.”
She didn’t respond.
Didn’t need to.
She was already slipping away.
When she woke again, the lights above her were harsh.
Cool air replaced saltwater. Her skin smelled of antiseptic and gauze. Every breath hurt, her ribs tight beneath pressure bandages. Her throat was raw. Her limbs, heavier than stone.
But she was alive.
She blinked against the white ceiling, slow and unfocused, then turned her head.
A man sat beside her—leaning forward, his head in his hands. Broad-shouldered, familiar.
“Charles?” Her voice came out as a rasp.
He jerked upright, shock flashing in his eyes. “Nova.” He exhaled, swiping a hand over his face. “Jesus. Thank God.”
She tried to sit up but hissed in pain. He was at her side in an instant, steadying her. “Easy. You’ve got cracked ribs, and you were hypothermic when we pulled you out. Just breathe.”
“I thought I was—” She paused, swallowing. “Gone.”
His jaw clenched. “We almost lost you. The parachute deployed on its own, but the impact knocked you out. We found you drifting.” He hesitated. “We thought it was too late.”
“But it wasn’t,” she said softly.
“No,” he whispered. “It wasn’t.”
Later, the medical bay was quiet. Nova sat upright, cradling a cup of warm broth in both hands. Her fingers still trembled slightly.Across from her, Commander Briggs stood with a tablet in hand. His eyes softened when he looked at her.
“We’ve already sent a report to Top Gun,” he said. “They were notified immediately that you went down… and that search and rescue was underway.”
Nova stilled. “They think I’m dead.”
Briggs gave a grim nod. “Until the comms report is cleared and confirmed, yes. You were marked as MIA. Presumed KIA.”
Her stomach twisted.
Jake.
What would that have done to him?
She cleared her throat. “When am I going back?”
Briggs lifted a brow. “You were pulled from the Pacific barely breathing, Nova. We’ll fly you out as soon as the doc clears you for transport. But until then—rest. You’re lucky to be alive.”
She looked down at the ring tucked beneath her medical gown—still strung on its chain.
Grayson. Jake. Everything she loved was always touched by the sky. And the sky always demanded something in return.
Nova slowly turned her head to the side. The window of the medbay was small, but through it, she saw the ocean stretching out endlessly. It glittered under the afternoon sun, calm and quiet, like it hadn’t almost killed her.
She didn’t cry.
She just laid there in silence, letting the warmth of the blanket and the sharp sting of reality settle over her.
Jake’s face flickered through her mind—his smile, his voice. The way he said her name that night outside the hangar like it meant something. Fly safe, he’d whispered. She could still feel the ghost of his hand on her cheek.
Then Grayson.
Her heart clenched.
Her thoughts drifted to the quiet space in her chest reserved just for him. He would’ve been proud of her—for surviving, for staying calm even when death was moments away. But she also knew he would’ve said something Jake had echoed once: Always come back. She had.
Hours passed before Nova was discharged from medbay. The ship’s doctor told her she’d need time to heal, but she was free to move around the carrier. As she stepped out, the wind hit her—strong and salty and alive. Her dog tags clinked against her chest as she walked, slow and stiff, to the flight deck.
There weren’t many people out. Just a few deckhands and crew. She stayed to the side, unnoticed, finding her way to the edge of the ship. The water stretched forever.
Nova stood still for a long time, eyes cast out over the ocean that had tried to claim her. She could still taste the salt in her mouth, feel the weight of the waves dragging her down.
But she was here.
She was breathing.
She was alive.
Her fingers curled around the thin silver chain beneath her shirt. Gently, she pulled it free. The ring swayed gently in the wind, catching the light. Grayson’s ring. His promise.
“I’m still here,” she whispered to it. “You didn’t lose me yet.”
Her voice cracked on the last word. She tucked the ring back beneath her flight suit, wiped at her eyes, and took a breath that expanded painfully in her ribs. But it was deep. Solid.
She placed her hand against her chest again, over the ring.
Then whispered to herself, voice low and sure: “I’m not done yet.”
-----
The sun had barely crested the horizon when the message came through. The squad stood in silence. No one said a word as Admiral Simpson entered the briefing room. His face was unreadable, but there was something in his eyes—something that made Jake’s pulse flicker.
They were all still reeling. Nova’s absence hovered like a fog, thick and heavy. The news that her jet had gone down had broken something in all of them. The idea that she might never come back had been too big to look at directly—so no one had. Not really.
Not until now.
Cyclone stepped up to the front of the room and cleared his throat. “I’ve called you all here because we’ve just received an update from Strike Six.”
Jake’s chest constricted. His hands curled into fists on either side of his thighs.
“Lieutenant Brooke is alive,” Cyclone said simply.
The air was sucked out of the room.
Jake blinked.
“What?” Phoenix asked, stunned.
Cyclone nodded. “She was found late last night by a Strike Six recovery team. Approximately eighty miles from the impact zone. She was unconscious, floating in her gear. Hypothermic. Broken ribs. Concussion. But alive. She was immediately medevaced to the carrier and is now in stable condition.”
For a full beat, no one moved.
Then Bob let out a sharp breath. “You’re sure?”
“She was identified, treated, and is now awake,” Cyclone confirmed. “She’s weak. But she’s fighting.”
Jake felt the world tilt. He sat frozen in his seat, unmoving while the others reacted around him. Rooster whispered something Jake couldn’t hear. Payback let out a low curse. Fanboy made the sign of the cross under his breath.
Phoenix’s hand covered her mouth. “She’s really okay?”
“She will be,” Cyclone said. “They’re keeping her under observation. Once she’s cleared, she’ll be flown back here.”
Jake still hadn’t moved. The words landed—but slowly, like sunlight creeping through a closed curtain. They touched places he didn’t even realize had gone cold.
She was alive. After all the fear. After the waiting. After thinking he’d lost her. She was alive.
The weight in his chest didn’t lift—it shifted. He felt winded, like someone had knocked the air out of him but handed him hope in return.
He stood quietly while the squad processed around him. There were mutters of disbelief, the beginnings of relief, but Jake didn’t join in.
He turned and left the room. No one stopped him.
Outside, the sun had started to dip low, streaking the sky in molten gold and blush-colored clouds. Jake walked across the concrete slowly, hands in his pockets, his boots scuffing faintly against the tarmac. He kept walking until he reached the edge of the hangar, where the building gave way to the open sky and the hush of distant ocean wind, and there, he just stood.
It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t cinematic. It was quiet. Jake closed his eyes and let it hit him. She was alive. He pressed a palm to his chest as if trying to feel her heartbeat from across the distance.
He hadn’t let himself imagine this moment. Hadn’t dared to hope. When they’d said she was missing, when her jet had gone down, when the comms had gone dead—he’d accepted it. Not fully. Not in his soul. But enough to let it start to ruin him.
Now, everything felt different.
Nova was alive, and she was coming home.
His throat tightened, but he didn’t cry. He stood still and breathed through the ache.
Jake thought about her smile. Her smart mouth. The way she looked at him like he mattered. He thought about the last kiss they shared—slow, aching, desperate—and how he’d believed it might be the only one they’d ever get.
But she was coming back. That kiss hadn’t been the end. He let the wind brush over him, warm and gentle. Then, slowly, he turned back toward the base.
There were things to do. People to check on. A team who needed to know he was okay too. But for just this moment, he’d given himself the space to feel it. She’s alive, and nothing else mattered.
Gravity
Jake "Hangman" Seresin Fanfic
Chapter Twelve: Counter Measures
Three Days Later
There was a rhythm to base life. A routine built on habit, repetition, and muscle memory. Wake. Run. Brief. Fly. Debrief. Rest. Repeat. But lately, something about that rhythm had faltered—like a beat missing in a familiar song. The air still smelled of jet fuel and sun-scorched tarmac. Engines still roared. Debrief still happened. But the absence was louder than any afterburner.
Nova was gone. And the base knew it.
It had been three days since she’d left.
Three days since Jake watched her jet vanish into the clouds with a kiss on his lips and a question in his heart. Three days of pretending everything was normal while everything inside him wasn’t.
He stood at the edge of the runway again, just like he had the morning she left. Arms folded, jaw tight, green flight suit creased and dusted from drills. His eyes scanned the sky—not for formations, not for training runs—but for something far more specific.
Her.
“You okay, man?” Rooster said, stepping up beside him, helmet under one arm.
Jake didn’t answer right away. His eyes remained fixed on the sky, watching the clouds drift slow and lazy, like they didn’t carry the weight he did.
“I won't be until I see her again,” he said finally, voice low.
Rooster exhaled and adjusted his grip on the helmet. “You’ve been out here every morning.”
Jake nodded.
“Every night too.”
Rooster didn’t press. He just stood there, shoulder to shoulder, offering quiet companionship. They didn’t need to speak more than that. Not yet.
Inside the locker room, the others felt it too.
Phoenix sat on the bench, tying her boots tighter than necessary. “It’s too damn quiet in here,” she muttered.
Bob glanced over from his locker, nodding. “She used to hum while suiting up. Did you ever notice?”
“Every morning,” Phoenix said. “Same damn tune.”
“I miss that tune.”
Fanboy and Payback were less subtle about it. They made a point of loudly pretending nothing had changed—arguing over callsigns, cracking jokes in the mess, flying hard in the air—but the harder they tried, the more obvious it became that something—or someone—was missing. Not just anyone, Nova had carved a space for herself. One that was invisible until she was gone, and now it felt like a hollowed-out center.
At the Hard Deck, Penny slid a beer across to Jake with a look of understanding. “Still nothing?”
He shook his head. “No. Classified mission.”
Penny’s brow furrowed. “So, no updates?”
Jake ran a hand through his hair, now longer and messier than he usually let it grow. “Nothing. Just silence.”
Phoenix joined him at the bar. “If anyone can fly through hell and make it back, it’s her.”
Jake nodded but didn’t speak. He traced the rim of his beer bottle absently.
“She’s one of the best pilots I’ve ever seen,” Phoenix added. “And I don’t say that about just anyone.”
“I know,” Jake said quietly. “She’s not just that though.”
Phoenix gave him a look.
“She’s…” he paused, swallowing the knot in his throat. “She’s Nova. She’s the air. The burn in your lungs when you fly too high. The storm before the calm.”
Phoenix blinked. “You got it bad, huh?”
Jake didn’t answer. He just looked down at the bottle label, picking at it. “Yeah,” he finally said. “Yeah, I do.”
Outside, the sky stretched wide and empty. Somewhere, miles away, Ava “Nova” Brooke was flying into danger with her Strike Six team. Somewhere, she was doing what she’d always done—protecting others, flying into the fire with steady hands and a calm voice.
But here, back on base, the world kept spinning slower.
Sometimes, at night, when the squad was scattered and the world had quieted, Jake found himself sat on the tarmac beneath the stars. Listening. Waiting.
“Come back,” he whispered once.
No one heard.
But the sky did.
And maybe… maybe she did too.
The sky was a blinding blue, the kind that looked painted — clear and calm, betraying the storm brewing miles beneath the surface.
Nova’s jet cut through the air with precision, her gloved hands steady on the controls. She barely felt the familiar rumble anymore — the jet was an extension of her, and this dance, this rhythm of the skies, was second nature.
Her Strike Six squadron flew in tight formation beside her. Charles — callsign “Halo” — was on her right wing, calm and composed as ever.
“Visual confirms. Submarine sighted, coordinates locked,” Nova’s voice echoed through comms, clear and focused.
They had trained for this for weeks. Intel had led them here — to this sector of open water where the enemy had been hiding one of their most advanced subs. This was a surveillance and containment mission, not strike. In, observe, out.
But nothing ever went according to plan.
“We’ve got movement,” Charles cut in. “High speed — east, closing fast.”
Nova’s eyes narrowed. The glint in the distance quickly became multiple bogeys streaking toward them — jets. Hostile.
“Looks like they brought backup,” Nova muttered, banking slightly, her voice steady but sharper now.
“Strike Six, we are not equipped for a full aerial assault,” came the voice of Commander Hale from base. “If engagement becomes inevitable, defend and retreat. Do not pursue.”
“Copy,” Nova said. “Engaging evasive formation.”
The jets screamed toward them, breaking formation in a chaotic burst. The skies became a battlefield — flares bloomed like fireworks, missiles trailed smoke ribbons across the blue. The Strike Six jets scattered, each pilot dancing through the chaos with calculated grace.
Nova moved like water — twisting, climbing, diving — always one second ahead. Her training, her instincts, her experience — they all kicked in. She was flawless. But even perfection had its limits.
“Strike One, you’ve got a lock,” Charles warned. “Missile incoming!”
Nova’s pulse spiked. She yanked the jet upward, releasing a burst of flares. The first missile veered off.
“Second lock!” Charles shouted.
“Deploying countermeasures,” Nova responded.
She flicked the switch. Nothing.
“Nova, do you copy?” Charles' voice was tighter now.
Nova’s hands flew over the controls. Her stomach dropped. “I’m out of flares.”
A pause.
Then Charles again, panicked now. “Nova, bank right — now!”
She yanked hard. But it wasn’t enough. The lock tone screamed in her ear — sharp, fatal — and the missile slammed into the tail of her jet. The explosion lit up the sky like a flash of hell. Smoke and fire billowed from her rear thrusters as the jet spiraled.
“Nova is hit!” Charles’ voice was raw, loud over comms. “Repeat — Nova is going down!”
“Nova! Nova, do you copy?!” another voice shouted.
Inside the cockpit, alarms wailed. Nova’s oxygen mask jerked against her face from the force. Her vision blurred, the sky tumbling as the jet spun.
She tried everything. Eject. Steady. Stabilize.
But the jet was screaming its own death cry.
“Come on,” she begged, hand gripping the throttle. “Come on—”
No use.
There was only fire. And the ocean rising fast.
From Charles' cockpit, he watched in horror as her black jet — the same one with her name printed in white across the side — hit the water nose-first. The splash was colossal. Then… silence.
“Nova is in the water,” he whispered. “No parachute sighted.”
A beat of stunned silence echoed across all Strike Six comms.
he squad was scattered across the hangar when the call came through.
Phoenix had been reviewing flight footage with Bob. Rooster was mid-joke with Fanboy. Jake was leaning against the nose of his jet, arms crossed, watching the clouds roll lazily over the runway. His thoughts had drifted toward a familiar voice. A pair of ocean eyes. The last kiss they’d shared.
He was still there — in that moment — when the call came in.
Cyclone’s voice over the PA system was tight, controlled, and cold enough to raise the hairs on their arms.
“All pilots report to the briefing room immediately.”
Jake’s brow furrowed. That wasn’t protocol. Not at this hour. Not like that. The squad filed in fast, the energy in the room shifting from casual to cautious. Cyclone stood at the front, arms behind his back, face grim. Warlock was beside him, unreadable. Maverick with them, face unreadable. Jake entered last, the others already seated. He stayed standing.
Cyclone’s eyes swept the room, landing on each of them like the weight of gravity itself.
“We received word from the Strike Six command center less than ten minutes ago,” Cyclone began. “During the course of a classified operation over hostile waters, Strike Six encountered resistance. Multiple enemy fighters were engaged.”
The air thickened.
Jake felt something coil in his chest.
Cyclone didn’t soften his delivery. “Lieutenant Brooke’s aircraft was struck by a surface-to-air missile during retreat. She lost control. The jet made impact with the ocean. No parachute was seen. No signal has been recovered.”
Phoenix’s breath hitched audibly.
Bob closed his eyes.
Rooster’s mouth parted slightly, stunned.
Jake?
Jake didn’t move.
“Strike Six initiated an immediate search-and-rescue. As of now, the search is ongoing,” Cyclone added, jaw tight. “But conditions are severe. The waters are deep, and the area is enemy-patrolled. Lieutenant Brooke is classified as MIA … but she is presumed KIA.”
The words echoed.
Presumed KIA.
Presumed. But not confirmed.
Not found.
Not Nova.
“No,” Jake said aloud, his voice quiet but shaking. “No, no — that’s not—”
“Hangman,” Warlock warned gently, but Jake stepped back, the air punching out of his lungs.
“She’s not dead,” Jake snapped, louder. “You don’t get to say that. Not her.”
His voice cracked at the end.
Everyone in the room watched as he paced toward the wall, then stopped, fists clenched at his sides.
Phoenix approached him slowly. “Jake…”
He couldn’t look at her. Couldn’t look at any of them. If he did, the truth might hit too hard. He’d seen her just days ago. In his arms.
“I’ll hold you to it, Seresin.”
He could still hear her voice.
She wore a necklace under her flight suit. Carried a ring on it. And somehow, even with all that pain and all that past, she had let herself feel something again — with him.
He had felt it.
And now…
Phoenix swallowed. “Jake, we—”
“No.” He finally turned, eyes red. “She’s not gone. Not until I hear her voice. Not until they find her. Until then—”
He faltered.
Rooster stood, firm. “Then we wait. Together.”
Jake nodded slowly, jaw tight.
But his gaze drifted toward the window, toward the sky. Where the only pilot he ever truly fell for had vanished without a trace and his heart — the one Nova Brooke never meant to touch — was breaking wide open.
Gravity
Jake "Hangman" Seresin Fanfic
Chapter Eleven: Before The Sky Falls
The sky was still painted in shades of lavender and indigo when Jake arrived at the hangar. The base was nearly silent, save for the low hum of floodlights and the distant cry of gulls over the ocean. He stood there with a black coffee in one hand, the other buried deep in his jacket pocket as he waited—restless.
And then he saw her.
Ava.
She was walking toward the Strike Six jet, her all-black flight suit hugging every familiar line of her form. Her helmet was tucked under her arm, her braid trailing down her back, and though she walked with the quiet composure of someone used to carrying the weight of the world, Jake saw it. The heaviness in her step. The wariness in her eyes. The tension beneath her calm.
He didn’t call her name.
He just walked to meet her.
They stopped a few feet apart in front of her jet. Neither of them spoke right away.
The jet gleamed in the dull morning light. Sleek. Lethal. A shadowed mirror of the woman standing beside it.
“I thought I’d beat you here,” Ava finally said, her voice soft.
Jake smiled faintly. “Didn’t sleep much.”
Ava nodded, glancing down at the ground for a beat before returning her eyes to his. “Me neither.”
Jake stepped closer. “You sure about this?”
“No,” she admitted quietly. “But I’m doing it anyway.”
There wasn’t anything to say to that. Not really.
His eyes drifted to the harness strap that hung slightly loose on her left shoulder. Without asking, he reached out and adjusted it. His fingers brushed her arm, lingering a moment too long. She didn’t move.
“Fly safe,” he said.
“Always,” she whispered.
Jake dropped his hand but didn’t step back. The air between them thickened. Not uncomfortable—just full. With all the things they hadn’t had time to say. With everything they felt and had barely begun to admit.
Ava looked at him then, really looked at him. “Will you be here when I get back?”
His throat tightened. “I’m not going anywhere.”
She smiled—tired and sad and hopeful all at once. “Good.”
He swallowed, jaw tightening as he studied her. “You’ll come back. You have to.”
Ava hesitated, then reached for his hand. She didn’t take it fully, just let her fingers brush his. “If I can…”
Jake stepped closer, his voice lowering. “No. No ifs, Ava.”
The silence held between them.
Then, Ava leaned up and gently pressed her forehead to his. Her other hand came up to lightly rest on his chest, over his heart. Jake closed his eyes. His hand slid to her waist, holding her there like the moment might shatter if he didn’t. The hangar lights caught in her eyes, glinting off the unshed tears she refused to let fall. Her breath hitched when he stepped closer, when his hand came up and gently cupped her cheek.
His thumb brushed against her skin like he was trying to memorize it. As if he needed to.
“Ava…” His voice cracked, just enough for her to notice.
Her throat tightened.
He held her there, not just with his hand — but with his presence, his eyes, his everything. And for a second, the rest of the world disappeared. He exhaled, like what he was about to say scared him more than anything he’d ever flown into.
“I don’t know what this is. I don’t know what’s next. But you have to know—”
She didn’t let him finish. She leaned up and kissed him.
It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t desperate. It was full.
Full of every glance, every unspoken moment, every heartbeat they hadn’t shared until now. His hand slid from her cheek into her hair, his other arm pulling her in like he wasn’t ready to let go. She kissed him like it might be the last time — because neither of them knew if it wasn’t.
His mouth parted slightly, but no words came. Her fingers curled into his flight suit. His forehead pressed to hers when they broke apart, breath mingling in the space between them. She looked up at him, eyes glistening, and whispered, “Tell me when I get back.”
Her hand came up to rest on his chest, her fingers trembling over his heart. She felt it racing. Just like hers.
“I don’t want to let you go,” Jake whispered, his voice almost broken.
She closed her eyes, fighting the sting.
“But you have to,” she breathed. “And I need you to let me.”
Jake nodded — not because he wanted to, because he knew she needed him to be strong. So he kissed her forehead, holding it there for a second longer than necessary.
Then she took a step back. And another.
He stood still, his arms aching to reach for her again.
She looked at him one last time, eyes shimmering with something fragile and raw. “Then this isn’t goodbye. Not really.”
He smiled, just barely. “Not even close.”
Ava took a breath and stepped back. She turned toward the jet, placing a hand on the cold metal. Her fingers traced the letters of her name printed just beneath the cockpit. For a second, she closed her eyes, drawing strength from the familiar feel of it.
Then she climbed in.
Jake didn’t move.
He stood at the edge of the tarmac, hands in his pockets, watching her canopy close. Watching her taxi to the runway. And when her jet lifted into the morning sky, a black shadow against the pale horizon, Jake whispered something only the sky could hear.
“Come back to me, Nova.”
Jake stood at the edge of the tarmac, eyes locked on the shrinking outline of her Strike Six jet as it cut across the horizon like a silent promise. The roar of her afterburners had long since faded, but the echo of it still rattled inside his chest.
He didn’t move. Not when Rooster stepped up beside him. Not when Bob lingered a few paces back, hands shoved deep into his pockets. Not even when Phoenix finally murmured, “She’s gone,” as if he didn’t already know.
Jake couldn’t look away from the place where she’d last been — from the sky that had taken her.
“Jake.” Rooster’s voice was low. Gentle. “C’mon, man.”
He swallowed hard, jaw tight. “Just… give me a second.”
Rooster nodded and stepped back, giving him space.
“We’ll be in the hangar.”
Jake gave the smallest nod.
The moment they left, the silence wrapped around him like a second skin, almost disrespectfully so. The kind of silence that wrapped around your ribs and squeezed. His chest rose and fell, but it was mechanical. Every breath a reminder that she wasn’t here. That she might not come back.
The sun was rising higher now, its light soft and golden, but it didn’t warm him. Not in the way she had. Jake had always loved the sky, but this morning it felt cruel — vast and unfeeling. A thief of the one thing he hadn’t been ready to let go of.
He turned, slowly, and walked toward the hangar, toward the quiet shadowed space where the rest of the world hadn’t caught up yet. The locker room was dim, still half-asleep. He moved on instinct — toward her locker. He didn’t touch it. Just stood there. Letting the stillness settle in his bones.
Her nameplate was a small thing. Simple. Just “BROOKE.” But it felt like it had weight. Like the air around it had changed now that she was gone.
He sat down on the bench across from it, elbows on his knees, head bowed low.
And for the first time in years, Jake didn’t know what the hell to do.
The last words she said echoed in his chest.
“Tell me when I’m back.”
God, he’d meant to. He would have told her right then and there. That he loved her. That somewhere between the jukebox and the flightline, she’d gone and stolen his damn heart. But she’d kissed him. And then she was gone.
Now, all he had was the memory of her lips. The way her eyes had looked up at him — certain, fierce, so damn alive. Jake swallowed, his throat tight. He dragged a hand over his face, pressing the heel of his palm to his eyes. He thought he was prepared for this life. For the goodbyes. The risks. The waiting.
But this wasn’t just another pilot in the sky.
This was Nova.
And suddenly, the space between them felt unbearable.
He stood, restless, and walked the length of the room — then back again. His boots echoed faintly on the tile. He tried to breathe through the heaviness, the ache that sat square in his chest. He leaned against the wall and tilted his head back, eyes closed.
Please come back to me.
He didn’t say it out loud, but the thought pulsed through him like a prayer. If there was anyone listening up there — fate, God, the universe — he was begging them now.
Come back safe. Come back whole. Come back.
The door creaked open. Rooster stepped in, quiet. He paused when he saw Jake.
“She’ll be alright,” he said softly.
Jake’s eyes opened. “You don’t know that.”
“No,” Rooster admitted. “But I believe it.”
Jake looked away, jaw clenched. “I should’ve said it.”
Rooster gave a faint smile. “She knows, man. She knows.”
Jake exhaled and nodded once. Then, quietly, almost to himself: “I just hope I get to say it the way I want to.”
The carrier deck rumbled beneath Nova’s jet as it touched down, tires squealing softly against the steel surface. Her fingers clenched around the throttle and stick, her muscles taut with the residual focus from the flight. As her jet slowed to a smooth crawl, she finally exhaled. The ocean stretched endlessly around her, an unforgiving abyss that mirrored her state of mind — steady on the outside, storming within.
She taxied her jet to its mark, the deck crew waving her in with practiced precision. The second her canopy opened, warm wind rushed into the cockpit, carrying with it the sharp tang of sea air and something else — familiarity.
Standing at the edge of the platform, waiting, were the people who’d once been her family.
Major Ellison, her old Strike Six commander, stood with arms folded, a slow nod of approval tilting his chin. Behind him, Ava spotted Charles, her old wingman, along with Henry and Amelia — two tech officers she hadn’t seen in months. But their eyes held that same fire, that unbreakable edge.
She climbed out of the jet, her black flight suit clinging to her frame in the heat. As she dropped to the deck, her boots clanged on the steel, echoing across the surface. She didn’t realise how tight her chest had become until she saw Charles grin.
“Well, well,” he said, striding forward. “Nova returns.”
She cracked a small smile. “Guess I missed the smell of jet fuel and sweat.”
He pulled her into a brief hug, and for a moment, Ava let herself lean into the familiarity. It grounded her. Reminded her why she’d come back.
“You good?” he asked in a low voice, scanning her face.
“I will be,” she replied, and they both knew it was only half true.
Major Ellison stepped forward, nodding once. “Lieutenant Brooke, Debrief is in five. Room B-17.”
Nova straightened. “Yes, sir.”
As she followed him across the deck, her gaze drifted back to her jet — to the faint reflection of herself on the dark glass of the cockpit. She remembered Jake’s eyes as he told her to fly safe, the way his hand had cupped her cheek like she was something precious. The way he didn’t say "I love you," but somehow made her feel it anyway.
Always, he said.
She pressed her hand to her chest, to the silver chain and ring beneath her flight suit, as if drawing strength from the men she had loved — one who was gone, and one she might never see again.
The debrief was short, blunt, and loaded.
A foreign submarine had disappeared from radar in hostile waters. Satellite images suggested something unusual was happening on the ocean floor. Strike Six was tasked with aerial surveillance and — if needed — emergency response.
High risk. High altitude. Long hours. No room for error.
Ava listened, stone-faced. Every moment felt surreal. This was the life she had trained for, bled for. And yet, after months away, it felt like she was stepping into the shoes of a ghost — her own.
After the briefing, she found herself in the prep bay, suited up again. She slid her helmet under her arm and stood before her jet — the same one she had flown alongside Grayson, the one that had endured burn marks and scuffs from missions long past. She reached up and ran her fingers along the sleek nose, her touch featherlight.
The wind stirred her hair. The deck lights glowed orange against the steel. The world quieted.
“I’m back,” she whispered, pressing her forehead gently to the cool metal. “I know what you’d say. 'No fear, Nova. We’re made for this.'” She exhaled, steadying her breath. “But I’m scared, Gray. Not of flying. Not of dying.” Her voice faltered.
She blinked fast. A tear slid down her cheek as she pulled the chain from under her collar. The engagement ring — thin silver with a small diamond — rested cold against her skin. She kissed it softly and whispered, “I’ll love you always.”
The wind answered with a breeze that brushed her cheek like a hand. She could almost feel Grayson’s fingers there, ghosting over her cheek, just as they had countless times before — brushing back her hair, tapping the tip of her nose after a mission, cupping her jaw as he kissed her in the dark.
Her eyes fluttered shut, a tear slipping free.
“Okay,” she whispered, barely audible beneath the roar of the sea. “Okay.”
She stepped back from the jet and looked up at it — her bird, their bird. Sleek. Black. Loyal. The Strike Six insignia still gleamed near the cockpit. Her name — Ava "Nova" Brooke— was printed in sharp white beneath it. It wasn’t just a machine. It was history. Memory. War. Love. It was everything she'd lost and everything she was still fighting for.
Her movements were quiet and efficient, even as her heart pounded. She reached for the ladder and climbed, the steel cold beneath her gloves. At the top, she paused, one hand on the edge of the cockpit, the other resting briefly over her chest — over the ring, still tucked close to her heart.
Then she lowered herself into the seat. Familiar. Solid. It hugged her like a second skin.
With a practiced rhythm, she began strapping in. Shoulders. Chest. Thighs. The five-point harness clicked into place. She pulled on her helmet, the visor down with a soft snap, cloaking her in darkness for a beat — until her instruments came alive in a wash of light.
Behind her, the comms lit up.
“Nova, this is Halo. You ready to dance?”
She smiled softly at the familiar voice of Charles as it rang through the comms.
Her fingers moved over the controls with muscle memory, the jet humming awake like a sleeping dragon. She flicked the switch for her mic. “Ready,” she replied. Then, after a pause, her voice softened. “Always.”
Back on the carrier deck, Henry watched as her jet roared to life. Amelia stood beside him, watching the silhouette of Nova’s black jet move toward the runway.
“You think she’s ready?” Amelia asked.
Henry didn’t look away. “She’s always been ready. Just needed to remember who she is.”
Nova’s jet shot down the launch track and took off like a bullet into the clouds.
And just like that, Nova flew again — not just for duty, not just for her country. But for herself. For the ghosts she carried. And for the one man back on the mainland who had looked at her like she was more than just the shadow of grief.
She was airbound, and alive.
And nothing could stop her now.
Gravity
Jake “Hangman” Seresin Fanfic
Chapter Ten: Gravity Always Wins, Until It Doesn’t
Jake woke up to the pale glow of early morning slicing through the blinds like quiet judgment. His eyes blinked open slowly, the sharp edge of sunlight catching the corner of his pillow, illuminating the crumpled shirt he’d thrown over the chair the night before.
He lay still.
One arm tucked under his head, the other across his bare chest, heart still pounding like it hadn’t gotten the memo that the night was over.
Nova.
Her name hit him like a chord—soft, resonant, and impossible to ignore.
He exhaled slowly, dragging a hand over his face.
That kiss.
Hell.
Jake had kissed plenty of women in his life—drunk kisses, wild kisses, temporary sparks with no intention of ever lighting a flame—but last night hadn’t been that. It couldn’t have been further from that. That kiss with Nova had felt… inevitable. Like he’d been holding his breath for weeks, maybe longer, and finally let it out the second her lips met his.
It played on a loop in his mind.
Her voice—low and sure—saying, “Kiss me, Jake.”
Her eyes—stormy and steady at the same time—looking right through him, past the cocky bravado, the swagger he wore like a second skin.
And then… that moment. The silence. The stillness. Just the two of them under the night sky beside her jet, their bodies close, her fingers grazing the edge of his jaw, his thumb brushing the curve of her cheek like it was muscle memory.
He turned over with a frustrated sigh, eyes shutting tight.
What the hell was he supposed to do now?
It wasn’t just that he’d kissed someone after a breakup—it was that it was her. Ava Nova Brooke. The pilot who came in like a thunderclap and flipped everything sideways with a smile and a flight record that could shut down a room. The woman who kept her pain hidden beneath precision. The woman who had him reading the spaces between her words like they held some map to who she really was.
Jake had never met anyone like her.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, running both hands through his hair. His jaw was tight. He could feel it in his bones—something had shifted last night. Something big. Bigger than he’d wanted to admit. Bigger than he was ready for. But real. Undeniably real.
He moved through his apartment like a ghost, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, the quiet click of the cap the only sound in the room. The second the cold touched his lips, he paused, staring out the kitchen window.
He saw her.
Not physically—but in his mind. The way her lips had curled around a laugh when she teased him mid-flight. The way her fingers traced her jet with reverence. The way her mouth had moved when she’d whispered his name like it meant something.
And it did. It meant everything.
Jesus, Seresin. You’re falling.
He leaned against the counter and muttered under his breath, “Already did.”
He’d felt it creeping in over days. In her quiet moments. In the way she looked at the sky like it held something she was always chasing. In the way she listened. Really listened. In the way she wore that black flight suit like it was armor and silk all at once. It wasn’t just lust. Hell, it had started with lust—he was still a man. But it had bloomed into something heavier. Something he hadn’t felt since—well, if he was honest, maybe ever.
The ring around her neck. The quiet strength in her silence. The way she held herself in that vulnerable moment last night, trusting him enough to show the pain she’d buried.
Jake closed his eyes.
Grayson.
Even the name felt sacred in his mind. He hadn’t known the man, but he could feel the weight of him through her. The loss. The love. The ghosts she carried like scars hidden beneath her cool, confident smile. Jake wasn’t here to replace that—he couldn’t. He wouldn’t dare try. But maybe—just maybe—he could be the next chapter. If she’d let him.
The thought made his chest ache. He set the bottle down and leaned forward on the counter, gripping the edge like it might steady him.
Last night, when she stepped back after the kiss, her eyes still closed, breath just catching—it hadn’t been rejection. It had been restraint. Mutual. Careful. Powerful. And yet…
The heat between them hadn’t cooled. It had simply been put on pause. A firebanked for the right moment, and that scared the hell out of him. He wasn’t used to feeling this much. And yet… he didn’t want to run from it. Not anymore.
His phone buzzed on the countertop.
Jake reached for it, expecting—well, he didn’t know what. Maybe something from Nova. A long shot. But it was Rooster.
[0800 now. Debrief moved. Try not to be late, lover boy.]
Jake smirked faintly, shaking his head. Classic Bradshaw. He set the phone down, turning back toward the window—when it buzzed again.
This time…
Nova.
[Good morning.]
Just two words.
But they unraveled something deep in his chest. Something he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding so tightly.
————
The morning light crept in soft through the kitchen window, casting pale golden streaks across the tiled floor and illuminating the steam rising from her coffee. Nova stood barefoot in her kitchen, cradling the mug between both hands, letting the quiet seep into her bones.
Outside, the world was waking slowly — a breeze rustled the palm fronds, the faint sound of waves crashed in the distance, and somewhere nearby a lawnmower buzzed lazily. But inside her small rental house, everything had stilled.
Her heart hadn’t.
Nova’s thumb traced the ceramic rim of the mug as she stared out at the soft blue sky and thought about him.
Jake Seresin.
The way his hand had cupped her jaw so gently, the way his lips had brushed hers like he’d been waiting a lifetime to do it. And maybe he had — maybe they both had and just didn’t know it until last night, until the moonlight and salt air blurred the lines between what was and what should never happen.
But it had happened.
And her chest still felt full from it.
Not heavy. Not wrong.
Full.
Her phone buzzed on the counter. She didn’t move to check it right away. Instead, she brought the coffee to her lips and took a slow sip, eyes still fixed on the ocean through the trees.
When she finally reached for the phone, her pulse betrayed her. Just a little quicker. Just a little warmer.
Hangman
[Good morning.]
Two simple words.
But her breath still caught in her throat.
Nova stared at the screen, her thumb hovering — not to reply, not yet, but just to feel the moment.
Because Jake didn’t say anything else.
Just good morning.
And God, it was a good morning.
She set the phone down beside her mug and walked into the bedroom, the hardwood cool beneath her feet. Her flight suit was folded neatly on the chair by the window, her boots lined up beside it. She paused, then crossed to the nightstand.
The small wooden box was always there.
She opened it carefully.
Inside, the silver chain lay coiled like a memory she’d never quite untangle. The diamond ring on it caught the morning light, delicate and beautiful — elegant, like the man who’d given it to her.
Grayson.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she picked up the necklace. Her voice was barely a breath when she said, “It’s getting harder, you know.”
She sat on the edge of the bed, the necklace held between her fingers, the ring swaying gently like it remembered the pulse of her chest.
“It’s been three years,” she said. “Three years and I still talk to you like you’re going to answer.”
The silence didn’t sting like it used to. But it still pressed in.
Nova looked down at the ring. “He kissed me last night.”
A pause.
“I kissed him too.”
And there it was. Out loud.
“I didn’t expect it. I didn’t even plan to feel something, but Jake… he doesn’t see the ghosts. He sees me.”
Her throat tightened.
“And I haven’t felt that in a really long time.”
She smiled faintly — not out of guilt, not out of shame.Just out of the ache of remembering what it meant to be seen.
“He’s not you,” she whispered. “But he reminds me of you. In the way he listens. The way he’s patient even when I’m not. The way he makes space for silence.
“Her eyes shimmered. She blinked the tears away.
“I think you would’ve liked him.”
With a deep breath, she brought the ring to her lips and kissed it gently, like a promise. Not a goodbye. Just… permission.
Then she slipped the chain around her neck and let the ring fall beneath her shirt — resting where it always did. Over her heart.
Nova rose, shrugged on her flight suit, and stepped into her boots. She glanced at her phone but didn’t reply to Jake’s text.
She didn’t need to.
Because he would know.
Because they both felt it.
Jake wasn’t the first to arrive at base that morning — a rare occasion. He strolled across the tarmac with his flight bag slung over his shoulder and a coffee in hand, the sunrise casting golden light over the hangars. Rooster and Coyote were already there, leaning against the side of the main building, half-chatting, half-people-watching like they owned the place.
“Morning, sunshine,” Rooster called out, lifting his coffee in greeting. “You look like someone who slept well.”
Jake only smirked, the corner of his mouth twitching as he adjusted his sunglasses.
Coyote narrowed his eyes with mock suspicion. “Uh-oh. That’s the Hangman smirk. What did we miss?”
“Nothing,” Jake said casually, but his voice gave too much away. There was a softness behind it. A looseness to his walk. A man who had finally exhaled after holding his breath for weeks.
Then she appeared.
Nova’s boots hit the pavement with quiet purpose. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a sharp ponytail, golden strands catching in the light breeze. Flight suit zipped, posture straight, expression unreadable… until she saw him. Until their eyes met.
That’s when everything shifted.
Jake stopped walking, his lips parting ever so slightly — not enough to be obvious, but enough that Rooster caught it. Nova’s step faltered for the smallest fraction of a second before she recovered, but the smile she gave him wasn’t polite. It was genuine. Warm. Quietly devastating.
“Morning, Seresin,” she said as she reached them.
“Morning, Brooke,” he replied — the way he always said it, but not really. It was gentler now. Like her name meant more in his mouth than it used to.
Rooster looked between the two of them, slowly straightening. “Okay. What the hell is going on?”
Nova turned toward him with a perfectly neutral face. “What do you mean?”
“You’re both smiling like you’ve got a secret,” he said, suspicious. “And Jake’s been nice. That’s deeply concerning.”
Jake rolled his eyes. “Maybe I’m just in a good mood.”
“Right,” Rooster drawled, clearly not buying it.
Bob and Phoenix arrived next, and the moment Phoenix saw Nova, her eyes narrowed just slightly — not in distrust, but in recognition. She was reading body language. Nova didn’t say much, just nodded at her softly and offered a faint smile. Phoenix arched a brow. Nova smiled wider. There was a shared understanding there — quiet, but undeniable.
Bob greeted everyone as usual, cheerfully unaware of the undercurrents forming. He offered Nova a small wave. “Morning Nova. Here early, as usual.”
“Habit,” she said with a shrug. “Strike Six ran on discipline. Old rhythms are hard to shake.”
Jake couldn’t stop watching her. Even as others spoke, his gaze drifted back to her like a compass finding true north. She was talking to Bob about preflight checks, perfectly professional, but there was a light in her that hadn’t been there before. Or maybe he was just noticing it now. Really noticing it. She looked at him then — mid-sentence — like she felt it too. The moment stretched. Not long. Just long enough.
Just then, Maverick’s voice cut across the tarmac from behind them. “Everyone inside. Briefing in ten.”
The group scattered, filtering toward the main hangar. Nova started walking first, her gait easy, unbothered. Jake fell into step beside her, not touching, not even brushing arms — but close enough.
“Good morning,” he said again, quieter now.
Nova smiled without turning her head. “You already said that.”
“Didn’t feel like enough.”
She looked at him then, the edges of her mouth twitching like she was fighting back a bigger grin. “You’re not very subtle, you know.”
“I’m not trying to be.”
The heat of the sunrise couldn’t match what passed between them in that moment. Rooster noticed it first. His gaze lingered on Jake, watching the way his expression softened when Nova spoke. Noticed the look that passed between them — quiet, familiar, new.
He leaned toward Phoenix. “You seein’ what I’m seeing?”
Nova was laughing at something Jake whispered as they walked, shaking her head and nudging him gently with her elbow. And Jake — cocky, charming, impossible Jake — wasn’t even trying to hide the fact that he liked it.
Phoenix didn’t answer right away. Just took another sip of her coffee and murmured, “He looks at her different.”
In the corner of the hangar, Fanboy elbowed Payback. “You think they’re…?”
Payback shook his head. “No way. He was with Tiffany just last week.”
Fanboy raised a brow. “Yeah, and he’s not looking at Tiffany like that.”
“Damn,” Payback muttered under his breath. “That’s not just a crush.”
The heat of the sunrise couldn’t match what passed between Jake and Nova in that moment. They walked into the hangar shoulder to shoulder, but the air between them was magnetic. Static. Taut. The kind of energy you could feel without needing to see. From across the hangar, Phoenix watched them enter, then looked to Rooster with an arched brow.
He tilted his head. “Something’s different.”
Phoenix crossed her arms. “Yeah. And it’s only gonna get more complicated.”
Rooster nodded. “Definitely.”
But neither of them sounded worried.
If anything, they sounded like they were bracing for impact.
The debrief had barely wrapped when Cyclone stood, crisp and deliberate. His voice cut through the casual chatter starting to bubble among the pilots.
“Lieutenant Brooke, a word, please.”
Nova stilled in her seat. Jake turned to look at her, eyes narrowing slightly. Everyone else either scattered or hesitated, throwing her glances — curious, puzzled. But Cyclone’s tone had brooked no room for delay.
Nova stood smoothly, giving nothing away. “Yes, sir.”
She followed him toward his office, her boots echoing down the corridor in rhythm with his. The door shut quietly behind them, muffling the rest of the base as though it belonged to another world.
Cyclone moved behind his desk. He didn’t sit. Neither did she. His hands clasped behind his back, eyes steady. “You’ve been summoned.”
Nova blinked once. “Sir?”
“Strike Six needs you,” he said, evenly. “Effective immediately.”
The words sank like a stone in her gut. “Something’s happened.”
“I can’t say more. Not yet,” he replied. “All I can tell you is there’s an op. High priority. High risk. You’re to report at 0500 tomorrow. Transport’s already arranged.”
She took a beat, her jaw tightening. “And Top Gun?”
“If the mission concludes successfully… and if you return—” Cyclone paused, the words not meant to comfort, just to be clear, “—you’ll resume your assignment here.”
If.
It hung in the air like smoke.
Nova nodded once, her expression unreadable — but her hands curled into fists at her sides. Not from anger. From readiness. From fear she would never voice.
“Understood,” she said.
Cyclone studied her. “This is what you were trained for, Lieutenant.”
“I know,” she replied quietly.
There was a silence, not awkward — reverent. She’d walked into rooms like this before. Been given missions just like this before. Only this time, something was different.
There was more at stake now. Something — someone — tethering her to this place.
A part of her she hadn’t let herself acknowledge until recently.
Nova lifted her eyes again. “Am I dismissed, sir?”
“You are.”
She saluted crisply. “Thank you.”
And then she turned and walked out.
Not fast. Not slow. Measured. Controlled.
Her expression didn’t change as she moved through the corridor again — but her chest tightened with every step.
She didn’t head back to the hangar. She didn’t seek out the others.
Instead, she stepped out into the sunlit tarmac, let the heat touch her skin, and inhaled deeply.
Orders were orders. She’d given her life to the kind of service that didn’t wait for convenient timing or emotional clarity. She’d sworn an oath.
But this time… This time, the weight of that oath pressed against something personal. Something soft and unfinished.
She could still feel the ghost of Jake’s touch from the night before. The whisper of his lips against hers. The way he’d looked at her that morning — like something had finally clicked into place inside him.
And now… she had less than 24 hours before she was gone.
Possibly for good.
Nova didn’t let the emotion reach her face. Not here. Not where someone might see. She walked forward, jaw set, eyes fixed ahead.
Duty had called her name, and she’d answered. Even if it meant walking away from something just beginning to bloom.
The sun had shifted lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the base and filling the halls with a golden hush. The hangar buzz had dimmed, the last of the briefings concluded, the energy winding down. But not for Ava.
She moved quickly, her flight boots hitting the floor with purpose. Not frantic — but deliberate. Focused. Determined.
She had made her decision the moment she stepped out of Cyclone’s office, heart racing, jaw clenched, trying to make sense of the storm now pulsing in her chest.
She wasn’t going to leave without telling him. Not Jake. Not after everything.
The control observation room came into view, its windows glowing with light. Inside, the Dagger Squad was gathered — Phoenix and Rooster leaning over a screen, Bob laughing quietly at something Fanboy said. And there he was.
Jake.
Standing tall, arms crossed over his chest, the corners of his mouth curved in amusement at something Rooster was saying. But his smile faded the moment he caught sight of her through the glass. Ava. Standing just outside the doorway, her expression unreadable but… heavy.
Jake pushed off the counter immediately and met her at the door. The others quieted behind him, watching with faint confusion as Ava leaned in just slightly.
“Can I talk to you?” she asked, voice low but steady.
Jake nodded without hesitation, his eyes scanning her face. “Yeah. Sure.”
They walked in silence down the hallway, the hush wrapping around them like fog. Ava didn’t say a word until she turned into one of the quiet briefing rooms and pushed the door shut behind them.
Jake stood across from her now, arms loosely folded, his brows already furrowing.
“You wanna tell me what’s going on?” he asked gently. “You’re kinda scaring me, Brooke…”
Ava blinked. She let out a shaky breath and brought her fingers up to press lightly against her brow, centering herself.
“I’m…” she started, then paused.
Jake watched, his pulse picking up.
Ava exhaled again, this time slower. “I’m being sent on a mission.”
Jake’s shoulders stiffened. “What kind of mission?”
She met his eyes. “Strike Six. They called me in. It’s classified. High priority. High risk.”
For a beat, there was only silence.
Jake’s stomach dropped. His throat tightened like a noose.
He swallowed once, hard. “When?”
“Tomorrow morning,” she said quietly.
Jake’s jaw tensed. His eyes searched her face — for something, anything, that said this was a joke. But Ava’s gaze was calm, unwavering. Steady. Except for the faint crack beneath it, the one only he could see.
“You’re just—going?” he asked, voice low, disbelieving. “Like that?”
“It’s not a choice,” she replied. “Not really.”
Jake looked away for a second, rubbing a hand down his face. “High risk,” he echoed bitterly. “Jesus, Nova…”
She crossed her arms, not defensively — just to hold herself together.
“I’ve flown missions like this before, Jake.”
He met her eyes again. “And how many pilots didn’t make it back?”
Ava didn’t answer because he already knew.
Jake ran a hand through his hair and turned his back to her briefly, pacing a step before turning back.
“So this is it?” he asked, his voice quieter now, rawer. “You came to say goodbye?”
Ava stepped closer. “I came to tell you. Because I didn’t want you to hear it from anyone else. Because I…” she trailed off, her throat tightening.
Jake looked at her like he already knew what she wasn’t saying.
“I didn’t want to leave without seeing you,” she finished, softer now. “I needed to look at you. One last time. In case…”
“No,” Jake cut in, eyes sharp. “Don’t say it like that.”
Ava’s expression cracked. “Jake—”
“No,” he said again, stepping closer. “Don’t say ‘in case.’ You’re coming back. You hear me? You don’t get to disappear on me.”
“I can’t promise that,” she whispered. “You know I can’t.”
Jake stared at her, jaw locked, chest rising and falling with quiet fury and fear.
“I care about you,” she said, voice tight. “I didn’t want this. Not now. Not like this.”
Jake’s shoulders sank. “You really think I don’t feel it too?”
Ava blinked.
Jake shook his head faintly. “Every time you walk into a room, it’s like gravity shifts. I can’t breathe sometimes, Nova.”
The words hit her like a wave.
She took a half-step closer, and so did he — until they were only inches apart. So close that his breath stirred the loose strand of hair beside her temple. But neither reached out.
Not yet.
“I don’t want this to be the end,” Jake said quietly.
“It doesn’t have to be,” she replied, voice barely audible.
Jake’s hand twitched at his side. He wanted to hold her. Pull her in. Keep her here.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he nodded — once, slow, grounding. And Ava whispered, “I’ll do everything I can to come back.”
Jake reached up, his palm settling against her cheek as if she might disappear if he let go. His thumb brushed softly along her skin, memorizing the shape of her. Ava leaned into his touch without thinking, her eyes shining under the low light, but steady.
“Fly safe,” he said, his voice low and rough, every word laced with something deeper — something he wasn’t ready to say yet. Not now. Not with morning coming too soon.
Ava’s lips curved faintly, but her eyes were glassy. “Always.”
Jake exhaled through his nose, jaw tight. He was holding it together, but only just.
She blinked, then tilted her head a little against his hand. “Will you see me off? In the morning?”
Jake didn’t hesitate. “There isn’t anywhere else I’d rather be.”
Her heart pulled tight, her breath catching — and maybe that was the final straw. The last bit of restraint slipping away.
Because they both moved at the same time.
No second-guessing. No lingering questions. Just the quiet magnetism of two people pulled by something that had been building from the start.
Their lips met — slow and warm. A kiss not born of passion, but something far more dangerous: care. Hope. The fear of goodbye.
Jake deepened the kiss gently, hand still cupped around her cheek, his other arm moving to her waist. Ava’s fingers slid up the front of his shirt, anchoring herself to him. Her whole body leaned into his — like she wanted to remember exactly what this felt like. Just in case.
When they finally broke apart, neither of them moved far. Their foreheads stayed pressed together, their breathing soft and in sync.
“I’ll be there,” Jake said again, quieter this time.
Ava closed her eyes, nodded once, and whispered, “Okay.”
Gravity
Jake “Hangman” Seresin Fanfic
Chapter Nine: When The World Goes Quiet
The road home from the beach was quiet, lit only by the low hum of headlights carving through the darkness. Jake’s truck rumbled beneath them, the windows cracked just enough for the sea breeze to curl in and wrap itself around Nova’s golden hair, lifting it in soft waves that danced along her cheeks.
She didn’t say much. Neither did he. But the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the kind that sat between them gently, full of things that didn’t need to be said — not yet.
Nova leaned her head against the window, watching the blur of streetlamps and shadowed trees as they passed. Her lips were slightly parted, her expression unreadable. Tired, maybe. Or maybe just… full. Heavy with everything she’d said tonight, everything she hadn’t.
Jake glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, his hand tightening on the wheel. She looked like the kind of ache he didn’t know how to soothe. Like sunlight falling on broken glass — sharp, and somehow beautiful anyway.
He hadn’t stopped thinking about the way her voice had cracked when she said Grayson’s name. About the way her fingers had curled around the ring at her neck like it was a lifeline, and still, she smiled at the others. Still, she stood tall, even if her legs trembled beneath the surface. She was strength. And God, she was stunning.
He pulled the truck up outside her house, engine idling, and let the quiet linger a little longer before shifting into park.
“Thanks for driving,” Nova said, voice soft, almost a whisper.
Jake turned slightly toward her. “Anytime.”
Neither made a move to get out. The cab of the truck suddenly felt too small, too close. Or maybe not close enough.
Nova exhaled slowly, eyes fixed on the windshield. “I wasn’t sure I could do that. Tell them.”
Jake’s voice was gentle. “You didn’t have to.”
“I did,” she murmured. “Eventually. They deserved the truth.”
He nodded. “You didn’t owe it to anyone. But… I think they needed to hear it. I think they needed to know you.”
Nova looked at him then, her blue eyes catching in the faint light from the porch, and for a second, Jake forgot how to breathe.
“Sometimes,” she said quietly, “it feels like if I keep talking about him, I’ll break. Like I’ve been holding my breath for three years.”
Jake’s chest tightened. “And tonight?”
“I think…” She hesitated, then gave him a small, tired smile. “I think I finally let go of some of that breath.”
Jake swallowed hard, resisting the urge to reach for her. His hand twitched on the console between them.
“You don’t have to be okay,” he said. “Not all at once.”
She smiled at that. “I know. But it helps, having someone see me. Really see me.”
Jake stared at her. “I see you, Nova.”
The words hung there like a promise.
Jake didn’t flinch or shift. He just watched her, listened. He’d never seen someone carry grief so gracefully — never seen someone hold heartbreak and strength in the same breath.
Nova smiled faintly and looked at him again. “You’re not bad at this, Seresin.”
“At what?”
“Being there.”
Jake swallowed. “You make it easy.”
There was a pause, a breath caught between the dark and the moonlight, and then…She held his gaze. Her cheeks were warm, the tip of her nose pink from the breeze, and her hair was slightly tangled from the salty air and sand, but to Jake she’d never looked more breathtaking.
His hand drifted toward her — not touching, just hovering. The air between them shimmered with something unspoken.
Nova’s eyes dropped to his hand, then slowly lifted back to his face.
“Jake,” she said softly.
He leaned in, just enough for his shoulder to brush hers. Not a mistake, not a slip. A deliberate moment that crackled with tension. Her breath caught in her throat. Jake stilled. Their faces were close. Too close. And not close enough. Nova didn’t move. But she didn’t lean in either.
Jake’s voice was rough when he finally spoke. “You feel it too, don’t you?”
She nodded slowly. “I do.”
They were quiet again.
Then, with a slow breath, Nova pulled back just a fraction — enough to break the current that was threatening to pull them under.
“Not tonight,” she said gently, her voice full of truth. “It’s too soon.”
Jake nodded. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t even disappointed. He understood.
But still… he smiled.
“I will kiss you sometime, Brooke.”
Nova’s brows lifted slightly, surprised by the certainty in his tone.
Then she grinned — soft, secretive, beautiful. “I’ll hold you to it, Seresin.”
Jake let out a low laugh, his eyes dropping to her mouth for the briefest moment before pulling away and resting his hands back on the wheel.
Nova opened the door slowly and stepped down onto the curb. The night air hit her skin, cool and grounding. But she turned back before shutting the door.
“Thank you. For being patient. For being kind. For not pushing.” she said.
Jake’s smile faded into something more serious. “I’ll wait,” he said simply. “However long it takes.”
She nodded once.
“Goodnight, Jake.”
“Goodnight, Nova.”
She went inside. The door closed gently behind her.
Jake sat back, exhaling like he’d just come down from altitude. He watched her until the door closed behind her, and even then, he didn’t look away. His fingers drummed once on the steering wheel before he let his head fall back against the seat.He was in trouble. The deep kind.
He hadn’t kissed her.
But damn if it didn’t feel like he had.
And somewhere in the quiet, beneath a sky full of stars, he knew exactly what had changed.
It wasn’t a matter of if anymore.
It was only a matter of when.
It started small. Little things. Unspoken things. Glances Jake thought no one noticed — when Nova laughed too freely at something Bob said. Or when she stood by her jet, sun hitting her just right, that tiny crinkle near her eyes giving away a smile too rare.
Phoenix noticed.
She always did.
Jake stood with his arms crossed near the hangar door, watching Nova tie her hair back as she listened to Rooster recount some dramatic retelling of a dogfight maneuver. She wasn’t even looking at him — but Jake wasn’t looking at anything else.
Phoenix clocked it from across the tarmac. She didn’t say anything then. But it wasn’t the first time. It wasn’t even the tenth.
Later that afternoon, after the team finished their run-throughs and Maverick dismissed them with a barked “same time tomorrow,” Jake wandered toward the lockers, mind half elsewhere. He didn’t expect company — which is exactly why Phoenix caught him off guard when she leaned against the frame of the locker room entrance, arms folded.
“Got a minute?” she asked, tone deceptively casual.
Jake raised a brow. “You going to interrogate me about the turn radius in the last run?”
She gave him a look. “No. I’m going to interrogate you about the way you look at Nova.”
Jake’s smirk faltered.
Phoenix stepped further in. “You think you’re subtle. You’re not. You stare at her like she’s gravity and you’ve been floating too long.”
Jake shut his locker, leaned against it. “And what if I do?”
Phoenix tilted her head. “Then you’d better figure out what the hell you’re doing.”
Jake didn’t reply right away. He let the silence stretch, tried to find the words that didn’t sound like complete bullshit. Because the truth was simple — he didn’t know what he was doing. He didn’t plan this. He hadn’t expected her.
And yet.
“She’s not a fling, Jake,” Phoenix said, quieter now. “She’s not just pretty. She’s carrying something. And she sure as hell doesn’t need someone pulling her close if they’re not going to mean it.”
Jake looked away, jaw tight.
Phoenix watched him for a beat, then softened. “I’m not judging you. I know Tiffany’s gone. I know things weren’t good for a while. I just…” She paused. “Nova’s different.”
“I know,” Jake said, voice low.
He meant it.
Phoenix gave a short nod. “Then if you’re going to fall for her, you better damn well do it right.”
She turned to go, but paused at the door. “Because she might act like she doesn’t need protecting — and hell, maybe she doesn’t. But she deserves to be chosen.”
And with that, she walked out.
Jake sat there in silence for a long time after Phoenix left. Thinking about the way Nova had looked at him in the car the night before. The way she smiled, but only when she thought no one was watching. The way she wore grief like armor but somehow still glowed under the weight of it.
The quiet hum of the hangar buzzed around him — distant voices, the metallic clang of tools, the low hum of jets cooling off. But inside? It was all static. Her words echoed in his chest like a warning and a challenge all at once.
If you’re going to fall… do it right.
His jaw clenched.
He stood, slamming the locker closed with a dull thud that echoed in the empty corridor. He stepped out into the sunlight — just in time to see Nova.
She was walking past the hangar, hair pulled back, a loose white tank and aviators hooked on her collar. The late afternoon sun cut behind her, outlining her in warm gold like the universe had decided to spotlight her just for him.
Jake stopped. She hadn’t noticed him yet.
But then she did.
Nova glanced up. Their eyes met, and she smiled. Not a big smile. Not the cocky one she wore on the tarmac or the polite one she gave instructors. This was something quieter. Softer. Just a twitch of the corner of her mouth — but it reached her eyes.
Jake felt it. Felt it like a hit to the sternum. Like a breath he didn’t know he was holding finally knocked out of him.
Nova didn’t break eye contact, didn’t hurry, didn’t look away. She just passed, letting that smile linger as she walked.
And Jake?
He watched her go, heart thudding behind his ribs like it was trying to tell him something.
He was already falling. And now? He knew it.
A few nights later, the base had fallen silent. Most had gone home, the sun long since dipped below the horizon. A warm haze still lingered in the sky, casting a soft gold-purple glow over the tarmac. Shadows stretched long across the concrete, and the breeze had calmed to a hush.
Jake Seresin paused as he stepped outside the hangar, expecting emptiness—until he spotted a familiar figure standing alone.
Nova.
She stood by her Strike Six jet, silhouetted against the sky like a memory he hadn’t lived yet. Her black flight suit hugged her like it was made for her, the words “NOVA” stenciled in bright white just under her ribs. One hand rested on the nose of the jet, slow and deliberate, trailing across the metal like it was alive. Reverent. The kind of touch that only came from love and loss in equal measure.
Jake didn’t call out. He watched her for a moment instead, something tightening in his chest that he couldn’t name. She was always composed, guarded, but there was something about the way she stood now—still but present, strong but softened—that hit him somewhere deep. Somewhere old.
She turned slightly, not startled, but sensing someone behind her. Her blue eyes found his through the shadows. She didn’t speak, but a small smile lifted the corner of her lips.
Jake walked toward her, slow and unhurried, as if anything faster might shatter the quiet between them.
“You always this affectionate with your aircraft?” he said gently, voice low and laced with amusement.
Nova turned, not startled — she must’ve heard his approach — and smiled. “Only with the ones that saved my life more than once.”
Jake stopped beside her, his eyes scanning the jet. “She’s a beauty,” he said.
“She is,” Nova replied, turning back to the plane. Her palm settled over the Strike Six emblem printed just below the cockpit, white against the black. “Flew her for five years. She knows me better than most people ever will.”
Jake let his hand trail along the opposite wing, fingertips skimming the smooth cool metal. “Never thought I’d be jealous of a machine,” he said, only half-joking.
Nova laughed quietly. “Careful, Hangman. She bites.”
Their shoulders brushed as they stood together in silence for a beat. The air around them thrummed — not with words, but with knowing.
Jake glanced at her, his voice softer now. “You always come out here this late?”
“Sometimes.” Nova shrugged, eyes ahead. “It helps. Being near her. It’s like I can breathe out here.”
Jake nodded slowly, hand still resting on the jet. “Makes sense. Some things just… make you feel like yourself again.”
There was a pause.
“You treat her like she’s alive,” he said softly, his eyes flicking to the jet.
Nova turned back to the aircraft, her fingers still brushing along its side. “She is. To me.”
Jake stopped beside her. His shoulder nearly brushed hers, but not quite. Not yet.
“First time I saw you fly this thing,” he said, eyes fixed on the lettering of her name, “it didn’t feel like watching a pilot. It felt like watching… I don’t know. A duet.”
Nova glanced sideways at him. “Is that your poetic way of saying I fly well, Hangman?”
Jake smiled. “Better than well. You fly like you were born in the sky.”
She didn’t answer right away, her expression unreadable. She dropped her hand from the jet and crossed her arms, gaze flickering up to the stars above them.
“This jet saved my life more times than I can count,” she said finally. “It kept me sane. Kept me focused. It’s not just a machine to me.”
Jake looked at her. “I get that.”
She tilted her head. “Do you?”
“I do,” he said quietly. “I’ve never flown anything like this, but I know what it’s like to owe the sky more than just adrenaline.”
She studied him for a beat, the wind lifting strands of her hair as if the night wanted to remind him just how close she was. And how far.
“I was going to come out here alone,” she said softly. “Didn’t expect anyone to be around.”
“I wasn’t looking for anyone,” he replied, “but I guess I ended up finding someone anyway.”
Nova chuckled, low and dry. “That almost sounded like a line.”
Jake’s smirk deepened. “Almost.”
She turned to him more fully now, their bodies aligned just enough that his arm brushed hers. Not by accident. Not anymore.
“You know,” she said, eyes glinting, “unauthorised pilots usually aren’t allowed this close to classified tech. But I guess you’ve been the exception to a lot of rules lately.”
Jake arched a brow. “And what rules would those be?”
Nova’s smile shifted into something quieter, something real. She held his gaze, the night thick around them.
“The ones about falling fast,” she said. “About keeping your heart locked up. I don’t think those apply to you anymore.”
He exhaled, slow. “No. I don’t think they apply to you either.”
A stretch of silence followed. Neither of them looked away.
Nova’s voice softened, as if she was speaking from someplace closer to her ribs. “I’ve tried not to let this become anything. Whatever… this is.”
Jake nodded. “I know.”
“But it’s there,” she whispered. “And it’s real. And it’s getting harder to pretend it isn’t.”
Jake took a step closer. Their shoulders pressed together now, no space left between. Her breath hitched, and he heard it. Felt it.
His hand brushed against hers, tentative at first. She didn’t pull away.
He looked down at her, something raw flickering in his expression. “You make it hard not to fall.”
Nova blinked once. “Jake…”
“I know you’re not ready,” he said. “And I’m not asking for anything. I just needed you to know—I see you. All of you. Not just the Strike Six legend. Not just the perfect pilot.”
Her chest rose, fell. His voice dropped. “You. The woman who trails her hand across a jet like it’s the only thing in the world that understands her. The one who carries grief like it’s stitched into her flight suit and still walks tall.”
Nova turned toward him. Fully, and when she did, it was like something inside her gave in. Not surrendered—but opened. Finally.
Her eyes dropped briefly to his lips before rising again to meet his. Jake caught the flicker and stilled. He reached out, brushing his knuckles against her cheek. “If I kiss you,” he murmured, “it’s not because I want to complicate things.”
Nova leaned into his touch, just enough to make his heart trip in his chest.
“Then why would you?” she whispered.
“Because I don’t want to go another day not knowing what it’s like.”
She searched his face, her own unreadable. Then, slowly, she smiled.
“Kiss me, Jake.”
That was all he needed. He closed the final inch of space between them, his lips meeting hers in a kiss that was nothing like the ones he’d given away freely before. It wasn’t rough or rushed. It wasn’t possessive. It was something he didn’t know how to name—soft, searching, reverent.
Nova kissed him back with the same quiet intensity, her hand curling into the fabric of his flight suit. She tasted like wind and salt and the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding for weeks.
When they pulled apart, they didn’t move away. Their foreheads touched lightly. The silence returned, but it was no longer empty. It was full. Heavy with everything that hadn’t been said and everything that didn’t need to be.
Jake let out a quiet laugh, low and breathless. “I’m in trouble, aren’t I?”
Nova smiled against him. “We both are.”
They stood like that a little longer. No words. Just the hum of something new blooming in the space between them. Finally, Nova pulled back and gave him a look that said this isn’t over.
Gravity
Jake “Hangman” Seresin Fanfic
Chapter Eight: Stars and Smoke
The hangar was quieter than usual. No music. No banter. No quick-witted remarks echoing off the steel beams above. Just the low hum of morning logistics—the clink of tools, the roll of tires, the distant buzz of comms from the tower.
Phoenix leaned against the edge of the table in the briefing room, her arms crossed loosely over her chest. Rooster sat nearby, flipping through a folder he wasn’t really reading. Bob stood by the coffee machine, carefully pouring sugar into his mug, glancing every now and then toward the door.
No one said it, but they were all waiting for her. The air still held the chill of what Tiffany had done the night before. The kind of chill that sat under the skin.
And then—footsteps.
Nova walked in with her head up, her pace steady. Her expression was unreadable, calm in a way that didn’t invite sympathy or conversation. Just quiet acknowledgment.
“Morning,” she said simply, voice light but not breezy.
Phoenix offered a gentle nod. “Morning.”
Bob smiled softly. “Hey, Nova.”
Rooster closed his file. “You good?”
Nova looked at him for a second too long, then nodded. “Yeah. Just tired.”
Rooster didn’t push. None of them would. They weren’t sure how much she wanted to give—but they were all on her side now. That much was clear.
She slid into a seat near the front of the room and focused on the blank projector screen ahead like it was a lifeline.
More minutes passed. Then—footsteps again. Heavier ones. Slower.
Jake walked in, flight jacket over his shoulder, hair still slightly messy from the wind. His eyes scanned the room automatically—until they found her.
Nova.
She didn’t look at him. Not immediately. But she felt him. Jake moved toward his seat. Rooster watched him with a side glance but said nothing. He didn’t need to.
Jake sat two seats behind her. Close enough to watch her. Far enough not to be obvious. She hadn’t turned around.Jake saw it anyway—the way her fingers gently tapped her knee beneath the desk. The only tell she had.
Before he could do anything, the door at the front opened. Maverick entered, his expression focused as always, but his gaze paused on Nova longer than the others.
“Alright,” he started, nodding once toward the screen behind him. “We’ve got a staggered schedule today—rotating drills and vertical climbs. You’ll be flying in pairs. Names will be posted in the hangar in ten. But before that—Brooke.”
Nova looked up.
“Stick around after the briefing. Need a moment of your time.”
“Yes, sir.”
Jake leaned slightly forward, something about the tone catching his ear. But he said nothing. Maverick continued with the usual orders and reminders, all of it passing in a blur of standard protocol. No one interrupted. No one laughed. They were all just going through the motions.
When it was over, the group began to scatter.
Phoenix hesitated near Nova’s chair, her voice soft. “You good staying behind?”
Nova nodded once. “I’ll catch up.”
Phoenix offered a small smile before leaving with Bob and Rooster. Jake stayed back, slower to gather his things, deliberately.
Maverick waited until the room cleared before walking over to Nova. Jake lingered near the doorway, pretending to check his phone.
“I just wanted to say,” Maverick said quietly, “you handled yourself with more restraint than most would’ve last night.”
Nova’s eyes flickered. “Didn’t feel like it.”
“You didn’t need to feel it. You showed it.” He paused. “You sure you’re still good to fly?”
She nodded without hesitation. “Yes, sir.”
Maverick studied her for a moment longer, then nodded once. “You’re cleared. And Brooke?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t let anyone define your story for you.”
Nova’s jaw tightened slightly. “Understood.”
Maverick turned and left.
Nova stayed in her seat, exhaling slowly. She sensed him before she saw him. Jake’s shadow fell across the table. She didn’t look at him right away.
“You didn’t have to stay,” she said softly.
“I know.”
A pause.
She looked up, met his eyes.
Jake’s voice was quieter now. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“I am,” she said, and it wasn’t entirely a lie.
Jake nodded slowly. His gaze searched hers. “You sure?”
Nova hesitated. Then she gave him a small, tired smile. “You don’t need to worry about me, Hangman.”
He smirked gently, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah, well. Might be too late for that.”
She blinked at him. And just like that, the tension changed.
Jake exhaled and looked away. “Anyway. I’ll see you out there.”
He turned and walked out, but not before glancing back once. Nova sat still. A minute later, she stood, walked toward the door, and headed for the sky.
Nova stood by the edge of the tarmac, arms folded over her chest, helmet tucked under one arm. Her eyes tracked the twin jets streaking through the sky, sunlight glinting off the metallic curves as they maneuvered in perfect rhythm. The familiar thrum of engines vibrated through her bones, but her focus was on one pilot in particular.
Jake “Hangman” Seresin flew like he was born with wings.
Every roll, every pivot, every breath of throttle — it was smooth, instinctive, and confident without being arrogant. She saw it in the way his jet moved, not just with precision but grace. Calculated, clean, and somehow effortless. He flew like a man who trusted himself completely.
Nova squinted behind her tinted visor as Jake pulled into a high arc and descended with sharp control. Her stomach didn’t flutter — not from the altitude, anyway. No, that was something else.
She exhaled slowly as the jets returned to base, tires kissing down on the tarmac. Maverick’s voice crackled through her headset, giving feedback and praise. Jake’s voice responded, light, casual — always that damn grin in his tone.
He made it look easy. Always did.
Now, it was her turn.
Nova’s jet sliced through the sky like a whisper.
Where Jake flew with muscle memory and confidence, Nova moved like instinct incarnate. Her flight path was silent poetry — efficient, elegant, commanding. Maverick’s voice echoed in her ears as he pushed her, but she met every challenge with composed calm, never breaking pace.
She looped, cut, pivoted — the air hers to shape.
Below, the others watched in silence. Even Rooster, always quick with a whistle or a joke, stood with his hands on his hips, gaze fixed skyward.
Jake didn’t move. His eyes stayed on her the entire time.
When she landed and rolled into position, canopy opening to the warmth of late-day sun, Nova removed her helmet and climbed down the ladder. Her braid, tucked into her suit, loosened slightly with the movement, a few strands catching in the breeze. Jake was already there. He hadn’t said anything when the others clapped or nodded in admiration. But he waited. Just for her.
As she stepped onto the ground, still flushed from the flight, she found him watching her with that unreadable expression of his — soft, subtle, but so full of weight.
“You’re hell in the sky, Nova,” Jake said, voice low, almost reverent. “That was…” He paused, shaking his head like he couldn’t quite find the words. “Damn near flawless.”
She smiled. “Thanks, Jake.”
There was a quiet moment between them. One beat. Two. Nova tilted her head slightly, her voice careful. “Is Tiffany okay?”
Jake blinked, like he hadn’t expected her to ask. His jaw shifted — a small tell — before he answered.
“She’ll be fine,” he said. Then added, softer: “Eventually.”
That was all he gave.
But Nova saw it — in the tension around his mouth, in the weight behind his eyes.
It was over.
She didn’t push. Instead, she looked down briefly, nodding once.
Jake cleared his throat. “About last night… thank you. For trusting me. That couldn’t have been easy.”
Nova swallowed, voice quieter now. “I wish it hadn’t happened like that.”
A silence stretched between them. Heavy. Honest.
Then, Jake stepped just slightly closer. His voice was low — not meant for anyone else, not even the wind. Just her.
“For what it’s worth…” he said, “that night at the jukebox? I think that’s when I started falling.”
Nova’s breath caught. Her eyes found his — green on blue. The world stilled. She didn’t speak. But she looked at him — really looked at him. Like she could see right through every bravado layer, every flirty smirk, every carefully built wall. Her expression didn’t change. Not fully.
But something in her eyes flickered. Softened. Caught fire.
And then… she turned.
Without a word, Nova walked away, her boots hitting the tarmac in even strides, helmet cradled in her arm, braid dancing in the breeze behind her. Jake didn’t follow. He just watched her go — heart somewhere in his throat, still hearing the echo of music and memory.
The debriefing had ended with the usual banter and Maverick’s parting grin, but Nova lingered in the corner, tucking her notes into a folder with deliberate precision. She felt Phoenix’s presence before the pilot even spoke.
“You coming tonight?” Natasha asked, her tone easy, the question softer than most.
Nova glanced up, brows raised. “Tonight?”
“Bonfire at the beach,” Phoenix clarified, tugging on the strap of her bag. “Team thing. Low-key. Drinks. Laughs. Sand in places you don’t want sand.” She smiled. “No pressure. Just… be nice if you were there.”
Nova held her gaze for a second longer than necessary, then gave a faint smile. “Maybe. I’ll think about it.”
Phoenix nodded, clearly not expecting more. “Hope you do.”
As the room cleared out, Nova turned for the door, already sinking into the hum of thoughts buzzing behind her eyes when—
“Nova,”
She paused at the sound of her name—his voice. Low. Steady. Familiar in a way she wasn’t ready to admit. Nova turned, only to find Jake Seresin catching up to her, hands tucked in his flight suit pockets.
He stopped a few paces from her, close but not too close. “You should come tonight.”
Nova let out a light breath, the kind that wasn’t quite a laugh. “I don’t know if I’m up for a party.”
“It’s not a party,” he said. “It’s just… a few friends. Fire. Ocean. Beer in a cooler that someone probably forgot to chill.”
She looked at him. Jake’s voice dipped lower, less playful now. “They don’t see you differently. Not after what happened. Not after what she said.”
Her brow lifted, . “You reading minds now?”
Jake smirked. “Just observant.”
The air shifted. Nova blinked, surprised that he could read her that well. Surprised at how much it meant that he had.
She stared at the floor for a moment before looking back at him. “Okay,” she said softly. “I’ll come.”
Jake’s smile was subtle, warm. “I’ll pick you up.”
The sky was dusky when Nova stepped outside later that evening, wind teasing strands of her hair as Jake closed the truck door after her.
“You good?” he asked once he’d turned to face her.
Nova breathed in slowly, watching the horizon. “Yeah,” she said. “I think so.”
Jake didn’t press. He just lead her to the beach, the silence between them easy.
The bonfire flickered ahead, golden light dancing over the sand. Figures moved in silhouette — Phoenix, Rooster, Bob, Coyote — their voices rising in laughter as Jake and Nova approached.
Phoenix was the first to notice. “Hey!” she called, lifting her drink. “Look who showed!”
Nova smiled, a real one this time, and let herself be pulled into a brief hug. Bob gave her a quiet nod, voice warm. “Glad you came.”
Nova settled between them on the sand, the fire crackling in front of them. Jake took a seat directly across from her, his gaze brushing hers before dropping to the flame.
Coyote told some dramatic reenactment of a near-miss landing, Rooster exaggerated every detail of Maverick’s flight drills, and Phoenix snorted into her drink more than once. Laughter came easier than Nova expected. The fire warmed more than just her skin. For a while, it was enough.
Then the stories faded. The group fell into a comfortable lull, only the surf and the crackle of fire filling the air.
Nova looked at the flames, then up at the circle around her. Their faces were relaxed, open. Trusting. She felt it in her chest — the ache, the weight, the question of when she would stop running from it. So she sat forward.
“There’s something I want to say.”
The words silenced everything. Even the waves felt quieter. Jake straightened slightly, eyes fixed on her. Phoenix looked over, brows raised but gentle. Nova kept her voice calm. Controlled.
“What Tiffany said… it wasn’t wrong. Just… wrong of her to say it.” She glanced at the fire. “His name was Grayson Hayes. He flew with me. Strike Six. We were together for years.” Her hand shifted slightly on her knee, fingers tightening. “We were engaged.”
No one spoke. Not because they didn’t know what to say, but because they were letting her say it.
“He was smart. Steady. Made coffee wrong every single morning. Left his gear everywhere. Loved the ocean. Always told me I looked good in black, which—” she gave a weak laugh, gesturing to her usual attire, “—was convenient for both of us.”
Phoenix’s smile was tight, glassy at the corners.
“We flew together on every mission for three years. He saved my life more than once. I tried to save his. But…” Nova exhaled slowly. “You don’t always get to rewrite endings.”
She looked down, then up again, meeting each of their gazes in turn.
“I didn’t tell anyone because… it’s mine. And for a long time, it was all I had left of him.”
Jake watched her like she was the only person in the world. And in that moment, maybe she was.
Nova shrugged faintly, the motion brittle. “That’s it. That’s the truth.”
There was silence. Then Phoenix moved, resting a hand on Nova’s shoulder — steady, grounding. Bob gave a quiet nod. Rooster lifted his bottle.
“To Hayes,” he said. “And to the woman who carries his sky.”
Nova didn’t cry. Not then. But she smiled — small, and real.
Across the fire, Jake raised his drink too. His voice didn’t rise above the others. But his eyes never left her, and Nova knew — she had finally been seen.
Gravity
Jake “Hangman” Seresin Fanfic
Chapter Seven: The Cost of Jealousy
Tiffany sat at her desk in her office, the manila folder open on her lap like a secret confession.
The photo of Grayson stared back at her. Uniform perfect, smile clean, future intact—until it wasn’t. She ran her finger down the page once more, tracing the redacted lines, the ghost of Strike Six stamped across the top of the report.
She replied her conversation with Jake from the night before. She snapped the file closed. Tonight was the night. She was tired of waiting.
The Hard Deck was already alive with music and familiar noise by the time Tiffany arrived. From the front window, she could see the team crowded in their usual spot. She adjusted her dress—black, fitted, effortless—and walked in like she owned the night.
Then she saw them.
Jake and Nova stood off to the side, near the jukebox, laughing about something. Nova was holding a bottle loosely in one hand, her other hand reaching out to Jake’s arm as she made a point. It was innocent—barely a touch—but Jake smiled. Not politely. Not distantly. He smiled like she was the only person in the bar.
Tiffany’s nails dug into her palm as she stepped forward.
By the time she reached the table, the laughter faded. Jake looked up, surprised. Nova stepped back slightly.
“Hey,” Tiffany said brightly, sliding an arm through Jake’s. She kissed his cheek with practiced warmth. “Sorry I’m late. Traffic was a bitch.”
Jake gave her a nod, but he didn’t return the gesture. She noticed.
“Drinks?” she asked, already heading to the bar before anyone could offer.
At the bar, she ordered a wine and looked back.
Nova had returned to her seat beside Phoenix, but she leaned toward Jake as he said something. Her eyes sparkled, head tilted, and Jake—Jake—was watching her like gravity pulled him there.
Like Tiffany wasn’t in the room at all. The jealousy hit like fire under her skin. She returned to the table, all smiles, sliding back in beside Jake. She laughed at jokes, chimed in, leaned against his shoulder. But her eyes never stopped watching them.
And when Nova laughed—loud and real at something Rooster said—Jake’s smile lingered. That was it. Tiffany looked down at her drink. Her smile sharpened. Time to remind everyone just who they were dealing with.
She turned to Nova, her voice light as lace.
“You know, I’ve been meaning to ask, Nova.”
Nova glanced over. “Yeah?”
“I mean, you’re so polished. So composed all the time. But we all have our ghosts, right?”
Nova blinked. “I suppose.”
Tiffany leaned forward a touch, voice just low enough for the table to catch it. “I just think it’s so brave. Hiding so much grief behind all that control. I don’t know how you do it.”
The table stilled. Jake looked up, tension tightening across his brow.
Tiffany continued, smile perfectly in place. “If I’d lost my fiancé like that—during a mission that no one could talk about—I don’t think I’d even get out of bed. Let alone be one of the best pilots in the program.”
Nova’s face went white. Phoenix straightened in her seat. Rooster stopped mid-sip. Even Bob set his glass down, slowly.
Jake’s voice was low. “What did you say?”
Tiffany turned to him, as innocent as a saint. “Oh! She didn’t tell you?”
Jake stared. “Fiancé?”
“Lieutenant Grayson Hayes,” Tiffany said with practiced ease. “Strike Six. KIA. About three years ago? The file’s not public, of course. But you know me. Intel.” She continued with a nonchalant shrug as she took a sip of her wine.
Nova stood slowly, her hand trembled just once as she set her half-finished beer on the table. No rebuttal. No defense. No outburst. Just quiet devastation. Jake stood, but Nova didn’t look back. She walked straight to the exit. The sound of the door closing behind her was louder than anything Tiffany had said.
Jake rounded on her.
“What the hell was that?”
Tiffany blinked. “What? You said you wanted honesty.”
“No,” Jake said, eyes blazing. “That wasn’t honesty. That was an ambush.”
“She kept it from everyone,” Tiffany argued.
“Because it was hers,” he snapped. “Not yours to throw out like gossip over drinks.”
“She’s not the person you think—”
Jake stepped back from her like the air around her was toxic.
“You don’t know her. And you sure as hell don’t know me.”
Tiffany’s face hardened. “So what, you’re running after her now?”
Jake didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. He was already gone.
The waves whispered like they knew. As if the ocean had been here long enough to learn how to hold grief gently.
Nova sat at the edge of the beach, legs pulled tight to her chest, her chin resting on her knees. Her gaze was distant—fixed somewhere far beyond the black horizon, where the stars hung too quietly.
The cold sand clung to her flight boots. Her eyes were red, lashes damp. She hadn’t wiped the tears; she let them fall, one after another, down wind-kissed cheeks.
Behind her, soft footsteps. She didn’t need to look. She felt him. Jake.
She didn’t turn. Didn’t move. Just whispered, “I’m fine.”
“You’re not,” he said gently.
“I don’t want company.”
“I’m not here to talk.”
He stood beside her for a moment longer before lowering himself into the sand. He didn’t sit too close, didn’t push. He just… stayed.
The silence wrapped around them like a tide neither could stop. A hush broken only by the rhythm of the sea.
After a while, Nova lifted her head. Her breath caught in her throat as her fingers drifted to the base of her throat. She pulled out a thin silver chain hidden beneath the collar of her shirt.
The ring nestled there was delicate. A simple band. Understated. Beautiful.
She uncurled it into her palm and stared at it as it shimmered in the moonlight.
Jake watched. Quiet. Waiting.
“I met him at Strike Six,” Nova said finally. Her voice was calm, but frayed at the edges. “Grayson Hayes. He was cocky. Quiet, but not shy. The kind of man who only spoke when he meant it.”
She gave a soft, sad laugh. “He never called me Ava. Said it didn’t suit me. Said ‘Nova’ sounded like who I really was. Like someone impossible to forget.”
Jake glanced at her, but still said nothing.
“He wasn’t the loudest. Wasn’t the strongest. But when shit hit the fan, everyone looked to him. Including me.”
She rubbed her thumb over the curve of the ring.
“We weren’t supposed to fall in love. It’s not exactly encouraged when you’re being trained to vanish into the world. But it happened anyway. In the silence. In the in-betweens. He always brought me coffee before sunrise drills. Black with a sugar packet taped to the lid, because I liked the option.”
Jake’s throat worked, his eyes not leaving her.
“He proposed on a night I’ll never forget,” she said softly, eyes misting over with the memory. “We’d just gotten back from a brutal op. We were both exhausted, bruised, but somehow… at peace. He snuck me out onto the roof of our base—said he wanted to show me something.”
She smiled faintly.
“It was the stars. We used to sit up there sometimes, away from the noise, away from everything. Just the two of us. That night, he laid out a blanket, had two mugs of that awful powdered hot chocolate we used to joke about. I didn’t suspect a thing.”
Her fingers grazed the ring still resting in her palm.
“He took my hands, looked me dead in the eye, and said, ‘Nova, I’ve seen the way you walk into fire without flinching. I’ve seen you break and build yourself back up a hundred times. And every time, I love you more. I want to be the reason you come home. I want to be your quiet after the storm.’”
Her voice cracked just slightly.
“Then he pulled out the ring and said, ‘Marry me. Not because it’s safe or easy—but because it’s ours.’”
She shook her head, the tears coming again, soft and silent.
“He died two months later. We were deep into a high-risk op—standard recon, or so they said. But something went wrong. We split to cover more ground and… he didn’t come back.”
Jake looked down, jaw tight.
Nova swallowed hard, holding the ring tighter. “The debrief was two sentences. Mission incomplete. Hayes KIA. That was it.”
The wind carried the sound of the waves to their feet.
“I didn’t tell anyone when I transferred,” she murmured. “I couldn’t. I didn’t want it to be a story that followed me into every room.”
She turned her head toward Jake, finally meeting his gaze.
“It wasn’t about hiding him. It was about protecting what we had. It was ours.”
Jake’s eyes searched hers. “You loved him.”
“I still do.”
Her voice was steady now, quieter. “But you know what’s strange?”
He lifted his chin slightly.
“You remind me of him.”
Jake froze.
“Not because you’re the same,” she added quickly, eyes flicking down to the ring before returning to his. “You’re not. But you have… that same kind of steadiness. That way of anchoring everyone around you without saying much at all.”
Jake’s breath caught.
She offered him the faintest smile. “He’d have liked you.”
Jake didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. He just sat beside her as she wiped her eyes and tucked the ring back beneath her shirt. She didn’t say thank you. She didn’t have to.
The stars stretched out over them in silence, unbothered and brilliant. The waves faded behind them, and the scent of salt clung to their clothes as they stepped off the sand and onto the quiet sidewalk.
Jake fell into step beside her, not saying much at first. His hands were in his pockets, her arms folded loosely across her chest.
“I’ll walk you home,” he said gently.
Nova paused. “What about your truck?”
Jake offered a small, sideways smile. “I think we both could use the walk.”
There was something in his tone—something unspoken but steady. Not pushing. Just offering. Nova looked at him for a long second before nodding.
They walked. The neighborhood was still. The occasional porch light flickered on in the distance. A soft wind blew through the palms above them, and Nova tilted her head back just slightly to catch a glimpse of the sky. There was peace here, in the quiet between them. In the rhythm of footsteps on pavement.
They didn’t say much, but when they did, it was light. Easy. A gentle reprieve from everything else.
Jake told a story about Coyote getting locked out of their shared room during training. Nova laughed softly and shook her head, teasing, “And they still let you fly jets?”
Jake grinned, nudging her shoulder with his. “Miracles happen.”
At one point, their hands brushed—barely a touch—and neither pulled away. But they didn’t grab hold either. It lingered like a question neither of them knew how to ask.
When they reached Nova’s front door, she turned to him, keys in hand.
“Do you wanna come in?” she asked softly. “Just for a bit. I know it’s late, I just…”
Jake didn’t let her finish. He nodded. “Yeah. I’ll come in.”
Inside, her place was quiet and warm. Minimal but lived in—soft lighting, muted tones, no unnecessary clutter. Jake followed her into the kitchen as she filled two glasses of water.
She handed one to him with a soft, “Here.”
“Thanks,” he said, then glanced past her—something on the wall catching his attention.
A photo.
Nova followed his gaze.
The picture was slightly grainy, clearly candid. It showed two pilots in sleek black flight suits, jets behind them. One of them—Grayson—had his arms wrapped around Nova from behind, his chin resting lightly on her shoulder. She was laughing. They both were.
Jake stepped closer, taking it in. There was something about it—the ease in their bodies, the joy in their faces.
“Is that Grayson?” he asked, his voice low.
Nova turned toward the frame, her smile tinged with something fonder now. “Yeah. That’s him.”
Jake studied it for a beat longer. “You both look so happy.”
“We were,” Nova whispered. Her fingers grazed the edge of the photo. “That was the last one we ever took together. We didn’t even know someone was taking it. One of the crew must’ve snapped it while we were messing around between drills.”
She looked down, thumb brushing the condensation on her glass.
“We had no idea what was ahead of us.”
Jake didn’t reply. He just let the moment settle.
She turned back to him. “Thank you. For walking me home. For… being here.”
Jake nodded slowly. “You don’t have to thank me. I wanted to.”
Another pause.
Then he spoke, the words tugged from somewhere deep.
“What she did tonight…” he hesitated, jaw clenching slightly. “Tiffany. I’m sorry. I had no idea she was capable of—of something like that. I’m furious, honestly. That she—”
Nova lifted a hand gently, shaking her head. “Jake. You don’t have to apologise for her.”
But he didn’t stop.
“No, I do,” he said. “That wasn’t just cruel. It was calculated. Cold. And completely out of line.”
Nova didn’t disagree.
She tilted her head slightly, eyes meeting his with quiet clarity. “It was cruel,” she admitted. “But… not entirely uncalled for.”
Jake blinked. The implication settled slowly, but when it did, he didn’t look away. He didn’t ask what she meant. He didn’t need to, because he knew.
The glances.
The teasing.
The quiet pull.
The way his eyes always found her—even when they shouldn’t.
Nova exhaled through her nose, her voice softer now. “We’ve been toeing a line we both knew was there.”
Jake looked at her for a long moment. There was no defensiveness in his posture. No denial. Just the storm of everything he couldn’t say.
“But I never meant to make things harder for you,” she added.
“You didn’t,” Jake replied, voice low. “You just… made me feel things I thought I’d buried.”
Nova’s lips parted slightly, surprise flickering behind her eyes—but she didn’t press. She just nodded, and that was enough.
The moment lingered like the last light before dusk. Warm, fleeting, and unbearably delicate.
Tiffany sat at the kitchen table, legs crossed at the ankles, hands resting on the wooden table informs of her—too calm to be calm. The moonlight spilled across the floor like silver glass. Cold. Sharp.
The room was still.
Too still.
She’d thought it would feel better.
Nova hadn’t even fought back. No smart remark. No stormy stare. She’d just… shut down. Put the beer down. Walked away.
Shaken. Quiet. Wounded.
Tiffany should’ve felt victorious.
But she didn’t, because Jake had followed.
Not a second thought. Not a word to her. Just gone. And he still wasn’t home.
Tiffany’s jaw locked. The file she’d used to strike the match sat untouched on the dresser. She stared at it for a long moment. She hadn’t destroyed Nova. She’d exposed her and all it did was make Jake run straight to her.
The front door clicked shut.
Tiffany didn’t move from the kitchen table, where she sat with her arms folded tight across her chest. A single lamp glowed above her, casting long shadows down the hall.
Jake walked in, keys jangling in his hand, eyes tired, jaw tense.
“You waited up,” he said flatly, stating the obvious.
“I wanted to talk,” she replied, voice soft. Too soft. She stood slowly. “Jake, I—”
“Don’t,” he said. Not harsh. Just… done.
She froze. He looked at her—really looked at her—for the first time all night.
“What you did,” Jake said quietly, “wasn’t about Nova.”
Tiffany’s throat tightened. “I just thought you deserved to know.”
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “You wanted to hurt her. And you didn’t care who you hurt in the process.”
Silence.
Tiffany stepped forward. “Jake, I—”
“I get it,” he interrupted. “You felt threatened. You lashed out. But what you said—how you said it—” He shook his head. “That wasn’t okay.”
Tiffany stepped forward. “So what, you’re running to her now?”
Jake didn’t answer right away. He looked at her—really looked at her. Not with anger. Just with truth.
“I think somewhere along the line… we stopped being good for each other,” he said gently. “I didn’t want to admit it. But tonight… it just made things clearer.”
Tiffany’s eyes welled, but she blinked it back.
“I’m sorry,” he said, and he meant it. “But this… isn’t working anymore. You know that.”
“So that’s it?” she whispered.
Jake nodded, quiet. “That’s it.”
He turned, “I’m gonna get some sleep.”
He turned, walked down the hallway, and disappeared into the dark. Tiffany didn’t call after him, because she knew.
This time, there was no fight left to win.
Gravity
Jake “Hangman” Seresin Fanfic
Chapter Six: The Spark Before The Burn
It was the kind of day the Navy rarely gifted—sun blazing, skies clear, no operations, no drills. The whole squad had been cut loose with one instruction: take a breath.
So they did.
The sand was warm beneath their feet. Waves crashed lazily against the shore as the team gathered at the far end of the beach, tucked beneath a stretch of palm trees and navy-issue umbrellas. A beat-up volleyball net flapped in the breeze, half-set by Rooster and Coyote as Payback rummaged through a cooler packed with beer and Gatorade.
Jake leaned against the back of a beach chair, dark sunglasses hiding his eyes as he sipped from a water bottle and watched the others settle in. His board shorts sat low on his hips, his dog tags resting against his chest, catching the morning light.
Across from him, Tiffany was already stretching out across a lounge chair, one leg crossed over the other, a pair of oversized designer sunglasses perched on her nose. Her black one-piece was sleek, expensive, and screamed effort. She tilted her chin toward the sun, flipping her glossy brown hair over one shoulder.
Nova arrived late.
She walked down the beach alone, barefoot, a lightweight white linen shirt fluttering over a butter yellow bikini. Her golden hair was pulled into a loose braid that framed her face, and dark sunglasses shielded her eyes. She looked sun-kissed, effortless, like the beach had been made for her.
Every head turned. A whistle sounded. Rooster muttered something under his breath that made Payback chuckle. Even Bob did a double take. But it was Jake’s reaction that Tiffany clocked immediately.
He didn’t leer. Didn’t gape. He just watched. Sat forward slowly, arms resting on his knees, beer dangling forgotten in one hand. His gaze tracked her like gravity—like instinct. He didn’t blink.
“Strike Six, reporting for beach ops,” Phoenix muttered with a grin.
Nova raised one hand in greeting, her smile easy and sunlit. “Sorry I’m late,” she called.
“You’re forgiven,” Rooster said, already grinning like an idiot.
Coyote nodded. “Definitely forgiven.”
“You look great,” Bob said, his ears slightly pink as he looked away politely.
Nova laughed softly. “Sand and saltwater tend to help.”
Jake finally found his voice. “Glad you made it.”
She glanced at him briefly, her smile lingering just a little longer. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
That smile alone was enough to knock the breath from his lungs.
Tiffany, still seated, slid her sunglasses down her nose just enough to get a better look. Her eyes scanned Nova from head to toe before settling back on her face. Her smile was tight. Too perfect.
“You clean up well,” Tiffany said, tone silky-sweet. “You always make such an entrance,” she said, voice smooth. “Is that a skill they teach at Strike Six? Or just a happy side effect of knowing everyone’s already looking?”
The silence that followed wasn’t loud—but it cut sharp. Jake started to shift, mouth opening— But Nova beat him to it.
She reached up and slid her sunglasses down, revealing calm, crystalline eyes that locked with Tiffany’s without blinking. Her voice was warm. Steady. Kind.
“It’s not about being seen,” she said. “It’s about showing up when it counts.”
Rooster looked away with a barely disguised snort. Phoenix’s mouth dropped open. Even Payback froze mid-beer sip. Jake chuckled under his breath—quiet, but honest.
Tiffany’s smile didn’t budge—but her eyes tightened just a little around the corners. “Of course. You’d know.”
Nova gave her a polite nod and turned toward the shoreline. As she walked, she tugged her shirt over her head in one fluid motion, folding it with casual grace before setting it on a towel. She joined Phoenix before the two strolled to the shoreline, wading ankle-deep, laughing as the surf lapped at their toes.
Jake couldn’t help himself. He watched every step. Every move. Every smile.
He watched her walk away, watched the curve of her smile, the braid brushing against her shoulder as she flicked a small splash of seawater toward Phoenix. It wasn’t lust—not just that. It was something steadier, heavier. Something he couldn’t name.
There was something about her—something quieter than confidence, sharper than charm. She didn’t need the attention she received. She didn’t ask for it. But when she walked into a room, the atmosphere changed.
He didn’t know how she did that.
Or maybe he did.
He wasn’t the only one watching. Tiffany tracked him tracking Nova. She didn’t speak. But her mouth tightened ever so slightly as she sat back down beside Jake, her fingers toying with her wrap. “She seems comfortable here,” she said.
Jake blinked out of his haze. “Yeah. I guess she fits in.”
“Hmm.” Tiffany popped her sunglasses back down over her eyes. “Almost like she’s been circling long enough to know when to strike.”
Jake turned to look at her, brow furrowing slightly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing,” she said with a small smile. “Just an observation.”
Rooster called out from the net, waving at Jake. “Seresin, get your ass over here. You and me against Phoenix and Nova!”
Jake stood, brushing the sand from his legs. “Duty calls.”
Tiffany reached for his hand, catching it as he turned. “Try not to let her distract you too much.”
Her words were light.
Her tone was not.
Jake hesitated. Then smiled—small, unreadable—and pulled away to jog toward the net.
The volleyball game was chaos.
Phoenix was merciless. Rooster couldn’t stop grinning. And Nova? Nova moved like she’d been built for sand—quick, agile, fearless. She spiked the ball like it owed her something and laughed when Jake flubbed a dig and ended up flat on his back, staring at the sky.
Jake laughed too, breathless. “You’re ruthless.”
Nova grinned down at him. “You’re slow.”
He shook his head as he stood, brushing sand from his arms. “I’m distracted.”
“You should work on that,” she said, tossing him the ball. “We’re not in the air now.”
But her eyes lingered a little too long on his and something unspoken pulsed in the space between them.
Rooster groaned. “Less flirting, more playing!”
“Who’s flirting?” Nova called, spinning the ball on her palm.
Jake smirked. “That’s her being professional.”
The beach had begun to soften with evening.
The laughter had dulled to warm murmurs, replaced by the sizzle of the last few burgers and the rustle of wind through the palms. A golden haze settled over everything—sky streaked pink and orange, waves curling gently toward the shore.
Jake stood near the edge of the volleyball court, finishing a bottle of water, sweat drying on his skin. The game had long since broken up. Phoenix and Rooster were arguing over scorekeeping, Bob had retreated to his book, and Tiffany had taken up a position beneath one of the umbrellas, sunglasses back in place, legs stretched like they were on display.
Jake glanced down the sand and saw Nova.
She was standing alone, a few feet from the surf, her braid loosened now, a towel slung over her shoulder. Her white shirt fluttered in the breeze, catching light as it clung to damp skin. She was watching the tide like it had something to say. Before he could stop himself, Jake started walking.
She didn’t turn when he approached. Just spoke softly, voice barely louder than the waves.
“Do you always stare at the ocean like it’s got answers?”
Jake stopped beside her, burying his hands in his pockets. “Only when I’ve run out of my own.”
Nova smiled faintly. “Dangerous game.”
“Maybe.” He nudged a pebble with his foot. “Or maybe I’m just hoping it tells me what the hell is going on with me.”
Nova’s gaze slid toward him. “Everything alright, Lieutenant?”
He let out a soft breath. “That’s the thing. I don’t know.”
For a few moments, they stood in silence. The wind tugged at her braid. His hand brushed his jaw.
Finally, Nova looked back at the water. “You ever feel like you’re… stepping out of your own skin? Like you’re doing everything right, saying all the right things—but underneath, you’re just waiting to mess it all up?”
Jake turned to her. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I feel that way a lot more lately.”
She glanced at him, eyes curious.
He hesitated. Then added, “Since you got here.”
Nova’s expression shifted, barely. A flicker of something she didn’t say.
“That’s not a bad thing,” Jake said quickly. “Just… different. You make things different.”
Nova looked back at the ocean. “I didn’t come here to cause trouble.”
“I know.” He paused. “You didn’t. Not really.”
“Still,” she said, brushing a hand across her chest, fingertips resting briefly over where her necklace lay hidden beneath the fabric. “Sometimes trouble doesn’t need help arriving.”
Jake watched her closely. He wanted to ask about the necklace. About what it meant—what she was always holding onto when she thought no one noticed. But he didn’t. He wasn’t sure he had the right to ask.
Nova looked up again. Her smile was gentle, careful. “You’re not what I expected, Jake.”
“Hangman, you mean?”
“No,” she said. “You.”
He swallowed. The moment hung there, full of things they weren’t allowed to say.
“I’m not trying to be anything,” he said finally. “Except maybe a little better than I was yesterday.”
Nova nodded slowly, her eyes tracing his features, lingering on the faint crease in his brow, the way his lips parted like he wanted to speak but didn’t know how.
They were closer now.
Close enough that he could see the flecks of silver near the edge of her blue eyes. Close enough to feel the warmth of her skin despite the breeze.
Then Nova exhaled, clearing the air with a small shake of her head. “You’re dangerous, Seresin.”
Jake smirked faintly. “You’re one to talk.”
His hand twitched at his side. He didn’t touch her. He wanted to.
They stood like that for another heartbeat. Maybe two.
She nudged his arm gently with her elbow, smile returning with a little more ease. “We should get back.”
“Probably.”
Neither of them moved immediately.
She turned first, walking back up the beach toward the rest of the group—toward the noise, the safety of distraction.
Jake stayed behind, watching her go.
It was only when he turned back toward the others that he noticed the dark silhouette under one of the palms. Tiffany. Watching. Her sunglasses were still on. Her posture was still perfect. But Jake had no doubt she’d seen every second, and beneath that gloss and posture— She was planning.
The car ride was silent.
Jake’s hands rested lightly on the wheel, eyes fixed ahead, but he wasn’t seeing the road. His mind was still on the water. On her laugh. On the faint scent of salt on Nova’s skin as she’d nudged his arm. On the way her voice had caught when she said I can’t.
Tiffany sat beside him, legs crossed at the ankle, arms folded across her chest. She didn’t speak. Didn’t glance his way. But the air between them was thick with something sharp—something she was choking on and he was pretending not to feel.
When he pulled into the driveway, she opened her door before the engine fully stopped. The slamming of it behind her felt like punctuation. Jake followed her inside, dropping his keys into the bowl by the door. The house was dim. Quiet. He tugged his shirt off as he walked toward the kitchen, reaching for a bottle of water, as if hydrating would somehow buy him time.
Tiffany stood in the living room, unmoving.
“You didn’t say a word the whole way back,” Jake muttered, cracking the cap open.
Neither did she.
Until she did.
Her voice was calm. Too calm.
“Do you have feelings for her?”
Jake froze.
The bottle stayed half-raised to his lips. His head turned slowly toward her.
“What?” he asked, like he hadn’t heard her—like if he gave her the chance, she might take it back.
Tiffany didn’t blink. Her arms dropped to her sides.
“Nova. Do you have feelings for her?”
Jake set the bottle down on the counter with a quiet thunk. His mouth opened. Closed.
He didn’t say no. He couldn’t say yes. So he said nothing. Tiffany laughed. Once. Bitterly.
“That’s what I thought.”
“Tiff—”
“Don’t,” she snapped, voice suddenly sharp. “Don’t give me some rehearsed line. I watched you. I watched you watching her. You think I don’t notice? You think I don’t see the way you orbit her without even realizing it?”
Jake stepped toward her, palms open. “I haven’t done anything.”
“But you want to,” she hissed. “You feel something for her. And that’s enough.”
He didn’t argue. He couldn’t. The silence confirmed everything she already knew.
Tiffany’s eyes glittered—not with tears, but something colder. Harder.
“Don’t follow me.”
She turned and stormed down the hall. The slam of the bedroom door echoed through the house like a gunshot. Jake winced, rubbing a hand over his face as he leaned against the counter, chest heavy, mouth dry.
In the bedroom, Tiffany paced. Her blood burned beneath her skin.
The crack in her composure had finally split open, and now everything bled out. The image of Nova on the beach, laughing. Her perfect braid. That damned easy grace. The way she’d looked at Jake like she knew him. Like she understood him. It made Tiffany sick. She stormed to the dresser and yanked open the bottom drawer—the one she’d kept locked, hidden.
From beneath layers of carefully folded t-shirts and silence, she pulled out the manila folder she wasn’t supposed to have. The one she’d stolen from Naval Intelligence after hours, when no one was looking and everyone assumed her smile meant compliance.
She flipped it open.
Lieutenant Grayson “Ace” Hayes. Strike Six.
Engaged to: Lieutenant Ava “Nova” Brooke.
KIA: three years ago.
Top clearance. Mission classified. Details redacted. But there it was. Black ink. Cold facts.
A tragedy that Nova wore like armor—and hid like sin. Tiffany stared at the photo paper-clipped to the front. A clean-cut man with sharp eyes and a smile too good for what came next.
She let her fingers trail down the page.
Then curled them into a fist.
“She wants to keep this quiet…” she whispered.
A smile curled at the corner of her mouth. Cruel. Icy. Satisfied.
“Well, let’s see how long that lasts.”
Gravity
Jake “Hangman” Seresin Fanfic
Chapter Five: Close Calls
The morning sun stretched long and low across the tarmac, casting golden light across rows of jets that glinted under its touch. The air was already warm, the smell of jet fuel lingering faintly in the breeze, and the rhythmic thump of boots echoed as pilots made their way to the hangar.
Nova walked with quiet confidence, her black boots steady on the concrete, her eyes sharp behind her sunglasses. Her long blonde hair was tied up tight, a few wisps falling loose in the breeze. She wore her flight suit half-zipped, tank visible beneath, and despite the calm expression on her face, something flickered in her eyes—a softness, a shadow.
She didn’t head toward the squad right away.
Instead, she slowed by her Top Gun jet—her assigned jet. Name and Callsign painted on the side. Her gloved fingers ran gently along its sleek metallic frame, her touch reverent. She stepped closer, leaned in slightly, and her lips moved with a whisper meant for no one but the wind.
“Stay with me,” she murmured, pressing her palm softly to the jet’s hull, then to her chest—where beneath layers of fabric, a delicate silver chain rested, hidden. At the end of that chain hung a simple ring—thin, silver, with a small diamond. Elegant. Quiet. It had once sparkled on her left hand. Now, it never left her neck.
“Morning,” a voice said behind her, low and warm.
Nova startled slightly, hand dropping from her chest. She turned to find Jake standing there, hands in his pockets, sunlight catching in his tousled hair. His eyes were already on her—not her flight suit, not the jet. Her.
“Didn’t mean to sneak up on you,” he said with a crooked smile.
Nova returned it, though there was still something behind her eyes. “You didn’t. I was just… zoning out.”
Jake tilted his head, studying her a second longer than he should have. “You okay?”
She blinked, straightening, all warmth sliding effortlessly back into her voice. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
He opened his mouth to respond, but the moment was clipped as Rooster’s palm slapped his shoulder.
“There you two are,” Rooster grinned, oblivious to the tension. “You’re in for a hell of a day. Maverick’s already talking about barrel rolls and precision drills before lunch. It’s gonna be brutal.”
Nova smirked. “You complaining already, Lieutenant?”
Rooster threw his hands up. “Just mentally preparing myself for the humiliation.”
Jake chuckled, but his gaze hadn’t strayed far from Nova. Not really. He’d noticed it the second she turned—how her smile reached her lips, but not quite her eyes. He didn’t know why, but it sat heavy in his chest.
“Pilots,” Maverick’s voice called from a few yards away. “Let’s move. We’re wheels up in fifteen.”
Rooster gave a mock salute before heading toward his jet, leaving Jake and Nova still standing side by side.
She adjusted her glove, and Jake glanced at her. “You sure you’re alright?” he asked again, softer this time.
Nova nodded. “Yeah. Just… flying clears the noise, you know?”
Jake nodded slowly, then gave her a small, crooked grin. “Well, don’t leave me in your jet wash out there. I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”
Nova gave him a side glance, her lips twitching. “Try to keep up, Hangman.”
Jake stepped backward slowly, a spark flickering in his eyes. “Oh, I’ll keep up. The question is whether you’ll be too distracted by me to notice.”
Nova didn’t flinch—but her smile curved just a little sharper, her eyes narrowing with amusement. “You wish.”
Jake winked before turning and heading to his jet, the heat from his body still lingering in the air between them.
Nova watched him walk away, then looked back at her jet. She exhaled slowly, then touched her chest once more—where the ring rested, cool and silent, against her skin.
“I’m trying,” she whispered.
And then she climbed into the cockpit.
The sky welcomed them like it knew their names.
Two jets carved their way through the early light—graceful, fast, and deliberate. One marked by years of reputation. The other… by instinct. Nova’s Strike Six discipline shone through every maneuver. Her moves were precise, fluid—almost poetic. But what surprised Jake wasn’t just how flawlessly she flew. It was how naturally he synced to her rhythm. They weren’t just in formation—they were in tune.
“Try not to fall behind, Hangman,” Nova’s voice teased through comms, light and steady as she twisted into a tight roll.
Jake’s smirk was instant beneath his helmet.
“I could fly blind and still keep up with you.”
“Now that I’d like to see.”
Their jets dove in tandem, slicing downward before snapping into a mirrored climb. From the ground, it was mesmerizing—two pilots locked in a dance, their aircrafts extensions of thought, instinct, breath.
On the tarmac, Rooster stood frozen, watching the sky. “I mean… does she even think before she moves?”
Phoenix, arms folded, muttered, “Nope. She just knows. But so does Jake…”
Maverick didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. His eyes followed every shift, every turn. He saw what most people didn’t: the way Jake flew looser beside her, more responsive. Trusting her lead without hesitation.
“Break right?” Jake asked.
“Already on it,” Nova answered.
They moved like magnets, energy circling and snapping back together again. A sharp inversion. A synchronized barrel roll. A textbook crisscross. They executed it all with barely a breath between them.
Nova’s voice came through the final stretch, a little softer now.
“You’re not so bad, Seresin.”
“Don’t get sentimental on me,” he shot back.
“You’d never survive it.”
The wheels hit the tarmac in perfect unison, jets slowing in parallel. Dust curled behind them as they taxied in. The ground crew waved them in with slack-jawed awe. One of them muttered, “Damn…”
Jake climbed out of the cockpit first, pulling off his helmet as Nova dismounted with ease beside him. Her cheeks were flushed from the adrenaline, blonde hair slightly tousled, eyes burning bright.
Maverick walked toward them with an approving nod. “Good flying. That was damn near flawless.”
Nova shrugged a little, unzipping her flight suit halfway. “Guess we’re just well matched.”
Jake looked over at her, catching the edge of her smirk. “We make a good team.”
She tilted her head. “Don’t let it go to your head, Hangman.”
And then she nudged him—playful, light—and walked past him toward the hangar, her stride easy, confident. Jake turned to watch her without meaning to, lips tugging into a grin he didn’t bother hiding.
High above, in the glass-paneled observation room, Tiffany stood with her arms loosely folded. Her gaze wasn’t on the jets. It was on the man watching another woman walk away.
She didn’t move. Didn’t blink. But the knot in her chest twisted tighter.
Nova didn’t just fly well. She fit. With the pilots. With the team. With Jake. Tiffany’s eyes narrowed slightly. A smile curled onto her lips—but it was ice, not warmth.
Keep smiling, Nova, she thought. Let’s see how long it lasts.
Later that day, the observation room was quiet, bathed in soft amber light as the sun dipped low behind the runway. Nova stood by the wide window, her arms folded, gaze fixed on the tarmac. Jets were being towed into their hangars, their silhouettes framed by the pink-hued sky. She didn’t move, barely blinked. She was still in her flight suit, unzipped to her sternum with the sleeves knotted around her waist, black tank hugging her frame.
The silence felt heavier here. Like the air had weight. Like the echoes of things unspoken hung around her like mist. She didn’t hear the door open behind her.
Jake paused when he saw her. Something about the way she stood, so still and focused, made him stop. He watched her for a moment longer than he should have, something tightening in his chest.
He stepped forward softly. “Didn’t think anyone else would be up here.”
Nova blinked, then glanced over her shoulder, relaxing slightly when she saw him. “Just thinking through a few things.”
Jake tilted his head. “Anything I should worry about?”
She looked up at him, eyes catching his with a flicker of something unspoken. “Not unless you’re afraid of being outflown.”
He grinned. “Darlin’, I’m not afraid of much. But you? You make me nervous.”
The words slipped out before he could stop them.
Nova blinked, and her smile softened into something closer to real. “That so?”
Jake scratched the back of his neck, suddenly self-aware. “Didn’t mean to say that out loud.”
Nova turned toward him fully, her voice quieter. “But you did.”
There was a pause. A long one.
He shifted, and for a second—just a second—their shoulders brushed. Neither of them moved. Her head tilted toward him almost imperceptibly. Jake stepped forward, only slightly, but it was enough to close the gap. Nova didn’t move. Her pulse flickered beneath her skin like lightning behind clouds. Silence returned.
Jake’s eyes dropped—not by intention, not with malice. Just… instinct. First to her mouth, then up again to meet her eyes. Nova’s breath caught. She felt it—the magnetism of the moment pulling her toward him like gravity. Her gaze flicked down, just once, before she stopped herself.
Her voice came quiet. “Jake…”
He didn’t move. Neither did she.
“We can’t,” Nova said, barely above a whisper. “You’re with someone.”
Jake exhaled, slow and ragged. “I know.”
She lingered one second longer than she should have before walking toward the door. His fingers flexed at his side, resisting the urge to reach for her. As she passed, her hand brushed his, not quite accidental. She didn’t look back.
Jake exhaled hard once he was alone. Goddamn.
Tiffany has come looking for Jake—not because she missed him, not really. She just didn’t trust the way he’d been lately. Distant. Distracted. Eyes drifting places they didn’t belong. So when she spotted Nova walking the opposite way down the hall, flushed and clearly rattled, Tiffany slipped into the shadows just around the corner and waited.
She didn’t have to wait long. Jake appeared seconds later, emerging from the same corridor Nova had. His brows were drawn together, lips slightly parted like he’d just come out of something he wasn’t ready to leave. He stood still for a moment, staring down the hallway Nova had vanished into.
Tiffany watched everything—the tension in his shoulders, the unsettled flicker in his expression, the way he breathed like he was steadying himself.
She saw it. All of it.
A slow smile curled on her lips, soft and saccharine. She stepped into the hall, casual, as if she hadn’t seen a damn thing.
“Hey, babe,” she said sweetly, brushing her fingers along Jake’s arm. “Been looking for you.”
Jake nodded, eyes flicking to the floor. “Just… got caught up in my head.”
Tiffany smiled sweetly. “Thinking about the flight?”
Jake’s answer was quick. Too quick. “Yeah.”
Liar.
She took his hand. “Let’s go.”
As they walked, she kept the smile on her lips, but inside, her mind was already working.
Nova Brooke. Strike Six. Pretty. Polished. Mysterious. Too perfect. But everyone has a weak point. A pressure point. And I have hers.
When they reached Jake’s truck, he opened the door for Tiffany like always. She leaned up and pressed a kiss to his cheek.
He didn’t flinch. But he didn’t lean into it either.
“You okay? You look a little… distracted.”
Jake gave a faint smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m fine.”
There it is. That little crack. That shift. That weakness. All it took was one blonde-haired, blue-eyed mystery girl with a ghost behind her smile.
Jake circled to the driver’s side. His heart was still somewhere in that hallway, still caught in a look, still tangled in a whisper.
He started the engine and pulled away, but his mind wasn’t behind the wheel.
Not really.
Gravity
Jake “Hangman” Seresin Fanfic
Chapter Four: She Owns The Sky
The sun hadn’t fully crested over the horizon yet, leaving the runway washed in soft amber light, still and quiet. Most of the base was asleep, or at least not awake enough to notice the two jets taxiing toward the far end of the flight line—one familiar, the other… not.
Nova climbed the ladder to her aircraft with practiced grace, her Strike Six flight suit clinging to her like a second skin, dark and unmarked but for the sleek black-and-silver patch stitched above her heart. The insignia shimmered faintly as she moved, the ghost badge no one outside the highest levels ever truly got to see. Until now.
“Didn’t expect to see this thing again anytime soon,” she said as she reached the cockpit, glancing over her shoulder.
Maverick stood nearby, arms crossed, aviators already in place. He smirked. “You’ll keep sharper if you stay in practice. This jet’s got your blood in it.”
Nova ran a hand over the nose of the aircraft, fingers brushing like it was something sacred. “You pulled strings.”
“I pulled orders,” he corrected. “TopGun wants the best. I want to see what Strike Six taught you when you’re not holding back.”
Nova looked down at him. “You sure?”
Maverick gave her a look. “Hit the sky, Nova.”
By the time they were airborne, the rest of the base was just beginning to stir.
Jake ran a hand through his hair as he and Rooster walked toward the hangar, coffee cups in hand. Phoenix and Coyote were a few paces behind, still trading half-awake jabs. The sound of engines overhead made them all pause.
Rooster tilted his head. “You hear that?”
Jake glanced up—and stopped walking.
Two jets cut through the rising sun, arcing in wide, calculated loops. One was Maverick. The other—
“What the hell is that?” Phoenix asked, squinting.
Jake didn’t answer. He already knew.
Nova’s jet banked hard and fast, the wings slicing the sky with impossible precision. She flipped into a roll, sharp as a blade, then dropped into a dive that looked reckless until the last second—when she pulled out so smoothly it felt choreographed.
She moved like her jet was a part of her. Not flying it—being it.
Coyote gave a low whistle. “That’s her?”
“That’s her,” Jake said, voice quiet.
Rooster blinked. “Strike Six built a damn assassin.”
They watched as Maverick tried to follow, tried to mimic the same angle on the next pass—but he came out of the maneuver too wide. Clean. Skilled. But not what Nova had done.
“She’s not just reacting,” Phoenix said, eyes narrowed. “She’s anticipating.”
Jake didn’t speak. His gaze hadn’t left Nova’s jet once. She looped again, tighter this time. One engine pulsed as she tilted into a slide that danced the edge of gravity before leveling out.
“Holy shit,” Coyote muttered.
Jake stepped forward unconsciously, his coffee forgotten. She was untouchable up there. Not because she was arrogant. Not because she was flashy because she was free.
Every move, every angle—flawless. Like she’d trained for war in silence. Like the sky was the only place she could breathe and he couldn’t take his eyes off her.
The Strike Six jet touched down like a shadow—smooth, clean, deliberate. No jolt. No hesitation. Just the quiet roar of precision. Even the engines sounded different—darker, more dangerous somehow. As if they were tuned to a different frequency entirely.
Jake, Rooster, Phoenix, and the others stood on the edge of the tarmac, shielding their eyes against the rising sun as the jet coasted into place. Maverick’s aircraft landed a beat behind, steady but slower. The contrast wasn’t lost on anyone.
Coyote gave a low whistle. “Never seen a jet move like that. Looks like it was built for war.”
Phoenix nodded slowly. “You don’t fly a machine like that unless you’ve earned it.”
Jake didn’t say a word. He couldn’t. His eyes hadn’t left the jet for a second.
Then the cockpit opened.
The canopy slid back with a hydraulic hiss, and Nova climbed out. Her flight suit was black—sleek and sculpted, every line of it designed for movement and speed. No squadron colors. No frills. Just the sharp, tactical authority of a pilot who didn’t need to prove anything.
On the side of the jet, just below the cockpit, bold white lettering read:
LT. AVA “NOVA” BROOKE
STRIKE SIX
Jake felt the air punch out of his lungs.
Nova descended the ladder like it was muscle memory, unhurried and in complete command. Her boots hitting the concrete like punctuation. She didn’t scan for reactions. She didn’t need to. Confidence rolled off her in waves—quiet, unshakable, earned.
“Jesus,” Rooster muttered under his breath. “That’s a hell of a welcome.”
Phoenix grinned. “Told you she wasn’t just stories.”
“Yeah, well,” Coyote added, nudging Jake, “your jaw’s on the ground, man.”
Jake didn’t answer. He was watching her like she was still flying.
Nova stepped over to the group, eyes scanning them. Calm. Professional. But not cold. She pulled off her helmet and ran a hand through her tousled blonde hair, the early morning light catching in it like gold. She looked radiant. Untouchable. Realer than myth—and more dangerous.
Rooster was the first to approach. “Alright, Ghost. Gotta admit—that was something else.”
Phoenix followed. “That jet’s got bite. Looks good on you.”
Nova gave a small smile, brushing a hand down the curve of the aircraft. “She’s home.”
Fanboy grinned. “Is it weird if I say the flight suit’s kind of terrifying and hot at the same time?”
Nova raised a brow, amused. “Only if you say it twice.”
Laughter rippled through the group, and for a second, it felt easy. Natural. Like she’d always been one of them.
“That’s gotta be the most dangerous-looking aircraft I’ve ever seen,” Rooster added, half in awe, half in disbelief.
Jake didn’t speak. His eyes didn’t leave her—not even as she turned back to her jet, hand running across the cool metal near her name.
“Yeah,” she said softly, half to herself, half to them. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”
Jake’s voice was quiet but firm behind her.
“Yeah.”
A pause.
“She is.”
Nova turned, eyes meeting his.
And everything stilled.
It wasn’t long—maybe a second. Maybe less. But it crackled in the air between them. Like they both knew exactly what he meant. Like the compliment had nothing to do with her aircraft.
Nova felt her pulse trip in her chest. Jake didn’t look away and then, just as quickly, she did.
Her lips curved into a subtle, controlled smile. She turned back toward the jet. “Thanks,” she murmured, voice steady.
Phoenix caught the exchange. Her smirk was immediate.
The tension simmered, unspoken.
The hangar was quiet, dimly lit by overhead lights casting long shadows across the concrete floor. Nova stood near the nose of her jet, running her hand along the matte-black surface like she was grounding herself. Her Strike Six flight suit still hugged her frame, the patch over her heart almost glowing under the lights.
Jake spotted her from the doorway. He should’ve kept walking, but his feet didn’t listen.
Nova didn’t turn when he approached. “You gonna just stand there or say something, Hangman?”
His smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Didn’t want to interrupt the love affair.”
She glanced over her shoulder, the smallest smile curling on her lips. “She’s been with me longer than most people.”
Jake stepped closer, gaze drifting over the jet, then to her. “Yeah, well… the way you two move together up there—it’s something else.”
Nova looked over at him, blue eyes unreadable but faintly amused. “Strike Six training,” she said simply.
Jake let his gaze linger on her face a second longer than necessary. “Nah,” he said. “That was more than training.”
He paused.
“You fly like you’re dancing,” he added. “Like your body knows what’s next before your mind does.”
Nova leaned against the side of the aircraft, still facing it. “Strike Six teaches precision. Awareness. Trust.”
“You make it look easy.”
“It’s not.”
Jake let his fingers brush the wing just beside hers. “No. It’s not. But you flew like you were reading the sky. Like you already knew what was coming.”
Nova didn’t respond right away.
Then: “It’s a lot of hours. A lot of losses. You stop guessing. You just feel it.”
Jake looked at her. “Still… that was the cleanest flight I’ve ever seen.”
She finally met his eyes. “You weren’t bad either.”
He chuckled softly. “Careful, Brooke. That almost sounded like a compliment.”
“Don’t let it go to your head, Seresin.”
Their smiles lingered—just long enough to become something else. Something heavier. Quieter.
Jake took a breath, something forming in his chest that felt suspiciously like want.
Then her shoulder brushed his arm as she shifted. The touch was light. Barely there. But it echoed.
Nova’s voice dropped slightly. “You really think I fly like I’m dancing?”
He swallowed. “Yeah. And I’ve never wanted to join the dance more than I did today.”
Her breath caught. Just slightly. She looked down, away, eyes fixed on her boots.
And then—
Buzz.
Jake’s phone lit in his pocket.
Tiffany: You said you’d be back by now. Where are you?
The spell broke.
Nova straightened, pulling her hand from the wing. “You should get that.”
Jake didn’t move for a second. Then he sighed, stepping back. “Yeah.”
He looked at her once more, his voice softer now. “You’re good, Nova. Better than good.”
She gave him a look that flickered—gratitude, restraint, maybe something more. “So are you. But I think you already know that.”
Jake lingered another second, like he wanted to say something else. But didn’t. Then he walked out, and Nova stood alone beside her jet, pulse still elevated, fighting the echo of something she hadn’t felt in a long time.
The apartment was dim when he walked in. Soft lamp light spilled across the living room, casting golden hues over Tiffany’s legs as she sat curled on the couch, sipping from a glass of wine. She looked up the moment Jake entered, eyes sharp beneath the practiced warmth of her smile.
“There you are,” she said casually. “Thought you’d be home hours ago.”
Jake set his keys on the counter. “Got sidetracked.”
Tiffany arched a brow. “Debrief?”
“Among other things.”
She hummed like it was nothing, but he knew that hum. It had weight. She uncrossed her legs and turned to face him, wine glass still in hand.
She tilted her head. “Let me guess—Strike Six’s crown jewel took to the sky?”
He glanced up, mildly surprised. “You heard?”
“Word gets around,” Tiffany said with a soft laugh. “You pilots aren’t exactly quiet when you’re impressed.”
Jake dropped his duffel by the door and kicked off his boots. “Maverick had Nova run some drills…”
Tiffany hummed and sipped her wine. “Nova.”
He didn’t notice the way her mouth tightened around the name.
“She flew her Strike Six jet,” Jake added, almost absentmindedly. “Thing moves like it’s wired into her spine. She was—” He stopped himself. “It was impressive.”
“Mm,” Tiffany murmured. “Impressive. That’s one word for it.”
Jake looked over. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, nothing bad,” she said quickly, waving her hand as if the thought barely mattered. “Just—people from teams like that… they’re not really meant to blend in, are they? Always a little mysterious. Always a little… unreachable. That kind of mystery can be addictive.”
He frowned, not quite catching her tone, but sensing the shift.
“She’s not trying to be unreachable,” he said. “She just does her job. Better than most.”
Tiffany’s smile didn’t waver. “Of course. It must be exhilarating—flying like that. No one knowing who you really are. Just a blur on the radar and then gone.”
She leaned back on the couch, voice honey-sweet. “You talk about her a lot lately.”
Jake hesitated for a second. “She’s new. Everyone’s talking about her.”
“Mm,” she murmured. “Right.”
Jake finished the rest of his water in a single swallow.
Tiffany rose, moving toward him with a soft hum. She placed a hand on his chest—light, casual, rehearsed—and pressed a kiss to his cheek.
“I’m heading to bed,” she said quietly, her lips brushing his skin. “Don’t stay up too long, okay?”
“Yeah,” Jake said, but his voice was distant.
She smiled again, the perfect picture of the supportive girlfriend. Then turned and disappeared into the bedroom, her bare feet silent against the hardwood.
Jake stayed by the counter. One hand rested on the cool granite, his gaze fixed on nothing.
He could still see Nova, high above the clouds, moving like wind wrapped in steel and fire and his heart had raced. Not because of the danger.
But because of her.
The silence in Nova’s house felt louder than usual.
Nova sat on the edge of her bed, knees drawn up, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands. Her hair was still slightly damp from her shower, strands curling around her face.
The moonlight poured in through the open curtains, bathing the room in silver. She reached under her collar and pulled the chain free from beneath her hoodie.
The ring slid down to rest against her hand.
A thin silver band. Delicate. A small diamond, no bigger than a tear. Simple. Elegant. Him. Nova held it in her palm, curling her fingers around it like a secret.
“Hey, Gray,” she whispered.
She closed her eyes. It had been so long since she’d said his name aloud. Since she’d let herself feel him this closely. The silence in the room was deafening.
She traced the diamond with her thumb. “I flew today,” she said softly. “In my jet. They had her brought in. Said it was to keep my training up to date, but… I think Maverick just wanted to see her in the air.”
She paused.
“I think he wanted to see me in action.”
Her throat tightened.
“I gave them a show, Gray,” she said with a watery smile. “I flew like I used to. Fast. Sharp. Free.” Her voice faltered. “And for the first time in years, I felt it again.”
She looked down, guilt already pressing in.
“The rush. The joy. That feeling of being alive.”
She swallowed. “And then I thought about you.”
Her eyes brimmed but didn’t fall. She didn’t cry like other people. She just… broke quietly.
“I thought about how you’d be smiling at me. That stupid proud grin you’d wear whenever I nailed a barrel roll, like it was a dream.”
She exhaled, blinking hard.
“I should’ve been yours. I still feel like I am.”
She curled her fingers around the ring and pressed it to her lips. The metal was cold, but it didn’t stop her voice from trembling.
“I think something’s changing in me. And I don’t want it to.”
She closed her eyes.
“I feel like I’m betraying you.”
Her voice cracked, just a little.
“There’s this… feeling,” she admitted. “And it’s not you. It’s not us. And that terrifies me.”
The tears slipped free this time — just two. Slow and silent.
“Because what does that mean? If I start to feel something for someone else? What does that make me?”
She opened her hand, gazing down at the band — still catching light, still beautiful.
“I didn’t want this,” she whispered. “I don’t want this.”
She lifted the ring to her lips again and kissed it — slowly, reverently — as though it were skin. As though it could kiss her back.
“I love you,” she said, barely breathing. “God, I still love you.”
Her heart stuttered against her ribs.
“You were the only person who ever saw me and didn’t flinch.”
Her voice cracked fully now. Raw. Frayed.
“I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready to let go. I don’t even know if I should.”
The silence swallowed her again. But this time, it didn’t feel so angry. Just… sad.
She lay back on the bed, still clutching the ring in her fist. The chain coiled gently in her hand like it belonged there. Her eyes fixed on the empty half of the bed and for the first time in years… she let herself miss him without trying to be strong.
Gravity
Jake “Hangman” Seresin Fanfic
Chapter Three: The Moment Everything Tilted
The Hard Deck was buzzing—crowded for a midweek night. The jukebox cycled through Tom Petty and CCR, clinks of pool balls cracked over laughter, and the scent of spilled beer mixed with ocean breeze.
Jake leaned against the bar, beer in hand, Tiffany by his side. Her hand rested casually on his arm, her laugh just a little too loud. She always performed a little when the squad was around. He smiled when he was supposed to. Nodded on cue. But his focus was elsewhere.
He didn’t even realize he was looking for her until the door opened—and the room shifted.
A wave, a pause, a pull. That’s what she did. She entered and gravity changed. Nova walked waves loose around her shoulders. White tank, perfectly fitted jeans. Leather jacket slung over her shoulder. No makeup. No effort. Still, she looked like she belonged on a billboard.
Rooster let out a low whistle, shaking his head.
“Girl knows how to stop a room.”
Phoenix smirked, already sipping her drink. “You say that like you’re surprised.”
Rooster lifted his beer to his lips. “Not surprised. Just observant. And I’m not the only one.”
Rooster let out a low whistle and leaned toward Phoenix who followed his gaze to Jake—who hadn’t taken his eyes off Nova since she stepped through the door.
Tiffany noticed, too. Her fingers flexed subtly against Jake’s arm. But he didn’t feel it. His eyes were fixed on Nova as she crossed the bar, greeting Coyote with a light shoulder tap and tossing Rooster a grin.
“Hey, Flyboy,” she said.
Rooster grinned. “Hey, Ghost.”
She made her way to Phoenix and hugged her like they’d grown up together. It was easy, unforced. Real. And then she looked at Jake. He straightened slightly before he could stop himself.
“Evening, Hangman,” she said, her voice low and smooth, the corners of her lips tilted upward.
Jake’s smile was automatic. “Nova...”
That was all. Two simple words exchanged. But Tiffany felt it like a slap.
Nova drifted to the pool table with Rooster and Coyote, who were already chalking cues and arguing about rematch rules. Phoenix followed. The squad’s center of gravity shifted with her.
Tiffany pulled away from Jake with a sugary smile, brushing her fingers over his chest. “I’ll grab us drinks,” she said lightly. “Same as usual?”
Jake nodded. “Yeah. Thanks.”
As she walked away, her smile dimmed. But her eyes sharpened.
Rooster racked the balls, cocky as ever. “Alright, ghost girl. You talk a big game. Let’s see if Strike Six can hold a cue.”
Nova tilted her head. “Careful, Rooster. Confidence like that’s how you end up losing.”
Phoenix snorted. “She’s not wrong.”
Jake hovered nearby with Coyote, arms crossed as he watched her lean over the table. Her form was precise—like everything she did—fluid, focused. The cue cracked. Balls scattered. Two sank. Nova didn’t react.
“She’s got the half the bar watching and still no nerves,” Coyote muttered.
Jake didn’t say anything. He was too focused on how the light hit her hair, the shape of her smile as she lined up the next shot.
Rooster groaned as another solid dropped into a corner pocket. “Okay, that’s cheating.”
“I warned you,” Nova replied, not even glancing at him.
Jake laughed before he could stop himself. Tiffany, now returning with drinks, caught it. Her smile faltered for half a second before sliding back into place.
She handed Jake his beer and slid into place beside him, pressing close. “She’s… confident,” she said with a light tone. “Kind of theatrical, don’t you think?”
Jake didn’t respond. He was watching Nova laugh with Phoenix as Rooster groaned again in defeat.
“She’s just being herself,” he said finally, sipping his beer.
“Right,” Tiffany murmured, though her smile thinned.
Just as Nova circled the table for her final shot, a voice cut through the din.
“Strike Six, huh?” The guy was tall, broad-shouldered, with the swagger of someone who’d gotten by on charm and chin-ups alone. He sauntered over like he owned the place, beer in hand, eyes fixed on Nova’s patch. “That’s cute. Heard that’s more myth than mission.”
The words landed like a record scratch.
Jake’s head snapped toward him, jaw tensing. Rooster’s brows shot up. Phoenix lowered her drink halfway to her lips and just stared.
Nova didn’t even look at the guy. She straightened from the table, chalking her cue with slow precision.
Her voice was calm, cool. “Cute isn’t really what we go for,” she said, brushing past him to line up her next shot. “But I guess some people need fairy tales.”
Crack. Another ball sank.
The guy blinked, scoffing, clearly not used to being dismissed. He muttered something under his breath and backed off as the squad tried (and failed) not to laugh.
Rooster whistled. “Damn.”
Coyote chuckled. Phoenix just grinned, eyes lighting up with approval.
Jake? He was still watching Nova, something unnamable in his chest pulling tighter. Admiration flickered across his face before he could bury it—and Tiffany saw it. He didn’t even realize he was smiling until Tiffany spoke.
“She’s bold,” Tiffany said, the words sharp around the edges of her carefully held expression. “I guess Strike Six trains charm with combat.”
“She trains for survival,” Jake said, eyes still on Nova. “There’s a difference.”
That—he didn’t mean to say out loud.
Tiffany heard it. Felt it.
She turned away under the guise of watching the game, but her gaze didn’t follow the ball. It followed Nova and what she saw wasn’t just a woman in command of a bar full of pilots. It was someone who fit—effortlessly. Seamlessly. Like she’d always belonged. Laughing with Phoenix. Holding Rooster’s attention. Owning Jake’s.
The night began to wind down. Pool games wrapped. Beers emptied. Music slowed to something hazy and low.
Tiffany shifted beside Jake, brushing a hand down his arm. “Be right back,” she said, her voice sugar-sweet.
Jake nodded absently, eyes flicking toward Nova before he even realized they had.
Nova stood by the jukebox, her jacket folded over her arm, one hand idly scrolling through the song list. Her eyes skimmed the titles, but her attention drifted as footsteps approached behind her—measured, unhurried. Familiar.
“You’ve been staring at that thing for five minutes,” Jake said lightly as he approached her from behind. “You picking a song or memorizing the screen?”
She didn’t turn at first. “I’m weighing my options.”
Jake stepped beside her, close but not crowding. “Well, don’t overthink it. It’s not life or death.”
Nova finally turned slightly toward him, her expression unreadable but amused. “You’d be surprised how much music says about a person.”
Jake leaned in, eyes scanning the screen. “That right?”
And that’s when it happened.
She turned more to face him—just as he leaned closer toward the jukebox. Neither of them expected it, but suddenly, their faces were inches apart.
Close enough that she could see the shift in his eyes. Close enough that his breath brushed her cheek. Neither of them moved. A split-second. Maybe less, but long enough. Nova didn’t look away. Neither did Jake.
Then, slowly, carefully, he reached forward and pressed a song—breaking the moment without a word.
He straightened, but the air between them still hummed.
“I saw how you handled that guy earlier,” Jake said, voice low.
Nova raised a brow. “The fairy tale believer?”
“Yeah. That was… something.” His eyes lingered on her face. “You’ve got a hell of a way of commanding a room.”
“I wasn’t trying to,” she said, but there was no false modesty in it. Just honesty.
Jake’s gaze dropped to the space between them—small, almost nonexistent.
“Yeah,” he murmured. “That might be the problem.”
She looked up at him then. Blue eyes catching green. And for a breathless beat, neither of them moved.
Then—her hand brushed his.
It was nothing. Barely a graze. But Jake felt it like a live wire. He wondered, briefly, if she had too—until she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and cleared her throat, gaze darting away.
He swore he saw her cheeks flush.
“Nova—” he started, but didn’t know where he was going with it.
That’s when Phoenix’s voice cut through the haze: “Come on, Ghost! Bob’s about to fall asleep on his feet.”
Nova turned, looking toward the door where Phoenix waved and Bob gave a sleepy two-finger salute.
She smiled, then looked back at Jake.
“Goodnight, Jake.”
Her voice was soft. Her eyes lingered.
Jake’s heart stuttered. “Night, Nova.”
And just like that, she was gone. The scent of salt and something floral lingered as the door swung shut behind her.
Tiffany returned seconds later, slipping back to Jake’s side, but the moment—the spark, the silence, the glance that lasted a beat too long—still hung between his ribs like it meant something. Because it did. She didn’t know who Nova really was. But she was about to find out.
The morning buzzed with low conversation and shuffling boots as the pilots made their way toward the classroom. Nova moved through the corridor with purpose, her hair loosely tied back, flight binder tucked beneath one arm. The hallway ahead was narrow, crowded with bodies peeling off into briefing rooms, and she barely glanced up as she rounded the last corner—
Until she walked straight into someone. Chest to chest.
Strong hands gripped her waist instinctively, grounding her as she stepped back in surprise. Her binder slipped slightly beneath her arm.
Her hands had caught him too—one on his forearm, the other gripping his bicep to steady herself. Jake. His fingers didn’t move from her waist right away.
“Well,” Jake said after a second, voice low. “Good morning to you too.” he muttered, startled—but with a slight smile.
Nova looked up, breath caught in her throat.
“Sorry,” she said softly, almost under her breath.
Jake’s voice came low, a little rough. “You good?”
Nova’s lips parted, her throat tight. “Yeah. Just—wasn’t looking.”
He exhaled through a faint smile. “Clearly.”
Her hand was still on his arm, his thumb was still resting on her waist. They were standing too close.
Nova’s breath hitched. His eyes flicked down. Just for a second.
“You sure you’re alright?” he asked quietly, voice edged in something unspoken.
“I’ve had softer landings,” she murmured, her lips curving.
Jake smirked. “You didn’t call traffic control.”
“I didn’t know I needed clearance.”
That earned a soft chuckle from him. Her hand was still on his arm. His thumb was still resting on her waist.
They were standing too close. She stepped back—just half a pace, enough to breathe. His hands dropped.
Their eyes met for a beat longer than necessary—both of them knowing exactly what just happened and exactly what it meant.
Nova gave him a tight smile, clearing her throat. “See you inside.”
“Try not to walk into anyone else,” he murmured, still watching her like she was a puzzle he couldn’t wait to solve.
Nova held his gaze. “That depends. Anyone else worth bumping into?”
She turned, disappearing into the classroom without looking back, Jake stood there a second longer, jaw clenched, smile slow and reluctant as he followed. They didn’t see the woman standing farther down the corridor. But Tiffany saw everything. The way Jake looked at her. The way Nova looked at him. The tension so thick it could’ve snapped.
Just around the corner, half-shadowed by a doorway, Tiffany had seen the whole thing.
The touch.
The smirk.
The way he looked at her—like he forgot anyone else was in the world for just a moment.
Tiffany’s jaw clenched. No confrontation. No storming. Just a cold smile and a calculated turn.
By the time she reached her office, her mind was already racing. She logged in, fingers flying over the keyboard.
Brooke, Ava.
Tiffany leaned back in her chair, lips curling.
Let’s see what you’re hiding, golden girl.
Her fingers tapped rhythmically against the keys, her screen filled with access logs and encrypted personnel files.
Ava Brooke.
Nova.
Strike Six.
Tiffany’s eyes narrowed. Her request pinged back almost immediately.
CLASSIFIED.
ACCESS RESTRICTED.
REDAC—
REDAC—
REDACTED.
Tiffany exhaled slowly through her nose, annoyed but not surprised. Of course she’s protected. Ghost girl probably eats security clearances for breakfast.
But Tiffany wasn’t done.
She knew how to poke. How to pull threads.
It took time—cross-referencing flight manifests, old mission codenames, Strike Six rosters that no longer existed. But eventually, something cracked.
A file opened. Not Nova’s. His.
Lieutenant Grayson “Ace” Hayes. Strike Six. KIA. Three years ago.
Tiffany paused, lips parting slightly as she scanned the report.
Nova wasn’t listed as next of kin—but the private letter included in the digital file said otherwise. The note, attached with a navy condolence stamp, had gone to Lieutenant Ava Brooke. The file didn’t say much—but it said enough.
Fiancé.
Tiffany leaned back in her chair, eyes gleaming with something cold and victorious.
“Well, well,” she whispered to herself. “Ghost girl has ghosts of her own.”
It made sense now—her eyes, that calm exterior, the way she held herself like she’d been through hell and didn’t need anyone’s sympathy.
Still, Tiffany smirked. Nova hadn’t mentioned him. Not to the squad. Not to Jake.
She kept that one quiet.
Gravity
Jake “Hangman” Seresin Fanfic
Chapter Two: The Storm Beneath
The morning sun burned through the hangar’s glass, striping the concrete with long shadows. Inside, the Top Gun squad filed into the briefing room, most still shaking off sleep with half-finished coffees and lazy banter.
Jake strolled in last, sunglasses perched low on his nose, the familiar cocky tilt in his step. He looked as he always did—golden, loose, in control.
But he didn’t feel like it.
Because she was already there.
Nova sat in the second row, legs crossed, flight suit zipped to her collarbone. Her Strike Six patch—dark, understated, deadly—rested over her heart. She didn’t speak. She didn’t need to. The guys weren’t even trying to hide it anymore—the sideways glances, the hushed murmurs.
Jake didn’t look at her.
Not right away.
He took a seat across the aisle, a few rows back, and told himself he wasn’t keeping her in his peripheral vision. That his attention wasn’t already bending toward her like gravity.
But it was. She looked composed. Polished. Effortless. She didn’t scan the room. Didn’t try to place herself. She already knew where she stood.
Like nothing from last night lingered—not the dart game, not the way she’d shut down that “ghost squad” comment with a single line, not the way she’d looked at him when she said goodnight.
That look still echoed somewhere in his chest.
Phoenix dropped into the seat beside her, nudging her lightly. “Morning, Ghost Girl.”
Nova huffed a quiet laugh. “You still calling me that?”
“I don’t see you denying it.”
Rooster leaned toward Coyote behind them. “Think she’s as lethal as her badge looks?”
Coyote muttered, “Think she could kill you with her flight helmet.”
Jake didn’t speak, but he was listening. He tapped his boot lightly against the floor, jaw tight.
Then the room shifted—straightened—as Admiral Beau “Cyclone” Simpson entered with his usual no-nonsense scowl. Behind him came Maverick, flight suit half-zipped and eyes scanning the room like he already knew everything they didn’t.
“All right,” the commander called out, pulling up the screen behind him. “Hope you’re all feeling sharp this morning, because we’re diving straight into classified scenario prep.”
A chorus of “Yes, sir.” can be heard from around the room as Cyclone explains the perimeters of their training.
“What you’re about to see hasn’t been flown before. It’s a prototype extraction op, low-visibility, multi-vector. You’ll be running it in sim, then in air. We’re assigning pairs. These rotations will stick for now.”
He tapped a button. Names appeared on the screen. Jake’s stomach tightened when he read his.
Seresin – Brooke.
He blinked. Brooke. Nova.
One beat of silence passed before he let out a low breath. Phoenix smirked beside Nova. “Lucky boy,” she muttered.
“Pairing decisions weren’t random,” Cyclone went on. “Brooke’s experience with Strike Six makes her a critical asset in scenario building. She has logged over 1,200 hours in black zone operations, has confirmed three air-to-air kills during classified missions, and holds the record for the lowest successful terrain-hugging exfiltration on file. She’ll be leading some of the tactical phases.”
Heads turned toward Nova, someone—Rooster, probably—let out a low whistle. She didn’t react. But, Jake did. He couldn’t help it—the way his brow ticked up, the way his focus narrowed on her profile. Tactical lead? That wasn’t casual. That was trust.
Maverick launched into mission parameters, the room adjusting around the sharp angles of strategy and simulated risk. But Jake was only half-listening.
He was watching Nova.
She sat straight, eyes forward, fingers loosely laced on the desk. When Maverick threw out a question—“What’s the fastest vertical split response in a blind canyon at high-altitude entry?”—Nova didn’t pause.
“Two-point-six,” she said. “Three, if you’re flying with deadweight.”
A low whistle came from Coyote.
Mav gave a short nod. “Correct.”
Jake leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. He was impressed. Too impressed. Maybe that was the problem.
This wasn’t some pretty blonde with a mysterious past and a good aim at the dartboard. This was someone who didn’t just deserve to be here—she could fly circles around half the room. Maybe including him.
“Gear up. Wheels up in 30.” Maverick dismissed them as the briefing wrapped up, chairs scraped and conversations sparked. Rooster clapped Coyote lightly on the shoulder as they passed, muttering something like “Damn, she really is a ghost.”
Coyote rolled his eyes. “Told you.”
Jake stood slower than the rest. He told himself he wasn’t waiting for her to look at him.
He told himself wrong.
She rose gracefully, gathering nothing—she hadn’t even brought a pen. She didn’t need to. That brain of hers probably held more classified knowledge than half the intel office.
And then, just as she passed him, she glanced sideways. Their eyes met. No smile. No word. Just that look. Like she saw right through him.
Then she was gone, boots tapping steadily out of the room like she wasn’t leaving a trail of tension in her wake. Jake let out a slow breath, dragged a hand through his hair, and muttered under it— “Shit.”
The locker room was quiet, filled with the rustle of gear bags and the low creak of hinges as Phoenix pulled her locker open. Nova leaned against the bench, zipping up the top half of her flight suit, blond waves falling down over one shoulder. She looked calm. Almost serene.
She was still new here. But it didn’t feel like it.
Not to Phoenix.
“You really don’t rattle, do you?” Phoenix asked, tossing Nova a water bottle from the top shelf. “Not last night. Not this morning. Not even when Cyclone dropped your kill count like a mic.”
Nova caught the bottle one-handed and smirked. “Why waste energy?”
Phoenix rolled her eyes, grinning. “I swear, Strike Six must teach emotional detachment with flight mechanics.”
Nova chuckled, soft and low. “It’s more like… perspective.”
Before Phoenix could reply, the door opened behind them.
Tiffany stepped inside.
Her heels clicked against the tile, and even out of uniform she looked like she’d walked off a magazine cover—sleek hair, perfect blouse, clipboard clutched in one manicured hand.
“Didn’t realize this was an open meeting,” Phoenix muttered under her breath.
Nova said nothing, just tightened the strap on her gear bag and focused on tucking in the edge of her sleeve.
Tiffany smiled. Wide. Pleasant. Deadly. Eyes landing on Nova.
“Just thought I’d drop by and check on the pilot side of things. Big flight coming up. Heard you’ve been paired with Jake.”
Nova glanced over, expression unreadable. “That’s what the board said.”
“Interesting choice,” Tiffany said, head tilting slightly. “They usually don’t shuffle partners unless there’s… potential.”
Phoenix turned fully now, one brow arched. “I’m sorry, are you implying something?”
Tiffany didn’t even blink. “Of course not. I’m just surprised how quickly things move around here.”
Nova finally looked at her then—calm, open. No edge, no bite.
“I’m just here to do my job.”
Tiffany’s smile tightened. “Naturally. Though it’s a little jarring, I guess… how someone can show up one day and have everyone talking.”
Nova didn’t respond. She didn’t need to.
She just swung her bag over one shoulder, smooth and practiced, then offered Tiffany a gentle nod. “Nice to meet you, by the way. Officially. Professionally.”
Tiffany blinked. “Right. Yes. You too.”
She extended her hand.
Nova took it without hesitation—firm, respectful, brief.
Tiffany’s grip lingered half a second longer than necessary. “I hope your time here is… productive.”
Nova’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “So do I.”
With that, Tiffany turned on her heel and walked out—head high, hips swaying, and a tension in her jaw that didn’t match her parting grace.
The door clicked softly shut. Phoenix let out a breath.
“I don’t know what Jake sees in her,” she muttered.
Nova, still facing her locker, didn’t look up. “That’s not really my business.”
Phoenix scoffed. “She doesn’t like you.”
This time Nova did look at her and shrugged.
“Yeah,” she said simply. “I noticed.”
She grabbed her gloves from the bench and tucked them under her arm, not a trace of bitterness in her voice. Just fact. As if it meant nothing at all.
Phoenix studied her for a moment, then nodded slowly. “You’re kind of a badass, you know that?”
Nova gave a faint smile. “You’re late to that conclusion.”
Laughing, Phoenix followed her out of the locker room, boots hitting the tile in sync. Together, they headed for the sims—two women, side by side, walking into fire without ever needing armor.
The tarmac shimmered under the late afternoon sun, the heat rippling off steel wings and freshly laid jet fuel. Jake “Hangman” Seresin adjusted his gloves out of habit, attention flicking toward the runway.
Then he heard her.
Boots on pavement. Confident, steady, unhurried.
Nova.
Helmet under one arm, Strike Six patch gleaming over her heart, eyes hidden behind aviators that somehow made her even harder to read. She walked past him like he wasn’t even there—but her words landed with precision.
“Try to keep up, Hangman,” she said casually.
Jake’s grin came slow, easy, and way too honest.
“If you’re setting the pace,” he replied, eyes following her, “I won’t complain.”
She didn’t stop. Didn’t look back. But he noticed the subtle rise of her shoulders, the slight pause in her step—just enough to let him know she’d heard it. Then she was climbing into her jet, silent and composed.
Jake shook his head, laughing under his breath. This wasn’t going to be a routine flight. Engines ignited moments later, rumbling under the weight of two high-performance birds preparing to punch through the sky.
Jake launched first, Nova tight behind him. Separate jets. Shared objective. Shared frequency.
“Hangman, airborne.”
“Nova, on your six.”
Her voice crackled into his headset—low, precise, unreadable.
Jake checked his radar, watching her icon slide effortlessly into formation behind him.
“Targets ahead,” he said. “You want high or low?”
“Split left. I’ve got upper sightlines.”
He didn’t hesitate. Jake banked hard into the turn, Nova slipping above him like they were two pieces of the same machine. Her movement was clean. Automatic. Every minor shift predicted the air before it changed.
Strike Six. Ghost team, sure—but her instincts were all too real.
“Ping at nine o’clock,” she called out. “Cut wide. You’ll ride through clean.”
Jake adjusted without hesitation. She wasn’t giving suggestions—she was anticipating and she was right again.
“Sharp eyes,” he murmured.
“Comes with the ghosts,” she replied. He could almost hear the shrug.
Jake exhaled a tight laugh. “Remind me to get one of those Strike Six manuals.”
“There isn’t one,” she said simply. “You either get it… or you don’t.”
They flew tighter. Cleaner. Every shift in position felt choreographed, but it wasn’t. It was trust. Immediate. Natural.
Nova called another move. “Thrust down two percent. You’re drifting.”
Jake followed without thinking. A beat later, she added, “Clean correction. Didn’t think you’d actually listen.”
“Only when it counts.”
“You mean when I’m right?” she teased—just enough to twist the knife.
Jake smirked. “You’re not wrong.”
There was a pause in the comms—brief. But not empty.
Then Nova spoke again, voice softer now. “You don’t fly like the rumors.”
Jake arched a brow. “That a compliment?”
“Take it however helps you sleep.”
They dropped low into canyon terrain—tight ridges, red rock shadows, and simulated fire zones. Jake cut between walls like he’d done a hundred times before. Nova was right with him. No errors. No corrections. Just harmony.
Then came the final run. Target acquisition.
“Visual on the mark,” Nova said. “You ready?”
“Always.”
“Then let’s finish this.”
He aligned, locked in, and struck clean.
Nova confirmed it a second later. “Target hit. Smooth shot.”
Jake pulled up into open sky, adrenaline still humming.
“Hell of a run,” he said. “You always this easy to fly with?”
“Only when they can keep up.”
Her tone was still even. But something in it curled beneath his skin like a spark.
Minutes later, both jets touched down—Jake first, Nova gliding in behind.
He powered down his jet, lifted his helmet, and slid out onto the ladder. The heat hit again. So did the buzz still crawling down his spine.
She joined him near the tarmac, helmet still tucked against her hip, eyes calm.
“Nice flying,” she said, meeting his gaze.
And then, with just the faintest smile:
“Jake.”
It hit harder than it should have.
Not Hangman.
Just Jake.
Before he could reply, she turned and walked away—like she hadn’t just unbalanced his entire axis with two syllables and a smile.
Jake didn’t follow. He just stood there, watching her go and thinking, she’s dangerous.
The debrief room buzzed low with chatter, but Jake barely registered it. His gaze was locked on the footage playing across the screen—silent, stunning, undeniable.
Nova’s jet carved through the sky like she owned it. Every move was instinct. Every pivot, every shift, every call—it was all just ahead of where it needed to be. Not rushed. Not guessed. She wasn’t reacting. She was reading the sky.
“Look at that,” Rooster muttered beside him, chin propped in his hand. “She’s already banking before the radar even picks up the threat.”
Jake didn’t respond. His jaw ticked once, eyes locked on the way Nova’s jet sliced low through the canyon like she knew exactly where the danger would be.
“Damn,” Rooster said. “That’s not flying. That’s something else.”
“She flies like she’s dancing,” he said quietly, the words slipping out before he could catch them.
Rooster tilted his head. “That’s either poetic or horny, and I honestly can’t tell which.”
Jake’s mouth twitched. “She’s precise. I’ve never seen anyone fly like that.”
Nova’s voice crackled over the recorded comms. “Cut thrust two percent. You’re drifting.”
Jake watched his own response—fluid, immediate. He hadn’t questioned her in the moment. Just followed. Trusted.
He hadn’t done that with anyone else. Not like that.
“She doesn’t hesitate,” Jake murmured. “She just knows.”
Rooster leaned back in his chair. “It’s hot.”
Jake didn’t respond at first. Then - quietly, almost as if he wasn’t aware he said it. “Yeah…”
Rooster glanced at him, brow raised. Jake didn’t look away from the screen.
Rooster added, more softly this time, “Careful, man. That kind of attention’s hard to hide.”
Jake’s mouth twitched. Not quite a smile.
“It’s just flying,” he said.
But he said it too fast. Too flat. And his jaw clenched a beat too long. Rooster didn’t call him out on it. He just looked back at the screen. At the woman carving through simulated death zones like she was painting in the air.
“Sure it is,” Rooster murmured.
Jake didn’t reply. He didn’t have to because somewhere between her voice in his headset and the way she said his name after they landed, he knew damn well— It wasn’t just flying.
Gravity
Jake “Hangman” Seresin Fanfic
Chapter One: Ghost of Strike Six
Ava “Nova” Brooke. Everyone calls her Nova. Her squad Strike Squadron Six, or Strike Six. A special tactics air team, specialising in stealth, precision and danger. A ghost team.
The Hard Deck was alive with noise and energy, the evening crowd buzzing with laughter and the occasional clatter of pool balls or clink of beer bottles. The jukebox played something classic and loud, and the usual suspects—Top Gun’s finest—were gathered near the bar, half-drunk and entirely cocky.
Jake Seresin leaned against the edge of the pool table, cue in one hand, beer in the other, lazily charming a couple of off-duty naval engineers who looked just drunk enough to giggle at anything he said. He was winning, as always.
Until the door opened, the sea breeze slipped in first, cool and salt-tinged—but it wasn’t what caught their attention. It was her.
Every head turned.
She stepped in like she belonged there—no hesitation, no uncertainty. Just purpose wrapped in curves and confidence. Her blonde hair was swept into a loose bun, sun-kissed strands framing her flawless face. Blue eyes scanned the bar, cool and calculating, taking in every corner. Her tan flight jacket clung to her body like it had been tailored to her figure. And there, over her heart, sat the unmistakable badge.
Strike Six. It wasn’t just rare. It was mythical. Jake’s easy smirk slipped for the first time all night.
“Who the hell is that?” Fanboy muttered, already straightening up.
“No way,” Coyote said, brow furrowed. “Is that real?”
“Strike Six?” Rooster let out a low whistle. “That’s a ghost team.”
“Not anymore,” Phoenix said suddenly, standing straighter. Her eyes narrowed, then widened. “No fucking way—Ava?”
The woman’s gaze finally landed on Phoenix, and for the first time since entering, her expression warmed. A bright smile bloomed across her face—genuine, radiant, disarming.
“Natasha,” she said, striding forward like a slow storm.
The two women collided in a hug that surprised everyone. Tight, like sisters who hadn’t seen each other in years. Jake watched, brow ticking.
“You know her?” Rooster asked Phoenix, clearly stunned.
Nova turned back toward the group, her smile dimming slightly as she took in the crowd. She was unreadable now—calm, contained. And then she stepped forward.
“I thought you were flying classified ops in the Pacific,” Phoenix said, still in shock.
Nova smiled—just a little. “I was. Got reassigned. Heard you were back here breaking cocky boys in half.”
Phoenix grinned. “Only the ones who deserve it.”
Nova let out a soft laugh, low and warm. And then—like she just remembered they weren’t alone—her gaze drifted back to the group now silently watching her like she was something out of a damn movie.
And maybe she was.
Rooster stepped forward, eyes flicking between the Strike Six patch and her face. “Phoenix gonna introduce us, or…?”
Phoenix rolled her eyes, already stepping toward the team. “Guys, this is—”
“Ava Brooke,” Nova said, beating her to it. She took a small step forward, all eyes on her. “Call sign’s Nova.”
Her voice was clear and smooth—firm without being harsh. Her gaze drifted lazily across the group, like she was reading them in real time.
“Nova,” Jake repeated under his breath. It sounded like smoke. Like heat.
“I know who you all are,” she added, casually.
Fanboy blinked. “You do?”
Nova looked at him. “Lieutenant Reuben Fitch. Fanboy. Navigator. Graduated second in your class, strong suits are radar and sarcasm. You flinch slightly when the Gs hit six, but you hide it well.”
Fanboy’s mouth parted slightly.
Then she turned. “Coyote. Pilot. High-altitude endurance specialist. Flies like a cowboy, thinks like an engineer. Strong leadership potential. You dislocated your shoulder last year during a canyon run. It’s healed, but you favor it.”
Coyote looked at her like she’d just read his medical chart. “What the—”
Nova didn’t stop.
“Bob Floyd. WSO. Analytical. Quiet, but don’t mistake that for soft. You see everything.”
Bob flushed, smiling a little in surprise.
“Rooster,” she said next, and Bradley Bradshaw lifted his chin like he wasn’t already smirking.
She gave him a knowing look. “Big reputation. Bigger hair. Your old man was a legend, and you’re doing your damnedest to earn that name—on your own terms. It’s working.”
Rooster blinked. “Thanks, I—”
She turned again and then she got to him.
Jake Seresin stood still, beer forgotten in his hand.
“And you,” Nova said, voice dipping a fraction. “Jake Seresin. Call sign: Hangman. Top of your class. Most confirmed kills in last year’s training run. A reputation that walks into rooms before you do. Sharp shooter. Sharper mouth. You fly like you were born for it.”
Her eyes lingered. Jake’s jaw clenched just slightly, something unreadable flickering behind his stare.
She gave him the faintest smirk. “And apparently… you’re still looking.”
A beat of silence fell over the group like a dropped bomb.
Rooster let out a low whistle. “This just got interesting.”
Coyote leaned toward Fanboy. “Who is this woman?”
Nova finally turned back to Phoenix, expression cool as ice. “Strike Six doesn’t expect anything less than everything,” she said. “Knowing exactly who you’re flying with? That’s day one.”
Phoenix’s grin widened. “God, I missed you.”
Jake still hadn’t moved and Nova still hadn’t looked at him again.
Nova leaned back slightly as she laughed with Phoenix, twirling the neck of her beer between two fingers. Her golden hair was slightly tousled, skin glowing beneath the bar lights. She looked like someone who belonged here—and yet still untouchable.
Rooster straightened his shirt, rolled his shoulders back, and casually strolled over, cue stick abandoned.
“Alright,” he said, flashing his best Bradshaw grin. “You’ve impressed us, ghost girl. What else you got?”
Nova raised an eyebrow. “Ghost girl?”
Rooster winked. “Figure if you’re gonna haunt our skies, might as well haunt our dartboard too.”
Phoenix groaned. “You’re setting yourself up for failure.”
Nova slid off the stool, bottle in hand, and looked at Rooster with calm amusement. “You want to lose in front of your friends?”
Rooster clutched his chest. “You wound me.”
Nova handed her beer to Phoenix. “Lead the way, hotshot.”
The moment she stood, the atmosphere shifted. The group fell in behind her like she carried gravity with her. Heads turned again as she walked to the dartboard—relaxed, precise, all eyes drawn to her.
Jake’s beer hung forgotten in his hand. He didn’t stop staring.
The dartboard had no idea what was coming.
Rooster nudged Nova as they made their way toward the back corner of the bar. “Alright, ghost girl. Let’s see if the legend can play.”
Nova smirked, grabbing a dart. “You sure you want to see that?”
Fanboy leaned toward Coyote, whispering, “Twenty bucks says she’s all talk.”
Coyote just shook his head. “Nah. She’s the real deal. You saw that patch.”
Nova didn’t respond. She stepped up to the line, cool and effortless, and tossed the first dart.
Thwack.
Dead center.
The second one followed.
Then the third.
All three nestled tightly into the red bullseye like they’d never known another home.
The guys froze.
“Jesus,” Rooster muttered, eyeing the board like it had betrayed him.
“You still wanna go?” Nova asked him sweetly, plucking another dart from the tray.
Rooster lifted his chin. “Hell yeah.”
They played. He made her work for it—Rooster was competitive—but Nova stayed in control. Every throw was precise, every movement fluid. She didn’t show off. Didn’t gloat. She just was that good. After another win, she handed Rooster the dart back with a tiny nod. “You’re not bad.”
“Coming from you, that feels like a damn trophy.”
That’s when the game shifted. That’s when Jake moved. He hadn’t said a word since she introduced herself. Hadn’t challenged her. Hadn’t even looked her way for more than a few seconds.
But now? He walked slowly toward the board, eyes trained on Nova, every bit the cocky golden boy he was.
“Care to go a round?” he asked, voice smooth as bourbon.
Nova tilted her head. “I thought you didn’t need help.”
Jake smirks. “Maybe I just wanted to watch a professional at work.”
He then narrowed his eyes slightly, stepping closer. “Care to show me how it’s done?”
Nova’s voice dropped, silky. “You want me to hold your hand?”
Jake leaned in, voice low and cocky. “You offering?”
He stepped closer, shoulder brushing hers. She didn’t flinch. Instead, she handed him a dart. He took it, spun it in his fingers. Their proximity pulled a quiet tension over the group, like someone had cut the noise with a knife.
Rooster muttered, “Here we go…”
Jake turned, aimed, and threw.
Bullseye.
The team let out a unified noise of approval—low whistles, claps, raised brows.
Jake turned back to Nova, grinning. “Your move.”
Nova stepped forward, close enough to feel the heat off Jake’s chest. She stopped right in front of him. He was between her and the dartboard now. And still, she didn’t look away. The team quieted, eyes bouncing between the two like it was a showdown.
Slowly, deliberately, she held up the dart in front of him, didn’t break eye contact, didn’t glance at the board.
Then, as Jake stood there, waiting to see what she’d do—she threw the dart.
Eyes locked on his. Thwack. Bullseye.
Rooster literally gasped. Fanboy dropped his drink. Bob’s jaw hit the floor. Jake looked over his shoulder at the board, stunned for half a second. Then back at her.
Nova reached behind Jake to retrieve the dart, her hand brushing his hip as she passed. She held it out to him like an offering, voice calm and cool.
“Still want lessons?”
Jake stared at her—something unreadable tightening in his jaw. His smirk faded eyes flicking over her face like he couldn’t decide what the hell she was made of.
A voice, sharp and feminine, sliced through the room.
“Jake.”
Everyone turned.
She stood near the bar—perfect posture, crisp Navy uniform, dark brown hair twisted into a tight bun, and a glare that could slice through titanium. Tiffany Quinn. Navy intel. Jake’s girlfriend.
Nova’s spine straightened slightly, but her expression didn’t shift.
Jake blinked, stepping back from Nova like he’d forgotten Tiffany existed.
“Tiff,” he said with a smile. “Didn’t know you were swinging by.”
Her eyes never left Nova. “I heard there was… someone new.”
The way she said it made it sound like a threat.
Nova turned fully now. “Hi.”
Tiffany stepped closer, gaze raking over Nova’s frame like she was inspecting a threat to national security. “Tiffany Quinn. Naval intelligence.”
“Nova,” she replied easily.
Tiffany’s expression tightened. “Strike Six, huh? That’s what they’re saying.”
Phoenix cut in before Nova could. “You’ve heard of them?”
“Oh,” Tiffany said lightly. “Only rumors. Ghost stories. You know how guys exaggerate.”
Nova tilted her head. Exaggerate? She really has no idea. No one does. She kept her tone calm but protective. “Strike Six is never meant to be seen. We weren’t made to be known. We were made to be trusted. That’s how we keep people safe.”
The table went silent. The air shifted. Jake stared at Nova like he’d never seen a woman before. Tiffany stared too, but not in awe. In silent, burning jealousy. But she hid it well. She smiled—because that’s what she was supposed to do. Because she was in public. Because Jake was standing next to her. Because she couldn’t very well lunge across the bar and scratch that smug little expression off Nova’s face. But beneath the gloss of her lip balm and the tilt of her head, her thoughts were boiling.
Nova met her gaze briefly, then turned back to Phoenix and the team like Tiffany was already forgotten. Tiffany brushed her fingers lightly along Jake’s arm, her smile soft and sickly sweet.
“I’m gonna grab a drink,” she said, leaning in just close enough for her perfume to linger. “Want anything?”
Jake shook his head, distracted. “No, I’m good.”
She pressed a kiss to his cheek—calculated, visible.
“Be right back.”As she walked away, her heels clicking neatly across the hardwood, her smile stayed intact. But the moment she turned her back, the mask came off. She didn’t look back at Jake. Kept her eyes forward and jaw tense, jealously ripping through her.
And Jake? He didn’t look at her, either. He was still staring across the bar. Nova stood with Phoenix, head tilted back mid-laugh, the curl of her smile catching the light. She looked relaxed, even happy. She hadn’t spared a glance for him in a while—not since the dart throw. Not since she handed him that bullseye and walked away like it didn’t mean a thing.Jake’s grip tightened on the bottle in his hand.
“You alright, man?”Rooster’s voice came low and dry beside him.
Jake blinked and looked over. “Yeah,” he said automatically.
Rooster followed his line of sight. “She’s something.”
Jake exhaled slowly. “She’s… different.”
Rooster nodded once. “Yeah. Like gravity. Dangerous if you don’t know how to fly with it.”
Jake didn’t respond—but his eyes were already drifting again and then it happened. Nova looked up. A second. Maybe less. Her eyes locked with his. Still. Steady. Blue like frost and fire. She didn’t smile. She didn’t look away. She held it, hen she turned her head back to Phoenix like nothing happened at all.
Jake swallowed hard because right then—right there—he knew. He was fucked. Nova had walked into the room like a storm and without knowing, she’d knocked him clean off balance.
Talk To Me
Jake “Hangman” Seresin
Chapter Five: Aftermath
The house was silent when they returned, but the air was thick — like it remembered everything that had just happened.
Nova walked in first, still in Jake’s hoodie, her hair tied up messily but she still look effortless. Her skin was pale, her steps small. Jake followed behind her like a shadow with weight in his shoulders he couldn’t shake.
He closed the door quietly, then locked it. Not because he thought Ryder would come. Because he needed something — anything — to feel secure again.
Nova hovered near the kitchen island.
Jake walked up behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist, and rested his chin on her shoulder.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered. “I’m here, baby. I’m not going anywhere.”
She turned in his arms, eyes glassy, and buried her face in his chest.
“I feel like I’m crawling out of my skin,” she whispered.
Jake kissed her hair, tightening his hold. “We’re going to burn that feeling out.”
He moved gently, like touching her too quickly might shatter her. They settled onto the couch. Nova curled up in his lap, her knees drawn in, her face buried in his chest. Jake wrapped a soft throw around them and leaned back, arms around her like armor.
Nova trembled once. Then again. Then the dam broke. She cried — not loudly, but deeply. Jake kissed her forehead again and again, rocking her slightly.
“I should’ve told you sooner,” she said, voice cracked.
“No, Ava,” Jake said gently. “Don’t do that. Don’t blame yourself for his sickness.”
Her fingers clutched at his shirt.
“I didn’t want you to get hurt.”
Jake pulled back just enough to look at her, his hand cradling her cheek. “Listen to me. You are my person. My everything .There is nothing, I wouldn’t do to protect you.”
She nodded, a broken breath catching in her throat.
His voice dropped, low and trembling. “He won’t get another inch of you. Not while I’m breathing.”
Then he kissed her forehead, slow and firm.
“I promise.”
The next morning, the Dagger Squad met in Hangar Three. It wasn’t an official meeting. It didn’t have to be. Jake had called them in with one message: Urgent.
Nova stood with him, quiet but present. Her hair was up, her flight jacket thrown over his hoodie. She looked small, but her spine was straight. Jake stepped forward and laid a sealed envelope on the metal table in front of them.
“Ryder Armstrong,” he said. “He’s been stalking Nova. Following her. Making comments. And two nights ago, this showed up at our house.”
He opened the envelope. The photo. The letter. The air in the hangar shifted.
Rooster muttered, “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
Phoenix’s fists clenched. Bob looked like someone had punched him.
Fanboy, always the loud one, was silent. His gaze flicked from the letter to Nova and back again.
“He’s still on base,” Jake continued. “Until command moves, I need backup. Watch her six. Eyes open.”
“Why is he still walking around?” Rooster demanded.
“Because his name’s not on the letters,” Jake said. “But it’s him. We know it. And now we’re going to prove it.”
Phoenix stepped up beside Nova. “You okay?”
Nova gave her a nod. “I will be. I just need to know he can’t touch me again.”
“You’ve got us now,” Phoenix said. “He even breathes in your direction, we shut it down.”
Jake gave a single, grateful nod. Then Rooster looked at him, deadly serious. “What happens if he gets close again?”
Jake didn’t flinch.
“He won’t.”
Commander Bates didn’t waste time.
Jake brought him the full folder. Nova gave a full written statement. Bates had already logged complaints from Phoenix and Fanboy, backing up her discomfort. But without hard proof, he couldn’t move on dismissal.
So he dug.
Locker access logs. Hangar security footage. Parking lot cams. Shower hallway recordings.
Nova stayed home. Jake wouldn’t let her come back to base until they had something. Each night, she curled against him in bed. Each morning, she woke up reaching for safety.
Then came the call.
They met Commander Bates in the small surveillance review room behind the control center. A tech was already cueing up the footage.
Jake sat beside Nova, his hand covering hers on her thigh.
The screen flickered to life. Timestamp: late evening. Three days ago.
Nova appeared first — walking toward the showers, towel in hand, flight suit unzipped just enough. Jake’s grip on her hand tightened slightly. Nova didn’t blink. Then — less than a minute later — Ryder entered the frame. Same direction. Same pace. His eyes locked forward. Two minutes passed. He emerged, alone. Phone in hand, screen glowing.
The silence in the room was deafening.
“Jesus,” Bates said softly. “There it is.”
Jake’s jaw ticked.
Nova whispered, “He was that close. That fast.”
Jake stood suddenly. His hand dragged down his face. “That son of a bitch.” He paced once, then turned back to Commander Bates. “Is that enough?”
“It is,” Bates said. “We’re initiating dismissal protocol. Immediately.”
Nova’s body sagged in her chair. Not from weakness — from the weight lifting. Jake sat back beside her and pulled her in.
“You’re not alone anymore,” he murmured.
The room was cold. Not physically — but in atmosphere. The overhead light buzzed faintly, casting a pale glow over the table.
Ryder Armstrong sat back in his chair, arms folded, legs spread like he belonged there. Smug. Relaxed. He didn’t wear his flight suit. Just a plain tee and jeans. Like this was some kind of casual misunderstanding.
Commander Bates stood across the table, his expression unreadable, a file thick with evidence tucked beneath one arm.
He dropped it onto the table with a hard slap. The noise echoed.
Ryder didn’t flinch. “So, what’s this about, Commander?”
Nash didn’t sit. He stood tall, looming, hands clasped behind his back. “You’re here to account for your actions toward Lieutenant Brooke.”
Ryder smirked. “Lieutenant Brooke? Nova? She is a shit hot pilot, a little cocky perhaps but…”
“That’s not the issue,” Bates said flatly.
Ryder leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Look, I get it. She’s Seresin’s girl. But that doesn’t mean I can’t talk to her.”
“You didn’t just talk to her.”
The Commander opened the folder slowly. The photo came first — sealed in an evidence bag.
Ryder looked at it, then let out a quiet scoff. “That photo? You can barely see anything.”
“So you’ve seen this before?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“But you took it.”
“I didn’t say that either.”
“You just implied it.”
Ryder’s jaw tensed. Bates slid a still from the security footage across the table next — timestamped, grainy, but clear. Nova entering the showers. Ryder following less than a minute later.
“Looks circumstantial,” Ryder said, voice sharper now.
“You were in a restricted corridor. With your phone out. No assigned duties in that sector.”
Ryder didn’t answer.
Commander Bates leaned down slightly. “You stalked a fellow officer. You made her feel unsafe. You crossed boundaries repeatedly, and when she didn’t respond, you escalated.”
“Maybe she liked the attention,” Ryder muttered.
“This isn’t a game, Armstrong. She is your colleague. And you followed her into the showers.”
“She never told me to stop!”
Bates’ voice cut like a blade. “Because she was scared. You used silence as an excuse to push further.”
Ryder’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t know what happened between us.”
“I know what you said,” Commander Bates said, flipping open a transcript. “To another pilot. You said: ‘She always looks at me. She knows what I can give her. Better than him.’”
Ryder’s breath caught.
“That,” Bates said slowly, “is intention. And that’s all I need.”
Two MPs entered from the door behind Ryder. He stood quickly, anger replacing charm.
“You’re throwing my career away over a few looks?”
“No,” the commander said. “You did that yourself the minute you decided a woman’s disinterest was a challenge.”
Ryder glared at him. “She wanted it. She was just playing hard to get.”
That was the last straw.
Bates stepped forward. “Get him out.”
The MPs moved fast, gripping Ryder by the arms as he jerked against them.
Jake was outside the room, arms crossed, muscles coiled. Nova stood beside him, pale but calm. As Ryder was dragged past them, his gaze landed on Nova. He smirked — bloody-lipped from a split Commander Bates ‘hadn’t seen’ — and said, “You could’ve had something better.”
Jake took one step forward, but Nova caught his bicep.
“Jake don’t,” she said in a soft voice. “Don’t give him what he wants.”
Jake’s glare could’ve set fire to concrete. But he held. Nova stood behind him, her breathing shallow.
The moment Ryder was gone, she looked at Jake. Her eyes glassed, but steady and this time — this time — when she exhaled, she felt clean. Bates watched them for a long moment.
“Dismissal orders are filed,” he said. “Base access revoked. He’s gone.”
Jake nodded, slipping his hand into Nova’s. “Thank you, sir.”
That night, the house was silent except for the hum of cicadas and the soft rustle of wind through the porch screen. The porch swing creaked softly under their weight, swaying in rhythm with the breeze that drifted in from the ocean. The sky was bruised purple and gold, stars just beginning to show.
Nova curled into Jake’s side, legs draped over his lap, her head resting beneath his chin. He held her close, one arm wrapped securely around her waist, the other tracing soft circles over her thigh with his thumb.
Neither of them spoke for a long time.
Nova’s breath came slow and steady, but he could feel the tension still lingering beneath her skin — like her body hadn't quite caught up with the safety of the moment.
Jake kissed the top of her head.
“I didn’t realize how much space he took up in my head,” she whispered. “Even when he wasn’t there, it was like... I was waiting.”
Jake threaded his fingers through hers. “You shouldn’t have had to carry that.”
“I thought if I ignored it, it’d go away. I didn’t want to make it real.”
He turned slightly, brushing his lips against her hair. “You were never alone. Not for a second.”
She let out a slow breath. “I know. I do now.”
They sat like that a while, her hand tracing lazy shapes on his thigh, his arm wrapped around her like he’d never let go again.
Eventually, she tilted her face toward his. He kissed her. Slow. Deep. Not hungry — not desperate — but grounding.
When they pulled apart, she whispered, “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For loving me like this.”
Jake smiled. “There’s no other way I know how.”