Bradley’s Butterfly–Bradley Bradshaw oneshot
Warnings: panic/anxiety attack
Word count: 2.3k
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Bradley’s always been known for being observant, even at a young age he liked to watch those around him. His ears would perk up on conversations from couples fighting over what to have for dinner or a heated phone call from a man in a sleek suit. He liked to watch people in their natural form, study them, and be aware of his surroundings.
Everyone knew it, too. He’d pick up on subtle things that no one else seemed to really notice. Like how Bob mentioned his great Aunt Sylvie who he called ‘Aunt Sissy’ because he couldn’t quite say her name when he was younger. Bradley was the first to ask how his Aunt Sissy was after Bob had to rush home quickly for a family emergency.
He knows Hangman checks his gear three times before entering his cockpit and that Phoenix whispers a prayer her grandma would always sing to her before a mission. He notices small things that have a huge impact on those he cares about.
Being as observant as he is, Bradley was the first one to notice you as the new bartender Penny hired. He noticed right away how cute you were but also how meticulous you were when making a drink or pouring a shot. You had a good eye for precision and always picked up a crumpled napkin or one of the many discarded toothpicks Hangman left throughout the bar.
He noticed how your eyes would always meet his whenever he entered The Hard Deck. He noticed you noticing him and it always left a little flutter of warmth in his chest. You had all of the Dagger Squad’s drink orders memorized, you even played along with Hangman’s folly when he tried to trick you on his drink order.
One Tuesday after a grueling training session and 400 push-ups in the hot sun, Bradley really needed a drink so he headed to the bar. On top of the beating sun there was a dry wind that blew sand and dirt all over the place. Everything was dry and desolate because it’s been nearly a month without rain.
He fell onto the barstool heavily, his head pounding, muscles in his neck and shoulders screamed whenever he moved.
“Rough day?” you ask, voice soft as you set a glass of Blue Moon in front of him with an orange slice.
“Oh yeah,” he huffs. He winces when he leans forward on the bar to place his hand around the glass, it’s ice cold and feels refreshing when he takes a drink. He sighs wiping the foam from his mustache then tips the glass in your direction. “Thanks for this, it was very needed.”
“You’re welcome,” you smile sweetly and plop a white bowl full of orange slices next to his glass. The backs of your knuckles barely graze his fingertips but he feels an electric spark. “I’ll make sure to keep the oranges coming.”
You stayed true to your word. Bradley ate the slices you provided and had a few more Blue Moon’s just as the dinner rush was starting. He took that time to watch the way you were with other customers. You called them all by name, asked about their day and always had a smile on your face.
Bradley ordered some food as well and just as he finished up his loaded BLT, the rest of the squad strutted in laughing and smiling to a joke Fanboy probably made. They made a beeline for Bradley, he saw your eyes glide over the grown group and it tickled him pink when you grabbed him a fresh glass and orange before working on their drinks.
She remembered Bob’s cup of trail mix and handed Hangman a toothpick.
“Thanks darlin’,” Hangman grins. Instead of using his fingers to grab the toothpick, he closed his mouth around it then winked at you.
Bradley’s tickled pink trickled into a sea of red anger but you only laughed and rolled your eyes before turning your attention back on Bradley.
“I made some brownies, would you like one for dessert? Free of charge,” your smile was dazzling.
“A brownie sounds so good right now,” Bradley nods, watching you duck under the bar and skip to the back room where the office area is.
You come back with the square treat on a napkin, powdered sugar is sprinkled on top.
“Bradshaw!” Phoenix shouts from the billiards. She waves him over when he looks over his shoulder.
“Duty calls,” he sighs and rises from his stool.
“Kick Hangman’s ass,” you laugh. You clean up his plate of food.
“Will do. Thanks for the brownie,” he lifts it in appreciation. He’s glad he’s turned away when he takes the first bite because his face melts and a groan slips out. This is the best brownie he’s ever had. It’s the perfect amount of gooey with the ends a little hard.
With more beer and food in his system, Bradley’s body relaxes as the night lingers on. He’s just finished taking a celebratory shot with Phoenix after winning their pool game when an obnoxious group of Marines enter in with the saloon doors banging against the walls.
They stumble against the bar shouting for attention from any of the bartenders and Bradley is watching silently from his corner. You’re on the opposite side of the bar helping and chatting with a pair of girls but they’re shouting your name. Bradley watches as you turn upon hearing your name and hold up your hand motioning you’ll be right with them.
When one of them whistles at you that’s when Bradley starts to move.
Being 6’ 1” has its advantages because his height makes it easy to walk through people, they step out of his way easily. He’s at the bar next to the group of Marines as one of them whistles again, his brown eyes slide to you. He sees the way your shoulders tense up, how your hand perches perfectly on your waist when you turn around.
“Excuse me, I am not a dog you can whistle at,” you defend, your voice bristling as you approach the unruly group.
“It got you over here, baby,” one of them jeers.
Bradley notices how your eyes flick to the bell Penny has behind the bar and he hopes you ring it. He’d love nothing more than to toss these imbeciles out of the bar and away from you.
“I’ll get your pitchers of beer and you can go sit somewhere else. I have other customers,” you shake your head.
Bradley stays near you for the rest of the night, keeping a watchful eye on the Marines who were causing a ruckus by the gaming area. Bradley’s skin prickled when one of them slung an arm around Bob but Hangman intervened quickly with a hard shove and an even harder look. Javy joined him looking equally as intense and they backed off.
“What jerks,” you mutter behind him.
He turns his attention back to you, you’re glaring at the group as you wipe down glasses.
“Yeah, they’re full of shit,” Bradley agrees. “I was hoping you’d ring the bell so I could toss ‘em out for ya.”
“I definitely thought about it,” your eyes are still glued on them. “If they whistle at me again you have my full permission to dump ‘em in the sand. Thanks for standing by while they were here.”
“Of course. Gotta watch out for my favorite bartender,” he grins.
One of the Marines wouldn’t let up and tried to get you to play pool with them but you kept shaking your head. Slowly, the patrons began to leave and the Daggers bid farewell to Bradley and you in pairs.
The alcohol was starting to wear off in Bradley, his bones were starting to ache again and his bed was calling his name. He’d just finished signing his tab and pocketed his card when you approached with a bag over your shoulder.
“Hey Bradley? Would you mind walking me to my car?” you ask shyly, eyes shifting to the group of Marines that are still there. “That one has been trying to get me over there all night.”
“I don’t mind at all,” he shakes his head. “I was going to offer anyway since it’s so late. You got everything you need?”
“Yeah,” you nod clutching your bag tight to your chest.
He motions you ahead of him, his hand hovering over the middle of your back and he tosses a look over his shoulder. The one that called you ‘baby’ was watching in disdain and Bradley nodded at him with a slight smirk before leading you out the bar.
The heat is still in the air outside, sweat appearing instantly on both of your skin. Bradley follows you towards your car which is parked right next to his–not that he planned that or anything.
“Thanks for walking me,” you sigh. “Most of the time I love this gig but guys like that make my blood boil.”
“You and me both,” he nods. You unlock your door and open it. “Have a good night, drive safe.”
“You too. I should have given you more water.”
“I’ll be fine,” he waves it off, “not too far to go.”
He watches you buckle and settle before peeling out of the parking lot and he’s walking on air.
***
It’s three weeks later when Bradley comes to your rescue again. It’s Live Mic Friday where a local cover band is performing and it’s packed. The group of Marines are also in attendance and Bradley makes sure they keep their berth from you.
The music is good and the energy from the crowd is catching, he’s buzzing from having a good time with his friends but then the music stops suddenly and the house lights turn on. There’s some sort of tousle happening near the bar and Bradley rushes as quickly as he can through the sardined crowd.
You’re safe by the high top tables but the tray of glasses you were holding have slipped onto the floor in a million little pieces. Your eyes are wide as you stare at the Marines swearing and shouting in fits of rage. Your hand is shaking as you bring it to your chest, mouth open gasping for air.
Bradley is by your side, your quick gasps pierce his heart as you try to settle your breathing but it’s not working. Your eyes are wide and panicked and he knows exactly what’s going on.
“Let’s get outside,” he ducks his head to yours and ushers you out.
You’re still gasping, hands shaking even more as you try to touch each finger to your thumbs.
“Here, c’mere and sit,” he says pulling up one of the patio chairs but you shake your head. “It doesn’t help?”
“N-n-n–”
“Okay, no sitting. Place your hands like this–” he lifts your trembling hands to your chest, thumbs overlapping so they’re like a butterfly. “Good. Now, watch me, y/n.”
He mirrors his hands like yours waiting until your tear rimmed eyes focus on his hands. Bradley starts to alternately tap his fingers on his shoulders. It takes you a moment but you start to tap your shoulders as well, still gasping for air.
“Good, that’s so good, honey,” he encourages. “Keep doing that in time with me.”
There’s a loud noise from inside and it makes you flinch.
“Keep tapping. Did you know there’s a huge burn mark in the ceiling of the office? Yeah, I did that on my twenty-first birthday. I somehow created an alcoholic bomb of vodka, lighter fluid and a lighter. Hangman didn’t believe I could do it. I still don’t know how I did it, I failed Chemistry when I took it.”
Your lips trembled as your breath started to steady, your fingers kept tapping in time with his. Each tap helped you focus on the things around you and not the heavy weight on your chest or the panic in your mind that the world was going to crumble around you.
Bradley kept telling stories of his youth, how he got into a terrible accident and he now has scars from it. When your breathing is back to normal, the whole ordeal left you exhausted and you collapsed into the chair Bradley first offered you. He pulls one up in front of you, his warm brown eyes studying you and he places a gentle but firm hand on your knee.
“Okay?” he asks.
“Getting there,” you nod and wipe the tears from your eyes. “That helped a lot…thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I don’t know why it even started. I heard the shouting and it–it just hit me,” you shake your head.
“Your body’s way of preventing something bad from happening,” he shrugs, “panic attacks just appear sometimes and it’s okay.”
“How’d you know I was having one? And to do that tapping thing?”
“I had a lot of panic attacks after my dad died. I tried all of the centering techniques…box breathing, counting backwards, pointing out things I see and feel. This was what really worked, it’s called butterfly tapping,” he explains.
“Oh,” you exhale and close your eyes.
“How’s your heart?”
“Still racing,” you whisper. He starts to tap your knee with his thumb and you focus on the weight of his hand on you.
You sit out there for fifteen minutes as he helps center you.
“There, that’s better,” he smiles. You exhale deeply.
“Much better. Thank you, Bradley.”
“Let’s get out of here. I know a diner that has the best sundaes.”
“I need to finish working–”
“Does Penny know you get panic attacks?” he asks and you nod. “I’ll text her that I’m taking care of you. C’mon, we’ll go around.”
He holds out his hand. You slip yours in his, noting how rough and smooth they are at the same time. He’s also warm and you have butterflies the whole time he holds your hand to his Bronco and on the drive to the diner. You’ll have to remember Bradley’s butterfly the next time a panic attack appears.
