Rooster X Shy Reader - Blog Posts

Maybe Things Are Looking Up

Pairing: Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Shy!Autistic!Fem!Reader

Summary: Your friend sets you up on yet another blind date, much to your annoyance.

Warnings/tags: Soft Bradley, age gap (reader is in their 20s), mentions of autism, implied sensory issues, Bradley being an absolute sweetheart, one implication of sex (blink and you miss it), mention of crying, lots of fluff, a bit of angst, implied low self-esteem (I think?), super self-indulgent, mentions of throwing up, mention of injuries (nobody gets hurt), one mention of dieting

A/N: I feel like I'm having way too much fun writing for soft Bradley. (Sorry, the writing's probably kind of clunky.)

***************************************************

A knock on the door makes you nearly jump out of your skin.

He's here.

Your heart is pounding as you take one last look in the mirror. You can't say you're impressed with what you see, but at least you look presentable.

It's very difficult to not trip as you rush down the stairs, already regretting wearing heels. They're very uncomfortable, and your balance isn't the best, so you normally opt for flats, but you want to make a decent impression.

For a moment, you consider hiding, saying you're sick, allowing yourself to break your ankle on these ridiculous heels.

Anything but go on this date.

Why, oh, why did Callie have to set me up with one of her pilot friends? you wonder, as you fumble around for your keys. Why does she even feel the need to set me up at all? I've told her time and time again that I'm resigned to the fact that I will be single for most of my adult life.

It takes you much longer than normal to unlock the door, mainly because your hands are shaking so badly that you can barely get the key in.

But once the door's finally open, you stare in shock at the man before you.

After all, it's not every day you see a guy with an 80s mustache, wearing a Hawaiian shirt and aviator sunglasses at your front door.

He should look absolutely ridiculous.

But he doesn't. Quite the opposite, in fact. He's very, very attractive. Unfairly so, you think.

Especially considering you're suddenly acutely aware that the colour on your dress doesn't really suit you, and neither does the style. You knew it didn't suit you when you picked it out, but you just pulled it on anyway in an act of rebellion, mainly because you didn't want to make a good impression.

Something you're sorely regretting, especially because you now feel extremely unattractive.

"Hey," he says. "Y/N, right?"

You nod, your mouth suddenly too dry to speak.

He holds out a hand. "I'm Bradley."

Why's he holding his hand out? You take it anyway, forcing a smile.

"You ready?" Bradley asks.

You nod.

He's surprisingly courteous, letting you hold onto his arm as he walks you to his car, and helping you in before getting in the other side.

"So, any ideas where you'd like to go?" he asks.

Oh, no. Your chest clenches with fear, and you shake your head, hoping you're not doing it too vigorously.

"How about the restaurant near the bar?" he suggests. "I've never been there, but I heard it's a nice place."

You nod, desperately hoping that he won't get mad at you for not speaking.

The rest of the drive is silent.

After he's parked the car, he turns to you. "These doors are a little tricky when you're not used to them. I'll get yours for you."

"Okay," you whisper. It's the first thing you've said all evening.

Once Bradley's helped you out, and locked the car, he offers you his arm.

"The restaurant's usually a little busy this time of day," he explains. "Callie'd never forgive me if I lost you on our first date."

You just nod as you take his arm, feeling more and more shy by the minute. You can tell that Bradley's trying to put you at ease, but you've already worked yourself up so much that you don't even know if it's possible for you to calm down.

***************************************************

Fortunately, you're seated very quickly. You have a feeling that it might have something to do with Bradley being so familiar with the staff, but you brush it off. He's probably just a friendly person.

Still, you're not complaining about being off your feet. Those heels were definitely a mistake.

"Do you want a menu, Y/N?" asks Bradley.

You almost jump out of your skin at the sound of his voice, and then nod, your face burning.

"Here." His hand brushes yours as he hands you one.

You manage a small smile as you take it.

You're not very hopeful as you read down the menu. While they look nice, none of the main courses sounds like something you'd eat. Normally, if you were out with a friend or your family, and you ran into a situation like this, you'd order off the children's menu, but you're too scared to here, in case Bradley thinks you're weird, or makes fun of you for it.

"So, what are you thinking?" asks Bradley.

You look up, wishing your throat wouldn't clench so. Hoping he won't think you're rude, you show him what you're ordering. Fortunately, some of the sides look okay, so you've decided to order a couple of them in lieu of a main.

"You sure that's all you want?" he asks. "You don't want a main?"

You nod.

Bradley leans forward, lowering his voice. "You know, if there's nothing you like, we can just go to another restaurant."

You shake your head. Tears begin pricking at your eyes as you try to find the words to explain, almost wishing he'd just snap at you. For some reason, his kindness is making you feel much worse than if he got annoyed, or yelled at you.

It takes some time, but you manage to push past the barrier between your brain and vocal cords. "It's - it's not that I don't like anything, I just - I'd prefer to order off the children's menu. It's just - more familiar territory."

"Hey, that's okay," says Bradley gently. "Was that all you were worried about?"

Not exactly. But you nod anyway.

"I don't mind you ordering off the kids' menu, and I'm not gonna make fun of you for it, okay? I just want to make sure you have a good time."

You manage a small smile. "That's - very kind of you."

Bradley smiles. "It's nothing."

As the server comes over to take your order, your nerves suddenly increase tenfold. You've always hated having to speak to order, but you've never really felt comfortable typing an order out and just showing it to the server, either.

"Hi, can I take your order?"

You don't even hear Bradley tell the server his order, because you're trying to plan out what you're going to say - and try and stir up the courage to actually say it.

Then you feel a hand on your arm, and your face burns as you realise that you haven't even acknowledged the server, and have in fact been staring into space for some time.

"Do you want me to order for you?" Bradley's voice is very soft, whether to try and calm you, or to save you from any more embarrassment, you're not quite sure.

You nod, feeling horribly guilty at ignoring the server, but not really knowing what to say.

But you do apologise to Bradley once the server's gone. "Sorry. I didn't mean to - sorry…"

"It's okay." Bradley's voice is still very soft. "You're nervous, I get it. You don't have to be sorry."

"But I embarrassed you."

Bradley shakes his head. "You didn't. And even if you had, I promise you I've been in worse situations."

"Like what?" You regret the words the second they come out of your mouth. Don't ask him about embarrassing situations, you idiot!

But, judging by the grin on his face, Bradley doesn't seem to mind.

"Well, there was this one time at The Hard Deck…"

At first, you're not really listening, mostly because you're still trying to shake off your embarrassment, but you soon get drawn in to the story, and by the time Bradley finishes, you're feeling much more at ease.

"Okay, here are your meals."

You feel yet another stab of fear. What if I make a mess? What if the texture of the food makes me throw up everywhere?

But you manage a small smile as the server hands you your meal.

You're both silent as you eat, you because you're trying not to spill everywhere, and Bradley - well, you're not really sure. Maybe he's not the type to talk while eating.

But then why did he suggest a restaurant for our date?

Fortunately, Bradley seems to understand that you're nervous, and doesn't push you to speak too much. You do notice him glancing at you several times, and you feel guilty for not being more chatty, but it feels like there's a massive barrier between your brain and your vocal cords, one that you just can't face pushing through.

"How's your dinner?" he asks.

You look up. "It's good, I guess."

He raises his eyebrows. "You sure?"

You nod. "Um - how's yours?"

He smiles. "It's good. What're you thinking for dessert?"

Oh, no.

It's not that you don't like sweet things. Or that you're dieting. You just don't want to risk making yet another mess. You've already dropped some food onto the floor, and you only just managed to fight your gag reflex when you accidentally chewed a piece of food too long.

"Um, I'm kind of full."

"Yeah, me too. They're pretty generous with the portions here." He must have noticed that you're feeling uncomfortable, because he adds softly, "Do you want to leave?"

You nod.

"Okay."

After he's signalled to the server that you're ready to pay, Bradley tells you that he's going to pay.

You don't feel entirely comfortable with him paying the entire bill, but before you can protest, he's already paid.

You wobble as you stand up, and Bradley hastily takes hold of your arm before you can fall.

"I'm never wearing heels again," you mumble.

He just smiles. "You're not used to them, I take it?"

You shake your head. "I don't really go out much. In fancy stuff, I mean." Or at all.

Just like on the way there, you're silent on the way back.

You've got a horrible feeling that you messed up, and now Bradley's angry with you. What if he wanted dessert? What if he wanted to stay longer? What if-

Before you know it, Bradley's pulling up outside your house.

"I'll get your door for you," he tells you.

As Bradley goes to get out of the car, you stop him.

"Um - look, I'm sorry I wasn't very chatty this evening. I just - sorry…"

"That's okay," he replies. "It's not your fault for being shy."

You shake your head. "I'm not just shy. I'm - look, I know I've been difficult pretty much the entire evening. And - I wish I could do something about it, but I can't, and-"

"Hey, what's all this about?" Bradley looks genuinely puzzled. "You weren't difficult."

"I was."

"How?"

You feel tears welling up, and you desperately try to force them back. "I didn't talk for most of the evening, I was messy with my food, and I was rude to a server. And now I've ruined your evening. I'm - I'm sorry."

Bradley doesn't reply immediately, and for one horrible moment, you wonder if he's angry with you.

You don't even realise you're picking at your hands, until Bradley takes your hands in his.

"Y/N," he begins softly. "You don't have to look at me, but please hear me out. You were not being difficult. That incident with the server was not your fault. If anything, it's on me. I should've made sure you were ready to order before the server came over."

You feel a couple of tears roll down your cheeks, whether from relief or something else, you're not really sure.

Bradley gently brushes them away. "I know you didn't talk much, but - I don't mind that. I know not everybody's a talker, and I'm fine with you using other ways to communicate if that makes you feel more comfortable. And I certainly don't mind if you're a messy eater. You don't have to look perfect, okay?"

You suddenly feel light, like a heavy weight's just been lifted off your shoulders. He's not mad?

"But it can't have been a fun evening for you."

Bradley's eyebrows pinch together. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know, I just-" You pause, taking a breath. "I just - I feel like I have this bad effect on people - like I just jinx a night out and make it awkward and horrible when it doesn't have to be, because I'm just so socially inept."

"Oh, sweetheart. How often do you feel like that?"

You hang your head, trying hard to hide your tears. "Every day."

"I'm sorry. It must be hard."

You nod, almost wishing he wouldn't be so nice about it. It's hard enough trying to keep yourself together around people who don't really care, but it's nearly impossible around someone who does.

"Do you ever feel like that with Callie?" asks Bradley.

You shake your head. "She's the exception. We've known each other all our lives, so…"

"That's good."

You're both silent for a while. Bradley's started gently tracing patterns on your hands, which you're actually enjoying the feeling of.

"You know," he says, "tonight wasn't too bad."

"You think so?"

He smiles. "Yeah. I enjoyed your company. If it's okay with you, I'd like us to meet up again some time."

"For a date?"

"Only if you're comfortable with that."

You manage a small smile. "Okay. I - I'd like that. But - can we not do it in public?"

"Of course." Bradley gives your hand a gentle squeeze. "If that's going to make you feel more comfortable, then I'm fine with it."

You nod. "Thanks. You're - you're very kind."

"I try." He goes to open his door, but then stops. "You okay walking in those?"

That's when you suddenly remember you're wearing heels. Blushing, you shake your head. "I'll probably fall over."

"You want me to carry you?"

You shake your head again. "I'll just take them off."

He frowns. "I noticed some broken glass on the ground earlier. I don't want you stepping on it and hurting yourself."

Despite yourself, you giggle. "I guess you'll have to carry me, then." Not that I'm complaining.

Bradley just smiles and pats your arm, before getting out. "I'll get your door for you."

While he's going around the car to open your door, you arrange your handbag in your lap so that you'll be able to reach your keys easily. You haven't been carried in a long time, so you're a little nervous about how it might feel.

Bradley must have noticed that you're nervous, because he's very gentle as he lifts you, and makes sure you're completely comfortable before he starts walking. You're surprised at how easily he carries you, like you weigh nothing - and how safe you feel in his arms.

He doesn't seem to want to let you go. Even once he's right outside your front door, he still doesn't set you down.

"Um - I should be okay from here," you begin, rather nervously.

"I know," says Bradley. "But I was actually thinking it might be safer if I get you settled on your sofa, so you can get those shoes off, before you start walking. I don't have to if you're not comfortable with me being in your house, though."

That actually makes sense. "No, that's - that's fine."

It only seems to take a few seconds before Bradley has you in your house, and settled on the sofa. You take your shoes off with a sigh of relief.

"I am never wearing heels again."

Bradley chuckles. "You really hate those shoes, huh?"

You smile. "I guess so. I would get rid of them, but someone bought them for me, so it just wouldn't feel right to give them away, you know?"

"Yeah. I get that."

You stand up. "Um - Bradley?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you. For being so kind."

He shakes his head. "It's nothing. I'm just glad you had a good time."

You nod, suddenly feeling rather shy. "Yeah. Um - see you."

Bradley smiles. "See you around."

Once he's gone, and you've locked the door, you go upstairs, and collapse on your bed with a sigh.

Can I be bothered to change into my pajamas?

You're replied by the seam digging into your back. Yes, I can.

***************************************************

Once you're back in bed, you curl up, preparing to do some scrolling. It's been a long day, and you need some headspace.

It's a relief to be back in your normal clothes once again. That dress was not very comfortable.

Your phone buzzes.

It's a message from Callie.

You home yet?

You type a reply. Yes.

How'd it go?

You pause, thinking out an answer. Was okay. Bradley was really nice. He offered to take me out again.

Take him up on it.

I already did.

Good. You know, I thought you'd get on well. He's a bit more mature than the guys our age.

You frown. How old is he?

He's in his thirties, I think.

Your heart nearly jumps out of your chest. Thirties?! Callie! Why didn't you tell me?

I did.

I didn't see it.

You hastily scroll back through your messages.

Oh, nevermind. You did. Sorry.

Told you. And he's not ancient, Y/N. He's in his early thirties.

But - his thirties! I'm practically a kid compared to him!

You're not. I'm the same age as you, I'm friends with him, and you're more mature than me.

I guess we are both adults. But still… Did you tell him?

Tell him what?

That I'm younger than him.

Of course. And he's a good guy, Y/N. He'd have never asked you out on a second date if he wasn't comfortable with the age gap.

You breathe a sigh of relief. Good to know. Oh, we're still meeting up for drinks on Tuesday, right?

Yep.

Okay. Bye.

Byee.

Well, that was unexpected, you think, putting your phone aside.

But you don't really mind the age gap. So long as Bradley's okay with it - which he seems to be - then you are, too.

Plus, it would explain why you actually enjoyed tonight. You've been on dates before with guys your age, but you've never really enjoyed them.

For one thing, none of them have ever been as nice as Bradley, and for another, they've always wanted you to come back to their place…

Another message from Callie pops up.

Oh, hey, forgot to tell you I gave Bradley your number.

You groan. Callie is enjoying herself way too much.

He said he'd message you tomorrow.

Why tomorrow?

There's a bit of a pause before Callie replies.

He says he noticed you were tired out, and he doesn't want to bother you until you've rested.

You feel your throat getting a little tight. That's so sweet.

Told you he was nice. I'm telling you, Y/N, he's a keeper.

Callie, we've only been on one date - and even that wasn't really a date.

Close enough.

You grin. I'm going to bed now. See you Tuesday.

Byee.

Putting your phone on silent, and setting it aside, you roll over, grinning like an idiot.

Maybe things are starting to look up.

************************************************

As always, I do not give permission for anyone to copy my work, repost it elsewhere, etc.

Let Me Help (Part 2)

Part 1

Pairing: Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Autistic!Fem!Shy!Reader

Summary: You're pretty sure you imagined last night. After all, why would someone like Rooster care about someone like you? (Well, that's what you ask yourself, anyway...)

Warnings/tags: Super soft Bradley, a little bit of angst, mentions of autism, mentions of sensory issues, mentions of social awkwardness (I think?), mentions of injuries, one mention of painkillers (Tylenol), so so self-indulgent

A/N: Sorry, the writing's probably kind of clunky.

***************************************************

As you wake up, the memories of the night before come back to you.

It was probably all a dream, you decide. It feels devastating, but it's the only reasonable explanation you can come up with as to why Rooster, of all people, would actually care enough to go knocking on your door to check up on you.

I probably just went straight to bed the minute I got home, and just imagined all that other stuff.

Trying to suppress the sting of disappointment, you carefully lever yourself out of bed, and try to stand on your ankle.

You're unsuccessful, of course, and you have to bite back a yell of pain when it nearly gives way beneath you.

After hopping to the door, and opening it, you take a quick breather, before starting towards the kitchen. Maybe some food will help me feel better.

"Sweetheart?"

You don't quite jump, but you do lose your balance in your shock at hearing Rooster's voice.

Fortunately, he manages to catch you before you can fall.

"Hey, whoa, what are you doing out of bed?"

He looks so worried that you can't help but feel a little guilty, despite the fact that you hadn't even known he was in the house.

"S-sorry…"

"Don't." Rooster takes a good look at you. "Did you put any weight on your ankle?"

Your cheeks burn as you nod. "Just for a second."

"Did you fall?"

You shake your head, staring miserably at the floor.

Rooster sighs softly, before lifting you in his arms. "You shouldn't be trying to walk. You could really hurt yourself."

"I'm sorry," you mumble. "I didn't realise - I thought you would have gone home by now."

"Why would I do that, sweetie?"

"I don't have another bedroom..."

"I slept on the sofa."

"You could have just gone home."

"Yeah, but what if you'd needed something during the night?"

You bite your lip, trying hard to hold back the tears. "Thanks, Rooster."

He smiles. "How about we use first names, sweetheart? Mine's Bradley."

You smile shyly. "Mine's Y/N."

Bradley smiles. "I like that. Now, do you want me to take you to the living room, or your bedroom?"

"Living room, I guess? But I was - um, I was actually going to the kitchen, to make myself some breakfast…"

Bradley shakes his head. "It's okay, I'll take care of that."

You stare at him. "Are you sure?"

Bradley's lips turn up slightly. "Of course. You need to rest, honey. Just leave everything to me."

"It's a lot of work…"

"Hey." Bradley gently sets you down on the sofa, tucking a blanket around you as he talks. "I don't think this is gonna be as hard as the work I'm used to. And - I know this'll sound weird to you, but I really do want to take care of you."

You mumble something in reply, your eyes fixed on a point just over his shoulder.

"What's that, sweetie?"

The whole of your face and neck burns. "It's nothing."

"Y/N." Bradley's voice is still soft, but there's an undercurrent of steel.

There's a long silence. You really, really don't want to repeat what you just said, but judging from the look on his face, he's not going to let this slide.

"I'm-" you take a deep breath. "I'm - autistic."

Bradley's eyebrows pinch together in confusion. "Why would that be an issue, sweetheart?"

You take another deep breath, feeling really stupid. "It's going to be harder than taking care of a neurotypical."

"Well, I know it's going to be different, but - can you give me some examples?"

You pause, trying to gather the courage you need. "Well, there's certain foods I can't eat, because of the texture, or the taste, or even the smell. There's certain clothes I can't wear - although that doesn't really apply to - this."

Bradley listens carefully as you tell him the specifics, never once interrupting, just allowing you to talk until you stop, feeling rather miserable.

"I suppose I've ruined it now," you mumble, staring at the floor once again.

"Ruined what?"

"We were finally getting a rapport, and now I've ruined it."

"Oh, sweetie…" Bradley rests a hand on your shoulder. "You haven't ruined anything. If anything, I'm glad you told me, because now I know how to help you better."

You're silent for a while, trying to hold back tears. He's being so kind and understanding that all you want to do is collapse against him and cry.

"I've never had that reaction from someone before," you mumble.

"How do you mean?"

"The last time I told someone I was autistic, it was when I was applying to join the Navy. They almost didn't let me in because of it."

"Oh, sweetheart…"

His tone makes you look up suddenly. Your heart jumps when you see that he looks like he's about to cry.

You give his arm a small squeeze. "It's - it's really not that big of a deal. It was years ago."

Bradley shakes his head. "It is a big deal."

You frown. "How?"

Finding your hand, Bradley gently rests his on top. "Because - you've never felt able to tell anyone else, because-" He sighs, shaking his head. "I really wish you had felt able to tell us sooner, sweetie."

"What difference would it make?" you mumble.

"Well-" Bradley gently takes your hand, stroking along the back with his thumb. "I don't know about the others, but I wish I would've known sooner, because then I would've been able to help you better. I mean, I've noticed you don't like crowds, or loud places, that you leave early whenever we're all at the bar…"

For some reason, you suddenly feel a stab of guilt in your stomach. "Sorry," you mumble, staring at the floor. "I guess I am kind of rude…"

"No." Bradley's voice is suddenly stern. "Don't ever talk about yourself that way. Leaving early because you're overwhelmed, tired, or you just don't like crowds is not a bad thing. You were not being rude."

He pauses, taking a breath. When he speaks again, his voice is softer. "Y'know, sometimes I want to leave the bar early, and I kind of feel jealous that you can just - slip out."

"Why don't you just slip out?" you ask. It seems simple enough to you.

Bradley sighs. "I've kind of gained a reputation for being the life of the party. Most people think I'm an extrovert, 'cause I'm pretty outgoing. There's not many people who know that I'm actually an introvert."

He chuckles at your surprised look. "Yeah. Don't get me wrong, I like socialising, but - it's pretty tiring. I'm usually ready to go home about halfway through a night out. That's why I usually sit at the piano. It's kind of like a way that I can find my place in a social situation, without actually having to talk all the time. And I also just enjoy singing."

You smile shyly. "I get that. Except for me, it's a bit earlier. I just hang on a bit so I don't seem too rude."

"How much earlier, honey?"

You think for a moment. "About ten, fifteen minutes in. Sometimes twenty, if I'm feeling a bit more energetic."

Feeling like you have to explain a bit better, you add, "It's because the bar's super crowded and things. I can socialise longer in quieter environments."

Bradley smiles. "Good to know."

A silence settles over the room, but it's not awkward. In fact, you quite like it. Normally, when you're socialising, you feel like you have to constantly be chatting, or something's wrong with you, but - this feels much nicer.

It's just unfortunate that your stomach growling is what breaks the silence.

Bradley just smiles. "You hungry, sweetie?"

You nod, wishing your face wouldn't burn so much.

"What do you want to eat?"

"Uh, there should be something in the freezer. I prepped a load of my safe foods, and froze them. There should be one portion per bag, and I think I wrote the cook times on, too. Or they might be on the fridge, I'm not really sure."

"I'm on it." Bradley pats your shoulder before standing up. "I'll get you another ice pack for that ankle, too. Do you want a drink or anything? Maybe some Tylenol?"

"Can I have some water, please?"

He smiles. "Sure."

After he's left the room, you switch on the TV, and turn it back to the show you were watching last night.

Stepping back into the room, Bradley hands you a glass. "Here's your water, sweetie. You need anything else?"

"Do you - um, would you mind getting me my phone, please?"

It seems like the words are barely out of your mouth before he's back with your phone.

"Thanks." You open it to see a message from Bob.

To Y/N: Do you want to meet up today? Bob.

"Oh, um - Bradley?" It's weird how using his name makes your heart jump.

"Yeah?"

"I, um - Bob wants to meet up with me - 'cause, you know - um, anyway, would you mind if I invited him around here?"

Bradley chuckles. "Why would I mind? It's your place."

"Yeah, but - you're taking care of me, so…"

"Hey, I'm fine having him around, if you feel up to it. Like I said, this is your place. Just because I'm taking care of you doesn't suddenly make it my place. What time were you thinking of inviting him?"

"Maybe early afternoon?"

He smiles. "That works for me."

After he's left the room, you reply to Bob's text, and then turn up the volume on the TV. As you watch, you can hear Bradley moving about in the kitchen. It feels weirdly familiar. Like something you could get used to.

It feels like home.

**************************************************

Part 3

As always, I do not give permission for anyone to copy my work, repost it, etc.

Let Me Help (Part 1)

A/N: I've been writing a lot of Jake recently, so I figured I'd switch it up a little, and write some Bradley for a change. Hope you enjoy. (Sorry the writing's a little clunky.)

Pairing: Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Autistic!Fem!Shy!Reader

Summary: You're injured, but you don't want to be seen as weak or incapable. Well, until you fall into the arms of a certain aviator.

Warnings/tags: Soft Bradley, lots and lots of fluff, some angst, reader is written as a WSO, crying, pining, mention of injuries, insecure reader

****************************************************

You don't see the step until you miss it, falling heavily to the ground.

Groaning softly, you roll over onto your back, trying to collect your thoughts. Your ankle's throbbing, and your hands are grazed, but fortunately, you don't feel any pain or swelling on your head.

Dragging yourself off the ground, you try and put some weight on your ankle. It hurts a lot, but it's not unbearable, and your ankle feels fairly stable, so you decide you'll just try and walk it off for now.

You're not going to tell anyone you're injured, of course.

Sure, the Dagger Squad all seem like nice people, for the most part (apart from Hangman, of course), but you don't know them that well, and you've no idea how they'll react to you being injured. You don't want to know how they'd react.

Especially Rooster.

You've been telling yourself for ages now that you do not have a crush on him. No, you just look up to him. After all, he's handsome, and nice, and you want to be friends with him. Just friends.

And you definitely do not have dreams about him taking care of you in this sort of situation. About him cuddling you while you cry on his shoulder. About him carrying you in his arms…

The thought of him finding you like this is enough to make you shudder.

What would he think of me? What would he say? Would he think I'm a weakling who can't take care of herself? Would he-

"Hey, C/S!"

You jump in fright at the sound of Bob's voice. "Oh! You scared me."

He gives you a funny look. "What are you doing hanging around the stairs? It's almost time for training."

"Oh, I - I must have lost track of time…" It's not a complete lie.

Bob doesn't look convinced. "I heard a crash a few minutes ago. Did you fall down the stairs?"

"No!" Seeing the look on Bob's face, you hastily amend your statement. "Well, yes. But I only grazed my hands. I'll be fine. Look, the skin isn't even broken."

You even hold out your hands for Bob to inspect, which he does with an extremely serious, focused look on his face.

Once he's satisfied that you're telling the truth, he lets your hands go. "Okay. Well, we'd better go to training."

You regretfully pull yourself away from the daydream you were having of Rooster inspecting your hands for grazes. "Oh. Yeah. Training. Right…"

"You sure you're okay?" asks Bob, as you walk down to the briefing room. "Sure you didn't hit your head or anything?"

"No. I - um - I guess falling down the stairs kind of rattled me. You know, it's just been so long since it last happened…"

You're still aimlessly rambling as you both enter the briefing room, but you fall silent the minute you notice Fanboy give you a funny look.

Looking around, you notice that most of the seats are taken.

Except for the one next to Rooster.

When he sees you, he smiles at you, and pats the seat next to him.

Blushing, you take it, sitting rather stiffly, partly because you're in such close proximity to him, and partly because your ankle really is throbbing now.

It seems like no time at all before you have to be back on your feet.

They're mixing things up a little, having the pilots choose different WSOs, presumably as some sort of teambuilding exercise (you weren't really paying attention).

You're disappointed that Rooster didn't pick you, but Payback beat him to it. And it's not as if he flies like Hangman. He's more inclined to go a bit slower, which suits you just fine, especially because you don't want to jar your ankle any more than necessary.

It's difficult to walk out to the hangar with your ankle feeling like it's going to buckle any second, but you somehow manage it, which makes you feel rather pleased with yourself.

You manage to get through training without telling anyone about your ankle. Of course, it helps that you've been sitting down most of the time, which gave you a chance to rest your ankle.

Unfortunately, you didn't realise that means your ankle's gone stiff. You very nearly fall when you get out of the plane, but Payback manages to catch you just in time.

"You okay, C/S?" he asks as he helps you stand.

You nod. "Just a bit stiff."

Payback doesn't look completely convinced, but he doesn't argue, fortunately.

Not that he would, anyway. You two aren't really close enough for that.

Neither are you and Rooster, as a matter of fact.

It's very difficult for you not to limp as you walk back to the building. Your ankle's getting more and more painful with every step, but you're determined to at least get through today.

Once you're in the briefing room, though, it's impossible to not let out a sigh of relief as you sit down, which prompts funny looks from the others, but you pretend not to notice.

"So, we're meeting at The Hard Deck tonight, then?" asks Phoenix.

She's answered by sounds of assent from the others.

You curse silently. You'd forgotten about the meet-up at the bar after work.

And you've already promised Bob that you'll be there tonight.

Wonderful. Just what I wanted.

It's not just because of your sprained ankle, though. You're already tired from work, and the last thing you need is more socialising in a noisy, crowded bar.

"Can't we do something different?" asks Hangman. "We're always at the bar."

Phoenix shrugs. "What were you thinking?"

"Dogfight football."

Fortunately, the protests at this shuts him up very quickly.

"Okay, okay!" Jake holds his hands up in surrender. "Geez…"

*****************************************************

Sighing, you collapse on your sofa almost immediately after entering your house. You're really not looking forward to tonight.

For one thing, you've still got to hide your injury. For another, you just don't like loud, rowdy places - like bars.

What if I just didn't go? you wonder suddenly. What if I stayed home and watched a movie or something?

At first, you try to dismiss the thought, but the more you think about what you'd do if you stayed home, the more you realise that you'd actually prefer to stay home.

So you end up deciding to stay home, and order some food.

Normally, the only time you have is when you're rushing around trying to get ready for work, so it's nice to finally be able to have some quality time with yourself.

By the time you finish dinner, you're pretty tired, and you don't want to risk falling asleep on the sofa, so you decide to skip on the movie, and just go straight to bed.

As you're getting ready for bed, you suddenly remember that you should probably ice your ankle, so after rummaging through the freezer to find something to wrap around your ankle, you go to bed.

But despite your exhaustion, it still takes you ages to fall asleep.

*****************************************************

The next morning, judging by the way the others are buzzing, it sounds like some crazy stuff went on at the bar yesterday, and you're very, very glad that you didn't go.

Rooster smiles when he sees you, and pats the seat next to him. "Hey, C/S."

As you sit down, you try desperately not to wince. The ice did help some, but your ankle's definitely feeling worse than yesterday.

"Missed you last night," says Rooster. "Were you okay?" Is it your imagination, or is his voice just a little softer than usual?

You nod, wishing your face wouldn't go so red. "Just - just tired."

Rooster doesn't look convinced, but nods.

He looks like he's about to say something else, but just then, Maverick calls for everyone's attention, and you've got no more time to chat.

"Well, as it so happens, Cyclone happened to be in a good mood today," he begins.

Oh no. Chills run over your body. You already know what Maverick's got in mind.

"So, since he's given everyone the afternoon off, I was thinking we play some dogfight football at the beach."

The room erupts into cheers.

Except for you.

You feel sick to your stomach. Sports were never really your thing, although you don't usually mind playing with the squad, but - you can't possibly play with an injury, and if you hide it, you won't be able to duck out of the match.

*****************************************************

What am I supposed to do? you wonder, as you try not to limp on your way to the beach.

Training's gone pretty badly. You were so distracted by your throbbing ankle, and trying to think of ways to get out of the game this afternoon that you ended up getting 'killed' at least twice (you lost count).

You were flying with Phoenix today, who isn't too impressed with you, but she's not as annoyed as you thought you'd be, although that might be because you didn't get 'killed' by Hangman.

But Phoenix's annoyance at you is the last thing on your mind.

Your ankle's feeling less and less stable the further you walk, and the pain's so bad that you're giving yourself a headache trying to bite back the groans and winces that you'd usually let out.

But you're still determined to not tell anyone.

You're not really sure why you're so bent on being independent. Maybe it stems back to the fact that you're autistic, and you've always felt like you've had to work twice as hard as your neurotypical peers to prove your worth…

Of course, it doesn't help that when you first applied to be a Naval aviator, the military didn't want to let you in, on account of you being autistic, and you had to fight to prove that you were worth taking on.

But your problems didn't end there. No, even while training to become an aviator, there was still the horrible cliquey situation that you thought you'd left behind in high school. All the other women seemed to know each other, and you didn't really feel comfortable trying to make friends with the men.

Except for Bob, of course. But then, you've both been friends since you were in high school. And Bob's always been a very kind, accepting person.

But you're not even going to tell him about your ankle. He's too conscientious to be able to help you hide an injury, and he'd have you in the sickbay in no time, which is the last thing you need when you're with the Dagger Squad

Everyone else seems happy and excited, pretty much the opposite of how you're feeling right now, and you really don't want to put a damper on their afternoon.

I wish I could just go home, you think. It's not like anyone would really miss me. And we'd be an odd number anyway, if Mav wanted to play.

You pause for a moment, turning the idea over in your head.

After all, why not? Why shouldn't I go home? It's my afternoon off. And anyway, what if my ankle played up, and they all noticed? Isn't that what I was worried about in the first place?

But I told Bob I'd be there.

You didn't promise.

Yeah, but bailing on him twice in two days? Isn't that a bit much?

*****************************************************

Hi, Bob. Sorry for the short notice, but I'm going to have to bail on the football game.

You pause for a moment, before hitting send. Well, no going back now.

Bob's reply comes up almost immediately. To Y/N: Oh, no. Why? Bob.

You manage a small smile as you reply. I'm just feeling kind of tired.

To Y/N: Do you want me to come over? Bob.

No, it's ok. I'll be fine by myself. Maybe tomorrow?

To Y/N: Okay. Hope you feel better soon. Bob.

Sighing, you put your phone aside, before immediately picking it up again so you can order some food. You feel bad bailing on Bob twice in quick succession, but you weren't lying. You are really tired, not least because of this stupid injury.

Maybe I'll take a sick day tomorrow, you wonder, before quickly dismissing the idea. You've only got a finite amount of sick leave, and you want to save it for - well, for a very rainy day, i.e. when you're really sick.

Which, if truth be told, hasn't happened this year. And you're past flu season, so…

There's a knock at the door.

You nearly jump out of your skin in fright, before groaning, and dragging yourself up to go and see who it is. It won't be the delivery guy, because you haven't even finished your order yet.

Your heart nearly stops when you open the door.

It's Rooster.

"Hey, C/S," he says. "Just came by to see how you're doing."

Him just being alone with you is enough to render your brain mush, and you have absolutely no idea how to reply, so you try stepping back as a way of inviting him in.

It's just bad luck that you completely forget about your ankle, which gives out beneath you, sending you to the floor.

Rooster catches you just in time.

Lifting you in his arms, he carries you to the living room, where he sets you down on the sofa.

"Where'd you hurt yourself?" he demands.

You stare at the floor. "My ankle," you whisper, wishing your cheeks wouldn't burn so much.

Very gently, Rooster takes your sock off. Judging by his soft gasp, he doesn't even need to touch your ankle to know that it's badly swollen.

"Is it broken or sprained?" he asks at last, his voice surprisingly thick.

"Sprained."

"Okay." Rooster takes a deep breath. "I'm gonna go get some ice for this. I'll only be a minute, so just stay put, okay?"

Once he's left the room, you scrub at your eyes, trying hard to keep the tears away. You expected him to yell at you for hiding an injury, but his quiet concern somehow makes you feel much, much worse.

And it doesn't help that your brain keeps replaying what happened over and over again.

That look on his face when you fell…

You don't even realise that you've started to cry until you feel a pair of strong arms around you, and a large hand cradling your head.

"Oh, sweetheart," murmurs Rooster. "I'm so sorry, I know it hurts…"

Sniffling, you lean into him as he strokes your hair, and murmurs sweet nothings in an attempt to calm you down. Despite how awkward you feel, you'd be lying if you said that a small part of you doesn't enjoy his fussing just a little bit.

It takes you a while to calm down, because every time your crying subsides, you see that look on Rooster's face again, and another wave of guilt washes over you, which makes you cry even more.

But once you're calm, you immediately pull away from him, feeling horribly embarrassed.

"Sorry," you mumble, staring at the floor once again.

"It's okay." Rooster moves to put the now partially melted ice pack on your ankle. "That better?"

You nod, feeling your throat go tight.

"Good."

There's a long, awkward silence. Not that you're complaining. You're still feeling a little fragile, and like you might cry any minute, so you don't really feel much like talking anyway.

"Hey, C/S?"

You look up.

"Do you - uh, need anything?"

You shake your head. "I'm fine. You should go back to the game."

Rooster shakes his head. "I'm not leaving you here."

"You should," you mumble.

"I don't want to leave you like this. You're tired, you're hurt, and you're in pain. Please let me help."

You can feel tears welling up again. "Okay," you whisper. "Thank you. And - I'm sorry about ruining your afternoon off."

"Don't be sorry." Rooster gives you a soft smile, although his eyes look suspiciously glassy. "I was worried about you, and this was the least I could do."

"You were worried?"

Rooster nods. "And it turns out I was right to be worried."

"What do you-"

Rooster suddenly takes your hand in his, holding it so tightly that you're worried he might break it. "You're very lucky that your ankle didn't give out when you were by yourself, and that you weren't more hurt when you fell. Please, never hide an injury like this again."

You nod. "Okay."

"Promise me."

"I promise."

Rooster lets go of your hand, although the worried expression doesn't fully leave his face.

You take a deep breath, feeling you should probably turn the conversation in a different direction. "Um, I was just about to order some food. Do you want any?"

Rooster smiles, his shoulders relaxing slightly. "Sure. But I'm paying."

You shake your head. "I'll pay. It's the least I can do."

Rooster looks like he's about to argue, but thinks better of it. "You sure you're comfortable?" he asks. "I could go and get you a blanket if you want…"

"A blanket sounds good," you say, smiling shyly. "Oh, and could you hand me the TV remote, please?"

Smiling, Rooster hands you the TV remote, before going upstairs.

You let out a soft sigh of relief as you relax into the sofa cushions, and turn on one of your favourite comfort shows. You're exhausted from today, so you decide to rest your eyes a bit.

Just for a few minutes…

*****************************************************

It seems like only a few seconds later when you suddenly wake up to feel Rooster tucking you into bed.

You let out a soft grunt. "Mm. What're you doing?"

Rooster smiles softly. "You fell asleep on the couch, sweetie. I figured you'd be more comfortable sleeping in bed. You still up for dinner?"

You shake your head. "Too tired. Can you just stay with me until I sleep?"

"Of course." Rooster's very gentle as he props your ankle up, and carefully wraps it in a fresh ice pack.

The slight shock from the cold wakes you up for a brief moment, but exhaustion soon takes over again, and you have to fight to try and keep your eyes open.

You feel the bed shift, and then Rooster's hand tenderly stroking your hair.

The last thing you remember before sinking into oblivion is his soft voice.

"Go to sleep, sweetheart. I'll be here when you wake up, I promise."

****************************************************

Part 2

As always, I do not give permission for anyone to copy my work, post it elsewhere, etc.