Call-Sign? Wolf.

Return to Me

After our session at Top Gun I offered for Hangman to come over for dinner. I had put a roast in the crockpot all day so it would be ready when we arrived back at the house. The smell entered our noses the second that the door opened and we both signed in satisfaction.

"Oh man, that smells amazing." Hangman said dreamily as we began to set our things down in the entryway. He had time to change and get a shower in after our workout. I, on the other hand, had not.

I left him alone in the living room for a few minutes while I showered and changed. I came back out with a pair of sweatpants on and one of Bradley's comfortable t-shirts. I would be lying if I said I hadn't slept in the same one last night. It was the last one I had that even remotely had his scent.

I looked over at the kitchen island and smiled, seeing Hangman had set up some plates and already managed to find the wine, pouring us both a glass. He looked up at me with a small smile before plugging the wine bottle.

"You didn't have to do that." I slightly scolded him as I approached.

Hangman shrugged in response, "it's the least I could do." He held out a glass to me, which I gratefully took. We got our plates and began eating. The conversation started small. Discussing the pilots, what we liked and didn't like, things we could do to challenge them.

Then the conversation changed to memories, fun, light hearted topics. We had moved from the island where we were eating to the floor of the living room, playing cards on the coffee table.

"I don't know why this game is called Trash." Hangman stated, flipping his cards over until he had to put one in the discard pile.

"It's probably because you throw away the cards you don't need." I suggested. Truthfully, I didn't know either.

"But you have to count to 10, what does counting have to do with trash?" He persisted.

"You could ask Oscar."

Hangman looked at me like I had just spoken another language, completely confused.
"Huh?"

"Oscar the grouch, from Sesame Street? He lives in a trashcan."

It was obvious that we were both trying our best to hold back laughter, until we couldn't anymore. Hangman and I burst out laughing so hard we both gripped our stomachs for support.

Suddenly, the sound of the front door closing echoed through the house. We couldn't see who it was yet, but they walked down the hallways until they appeared in the living room.

"Rooster?" I asked, relief in my voice. He had on some camouflage military pants and a plain, untucked, white t-shirt. His many bags thudded to the ground and he looked over in our direction. He looked exhausted, his eyes tired with dark circles under them. Though his face slowly grew into a more angry look.

"Get out, Jake." Bradley nearly growled.

"Excuse me?" Hangman challenged, standing up to his feet.

"Jake get the fuck out of my house!" Bradley screamed, pointing towards the door.

"Bradley!" I scolded him. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. This was the second time I had ever heard him angrily yell, and it was scary.

Hangman put his hands up in surrender, gathering his things up and heading for the door. He stopped right in front of Bradley, giving him a cold stare before exiting.

"Where do you get off screaming at your friends to leave, huh?" I began to raise my voice now as I approached Bradley.

"It's my damn house. I can do what I want." He snapped back at me.