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Admittedly, the Daggers had sort of brought this on themselves.
Jake couldn't count the amount of times he's heard the phrase "When you assume, you make an ass out of 'u' and 'me'", and yet here he was, caught awkwardly up in his own assumptions. But at least he wasn't alone.
Bradsh- Rooster had invited the Dagger team over to Mav and Ice's fancy-ass house for "team building", aka getting drunk off their asses on the good shit Mav attempts to hide, but Rooster knows the location of somehow. It's not the first time they've done this, won't be the last either. It usually starts out with someone putting on a movie while the team settles in, grabbing snacks, taking drinks, getting comfortable. On more than one occasion the movie devolved into popcorn throwing fights and stupid arguments that really really didn't mean anything. It reminded Jake of his childhood with his siblings, all in each others' business far too often and getting into dumb little spats that were forgotten about 5 minutes later.
Tonight, though. Tonight Javy had proposed "Never Have I Ever", a game Jake was all too familiar with. He squared his shoulders as Callie poured the drinks, smirking across the coffee table at Javy. You're going down, he tried to convey to his best friend, who simply quirked an eyebrow back at him. They knew each other too well. It would be one hell of a game.
Jake's eyes shift to Javy's left, where Bob sat, fidgeting with the label on his water bottle. Jake had noticed Bob refusing an offered beer at the Hard Deck a few times, and politely turning down drinks at these little team get-togethers. He glances away from the other pilot, not wanting to draw unwanted attention to him.
"Hey Bob," Fanboy says, cutting over the chatter of the rest of the team. Too late, Jake thinks bitterly, accepting his drink from Callie with a smile. "Still not drinking?"
"I don't drink," Bob shrugs. Phoenix settles in next to him, arm shifting slightly like she wants to put it around his shoulders, but stops herself at the last second.
"Y'kinda have to for this game," Rooster points out. "Sorry, Bobby."
"I don't drink." Bob says, a little firmer this time. The surprise is visible on Rooster's face. It wasn't often that Bob used a tone like that.
"Are you straight edge?" Callie asks over her shoulder, handing Payback his drink.
Bob nods, unscrewing the cap of his water to take a drink. Payback looks impressed. "Nice, man. I dated a girl in the scene a few years ago. They're hardcore."
"Was she one of the crossfit ones?" Bob smiles a little half smile. Jake's chest feels a little weird.
"And vegan," Payback says, giving a fake shudder. He, Callie, and Bob laugh. The tension has leaked out of the room. Jake relaxes.
"So!" Javy says, clapping his hands together. "We ready to start?"
The game starts out like normal, easy softball questions like "Never have I ever drunk-dialed my ex" (Rooster, Jake, Phoenix, and Payback all take shameful drinks), "Never have I ever sang karaoke" ("All you fuckers should be drinking," Rooster fumed. "You sing every time I get on the piano"), and a few more easy ones. Everyone has had at least a sip or two, and Jake's feeling that warm feeling behind his ears he gets when he has his one allotted drink.
Javy flashes him a smile from across the table. Oh no. "Never have I ever been arrested."
Jake glares the best he can and takes his sip. Rooster also takes a drink (unsurprising), and so does Fanboy (a little surprising). But what shocks the whole group into silence is Bob taking a drink of his water.
"Uh," Rooster say, breaking the silence, everyone staring at the bespectacled pilot. "Bob, this game is called 'Never have I ever'. Meaning you only drink when you have done something."
Bob looks at him, unamused. "I know."
"You've been arrested?!" Phoenix shouts. Even she didn't know this about her own WSO. Jake's mouth went dry.
Bob nods, opening his mouth to reply when Javy cuts him off. "Did you forget to turn in your library books, Bobby?"
The group erupts into giggles. Bob stares straight at Javy, mouth a straight line. "I punched a cop when I was 16."
Silence.
Then the group explodes, half of them arguing that there's no way while the other half demands answers from Bob. Jake stares, stunned.
This dorky, glasses-wearing buttoned-up, timid, by-the-book guy punched a fucking cop. A cop. When he was sixteen years old. Jake immediately flashed back to when Bob called him Bagman, looked and sounded so proud of himself. That was the best burn he could think of, the salt he could rub in Jake's wound, and that's the same guy who apparently punched a fucking cop?!
"I need to see the mugshot," Fanboy says, standing up. "There's no fucking way-"
"Hang on," Bob pulls his phone out of his pocket and unlocks it. He types in something and locks it again. "Give him a second."
"Him?"
"Dewey. My... A good friend of mine. He has it framed."
"This is insane," Rooster says. "I can't believe it."
Bob shrugs. "Not my fault you made assumptions." He has a tiny little self-satisfied grin that does things to Jake's heart. "We wanna keep playing?"
Javy snorts. "Your turn, buddy."
Bob hums, racking his brain. Jake would have thought it was an act, trying to buy some time, but with the revelation that Bob was actually a cop-punching badass, he realizes that Bob is probably trying to find something he hasn't done. It might be the alcohol, but Jake is almost impressed.
"Never have I ever broken a bone," Bobs says. Then sniffs a bit, reiterates. "My own bone. Bones. Whatever."
Silence again.
"Have... have you broken someone else's bones?" Callie asks, a mix of horrified and genuinely curious.
Phoenix looks equally as impressed. "Was it the cop?"
Bob shakes his head. "Different asshole. Dude was groping girls at a show, I broke his arm."
"You WHAT?!" Rooster and Payback both yell at the same time.
"When did 'Never have I ever' turn into 'interrogate Bob'? Drink, drink," Bob says, shifting under the attention.
"Um, when we found out you were an actual badass, Bob!" Fanboy exclaims.
Bob's phone buzzes. He snatches it up and unlocks it, eyebrows narrowing slightly. He clicks on something and flips the phone around. "There. Mugshot. Get off my back."
Jake's mouth goes very very dry. The picture is a little shitty, obviously a photo of a photo, taken in low light. But it's undeniable looking at it, it's definitely a younger Bob.
A younger Bob, with piercings and blue spiked hair.
"No fucking way," Javy exclaims.
"Look at your hair!" Phoenix shouts, grabbing for the phone. Bob, for some reason that Jake cannot fathom, looks embarrassed.
Jake can't stop looking. Younger Bob has his eyebrow pierced, his bridge and left nostril pierced too. Two rings hang from his lower lip, and he's glaring at the camera like he wants it dead. His nose is bruised and bloody, and he's got a shiner on his right eye. No glasses, no blonde hair, and yet Jake can't deny - this is definitely Bob.
The sign he's holding seals the deal:
Floyd, Robert Jr.
BK9047612720965
Cook County Juvenile Detention
"There's no way that's you," Payback says, jaw on the floor.
Bob shrugs. "It is. Still on my record. Ask Mav, he's seen it I'm sure."
"How the hell did you join the military?" Callie asks. "If you have a record?"
"If you report it and serve your sentence, you can serve in the military," Jake answers, throat a little scratchy. It was the first time he spoke in a while. Phoenix eyes him like she noticed.
Bob glances over at him, smiling a little in gratitude. Jake nods slightly, ears burning. "We got proof," Jake says, cutting over the chatter. "Bob was a little punk. Literally. Can we continue the game now?"
The game continues, without much fanfare. A few more of Bob's answers demand interrogation (the kid actually has tattoos. Hidden, of course, under t-shirts, and knee-length shorts, but he shows a little of his inked up stomach and Jake nearly leaves the room to catch his breath), but eventually they make it through unscathed. It devolves into play fighting and arguing, with more drinks and a half-hearted attempt at karaoke by Rooster. Jake finished his one drink and stands to go get a bottle of water from the kitchen upstairs.
Once in the dark kitchen, Jake leans against the sink and lets his eyes shut. He had learned a lot about the other Daggers tonight (who knew Callie and Fanboy both rode motorcycles? Or that Payback had once auditioned for a reality show?") But for some reason, Jake's mind was racing only with thoughts about Bob. He had been the most surprising tonight, and yet he had said so very little. Jake wanted to know more. He had to know more.
The noise from downstairs quieted down a little as he grabbed a bottle of water, and he wondered if people were going to sleep. It was pretty late, and everyone down there, bar Bob, were drunk as skunks. Jake smiled to himself and flipped his bottle, catching it perfectly.
"Impressive, Bagman."
Jake would have jumped out of his skin if not for his great reflexes. He turns to face the doorway, Bob leaning in it with a smile. The other pilot adjusts his glasses and steps in. "Any idea where Mav and Ice keep their recycling bin?" He gestures with the empty water bottle. "Usually Bradley takes it for me, but he's currently under 3 people and 2 blankets."
Jake snorts, but his pride cries out. Why was he still 'Bagman' but Rooster was "Bradley"? Were his first few impressions that bad? "Um, under the sink, I think. Here," Jake bends and opens the cabinet, spotting the little blue bin. "Aha!"
"Good find," Bob smiles. He steps further into the kitchen, tossing the bottle at the bin. It misses spectacularly. Jake reaches and grabs it, placing it in the bin. He straightens and lets the cabinet close. "I'll take the assist."
Bob huffs a laugh. "Teamwork makes the dream work."
They stand in awkward silence for a bit. Bob moves like he's gonna leave, and Jake can't stop himself. "Wait-"
Bob turns fully back to Jake, looking a little apprehensive. "What?"
"I-" Jake flounders. He has no idea what he wants to say. "I want to apologize."
"Apologize?" Bob's eyebrows threaten to hit his hairline. "For what?"
"The way we first met. And the way I treated you for a while there." Jake swallows. "It wasn't cool of me. And I'm sorry."
"Jake, you don't have to apologize," Bob says. Jake's heart skips a beat at the sound of his actual name slipping out of Bob's mouth. "Top Gun was stressful. I figured you were just putting on a facade to hide how nervous you were."
"I don't get nervous."
"Right," Bob looks unimpressed.
"I don't."
Bob glances back over his shoulder, out the kitchen and towards the stairs back down to the basement. The noise from there has grown even quieter. "Well, I'm gonna head to bed. Thanks for the apology. It's unnecessary, but I accept it anyways."
He turns to leave. Jake panics again. "Wait, Bob-"
Bob pauses. "Yeah?"
"Do you-" Shit. Where is he going with this? "Do you want to play 21 questions?"
Bob pauses, one eyebrow going up. "21 questions?"
"Yeah. We ask each other 21 q-"
"21 questions, yeah I got that. Why? Haven't you all learned enough about me tonight?" Bob's got a little grin on his face though, so Jake knows he's in.
"Do you want that to be your first one? Or I can count it as a freebie." Jake leans back against the counter. Bob sits at one of the stools at the kitchen island. A safe distance, but still close enough to see his chest rise and fall in the dim light of the kitchen.
"Freebie. Answer."
Jake laughs. "Could never learn too much about you. Or anyone else on the team," he adds hurriedly, awkwardly. "I only really know Javy and Rooster. It's good to know the people you're in the air with."
"Nat said the same thing when we first met," Bob says, leaning forward to put his elbows on the counter. Jake's mind scrambles, then remembers Phoenix. Nat? Not Natasha? Jake wonders who else has a nickname with Bob. "Okay. Let's start. Ask me something."
Jake hums. "Do you like being called Bob? Or do you prefer Robert?
Bob laughs. "I don't mind either. I hate being called Robbie though."
"Why?"
"Hey, you already asked your question. My turn." Bob smiles at Jake. "What's your biggest fear?"
Becoming my dad, Jake thinks but doesn't dare say. He doesn't want to get into that. He already had to awkwardly explain it to Rooster, back when they were friends. Back before Hangman and Rooster - when they were just Seresin and Bradshaw. "Failure. That's hardball, Bob. Didn't think we'd get to the existential shit that quickly."
"I like to get to the point." Bob hugs his arms, leaning back from the island. "Your turn."
"Why do you like Bob, Robert, and Bobby, but not Robbie?"
"It's what everyone called my dad."
It's like getting dunked with ice water. Jake stares at Bob, who surprisingly holds his gaze. "I-"
"My turn," Bob says breezily. "Where are you from?
Jake snorts, eager to shrug off the tension. "What, you can't tell?" He puts every ounce of southern drawl into each word, winking at Bob, who laughs.
"No, I know you're from Texas. I just don't know where from. The city."
"Not from a city, cowboy," Jake plays into it, leaning over the counter and tipping an imaginary hat until Bob is wheezing with laughter. He drops the accent to actually answer. "I grew up in the middle of fucking nowhere, Texas. Family farm. Seresins've been there for a few generations."
"Never imagined you were a farm boy. Makes sense though."
"Well, where are you from?"
"Are you using that as your question?"
Jake pauses. Bob was quick. "Sure."
"Chicago."
"Really?"
"Yup," Bob pops the 'p'. "Born and raised."
"Huh." Jake guesses that Midwesterners don't have much of an accent, but still. Chicago didn't seem like the city someone like Bob could come from. Until tonight, Jake thought he was some upper-crust rich kid from the East Coast. Or a California surf rat joining the Navy to get easy housing in San Diego. "Should've guess you were a city slicker."
Bob chuckles. "My turn. If you were in a zombie apocalypse, who on the Daggers team would you want on your team?"
"Oh shit," Jake ponders. "Fuck, that's a good one. Uh..." He hums, stalling, mentally running through everyone's strength and weaknesses. "Javy for sure. Phoenix, she's sharp as a fucking whip. And... I guess you?"
"Me?" Bob looks genuinely shocked. "Why me?"
"You punched a cop. You're not afraid to throw down."
Bob shakes his head, but he's smiling so Jake takes it as a win. "Okay, my turn again. Best concert you've ever seen?"
"Hmmmm," Bob taps his chin with a finger. "Well, most of the bands I like, you've definitely never heard of. That's not even me being a hipster or anything." Bob scratches his nose. "I used to go to Riot Fest a lot. Ton of cool bands would go through. Probably one of those shows."
"Music festival's a cop out."
"You asked, I answered. Same question to you."
Jake grins at the memory that immediately conjures up in his mind. "My sister and I went to see Kansas when we were younger. Skipped school and everything. It was awesome. My mom was so pissed when we got back thought." He laughs fondly.
Bob is watching him with a look Jake could almost call soft if he didn't know better. "You have siblings?"
"Hey, not your turn," Jake wags his finger at the other pilot. "... Do you have any siblings?"
Bob stiffens. "... Yeah. Five brothers. Three sisters."
"Eight siblings?! And I thought being one of five was bad."
"Well, we didn't all... know each other," Bob says quietly.
Oh.
Jake feels like shit immediately. "Shit, I'm sorry. We don't- We can stop if you-"
Bob waves his concern off. "It's fine. You didn't know. And now you do. That's the point of the game, right?"
"Right."
"So, five Seresins? All in one house?"
"Five kids, plus my mom, and our dogs." Jake smiles. "Miss those damn dogs." He coughs. "And my family too, I guess.
"Your mom is a saint if she had to raise you, plus four other kids," Bob teases. Jake reaches across the table to swat at him, causing Bob to laugh. The noise from downstairs is now almost completely silent, and Jake notices the lights have been dimmed. He makes a mental note to quiet down.
"My turn?" Bob asks.
Jake shakes his head. "You just used yours. My turn." He hums. He's so burningly curious about everything. "Why'd you become straight edge?"
"I-" Bob hesitates. Jake almost apologizes, recants his question, asks a silly one instead. He hates the look of discomfort on Bob's face. "I was deep into the punk scene in Chicago. There were a lot of hardcore dudes in the scene, a lot of straight edge folks. I liked their message, their lifestyle. They wanna take care of their bodies and minds - keep them unspoiled from substances. Any and all. The really hardcore ones don't even take Tylenol when they have headaches."
"So you just... Liked the message?"
"Jake..." Bob says very softly. "What... What I'm about to tell you stays between us, okay?"
"Okay."
"I mean it. No repeating to Javy, no telling Bradley. You and me. That's it."
"I promise." Jake's gut sinks. What was Bob gonna tell him?
"My dad was an alcoholic."
Jake lets out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. Bob continues. "My mom was a drug addict. They weren't... They weren't married. Or together, really. But she needed a place to live, especially once I was born, and he let her stay if she took care of the apartment."
Jake reaches slowly across and puts his hand on Bob's arm. Bob smiles at the comforting touch. He continues. "My dad had a lot of kids all throughout the city, a lot born to women like my mom. But none of them stayed with him. We did. And it... It was awful." Bob shudders. He looks so small. Jake wants to pull him into a hug, but the kitchen island between them is preventing it. "I never wanted to be like him. So when I found out about this movement, people who were just like me, wanting to stay away from that shit... I jumped on it. Found a new family. Anytime he beat the shit out of me, or kicked me out, or blacked out, they were there for me."
"Is... The guy texted earlier. Dewey. Is he one of them?"
Bob looks surprised that Jake remembered. "Yeah. He was the closest thing I actually had to a father." Bob smiles a little bitterly. "He was a little mad when I wanted to join the Navy. But he and the whole group saw where I was coming from. They knew I needed out, and I had nowhere else to go. I couldn't couch surf forever."
Jake feels a horrible weight in his stomach. "I'm-"
"Don't say you're sorry," Bob says firmly. "Don't you dare pity me, Jake Seresin."
"I'm not. I wasn't." Jake sighs. "We... have a lot more in common than I thought."
Bob half grins, but it doesn't reach his tired eyes. "Shitty dads club?"
"Shitty dads club," Jake confirms with a nod. "My dad drank a lot too. He was in the Navy too. Not good enough for the pilots program though. He dropped out after only a month of basic." Jake shrugs, suddenly finding the countertops incredibly interesting. "I'm better than him," he says quietly.
"Jake?"
"I'm better than him," Jake says. "I can stop myself at one drink. I made it as a pilot without any references or legacy bullshit like Bradshaw. Everything I did, everything I am. It's because of me." He looks Bob right in the eye. "Same with you. You made it on your own. That's something to be fuckin' proud of."
Bob looks amused, Jake toasts him with his water bottle, cracks it open finally, and takes a sip. He'd been talking a lot, his throat hurt. Only because of that, though. No other reason.
"Can't really talk about this stuff with the others," Bob muses, resting his chin on his hand.
Jake finishes chugging half his bottle. "Not really. Even mentioning a father figure around Bradshaw sets him off. Everyone has good families too. Big families. They don't get it."
Bob hums in agreement. "We still playing?"
"Playing?" Jake flushes pink when he remembers their game. "Shit. Yeah, we can. I think it's your turn."
"Do you like men?"
Jake is glad he didn't take another drink, because he would have choked on it. "What?"
Bob shrugs. "Just wondering. Some of the Daggers are gay, was wondering if you were too."
"I-" Jake feels like a deer in the headlights. "Yeah. Both. Men and women. I guess. You?"
Bob chuckles. "Gonna guess that was a question and not part of your answer?"
Jake splutters. Bob laughs. "Just teasing. I'm the same, though. Men and women. Preference for," did Jake's eyes deceive him, or did Bob's gaze drop down to Jake's lips in the middle of his sentence? "Men."
"O-Oh. Yeah?"
"Yeah." Bob smiles. "Who knew all you needed to do to throw off the fearless Hangman was ask him if he liked men?"
Jake rolls his eyes, glad that the dim light was hiding his blush. "Whatever. Your turn again."
Bob's tongue darts out to wet his lips, Jake unable to take his eyes off of it. Judging by the smirk, he didn't hide it well. "I'll be honest, I can't really think of anything."
He stands up from his bar stool and walks around the island. Jake leans back against the sink and watches him approach. "Confidence looks good on you, Bobby."
Bob grins, but Jake swears he can see a little color darkening the other pilot's cheeks. "You think so?"
"Yeah," Jake says quietly. "Real good. Real fuckin' good." He can't stop himself, reaching for Bob.
Bob lets himself be pulled in, Jake's hands on his hips, resting his own hands on Jake's shoulders.
"Thought of a question."
"Anything," Jake whispers ,suddenly unable to get any breath into his lungs.
"What are you thinking right now?" bob asks, Jake unable to look away from him.
"I wanna kiss you," Jake whispers.
Bob blushes down to underneath his shirt collar. Jake kinda wants to slide it down to see how far the color goes. "I wanna kiss you too... But you've been drinking."
"Just one. Not even drunk."
"I know. I know. I just-" Bob sighs. "I don't know. I'm really strict with alcohol."
Jake nods. "I understand. Don't be sorry. I'll be honest, the only things I know about straight edge is like... CM Punk and the dude from Fall Out Boy."
Bob stares at him for a really long time. The he cracks up, laughing so hard he backs up to double over. Jake blushes. "It's not that funny."
"It's- Oh my God. Your face," Bob wheezes. He returns to Jake's front, arms wrapping around his middle. Jake blushes harder. "You're cute."
Jake bristles. He's a grown ass man. "I am n-"
"You are. You're very cute," Bob leans up to kiss him on the cheek, cutting off any and all complains from Jake. "C'mon. I'm tired."
"We heading back downstairs?"
"Yeah. I managed to save that blanket you like."
Jake's heart swells. He lets Bob take his hand and lead him back downstairs into the dimmed lights of the basement. Soft snores echo from the blanket covered lumps on the couches, chairs, and across the floor. Jake lets himself be pulled onto a few cushions on the floor, lets Bob cover them with the softest blanket in the house. He lays on his back, Bob on his side right next to him with an arm thrown over his stomach. Warm, comfortable, and something buzzing in his mind that isn't alcohol lulls Jake off to sleep in no time.