Chapter Text
What was it with Bradshaw’s and hospital beds?
Watching Bradley as he talked quietly with Hangman about . . . something, Mav wasn’t sure what, since he wasn’t really listening.
Because he’d seen Goose all those years ago, laid out in the morgue with finality.
Because he’d sat by Carole’s bedside as she’d grown thinner and thinner, finally seeing her laid out for the funeral.
Because he’d seen Bradley, covered in blood and then bandages and medical equipment and now he’s back in the hospital bed again and Mav wants, oh how he wants, for everything to be different, for him and his godson to have the happy endings that other people say they deserve.
Jumping a little as Slider sat down beside him, startling him from his thoughts but not from the accompanying feelings they’d induced, feeling like he’d crawl out of his skin if he had half the chance.
“Hey,” Slider’s voice was a soothing rumble as he laid his hand on Mav’s scruff, giving him a grounding squeeze. “Breathe, Mav, okay?” Letting out a choking wheeze as the hand on his neck grounded him, just a little. Feeling Slider’s other hand rest on his chest, pressing down to remind Mav that he was still on this earthly coil, trapped in yet another saga of the ‘Bradshaw Family’s Tragedies.’ “Just breathe. In. And out.”
So Mav does, stuttering at first, and then steady, those larger hands grounding him all the while. He breathes. And the world doesn’t end.
(It never does, though, no matter who or what was taken from him.)
“I’m just,” Mav started, licked his lips, starting again. “So sick of this.”
“Yeah,” Slider’s tone commiserating. “I know. But we gotta hope for the best, yeah?”
Mav agreed, even if he couldn’t show it at the moment, all his energy aimed at trying to be calm, the future a far off place, even though the future was just tomorrow and the day after and the day after and —
“Breathe, Mav.” Slider ordered again, the hand squeezing his wrist now.
And he did.
“. . . sorry.”
Slider just shrugged. “Just know that you’ve got a lot of people in your corner, Mav. You and Bradley both.”
And that . . . does make some things easier.
For a moment, Viper could only stand in the doorway, struck by the scene he’d come upon.
Because it was like hopping in a damn time machine.
There was a Bradshaw in a hospital bed and a Mitchell standing vigil. Heart breaking at how his godson was clinging to his own godson’s hand, looking like his whole world was ending.
Again.
Taking a breath, making sure his cane made noise as he forced himself to enter the room fully, watching as Mav registered his presence. Freezing, eyes widening in disbelief, like Viper was some apparition. Mouth opening and then closing, no sound coming out.
Reaching out slowly, telegraphing his moves for the younger man’s peace of mind, Viper rested his hand on that head of still black hair, reaching to rub down his neck and finally let it rest on the kid’s shoulder. Wondering if this latest episode would be enough to finally start Mav going grey.
(And oh, how he wishes he’d had the privilege of seeing Duke grow old!)
“Hey, Pete,” Viper greeted his godson. “Slider called me.” Only letting Mav go to pull up another chair, settling his old bones in it with nary a noise. Turning to give Mav all of his attention. Not liking the dark bags that had settled under the younger man’s eyes and the lines that worry had made on his face.
“How’s the Baby Goose?”
And Mav’s face crumples.
Sagging until his face is hidden in Viper’s shoulder, clinging to his Old Man like a lifeline. Letting out his pent up feelings in a manner that Viper knew few people would be privileged to witness.
That bad, huh? Is what he doesn’t say. Waiting out the storm, waiting for Mav to find the words that need saying.
Taking the time to observe said Gosling as Mav has his breakdown. Both surprised and relieved that the kid looks better than he would’ve expected, given the circumstances. Much better then the last time he’d had a chance to visit, back when Rooster was about three weeks out from the Incident, out of his coma and talking about how he’d seen the late Admiral Kazansky.
And how Viper missed Tom, whose stoic exterior had hidden a gentle heart — it was always worse, to have children die before their time. Sometimes Viper wondered how many of his students he would outlive . . . Looking down at the head of dark hair still buried in his chest. And how many parents . . .
Startled when he found that Bradley was awake and staring back at him, still a bit muddled from whatever drugs he was on. Well, it was very early in the morning — Viper had had to pull his (former) rank several times to even get to the room.
Watching as Bradley took in the scene; watching the kid see Mav’s breakdown.
“M . . . M’v?” The kid slurred out, clumsily trying to sit upright.
Which brought Pete right out of his fit, jolting upright, tears still shiny on his cheeks, eyes wide with relief and panic. Practically leaping from Viper’s hold, Viper letting him go, watching as Pete went to the bed, leaning over his kid, soothing him and making sure he lay back down on his pillows, Running a hand through the kids hair, as Viper had just done to him. (And Viper had long been aware of how little comfort Mav had had in his early life, old anger quick to sit in his stomach at the thought of Mav’s childhood — a childhood Viper could have made so much better.)
“Vi — Vi-Papa?” And oh — Viper is going to use that to embarrass the kid someday, once he was safely out of the hospital.
Rising to his own feet to join them at the bed. “Hey, kiddo. You’ve been worrying everybody again.”
Watching as the kid honest to god pouted. “Didn’t mean to,” In that earnest way that only someone on strong anesthesia and painkillers could pull off. “Didn’t wanna worry you — Mav —”
“Shhhh,” Mav soothes, “It’s okay, kiddo. Just glad you’re out of the procedure okay.”
Watching as Rooster looked round the room, searching the corners for anyone else he’d missed. “. . . Jakey?”
“Slider took him home,” Mav told him. “I’m here cause I’m your Next of Kin. But they’ll be back in the morning.”
While they were on the subject . . .
“Y’know,” Rooster started, rambling a bit cause of the drugs. “Ya think a hangman’s noose is just another way of being a -- a lifeline? Like, one of those little ones the lifeguards always have at the beach? And — and that mean’s ‘Hangman’ is the best callsign.” Eyes glassy from the meds. Otherwise, Viper was sure he’d never ramble about such a thing.
Inside thoughts and all that.
“I’m sure he’ll be happy to hear you think that, Baby Goose.” Mav says, holding back a surprised snicker.
“Noooooo,” Rooster whined. “Can barely fit his head in his helmet now!”
And Viper can only join Mav in a round of chuckles. Cause he’s met Hangman, and he can see where the kid is coming from. But still . . . memories of Mav and Ice in the good old days coming to the forefront of his mind . . . a demeanor full of bravado was just another way to guard the kids mushy insides.
Iceman had proved that point, as well; Ice only cracking for the people that he loved.
Wondering if Rooster’s little rant is anything like the well worn argument between Mav and Ice about ‘who was the better pilot.’ Seeing parallels already, laughing internally as Mav stalled the flood of Roosters ramblings by getting him to drink from the water that had been waiting on the side table.
Pilots never changed, no matter the generation!
“Slow,” Mav urged him softly, holding the straw to his godson’s lips. “Slow — don’t wanna bring it all up again, do ya?”
As always, the moment bittersweet as Viper contemplated what could have been. Rejoicing in what was. Thanking God for the blessings they’d been given.
The moment interrupted by a knock at the door and a doctor entering. An actual doctor, not the usual nurse. All the lightheartedness sucked out of the room in an instant. Because it was time for the results to be revealed, time to find out if Mav’s worst fears would come to fruition. (Though it would have been better if Bradley was more cognizant, still working on sucking the water through the straw with a look of utter concentration.)
Watching as Pete’s world crumbled, yet again, and it was not within Viper’s power to fix it.
Truly, what was it with Bradshaw’s and hospital beds?