Work Text:
Bradley shielded his eyes with his hand as he watched Mav glide the Mustang delicately through the air, like he was piloting a cloud or a butterfly instead of an ancient-ass aircraft. The fact that Mav had been able to get Penny to willingly say yes to a ride in that fucking antique was either a testament to his sweet-talking charm or his ability to make people forget just how nuts his ideas really were — and it wasn't like Bradley himself was immune to that gigawatt smile or the way Mav made you feel like you were the most important person in the room.
But, that was Mav all over. Getting away with breaking every rule in the book and making the impossible look downright easy. Bradley would be jealous of how simple Mav made it all look if he wasn't so viscerally aware of all of the ways Mav was all too fallible and human.
"So."
Bradley started, then turned to see Amelia — Little freakin' Lindy (well, maybe not so little anymore, he amended) — staring at him with an expectant look on her upturned, gamine face. Already, he didn't trust it.
"So?" he repeated, at a loss.
She rolled her eyes, and made a production of looking around the hangar. "So, is there anything fun to do in this sad museum of stunted masculinity and '80s-dad nostalgia, or are we just supposed to sit quietly like wax figures until Mom and Mav are done communing or canoodling or whatever?"
Shit, Mav and Penny left him alone with Amelia. Who Bradley hadn't even laid eyes on since she was...nine or ten, maybe, at some picnic or another Aunt Sarah and Uncle Ice had thrown. She'd had braided pigtails that day, he recalled. And was a good foot shorter.
"How old are you now?" he asked, not sure if he wanted to know the answer or not.
"Fifteen."
"Christ," he swore. He was way too young to be feeling this goddamn old.
She pointed at his face. "I like the mustache, by the way. Very retro."
He couldn't tell if she was joking or not, and definitely wasn't about to ask her. "Thanks, I think."
Seriously, who'd given her permission to get so tall? He remembered when she'd only come up to his waist. Hell, he remembered carrying her around in his arms when she'd been a baby. Remembered changing her dirty diapers and singing old Fats Domino songs to her at night when tucking her in her crib. And now look at her.
All of a sudden, he had a newfound sympathy for the way Mav would just look at him sometimes, like he couldn't quite believe Bradley was an adult.
Oblivious to Bradley's internal identity crisis, Amelia wandered over to the Ninja, and ran a finger along the beaten, scratched gas tank. (Scratches and dents Bradley was pretty sure he'd put there.) That bike had been through the wars and was as old as Bradley himself, but somehow, it still ran. Which, maybe Amelia had a slight point about the '80s nostalgia vibe Mav had going on, but Bradley didn't mind. There were worse decades to emulate.
Then Amelia peered up at him through lowered lashes, and every single survival instinct inside him started blaring klaxon alarms.
"You know," she drawled, "if you wanted to keep me from getting bored, you could teach me how to ride the bike..."
"The answer is fuck and no, in that order." For good measure, he threw his hands up like he was warding off an evil spirit. (Which, she might be — everyone knew teenage girls were made of pure chaos.) "Your mom would literally eviscerate me."
"Please," she scoffed, "they'll be up there for hours —"
"The plane only has 45 minutes worth of fuel in it —"
"Plenty of time for a beginner lesson," she countered brightly, and fuck, had he mentioned teenage girls were also devious? And dangerous?
"How about I teach you to play poker instead?" Not that he thought Penny would approve of that either, but of the two activities, poker was less likely to involve his old babysitter stringing him up by his balls for putting her baby girl in harm's way.
Amelia made a face. "I guess that sounds okay," she acquiesced, reluctantly. "What are we betting?"
"I dunno, pretzels?"
If disdain was a weapon, Amelia was already wielding it like a goddamn master. "You got boring in your old age." She said it like it was the worst insult she could think of.
The thing was, he knew it was a total con job on her part. Blatant manipulation by disparaging his age and manhood and all that. And yet, Bradley couldn't help bristling at the utter contempt in her voice. "Fine, what would you like to bet?"
She dropped down into one of the chairs surrounding the coffee table and gave him a dazzling smile. "We should play for truths."
"Do what now?"
"If you win a hand, you get to ask me any question you want and I have to answer it truthfully. If I win a hand, I get to ask you any question and you have to answer it truthfully."
"That sounds like a terrible idea," he stated.
"Afraid I'll ask a question you don't want to answer?" she taunted, and it wasn't like he was proud of himself or anything, but the dare got to him, alright. Phoenix would be laughing her ass off if she could see him. He couldn't say he'd blame her, either.
Mav owed him big time for this. Bradley cheered himself up thinking of all the ways he could collect.
"Fine, but I'm not telling you anything classified," he told her, and swiped a deck of cards from the workbench. He grabbed a can of Coke and a bottle of Corona from the mini-fridge before taking the chair opposite hers at the coffee table. He slid the Coke across the table.
She looked at the can like he'd offered her poison. "You're not even gonna let me have a beer?"
Now she sounded like himself at her age — Mom or Mav would give him an inch and he'd take off every time and try to run a marathon. "Not a chance," he replied, and laughed outright at her huff of annoyance.
He explained the basic rules and the different winning hands to her while he shuffled, and she listened intently, like it was one of her high school classes and she was determined to ace the exam. It was kinda cute. Reminded him of when she was a toddler and learning to walk on chubby little legs. (Not that he made the mistake of saying that out loud, mind you. He did still have some self-preservation instincts.)
Once he dealt, she studied her cards in that same careful manner. "This is where I call or bet, right?"
"That's right."
"I guess I call, then."
"Same," he said, then tapped the top of the deck. "And now you can discard up to three of your cards and ask for replacements, depending on what you have in your hand."
"Okay." She pursed her lips, looked at her cards again for a long time, then slid three across the table.
Jesus, this was going to be like fleecing a cadet. He should probably take a bit of pity on her, considering.
He swapped out two of his own cards, and was pleased with his hand. Not great, not by any stretch, but he was playing a kid. No need to make her feel bad.
"Check," she said, and raised an eyebrow.
"Check," he replied, then turned over his cards. Two pair, Jack high. Already, he was trying to think about what innocuous thing he could ask her —
"How do you have three aces?" he asked, baffled.
"Dunno." She shrugged. "Lucky, I guess."
"Some luck."
She cocked her head and studied him out of eyes that seemed way too old for that youthful face. "When did you and Mav make up?"
His shoulders jerked back of their own accord. "That's none of —"
"That's my question," she interrupted, and oh. Oh. Well fuck.
He forced himself to relax. He'd agreed to her terms, so he had no one to blame but himself. (Should've listened to his gut, he thought.)
"Wow, nothing like going for the kill right off the bat," he said, handing her the deck so she could shuffle.
She made a get-on-with-it motion with her free hand. "Well?"
"It was, uh, after...the, uh, the mission. The one we just completed." He wasn't sure what to say to her. Yeah, she was an Admiral's granddaughter, but she was still just a minor, and he'd already told her he wasn't going to talk about anything classified.
"When you disobeyed orders and went back for him after his plane was shot down in enemy territory, you mean."
He snapped his jaw shut. "How do you know about that?"
"Mom and Granddad, duh," Amelia replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "So you two made up before you went after him?"
Total honesty, he reminded himself. And sure it was just a game, but he still had his honor. "No, I was still pretty pissed off when I saved his life," he admitted. "We didn't actually talk things out until we were both back on the Leyte Gulf."
"Interesting," she murmured, then shuffled and dealt, and she just gave him a goddamn gift, because he had a straight, 8s-high. He stood pat while she took three cards, trying to school his features. She still looked so studious, examining each of her cards, and he couldn't help the swell of affection coursing through him. He'd missed so much while he and Mav had been estranged, but things were different now. And since it looked like Mav and Penny were really gonna try to make it stick this time, Bradley could be the cool uncle type for Amelia like he was with Aunt Sarah's and Uncle Ice's kids.
(It still hurt, thinking about Uncle Ice being gone, and Bradley knew it always would, but he was so fucking grateful that the two of them had stayed close, right up to the very end. And he was beyond grateful that Sarah and the kids still considered him family.)
"Check," Amelia said, breaking him out of his thoughts, and he turned his cards over, giving her a 'what can you do' shrug.
"Sorry," he told her, with a grin that belied the apology.
"Hmm," she replied, thoughtful. "A straight does seem like a really good hand, from what you told me."
He flashed her a quick wink as he took a long pull of his Corona. "I'll go easy on you, I promise."
"Oh, I don't think so," she told him, then flipped her cards over one by one and —
Son of a bitch.
"Is that a flush?" he asked, horrified.
She had the audacity to beam at him like he'd paid her a compliment. "Looks like."
"Unbelievable."
She folded her hands onto her lap and straightened her spine. "Do you really blame Mav for your dad's death?"
He choked on his beer. "Wh-what?"
"Mom said you and Mav got into a fight right before you shipped out and that you said you blamed him for your dad's death —"
"I never said that," Bradley protested, then winced as My father trusted you, I won't make that same mistake flitted through his head. "Okay, I implied it, but I was mad and I wanted to hurt him. I don't think that, though, not really. I know the accident wasn't his fault any more than it was Uncle Ice's fault."
She narrowed her eyes, and made a noncommittal noise, but didn't say anything else. He shuffled and dealt, and won that hand —
("Why are you asking me so many questions about Mav anyway?"
She gave a long-suffering sigh. "Why do you think, genius?"
Which, fair.)
And then she won the next on a — Jesus Christ on toast, this kid — Queen-high full house.
"You have the best beginner's luck of anyone I've ever met," he grumbled, throwing down his own lousy pair of 6s.
She grinned, showing off very white, shark-like teeth. "Now you just sound like a sore loser," she said, then fixed him with a cool stare that was so like her mother's that Bradley felt like he was five years old again, and trying to charm Penny into one more cookie before bedtime.
"So, why did you go after him if you were still so mad at him?"
Instantly, he was back in the cockpit of his F-18, Phoenix shouting through comms: Dagger One is hit! Maverick is down! and how it felt like every drop of his blood in his body simply froze in his veins. Even as pissed as he was, and had been for years, Bradley had never once contemplated what the world would look like without Pete Mitchell in it. Mav was unbreakable, unstoppable, a crazy genius who seemed to bend the laws of physics and aerodynamics to his whim, he was fucking immortal, no way he was ever gonna die...
A soft hand covered his own. "Gallo, you okay?" Amelia quietly asked.
He smiled, brittle and shaky at the edges. Forced a nod. Then immediately shook his head. "No, Lindy, I'm not okay at all."
She squeezed his hand, and scooted to the end of her chair. "We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. It's just..." She sighed. "I keep thinking, even after all the shit Mav's pulled, Mom still loves him, and I don't get...why does he deserve it?"
Bradley was an idiot. Amelia wasn't asking about him and Mav because she wanted to dig into Bradley's trauma — she was looking for a reason to forgive Mav for breaking her mom's heart. And yeah, Mav was hotshot genius pilot who defied every odd and instilled crazy loyalty among those around him, but he was also a flawed disaster of a human who'd fucked up royally over the years, and hurt the people he cared about along the way.
"You have every reason to doubt him," he said, picking his words carefully. "It's no secret why his callsign is Maverick — he's not good at working with others or delegating or...well, it doesn't matter. The point is, Mav's a fuck up."
"You can say that again," Amelia muttered, and they both shared a commiserating smile. "But you forgave him and Mom forgives him and part of me wants to forgive him too, and...why are we like this?"
He wasn't remotely qualified for this conversation. But he was the one Amelia trusted to give her the truth. And now that Uncle Ice was gone, Bradley was probably the only person other than Penny who really knew Mav at his core.
Amelia didn't need platitudes or a pep talk. She just needed to know someone understood her.
Don't think, he told himself, just talk.
"You wanted to know why I went after him, right? It's because I realized Mav was all I had left. And because he was willing to die to protect me even after I pretty much told him I didn't care if he lived or died."
"Ouch," she said, wincing. "Harsh, but I get it."
He was glad she did, because he was still ashamed of himself for that. "Mav wasn't always around when I was growing up, but he was always there when it counted. And my mom and dad, they both adored him, and Uncle Ice...well, we both know how often he went to bat for Mav. But mostly, I went after him because, deep down, I still loved him."
And maybe there was something to the whole admitting his feelings thing, because he felt like he'd shed a 60-lb rucksack from his chest.
"Even after he hurt you?"
He flipped his hand, curled his fingers over hers, and gave her the respect of looking her right in the eye. "Even as mad as I was, as hurt as I was, as much as I never wanted to talk to him again for the longest time, I never stopped loving him. And I'm not saying we're completely squared away, not yet, but we're getting there."
She nodded, solemnly. "Because you forgave him?"
"Because I finally understand him."
She frowned a little at that. She probably didn't get it, but that was okay. She was still so young, and still had a lot to learn about how complicated people were. "Mom said Mav made her a promise that he was never going to leave her again."
Bradley heard what she wasn't saying — that Mav was also promising he would never leave Amelia again either. "What do you think about that?" he asked.
She made a seesaw motion with her free hand. "I want to believe him, but...the jury's still out."
"I hear ya." He patted her hand, and straightened, wincing as his spine popped. A week of no PT, and he was as creaky as an old man. "But I think if your mom's willing to give him another chance, you could try to meet him halfway."
"I guess," she agreed, wrinkling her nose.
"And maybe we can team up, keep him in line if he starts to fly too far off the path."
"Now you're talking," she laughed, and they both turned towards the doors as they heard the familiar whine of the Mustang's engine as it touched down on the runway.
They stayed in their chairs as Mav and Penny walked, hand in hand, back into the hangar.
"Glad to see you two are getting along again," Penny said, dropping a kiss to Amelia's hair.
"You were playing Amelia at poker?" Mav asked Bradley, with a low whistle. "That took balls."
"Hey, I let him win a hand," Amelia said, which, wait, what?
"You let me..." Bradley flicked his gaze back and forth between Amelia, who looked far too innocent, and Mav, who was grinning way too wide. "She already knew how to play, didn't she."
It wasn't a question.
"Ice and I taught her when she was, what?" Mav turned to Amelia. "You were nine?"
"She was eight, and you're still in the doghouse for that one, mister," Penny said with a smack to Mav's chest. But the fondness in her voice gave her away.
"Mav said I was a real natural," Amelia preened.
Bradley sank, boneless, back into the chair cushions. "Son of a bitch," he murmured. "I knew there was no way that was sheer luck."
He was never ever telling Phoenix about this. She'd never let him live it down in a billion years.
Amelia lifted her shoulders. "Maybe next time you'll teach me to ride a bike instead of —"
"Absolutely not, young lady," Penny cut in. "Not until you're seventeen, at the earliest."
"And maybe let me teach you instead of Bradley," Mav added. "All those scratches on the tank and tailpipe were from him laying the bike down during turns."
"I've gotten better," Bradley protested, faintly. He was still reeling from Amelia's treachery. Teenage girls, man. He hadn't gotten played like that since he was an ensign on his first shore leave.
"I look forward to seeing it," Mav told him, and clapped him on the shoulder. "I'm firing up the grill. Who's ready for fajitas?"
"I'll make the guac," Penny volunteered.
Amelia smiled at Bradley — not quite an apology, not quite commiseration — and jerked her head Mav and Penny's way. "Think we should brave it?"
He smiled back — message received and accepted. "They probably do need a chaperone to make sure they don't burn the place down."
"Hey," Penny protested, "I'm a responsible business owner, you know."
Mav pointed at himself with one of his patented cheeky grins. "Highly decorated naval fighter pilot here."
Bradley and Amelia looked at each other and laughed. "Definitely need a chaperone," Amelia stated.
"Definitely," Bradley agreed.
***
(And later, when Mav and Bradley had a moment alone:
"You knew she was a freakin' card shark and didn't warn me?"
"Well, shit, Bradley, I wasn't expecting you to play poker with her!"
Mav and his pesky logic. "A little warning about my soon to be step-sister next time, okay?"
"You mean that?"
"Well, yeah, what else have you taught her —"
"No, I mean, about wanting to be her...about, well, you know —"
Oh, Bradley thought, and smiled, bright and free, Mav's way. "Yeah, I'm sure. But you gotta actually ask Penny to marry you this time."
"Working on it, son, working on it.")