Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

          Maverick wakes to the loud ringing of his cell, rolling over to pick it up with a groan. "Mitchell." 

          "Uh.... Sir?"

          For a second, Mav is very confused. He pulls his phone from his ear and checks the caller ID, then frowns at the clock in the upper corner. "Bob? What're you doin' calling me at two in the morning, kid?" 

          "I think.... I think I need someone to come pick me up."

          The older pilot is already putting on his boots by the time he asks Bob why. "You think you need someone to pick you up, or you do need someone? You sound a bit tipsy. Did you and the rest of the team go out drinking somewhere?" 

          "No. Me... an' a couple... buddies from my old detachment. Our team prefers the Hard Deck, but my friends took me somewhere else."

          Maverick struggles into his coat, grabbing one of Bradley's hoodies from the hook by the door. He slides into the seat of his car. "Why do you need a ride?" 

          "They.... Sir, I don't want to get them in trouble."

          So, drinking irresponsibly, then. "It's okay, Bob. You don't have to implicate anyone or name names. I just want to know why you need a ride, and where you need me to go to pick you up." 

          Bob sniffles on the other end of the line. "They wanted me to ride back with them, but they'd had more to drink than I did. One of them insisted on driving, so I didn't want to go. They tried to make me, an' when I refused, they left. I don't really know where I am, but I'm still in our booth at the bar. The town's... west of the base, I think."

          Well, at least there's really only one bar worth going to a town over. "I know where you're at, kid. Just hang tight." 

          If Bob wasn't so introverted, Mav would just tell him to ask the bartender where he was. Tipsy and nervous like he is, the chances of that going well are slim to none. That, and if he's more than a little drunk, standing might be an issue. He'd rather Bob didn't knock himself out, even if he did say he hadn't had as much to drink as his supposed buddies. 

          It takes Maverick an hour to reach the bar. He steps inside and glances around, finding the young aviator moping over his table in the back corner of the bar. His hair is disheveled as though he ran his hands through it several dozen times, and his cheeks appear flushed. The tell-tale sheen of a bruise lines his right cheekbone. Mild anger flares in Maverick's chest, but he pushes it down for the time being. Fortunately, it doesn't look like he passed the time with anymore drinking. Mav steps up to the table and lays a hand on the WSO's shoulder. Bob's gaze snaps up to him, melting into the picture of relief. 

          "Sir." 

          He and all the others are very stubborn about calling him sir. "Just call me Maverick, kid. How're you feeling?" 

          Bob shrugs, rubbing under his eyes and adjusting his glasses. "Headachy. It felt like forever, an' I got a little nervous when it took you longer than half an hour, but I didn't want to call again and be a nuisance." 

          Maverick helps him up and loops the kid's arm over his shoulder. "You're not a nuisance, Bob. I'm glad you called." 

          "Yeah?" 

          "You did the right thing. Even if they made it back onto base without getting caught by the guards, which I doubt, driving while drunk enough to make an aviator nervous is a terrible idea. I would much rather you call me at any hour than get into a car with a pack of idiots. Speaking of, I know it's not my business, but I think your current friends are a healthier life decision than your old ones." 

          Bob fumbles slipping out the door with Mav. "Agreed." 

          Maverick smiles. 

          "M' cold." 

          "I brought a coat for you. It's in the passenger seat, and I made sure to turn the heat on before I came in and got you." He opens the door with his free hand and settles Bob into the car. "Nice and easy." 

          Once inside, Bob wriggles into the large hoodie Mav brought and nestles into the seat. Mav watches him out of the corner of his eye while he drives. 

          "Hoodie's really big." 

          "It's Bradley's." 

          Bob casts Maverick an uncertain glance, sniffling again. Apparently, he's one of the people who get congested when they drink, because he certainly doesn't look like he's about to start crying. "You're sure he doesn't mind?" 

          "He'll understand." 

          No further protests arise from the other side of the car. Mav drives onward, peering intently at the road in the dark of early morning. Mav's presence seems to comfort the younger aviator, enough so that he's content enough to drift into a light doze throughout the majority of the drive. When they arrive at Maverick's house, he wakes, peering at the building with nervousness in his gaze. 

          "You can just take me back to base." 

          "Nah. You'll be more comfortable here." Mav notices the kitchen light is on, meaning Bradley must be awake. "Don't worry. The guest room is furnished, and it's only a couple doors down from the bathroom if you think you'll need it." 

          Bob shakes his head. "I don't think so." 

          Maverick shuts the vehicle down and walks around it to help Bob out. He gladly takes the help, which is nice. "A set of stairs, and then we're all set, okay?" 

          "Mmhm." 

          As Mav enters the house, he spots Bradley leaning against the doorway to the kitchen with a mug in his hand. "Could you get the door to the guest room? And probably a glass of water." 

          Bradley moves into the hall ahead of them without asking any questions. 

          "Rooster," Bob mutters. "I am wearing your coat." 

          A smile tips Bradley's lips when he opens the door and slips inside to pull back the bedsheets for his friend. "I see that." 

          "Sorry." 

          "You don't need to be." 

          Bradley scampers off for the glass of water Mav asked for while the older aviator settles Bob into the bed. The bedframe creaks with disuse. Tugging the sheets up around his hips takes a little doing. Bob lacks the coordination to be of much help. Mav hums lightly, wondering what exactly it was Bob and his friends were drinking. 

          "Okay, buddy," Rooster says, offering his friend the glass of water. "You drink this and then you can go to sleep." 

          Bob does as he's told. 

          When the glass sits empty on the nightstand, Maverick and Rooster leave the younger aviator to his devices. The cup of coffee Rooster made still steams on the kitchen table when they reach it. 

          "So, what're you doing up, Roo?" 

          "Heard you leave." Bradley settles at the island and sips from his mug. 

          Mav hums and pours his own cup of coffee, sitting across from his son with a contented sigh. It always tastes better when Bradley makes it, although it definitely doesn't taste like decaf. "You didn't have to wait up." 

          "Wanted to." 

          Silence falls between them, companionable, as they sip their drinks. The shadows under Bradley's eyes speak to a different kind of restlessness as well as the early wake-up call this morning. They've been getting a bit deeper, but Mav didn't want to mention them on the off chance Bradley took it as an insinuation he couldn't take care of himself. 

          "You're staring at me." 

          Maverick slurps his coffee. "Yup." 

          Bradley sniffs and runs a hand through his curls. "I look like shit, huh?" 

          "I didn't say that." 

          The boy Mav raised rolls his eyes. "You didn't have to. Been shooting me awkward glances for a few days now." When Mav doesn't deny it, Bradley chuckles. "Guess I should've known better than to think you wouldn't notice now that I'm living here again." 

          "You want to talk about it?" 

          "Not yet." 

          Maverick nods. "Well, if you were planning to get any sleep after this, I wouldn't drink the rest of that." 

          A laugh huffs from Bradley's throat and he rubs his eyes. "It's a little late for that. This is my second cup." He hunches his shoulders at the scolding look Mav shoots him. "Don't look at me like that. You left without telling me at two in the morning, and I didn't know what happened or when you'd be back. The last time I did that shit, you grounded me for a week." 

          Mav opens his mouth in protest only to fall short. "That's fair." 

          The look Bradley throws his way says a deeply sarcastic 'oh, really?' Mav smiles and demurely sips his coffee, a smirk pulling at his lips. It's been a long time since he and Bradley were able to gently rib one another like this. He missed it. 

          "Sunrise is in a couple hours. You want to sit out on the porch for a while?" 

          The younger aviator nods and follows Maverick when he heads outside. The old swing rocks smoothly on its chains. Bradley pulls his knees up to his chest and props his chin on one. 

          "So, why'd you have to go pick up Bob?" 

          "He went out drinking with some old friends a town over from the base. They apparently thought it was a good idea to get wasted, and he wouldn't go with them when they wanted to leave. He didn't say so, but I'm pretty sure they're the ones that gave him that shiner. My guess is that Bob tried to take their keys away. Idiots, the lot of them." 

          Rooster sighs. "Yeah, some guys aren't the brightest. I'm glad he's okay." 

          A soft noise of agreement leaves Mav and he closes his eyes for a few seconds. The cool breeze of the desert night soothes his worries. "I was a little surprised he called, but yeah. Me, too." 

          "Did he not want to go back to base?" 

          "Honestly? I'm not sure. He slept almost the whole way, and I brought him here without thinking." 

          Bradley purses his lips, holding back a wider smile. He looks so much like Carole with that knowing gleam in his eye and restrained amusement on his face. Mav can't fathom what's so incredibly entertaining about bringing Bob home from a bar, but he likes that he somehow managed a smile from his kid. In an effort to keep it there, Mav doesn't ask. 

Chapter Text

          Classes let out early for the day, seeing as Maverick isn't a sadist and knows his little squadron of troublemakers was awake until at least one last night to watch a meteor shower. Fanboy yawns when he dismisses them. 

          Mav stays behind to pack up his teaching materials—what little of them he has. He's a fan of learning by doing. 

          "Captain Mitchell?" 

          A glance up reveals none other than Phoenix standing before him. Her hands fold behind her back professionally as she waits for him to address her. She must be nervous, otherwise she'd have just asked what she wanted to ask. 

          "Phoenix. What can I do for you?" 

          She meets his gaze evenly. "I'm aware that it isn't really my place to be asking favors, sir, but... do you mind if I ask you a question?" 

          Maverick leans against the skinny podium, considering her words. "You know you can ask me whatever you want. I think you kids have more than earned the right." 

          The young aviator manages a small smile and a nod, but she doesn't really relax. "I have this thing today...." 

          "All right?" 

          Phoenix seems to deliberate with herself for a minute before coming right out with, "I have a dentist's appointment today, and I was hoping that you would come along with me for support." When Mav doesn't immediately reply, she adds, "It shouldn't take very long. Maybe an hour, but I kind of hate getting needles shoved into my mouth and I don't do well with the anesthetic they use." 

          "Sure. Just let me grab my coat. You want me to drive?" 

          Her hesitation speaks for itself. 

          "Tell you what. You can drive on the way up, and I'll drive you back after they've gotten your face all doped up. That way, we both get to drive, and you can sleep in the car after the worst part is over." 

          "Thank you, sir." 

          Maverick leads the way from the room, shrugging into his coat. The two of them get into her car, a smaller model ideal for people of their size. Mav notes the mint air freshener attached to the vent, a distinct lack of dust or dirt of any kind anywhere, and the handle of a knife subtly sticking out of the shadowed spot of her console. That last one draws a smile to Mav's lips and he tips his head toward the window. He idly listens to the drone of the rear diver's side tire, figuring it's about time for a new wheel bearing. Otherwise, the car rolls nice and smooth, and he doesn't hear any sign of other underlying issues. A quick glance at the upper left corner of the windshield says it had an oil change recently. That's good. 

          "Rooster was right. You do have an intense thinking face." 

          The words pull Maverick back into the world of the living rather than moving parts. "That so?" 

          "Yup." 

          Mav huffs. There's the straight-to-the-point Phoenix he's been missing for the last thirty minutes. That she didn't dance around her problem for more than a sentence or two earlier was actually quite impressive, since she obviously felt awkward about asking. Then again, she shook off a crash landing in a matter of a couple days. Maybe he shouldn't be too surprised. 

          "Any particular reason you invited me along on this?" 

          "Well, you know that Roo hates anywhere that has to do with medical stuff, and Bob had some plans with Fanboy and Payback. Those two are my go-to options, so...." 

          A brief noise of understanding falls between them. "What about Hangman?" 

          Phoenix shrugs. "He didn't want to go." 

          Mav ponders that. It honestly makes him feel a little better that his disastrous self wasn't her first choice. Her common sense and tenacity create a potent mix. If she wanted to choose someone who would be able to keep a clear head in a version of a doctor's office, Hangman would've been ideal. He likes to go places—kind of like a golden retriever. 

          Though, he's not quite as well-mannered as one. Hangman is like a horrible combination of Maverick and Ice. Sometimes, it freaks Mav out. 

          "We're here." 

          Mav peers out at the façade of the dentist's office. "Looks like a swell place." 

          Natasha doesn't dignify that with a response, hopping out of the car and striding past the gawdy sign with more teeth on it than words. When she gets inside, she steps right up to the counter and Mav follows. 

          "Hi. My name is Natasha Trace and I have an appointment for 11:30." 

          "Of course. We just need you to fill out this form. If you and your father would have a seat, we'll have the dentist out to meet you and confirm a few things." 

          The receptionist answers a phone call before either Phoenix or Maverick can protest the assumption, leaving them no choice but to have a seat as instructed. Mav doesn't really mind that much. It's not like he can fault the receptionist. 

          "I'm, uh, sorry if that was awkward for you, Phoenix." 

          Phoenix glances up from her paperwork. "It's fine." She scribbles information into the boxes and then frowns. "I can't remember my mom's social, which is usually who I put on these things. Would you...?" 

          "Sure. Unless you're uncomfortable with me taking responsibility for you should anything happen." 

          "No, sir." Phoenix hands him the clipboard. 

          Mav puffs a soft breath and peers down at the form. It's been a little while since he filled out one of these himself, since he tries to avoid hospital visits like the plague. Phoenix is called back before he finishes and he wishes her luck. He turns in the paperwork shortly after, then waits for an agonizing hour and a half for her to come back. Mav doesn't do well sitting still. 

          When Phoenix emerges from the offices in the back, she looks positively nauseous. 

          "You need a minute, Trace?" 

          She shakes her head. "No. Just... drive slow and I'll be fine." 

          Maverick double checks that the cost of her visit is covered before leading her outside with a gentle hand at her shoulder. "All right. Does your face still feel funny?" 

          "Yeah. A bit." 

          "Okay. It should be pretty well worn off by the time we hit the base, so what do you say to a trip to the sandwich shop before I escort you back to your barracks? A little nourishment goes a long way after a rough minute." 

          Phoenix nods. Her right cheek looks a little slack from the numbing agent. "Still feel sick." 

          "Don't worry, kiddo. We'll get you taken care of." 

          The young aviator shoots him a sideways glance when the car starts moving. There's a certain curious wonder in the expression. "Wow. That's what that feels like." 

          "What?" 

          "Don't worry about it. Just another thing Roo said." 

          Maverick humors her, chewing on his own questions while he drives. Apparently, Bradley's been sharing more about Mav with his friends now that they've made up. In fact, Payback mentioned his seemingly improved moods in training as well. Aside from an unfortunate case of insomnia, Rooster is doing a lot better since the mission. 

          The sandwich shop looms ahead of them when they reach the base and Maverick pulls in with more caution than he's ever exercised in his life. It wouldn't do to make Phoenix throw up before she even has anything in her stomach. 

          Once she eats and recovers from her nausea a bit more, Mav takes her home. "Get some rest, and I'll see you for classes tomorrow, all right?" 

          Phoenix takes her car keys back with a grateful smile. "Yes, sir. Thanks, again." 

          "It's no problem. Be safe." 

          "Yes, sir." 

          Mav gives one final wave before wandering off to find his motorcycle. The lights are on at home when he arrives, and he walks in to find Rooster and Fanboy gaming on the couch, distracted greetings leaving their mouths while their eyes hardly leave the screen. Bob lounges in a chair nearby, waving at Mav as he chews on a piece of cold pizza. 

          Boys. 

          "Who's winning?" 

          Bradley elbows Fanboy with a shit-eating grin. "I am. Fanboy can't drive." 

          "Can, too!" 

          "Cannot." 

          "I can so!" 

          Mav almost regrets asking. "Well, don't play that all afternoon. Bradley's old sports stuff is in the closet, so if you wanted to make use of the tarmac and toss a ball around for a while, that'd be good. Just don't leave anything behind on the runway." 

          A mild chorus of 'uh-huh,' 'yessir,' and 'yes, Captain Mitchell' floats toward him as he heads for his bedroom. He falls asleep to the raucous protest of a screaming Fanboy.

Chapter Text

          Maverick slows as he strolls the hallway, picking up the faint racket of a commanding officer yelling in his subordinate's face. It really isn't his business, but then he hears 'Lieutenant Fitch' and decides he should wait for his student to leave the office. He stands beside the door a long while. The room falls a bit quieter, a few muffled words passing between the two before a curt dismissal releases Payback from his torment. 

          The young aviator closes the door behind him and drags his fingernails over his cropped hair. 

          "Sounded pretty intense." 

          Payback jerks, wide eyes landing on Maverick. The effect is instantaneous; Payback's shoulders droop and he relaxes. It almost looked like he wanted to snap a salute, but Mav never requires those. 

          Mav motions for Reuben to follow him and starts down the opposite end of the hallway. "What'd you get in trouble for?" 

          "Breaking curfew one too many times." 

          "How late were you?" 

          Payback makes a face. "About twenty seconds. I ran into a little extra traffic, and the gate guard let me through without a problem. I don't know how the commander found out, but I think he has it out for me. And he said he was going to talk to Cyclone about our detachment staying here for extraneous training." 

          Maverick laughs. "I'd like to see him try that. Since our mission, Cyclone's been unusually protective of you kids. Me, he might throw under the bus, but he wouldn't get you guys kicked out of here, even if it is a secondary program for you. It's scheduled to run for a certain number of months. That we only used two weeks' worth of it is their problem. I think they're just upset that this is technically shore leave for you guys and you get to spend it flying." 

          A tentative smile creeps onto Payback's face. 

          "Come on, kid. I know what'll make you feel better. You don't have anywhere to be, do you?" 

          "Uh... no, sir." 

          Mav pats the younger aviator's shoulder and props the door open. "Then, let's go." 

          Payback obediently trails him across the base to a familiar blue Bronco. "You have Rooster's truck today, sir?" 

          "Well, he said he wanted to take my old bike up to his mom's place in Texas for the weekend. I made him a deal that he could take it on the condition that he brings back a box of cinnamon rolls from a place his dad and I used to frequent. My current bike has a leak somewhere, so bringing the Bronco seemed ideal." 

          Payback hops into the passenger seat with a grin on his face. "Cinnamon rolls, though? Fuel isn't cheap. Doesn't seem fair, sir." 

          "I'm easy to please." 

          Out of the corner of his eye, Maverick sees Reuben's expression twist comically. He gives a soft chuckle in response and drives for the nearest dairy bar. The younger aviator's confusion mounts when Maverick presents him with over a dozen different options for ice cream at the counter. 

          "We're buying... ice cream, sir?" 

          Mav waves a hand. "I'm buying ice cream for myself, but you can have whatever you want. Coffee, scones, a sandwich. Take your pick." 

          Payback hesitates, but with a little encouragement he eventually helps himself to a double scoop of mint chip and a blueberry scone. They sit beside the large bay window at the front of the establishment. A few people here and there mill around, but no heavy traffic like on the base. It's too late for the morning rush and too early for the afternoon crowd. 

          "Thanks for the ice cream, sir." 

          "It's no problem. You seemed a little shaken by the commander. You don't flinch at much, so I figured you could use a little break from stress." 

          Reuben nods, mulling over how to answer. "It's been... difficult. Since the mission, I mean." 

          "Is it safe to assume that's not only because of the commander on your ass?" 

          "Yeah." The younger aviator twirls his spoon around in the half empty cup of ice cream. He takes a breath as if to say something else, then another one, and then a third one before muttering, "I haven't been sleepin' right." 

          Maverick nods. "I'm familiar with that particular problem." 

          Payback glances up at him before shaking his head. "Nothing even happened to me." 

          "You flew the same mission, one that was supposed to amount to a suicide mission, mind you, and lived. I think that's reason enough, don't you?" 

          "But it doesn't make any sense." Reuben picks at the corner of his scone. "I flew the same mission, yeah, but Fanboy and I didn't get shot down. We weren't the ones stealing planes out of enemy territory or fighting fifth-generation jets. We watched you get blown out of the sky, and then the rest of us got the hell out of there." Guilt sinks into his expression. "You and Rooster did the hard part. All the rest of us did was watch and went home. Now, tell me how it's fair that I'm the one losing sleep at night." 

          Maverick tilts his head, brow furrowing. "Can I shoot straight with you, Payback?" 

          Reuben's slight nod holds the tiniest bit of relief. "Yes, sir." 

          "Sometimes, watching can be worse." 

          "Sir?" 

          A sad smile flickers across Mav's lips. "You remember when Hangman made that comment about Rooster's dad?" When Payback nods, the older aviator continues. "Ice, or Admiral Kazansky as you'd know him, was there, too. His jetwash was what threw us into flat spin, and even though he never could've known what would happen, he still felt responsible like I did. He recovered from Goose's death more quickly than me since Goose and I were a lot closer, but I remember.... One night, he called me in a panic, practically in tears because he was convinced that he was covered in Nick's blood. It took me close to an hour to calm him down." 

          Payback arches a brow. "I can't imagine Admiral Kazansky panicking over anything." 

          "At the time, I couldn't either, but that was a wake-up call. Even though Ice hadn't experienced what I did, and even though he wasn't all that close to Goose, he was in the air and all he could do was watch. Just like you. That helplessness is a hard thing to put behind you." Mav pauses, thoughtful. "He was more shaken than he let on. I remember on the mission we took after graduating, there was a hostile encounter, and he didn't sound anything like himself." 

          "How so?" 

          "In training, he was always cool-headed, you know? That's what he was named for, after all. In that dogfight, he sounded pretty damn scared. I don't think I've ever heard him curse and swear so much since." 

          Payback takes another bite of ice cream. "That's weird to think about." 

          "The point, Payback, is that you shouldn't feel guilty or like you don't have the right to feel the way you do. Being helpless can be just as traumatic as being involved. At least, Rooster and I had some control over our situation. We made the choice to save one another." 

          "Was it wrong not to turn back for you two?" 

          Maverick shakes his head. "Phoenix was your wingman, and you stayed with her just like you were supposed to. You had orders, and believe me when I say Cyclone wanted to scold Rooster for not following them. As it was, he thought three days locked in the infirmary after a near-death experience was punishment enough." 

          Payback smirks. "Yeah. For being Rooster, he really doesn't like being cooped up." 

          The grin that spreads on Maverick's face turns outright fond. "No. No, he does not. And let me tell you, if given the opportunity to sleep in, don't think you'll be seeing him at any time close to sunrise." 

          "Don't I know it. Our first time through Top Gun, we had a day off, and I went and woke him so we could hang out at the Hard Deck. I swear, I've never seen a combat boot hurtle through the air so fast." Payback rubs his shoulder. "He's got good aim, too. Bruise lasted for a good few days." 

          "Tell me about it." 

          After a beat, Payback allows himself to relax enough to do more than pick at his scone. "You know.... I know it might sound strange, but I'm glad Cyclone is having us stick out the duration of the classes. I don't know how I'd handle going back to active duty right now." 

          Maverick agrees. "It's a good chance to get your heads back on straight before heading back out into the field." 

          The younger aviator hums. "I'm sure you had nothing to do with that." 

          "Of course not." 

          Payback munches more happily on his scone. "Well, thanks for that. For... everything, really. We survived because of you. I'm glad Cyclone let you stick around to keep training pilots." 

          "Me, too. Still, I doubt it'll take them long to remember why they canned me the first time." 

          "They did?" 

          Maverick smiles. "How about I tell you all about my first class of Top Gun students? Although, we might want some coffee for the conversation. It's a long one, and the last bit is a doozy." 

          Reuben leans back in his chair and stretches. "I'm all ears."

Chapter Text

          Mav wakes to the soft snap and whir of a camera and he cracks open one eye. Standing above him from his supine position on the couch is Fanboy. The heavy weight on his chest makes no effort to move, instead shifting with a soft snore. 

          "What're you doing, Fanboy?" 

          "Taking pictures." 

          Maverick drops his head back onto the armrest. He has a crick in his neck, but he can't bear to get up. "I see that." The older aviator blinks and lifts his head again. "Is that the camera from my hangar?" 

          Fanboy has the courtesy to look sheepish. "I'd never used a Polaroid before." 

          "Okay...?" 

          The sheepish look fades into nervousness and he offers Maverick the picture he took. "I don't know how well I did. Is it overexposed?" 

          Maverick moves as little as possible for the sake of the lump using his body as a hot water bottle and gently plucks the image from Fanboy's hand. In it, he and Rooster snooze on the couch, heedless of the world around them. They fell asleep last night entirely by accident while watching a football game, so Mav really has no idea how Bradley ended up draped over the entirety of the couch and himself. The kid is heavy, but Mav doesn't have the heart to move him. He's been sleeping so poorly as of late. Fanboy must've found his way to the guest room without their help, but it seems he also helped himself to Maverick's hangar when they didn't wake up early. The pilfered camera looks freshly dusted for its short adventure into the house. 

          The photo in Mav's hand might be the first picture of he and Rooster together since the flight deck on the ship. Emotion clogs his throat and he smiles up at Mickey. "It looks great, kid." 

          "Can I put it on the fridge?" 

          A memory of Bradley asking him that exact same question at the tender age of six echoes in Maverick's mind as he says, "Sure thing, buddy." 

          Fanboy's eyes light up and he skips off into the kitchen. Maverick shakes his head in exasperation, groans in abject misery when his neck smarts, and begins the arduous process of lifting Bradley off his chest without waking him up. He loves his son and would like nothing more than to stay here the entire morning, but if he doesn't stretch, he's going to get a migraine. The curly-haired Bradshaw mutters and curls around the couch pillow Mav presses into his arms. 

          Mav tugs the light throw off the back of the couch and tucks it around him. "There you go, kiddo." 

          "Sir?" 

          "What's up, Fanboy?" 

          Mickey extends the camera back out to him. "I'm sorry if I overstepped by borrowing this, but I've been up and around since five and didn't have anything better to do other than explore." 

          Mav takes the Polaroid with gentle hands. "It's fine. Just...." He glances at Rooster on the couch and back to Fanboy. "This belonged to Bradley's dad. I couldn't bring myself to throw it out, so it's just been gathering dust anyway." 

          The young aviator winces. "Sorry. I didn't mean to infringe." 

          "No, it's.... It's good, actually. Someone should be using it." Maverick manages a pained smile before focusing on something else. "You said you've been up since five? Where all have you been?" 

          "Well, I kinda just started taking pictures of stuff in the hangar, then the desert, and after that, I caught the sunrise. I wanted to see what the pictures were like, you know? So, then I went for a drive and ended up on base. Took some pictures of the jets, one of Cyclone with a janitorial cart behind him that makes it look like the mop is a mullet, and kinda snuck around barracks for a few minutes pestering the other classes." 

          Maverick quirks a brow. "It sounds like you've probably got quite the haul of pictures." 

          Fanboy chances a hopeful, charming grin. "You want to see?" 

          "I would love to." 

          A short stroll into the kitchen reveals the picture of Mav and Rooster attached to the fridge by a magnet shaped like a jet, and the entirety of the kitchen table covered in Polaroids. Maverick highly doubts he had this many blank rolls of film, so Fanboy must've spent some time hunting around for a store or shop that still sold it. 

          Mav glances at Fanboy. "How many rolls of film did you buy for this?" 

          "Uh.... Enough that I didn't use it all?" 

          "Fanboy." 

          Mickey raises his hands in surrender, and then he starts babbling. "Like, a hundred. I started taking pictures, and I liked the sound it made, and that the film rolled, and how the pictures looked, and I just thought it was really cool." He levels pleading eyes on Maverick, ones that Mav hadn't realized would be so damn effective. 

          "You're not in trouble. I just want to know you haven't spent a small fortune on film." 

          "Uh.... How much would you define a small fortune?" 

          Maverick sighs and settles at the table. "You know what, kiddo? Good for you. Now, show me what we've got." 

          Fanboy hops into the chair next to Mav and digs through the pile. "So, I had a few favorites, and one of them was this shot of the tarmac. Look at all the silhouettes of the jets." 

          "That angle really helps." 

          "Right?" Fanboy scrounges around. "Here's that one of Cyclone that I told you about." 

          Maverick isn't really prepared to see it because he's busy staring at a picture of Hangman asleep on top of a box of Cheerios. What was that kid doing last night? And did Mickey break into his apartment to take this picture? 

          So, when Fanboy pushes the image of Cyclone under his nose and Mav comes face to face with Cyclone's habitual scowl, he nearly dies on the spot. His laughter fills the kitchen and probably wakes Bradley, but in that moment, he couldn't care less. The image of Cyclone haloed by the distant mophead really does make him look like he has a mullet, and not just any mullet, a dreadlock mullet. It's even the right color. 

          Mav is still wheezing when Bradley emerges from the living room. 

          "What'd you do to him, Fanboy?" 

          "Just showed him this picture of Cyclone." 

          The mention makes Mav laugh so hard that it comes out in short squeaks. Rooster and Fanboy share a short chuckle. Mav feels a hand on his back, warm and supportive, and drops his head onto the kitchen table. The two younger aviators, while entertained, aren't nearly so amused. Then again, they don't know Cyclone the way Maverick does. 

          Bradley rubs a hand between his shoulders when the wheezes become tolerable giggles. "Take it easy, old man." 

          Mav nods, stifling another snicker into his fist and sitting up again. His chest aches from all the laughter and he fights the grin making his cheeks hurt, but he motions for Mickey to continue. "Okay, okay, okay. Sorry. Just.... Just show me your other f-favorites before I fucking die." 

          Fanboy's smile widens again and he picks up a picture of Phoenix. "She was awake when I got to her barracks, and she actually posed for this one. Doesn't she look awesome with the jetstream in the window behind her? And she's got that real intense look on her face, you know? She actually wants me to scan this one in so she can have a copy. Oh!" He reaches for another picture. "This one's of Payback wrestling in the gym with Bob. I took a few pictures of the equipment because they had interesting shadows, but those are kind of boring comparatively." 

          "Reuben really makes Bob seem short, which means you'd look like a midget, Mav." 

          Maverick smiles up at Bradley. "And yet, the last time we wrestled on the mats, who pinned who, kiddo? I may be short, but I make up for it in various ways." 

          "No kidding. Not only are you squirrelly as hell, but you're heavier than you look." 

          Mickey snickers at that and hands Mav another picture. "Here's one of just Bob making himself a protein shake after his workout. And here's Hangman on his morning run, and then Payback again, and Hondo and Warlock-" 

          The snap and whir of the Polaroid halts Fanboy's excited chatter and Mav looks to Bradley. The young Bradshaw holds his father's camera with a soft smile on his face, staring down at the picture fondly. He passes it to Maverick and places the camera gingerly on the table. In the photo, Fanboy eagerly presents a picture in the middle of the table, clearly in his element. Maverick's own expression contains a delicate mixture of intent listening, pride, and something that looks a whole lot like love. 

          Bradley shrugs when Mickey shoots him a confused look. "I figured we had pictures of everyone else." 

          Maverick rises from his seat and takes a small stack of pictures over to the fridge. He doesn't quite have enough magnets, so Phoenix and Bob's pictures share one. It only seems right to put Payback and Fanboy's together as well, even if Mav is in Fanboy's. Hangman's picture with the Cheerios hangs beside the most recent one of Bradley and Maverick. Cyclone's picture goes onto the side of the fridge instead of the front, more for his own entertainment than anything else. Hondo and Warlock's photo sits beside it. 

          "There." 

          "When was this?" Bradley asks quietly, brushing his thumb over the picture of them together. 

          Mav glances back at Fanboy with an appreciative smile, watching the young aviator sort his pictures into piles. "This morning. I wanted to let you sleep awhile longer, but that picture of Cyclone kind of ruined those plans." 

          Bradley ducks his head a little, and Mav spots a slight flush creeping up his neck. "I, uh.... Sorry for falling asleep on you." 

          "Don't be, baby goose." 

          The flush spreads up to his son's ears. "Okay..., dad." 

          Maverick turns, placing his hand on Bradley's shoulder and tenderly tipping his forehead against him for a brief moment. His eyes land on Nick's Polaroid when he pulls away. He picks it up and brushes his thumb over the lens housing. Thank you, Goose.  

          "Fanboy?" Maverick says, his voice nearly a whisper. 

          The young aviator looks up at him, warmth and curiosity in his eyes. His mouth is already tipping into a half-smile. "Sir?" 

          "Think you can do me a favor, Lieutenant?" 

          "Yes, sir. Just say the word." 

          Mav meets Bradley's eyes, finding both reassurance and approbation in his gaze; he knows what Maverick is about to do. "This shouldn't just be sitting around here gathering dust, and I think Goose would be honored if someone who shared his love for taking pictures were to carry on doing so." 

          Fanboy's mouth falls open a little. "I... couldn't possibly. If anyone, Rooster-" 

          "I agree with Mav," Bradley says simply, leaning his weight against the fridge beside its new decorations. "Someone who appreciates it should keep it in service. After all, even museum pieces have their uses." 

          Maverick shares a smile with Rooster and presses the Polaroid into Fanboy's hands. "It's yours on the condition that you take good care of it." 

          Mickey holds it close to his chest. "I'll treat it with the respect it deserves, sir." 

          "I know you will."

Chapter Text

          Mav arrives fifteen minutes late to his class of Top Gun graduates and pulls off his coat when he gets inside. "Hey, kids. Sorry, I'm late. Got a bit held up talking to Warlock about something. And, uh, lesson plans today are...." Mav trails off as he takes a look at the seats. "Where's Hangman?" 

          No one answers.

          "No one knows?"

          Phoenix shakes her head first. "No, sir. I don't think any of us have seen him since we turned in last night. If he left base, it's news to us."

          "Huh." Mav frowns. "Anyone call him?" 

          "Three times, sir." 

          Maverick peers at the other students for confirmation and sees an assortment of equal confusion. "Did anyone slip out and knock on his door while I was running late?" 

          Bob perks up. "I did, sir." 

          The frown on Maverick's face deepens. It's not like Hangman to be late to anything, let alone flight training. His enthusiasm for training rivals Rooster's. He hasn't been sick that Mav knows of. 

          "Well.... I'll have to start maneuvers without him, I suppose. Maybe he's running later than I am." 

          Bradley meets Maverick's gaze with nervousness in his expression. Teaching the kid to trust his instincts might've been a bad move, because now he's listening to them and they're telling him something is wrong, just like Mav's. Already, the atmosphere of the room inches closer to anxious silence. Mav begins the class just to stave it off. 

          An hour in, Maverick's phone rings. He picks it up as quickly as he can. "This is Mitchell." 

          "Captain Pete Mitchell, correct?" a masculine voice over the phone inquires. 

          "This is he." 

          "This is Fallon General Hospital, sir, and we're calling on behalf of one Jake Seresin to inform you that he's been admitted to the ER due to an accident. We looked for next of kin, but the only one listed as an emergency contact was you."

          Maverick doesn't know what to say. 

          "We understand this may be a lot to process, but we would appreciate it if you were available to take responsibility for him once he's ready to leave our care."

          "Y-yeah. Absolutely. I'll be down there in half an hour." 

          "Thank you for your cooperation, sir."

          The connection cuts with a crisp snap and Maverick flips his lessons book closed. "Class is dismissed." 

          Bradley's frightened expression is the only thing that keeps Mav from storming out the door in a flurry of motion. He needs to keep calm for these kids. Hangman is their friend and wingman, and panicking won't do a single one of them any good. 

          "Rooster." 

          "Mav?" 

          Maverick drags a hand through his hair. "Hangman is in the hospital. I need you to take the rest of the squadron out to Fallon General. I have to make a quick detour to Cyclone's office and let him know what's going on. I'll meet you up there." 

          "Is he okay? Did they tell you anything?" 

          "I don't know, Roo. They didn't give me details. Just get the team there. Please, drive carefully. I don't want to be visiting any more of you in the ER. That's an order." 

          Bradley nods. "Yes, sir." 

          Mav passes between the seats on his way to Cyclone's office and he gives Rooster's shoulder a brief squeeze on the way by. The boy could probably use it. The class files out of the room after him, all headed for Bradley's Bronco while Mav walks the other way. 

          Cyclone accepts the change of plans with a surprising lack of argument, but even if he hadn't, Mav already dismissed the kids. He even offers up a brief well-wishing for Hangman. 

          Arriving at the hospital is a familiar affair, even if he wishes it wasn't. Bradley and the others sit safely in the waiting room when he walks inside, a balm to his nerves. However, his son looks a little on the anxious side with his hands clasped between his knees and his head bowed. Mav would be willing to bet money his eyes are closed. 

          Mav crouches in front of him and takes his hands. "Hey, kiddo. You're not looking too hot." 

          "I feel sick. Hate it here." 

          "I know, Roo. Just take as many deep breaths as you can. I've gotta go check in with the staff at the desk and see if I can't get in to see Hangman. My guess is he'll be in here overnight at the least, so if he doesn't wake up sometime this evening, the rest of you will have to go home when visiting hours are over." 

          Bradley nods. "You'll tell us how he's doing?" 

          "Of course." 

          Maverick cards his fingers through Bradley's hair in a small effort to comfort him before moving for the front desk. He patiently waits for the receptionist to finish his phone call before introducing himself. "I'm Captain Mitchell. You called me about Jake Seresin?" 

          "That's correct." The man pulls up something on the computer before motioning for Maverick to follow him. "Mr. Seresin was involved in a car accident. He was fortunate the impact was localized to the passenger side of the vehicle. The other driver was intoxicated and cut across several parking lots, ignored a pair of stop signs and tried to jump through traffic onto the main thoroughfare." 

          "Shit." 

          The nurse hums, but doesn't respond. 

          Mav grits his teeth. Even for someone who thinks day-drinking is a good occupation of their time, it's a little early. He'd like to get his hands on the guy and slap some sense into him. "How's the other guy looking?" 

          "He was miraculously uninjured, but he was arrested for drunk driving the minute that was confirmed. They took his license." 

          Uninjured. Mav smothers the flame of anger in his chest before it can grow into something worse. The important thing is Jake, no matter who or what inflicted the damage on him. "What about Jake?" 

          "Lieutenant Seresin sustained a concussion, a minor fracture to his collarbone, cuts and scrapes from the shattered glass, and a couple bumps and bruises. He was lucky for the divider, otherwise he'd have been pushed into oncoming traffic and the damage could've been much worse." 

          "But he'll be able to fly again, right?" 

          Jake would go out of his mind with boredom if he couldn't fly. 

          "He should make a full recovery, yes. I don't foresee any complications, and despite the concussion, all his scans came back normal, so we have few concerns regarding potential brain damage." The man stops outside a large hospital room and motions Mav in before him. "Here we are." 

          Maverick enters, spotting Jake immediately and approaching the bed. His left arm rests in a sling, and a large piece of gauze covers the left side of his forehead. A stitched cut follows the line of his jaw on the right side. A little lower and it might've been fatal. Mav takes a steadying breath. Jake is okay—a little banged up, but okay. He looks a lot smaller this way; his Southern swagger and crooked smile tend to fill up a room with energy, whether the people present want it to or not. He draws attention simply by existing, but here, it's contained. He's quiet. 

          Jake Seresin is many things, but a quiet personality is not one of them. 

          "Can the others come in and see him?" 

          "As long as they're quiet and respectful of the hospital staff. Just don't expect him to come around too soon. He needs time to heal." The man turns away from the room and hurries along to his other duties. 

          Maverick slips his hand into Jake's right, shaking his head. "You had me worried, kid." 

          As expected, Jake says nothing. 

          "I'm gonna head out to the lobby and grab the others." Maverick starts to pull away when Jake's fingers twitch reflexively. He softens on the cocky pilot. "I won't be gone long. Don't worry." 

          In mere minutes, he and the rest of the kids stand or sit in the room in various places, all keeping Jake company. Rooster sits in a chair beside Maverick, anxiously tapping his knee. It can't be healthy for him to be in the hospital stewing in the scenery of his worst memories, no matter how worried he is about his friend. 

          "I think you should go home, Roo." 

          Bradley shakes his head. "You said we could stay until tonight. If I go home, they have to go home, and I think we all want to be here for him." He levels Maverick with those pleading eyes of his. "He saved our lives, Mav." 

          "I know, Bradley." 

          "Just...." Rooster glances around the room before slipping his fingers into Maverick's. 

          Mav nods and draws the back of Bradley's hand up to press a light kiss to his skin. "All right. You can stay. I'll be here the whole time, so just let me know if you need to get some air." 

          Nodding, Bradley proceeds scroll his phone for the next several hours. Maverick doubts he's even seen his squadron so quiet for such a prolonged period. Bob sleeps on Phoenix's shoulder while Payback and Fanboy play a game of cards on the windowsill. Maverick simply watches Jake's chest rise and fall. It was a practice he learned to lose himself in when Carole was sick. At least, this time he has the knowledge Jake will be fine. 

          As suspected, visiting hours end before Jake comes around. Maverick sits with him alone in the dark room, his hand in Jake's and his other propping his head up. He won't be able to sleep. Instead, he spends his time listening to the younger aviator breathe. His phone buzzes at 0750 with a message from Phoenix saying they'll be back at the hospital soon. 

          Jake shows the first signs of consciousness with a soft groan, probably because of the shrieking of the notification. He told Phoenix to stop playing with his phone. 

          "Jake?" 

          Tired eyes crack open just a sliver. "Pops? What happened?" 

          "You were in a car accident. Do you remember?" 

          The younger pilot swallows heavily and shifts, wincing when it jostles his shoulder. "A little. Why do my chest and shoulder hurt?" 

          "You fractured your collarbone in the crash. Otherwise, you've got a concussion and a few cuts and bruises. I've been told you're fortunate that it wasn't a lot worse. You've been out since yesterday." 

          "What're you doing here?" 

          Maverick grips Jake's fingers a little tighter. "I think I should be asking you for the answer to that question." He hesitates before managing a soft, "Why am I your emergency contact, Jake?" 

          Jake grimaces and shuts his eyes again. "I don't want to talk about it." 

          "I think I have the right to know. They said you didn't have any next of kin listed in their records." Mav tilts his head at the breath Hangman hisses between his teeth. "Would you look at me?" When the young man's eyes open and find Mav, he continues. "I'm not upset with you for listing me. I just want to know why you would list me over any family you might have." 

          "I don't have anyone else." 

          Mav wondered if that might've been the case. "No parents or siblings who would want to know?" 

          "Don't have parents," Hangman grits out. "Dad left when I was two, and my mom tossed me in a foster home when I turned five. Sister lives overseas and hates my guts." 

          Protectiveness flares in Mav, but he remains patient. "Sorry to hear that." 

          Jake clenches his jaw and looks away again, sniffling. "Doesn't matter. That's why there's no one else. They all left." 

          "No close friends from your old unit?" 

          "No, sir," Jake answers, his voice tighter with each clipped word. 

          A thoughtful frown grows on Maverick's face even as he lightly rubs his thumb over Jake's knuckles. "I can't imagine you wouldn't have a commanding officer or two who didn't like you enough to keep tabs." 

          Hangman scoffs, his following words thick with emotion. "Oh, yes, sir. I'm sure they would. They wanted to see how far up the ranks I could go, praising me for being a fucking asshole just like them. The rest didn't know how to get through to me or just didn't care that I didn't care. They liked the way I was, that I was a good pilot before I was a good wingman, but you?" Jake shakes his head and bites back a pained groan. "You were the only one who successfully served me a damn reality check." 

          "Jake-" 

          Though he tries to stop it, a sob crawls from Jake's throat. "Don't you understand? Without this team, without you, I wouldn't have a fucking thing. I'd trained with them before, but it was you who made it clear that if I didn't give a shit about them, I was going to die." Jake squeezes his eyes closed, choking out his next tearful admission of: "Rooster was fucking right. I'd have led them to their deaths and not given a damn, and probably gotten my own stupid ass killed right alongside them because of it. You knew that without a wingman, without someone who knows how to watch your fucking back, everything would go to shit, and that's why you picked him and not me." 

          "Hangman-" 

          Jake hiccups. "Don't you dare deny it." 

          Maverick rises from his seat and wipes the tears from Jake's cheeks with his free hand. "I chose him for a lot of reasons, Jake. Yes, in part, because you weren't ready to accept that you cared about the rest of your team, but also to atone, to help him trust himself, and prove to him that I trusted him, too." 

          The gentle touch wracks Hangman's body with a shudder and he opens his eyes. They shine with the wonder and disbelief of a child who never had anyone handle them so delicately a day in their life. It needles at Maverick's heart. 

          "You learned, Jake. That's what we do. A good pilot remembers their mistakes and takes the experience to apply it to future engagements." 

          "You think.... You think I'm a good pilot?" 

          Maverick settles on the edge of the bed. "You were a good pilot before. Now, you're a great one." The reassuring smile on Maverick's face manages to drag a smaller one out of Jake. "You saved my life. More than that, you saved Bradley's life. You have no idea what that means to me." 

          "I think that you were willing to take a missile for him gives me some idea." 

          "Especially for him, but I'd have done it for any of you kids." Mav raises a warning finger before Jake can open his mouth. "Yes, even for you. All of you are my pilots, and I will always protect what's mine." 

          Jake sniffles, leaning into Maverick's touch when the older aviator's hand cradles his cheek. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about putting you as my emergency contact." 

          "I'm glad you did." 

          "You're the only person I thought might actually show up if I got into some shit. I don't know about the others." 

          Maverick sighs in exasperation. "So, you admit that you care about your team, but you don't think they care about you, too?" 

          "In case you didn't notice, I was an asshole to them on purpose a lot before the mission." 

          "Plenty of people who're assholes have a few good friends," Mav chuckles. "I should know. I was one of them. So was Ice, and we were some of the best wingmen the Navy had ever seen." Mav tugs an errant strand of hair out from underneath the corner of the gauze on Jake's forehead. "Being cocky and confident isn't a crime. Aviators, you know? Lots of ego being thrown around." 

          Jake flushes a little. "I've heard that, yeah." 

          Maverick chuckles again. "I'm sure. The point is that by now, our particular squadron has seen enough of those big personalities to know which ones are worth their time and which ones are all talk. And, you know, saving Rooster's life certainly didn't hurt his opinion of you. That's how Ice and I got all buddy-buddy, after all." 

          "Yeah?" 

          "Oh, absolutely. I think you found yourself a begrudging best friend." 

          Jake manages a watery smirk. 

          A wry smile spreads on Mav's face as he wipes at the younger aviator's tears. "And don't think it's just him, either. I know Fanboy's been hanging around you some, which means Payback is never far away, and Phoenix and Bob actually look forward to maneuvers with you now. You're not blind, and you're certainly not stupid. Well, you know, despite the incurable case of blondness-" 

          Hangman laughs, truly grinning for the first time since he woke up. 

          "You laugh, but Ice had it, too. It's a very serious condition-" 

          "Pops?" 

          Maverick hums. 

          Jake pulls his hand out of Maverick's to swipe at his face himself before replacing it, as though afraid he'll pull away. "Thanks for coming. You really didn't have to." 

          "Yeah, I did, kiddo. I told you; I protect what's mine." 

          "I've never belonged to anyone before." 

          Mav smooths his free hand over Jake's hair the same way he does to Bradley. "Well, you belong to us, now." 

          Before Jake can answer, Maverick's cell notification goes off again. This one sounds suspiciously like a certain farm animal. The younger aviator's brow furrows when Mav makes no move to answer it. "You're not gonna check that?" 

          "I already know what it says." 

          "Oh, yeah? You and Rooster got some kinda spooky ESP going on?" 

          Maverick huffs. "Not quite. But I do think you'd better brace yourself." 

          Jake blinks. "Brace myself?" 

          The door to Hangman's hospital room opens and the team marches inside posthaste. Rooster greets Mav first, then sees Hangman awake and breaks out in a wide smile. He slips up to the opposite side of the bed and raises his hand as though to thump Jake's shoulder, thinks better of it, and gently ruffles the hair Maverick just fixed. He looks far too self-satisfied when Jake scowls.  

          "How's our wingman, huh? You look a lot better already." 

          Phoenix arches a brow from the foot of the bed. "I think he still looks like shit, but it's a step up from unconscious, so we'll take it." 

          Bob stands beside her with his hands folded neatly behind his back. "Glad to see you up, too. Quiet as you were, I was starting to think you might be the stealth pilot between the two of us." 

          "How's it hangin', Hangman?" Fanboy prods, cheerful as ever. 

          Payback greets him by way of tossing a gift-wrapped box on top of Jake's legs with a grin. "We got you a little something." 

          "Oh, for little ol' me?" Jake manages, the words more breathless than he probably intended. He takes the package when Mav slips his hand loose to grab it for him, fruitlessly attempting to sit up straighter. Touched and almost speechless, he gently pokes at the tape. "It's not a pipe bomb, is it?" 

          "Course not," Badley answers. "Pipe bombs are reserved for cripples and old men." 

          Mav rolls his eyes at the taunting look Bradley shoots him. "You give me a pipe bomb, and I'm not baking you a chocolate cake on your birthday. You'll get a candy bar, at best." 

          "But, dad-" 

          "Come on, Hangman," Phoenix urges. "Open it already, otherwise these two are going to bicker until we're all old and gray." 

          Jake glances at Mav. 

          "Go on." 

          "Would you help me with the tape? I've only got one hand." 

          Maverick smiles and holds the package steady while Hangman meticulously pulls the flaps of paper open. He's only doing it that way to be annoying, Mav knows, but he also seems to genuinely want to take his time with it. Jake flips open the box lid and stares at the mass of plush black fabric of the hoodie inside, bold letters on the front proclaiming him 'Hugman.' 

          A familiar click and grind of Goose's old camera denotes Fanboy capturing Jake's awed expression. Mav shoots him a smirk and mouths 'fridge' to him. Fanboy offers him a thumbs-up. 

          Jake swallows hard and croaks out a tearful, "I know i-it's a joke, but I could really use one of those right now." 

          "Come here, kiddo." Maverick helps him sit up, pulling him directly into the first of many hugs. "We've got you." 

          Between the concussion and the emotionally charged discussion from earlier, Jake has every right to be overwhelmed. Once they've all had a turn, Jake leans tiredly against Maverick's chest, not eager to lay back on the pillows. He's starting to see the appeal of why Rooster tends to end up just like this after a long day of maneuvers. He feels safe here, cocooned by Maverick's warmth and surrounded by his friends. 

          "Thanks, guys," Hangman murmurs, clutching his new hoodie to his chest between himself and Mav. "Really." 

          Mav smiles. "Of course, Jake. We've got your back. That's what wingmen are for." 

          Bradley shares a look filled with mirth over Hangman's head before thumping his knee with a gentle hand. "That's right. And you can be my wingman anytime." 

          "Bullshit," Jake chuckles, the sound still wet with tears. "You can be mine."

Chapter Text

          "I feel like a little kid." 

          Mav tilts his head on the sandy beach, peering at Bradley where the younger aviator's head rests on his chest while he stares up at the stars. Mav's been trying his best not to fall asleep first. "Why's that?" 

          "Because I can't sleep. And then I go and wake you up because I can't sleep." 

          "I don't mind." 

          Bradley hums. "I know. And I appreciate you bringing me all the way out here. It's a long drive for so late at night." 

          Maverick smiles and cards his fingers through Rooster's curls. "I used to ride around with you in the car until you fell asleep as a kid. Did you know that? I still remember the first time. You dad called me in the middle of the night, and I could already hear you screaming bloody murder. Carole was gone for two days, off visiting her cousin for an emergency. It was lucky Goose and I had leave." 

          "I don't remember." 

          "I wouldn't figure," Mav agrees, offering his free hand to Bradley. "You were two at the time. Goose was practically frantic because he couldn't get ahold of your mom, and so I came over to help him out." 

          Bradley chuckles at that. "Imagining a twenty-something you dealing with a baby is a little weird." 

          "True. I wasn't exactly father material." 

          A noncommittal noise leaves Bradley's throat and he purposefully adjusts his head to dig into Maverick's stomach, smirking up at him like the troublemaker he is. "I don't know about that. I always thought you were doing an okay job." 

          Mav huffs softly, squeezing Bradley's hand. "Glad you think so." 

          "So, how'd you deal with me then?" 

          "When I got there, you'd been crying long enough to run a low fever, and the air conditioning wasn't exactly the same back then as it is now, so to cool you off, I suggested driving for a little while. Your dad got us packed up in the Bronco, and you sat with me next to the open window. The minute you were calm enough to feel the wind on your face, it was like your fears and frustration melted away. You were all giggly and excited, so Goose just kept going until you fell asleep. You should've seen how he looked at you, Bradley." 

          Bradley moves his head back to Maverick's chest, idly tracing his fingers over the shape of his knuckles. "I can imagine." 

          Maverick smiles. "Yeah?" 

          "Well, if he looked at me anything like how you did after the mission, yeah." 

          "He'd have been so proud of you. They both would have," Mav says softly. "You've grown so much, and sometimes, I swear you look at me with the same exasperation your dad did, and you poke fun at me like your mom. She always did love to embarrass me, especially in front of women." 

          Bradley snickers, then falls quiet. Tentative and nervous, he says, "Do you always see them when you look at me?" 

          Maverick shakes his head. "No. Most of the time, to me, you're just Bradley. You're the boy Carole and I raised, and the young man that I didn't." He feels Bradley take a breath and hushes him before he can start apologizing again. "Don't. I already forgave you. I forgave you before I even told you I'd pulled your papers, because I knew what I was doing and how you'd feel about it. Goose may be your father, but you didn't come by your temper that honestly. That's all me." 

          "Ice always said I was just like you." 

          "Yeah. He did, and he was right. You have no idea how much that scares the shit out of me. Not in the air, of course. You're an incredible pilot. Just... emotionally. I only ever felt stable when I had you and Carole to ground me." 

          Bradley takes a long breath of the night air, absently scrunching his toes in the sand. "I almost called you so many times after our fight. I still have all the cards you sent me on birthdays. I think the actual gifts that came with them are in my storage locker somewhere. The first couple years, I was still so angry that I couldn't even look at them without cursing your existence." 

          Mav hums, tracing nonsensical words into Bradley's scalp. 

          "It was hard. I tried not to think about where you were or what you were doing, especially around the holidays." 

          "I spent my holidays worrying about you." 

          A breeze sweeps over the two of them, brisk enough to carry some sand with it. Maverick already knows they'll both need a shower to get rid of it all, but he shields his son's face anyway. 

          He sighs heavily. "In the end, I guess we're both just stubborn, huh? Terrible at letting go." 

          "Yeah." Bradley finally closes his eyes, but Maverick knows he isn't falling asleep. Not yet. "You're better at it than I am, though. Sometimes, I don't understand why you don't hate me because of it. I treated you like shit, and you just let me do it." 

          "I could never hate you, Bradley. You're my family." 

          The younger aviator hisses a breath between his teeth. "That doesn't make it okay. If anything, that's worse." 

          Maverick tugs Bradley's ear in gentle scolding. "You've gotta stop beating yourself up about that, kiddo. You already apologized, and I forgive you. I'll always forgive you." He feels more than sees Bradley tip onto his side and bury his face in his shirt. "You let go of your anger, but now you need to let go of your guilt. It's tearing you up inside. Trust me, I know." 

          "Did you let go of yours?" 

          The question stuns Mav into silence, but then he smiles tenderly. "You went with me on the mission. What do you think?" 

          "Guess so." 

          "Not too long ago, the answer would've been 'no.'" Mav sighs. "But I went to see Ice. Before. Ever since we met, he was always trying to beat life lessons into my skull, but I was too damn stubborn to listen. It wasn't until your dad died and I had to try to get my head back on straight that I really started to take what he said to heart. I nearly quit. I wanted so badly to run away from the life I'd lost my best friend to." 

          Bradley curls closer to Maverick when the wind blows over them again. "I didn't know you almost quit." 

          Maverick hums. "Yeah. Viper, my CO at the time, gave me a choice. He told me the truth about my dad, which gave me enough closure to stop chasing his ghost when I flew. All these years, I kept Goose's close instead. Whether I'm at the top of the world or the bottom of a bottle after a long day, I know I could talk to him today and be proud of the choices I made." A short huff leaves his throat when Bradley snorts. "Well, maybe not all of them." 

          "The next time you lie to me about why you did something, I'm gonna deck you." 

          A tired sound leaves Maverick and he shakes his head. "I don't think there's gonna be a next time, kiddo." 

          "That works, too." 

          Finally, the tone of Bradley's voice slurs with exhaustion. Mav still feels his son's fingers tracing the lines of his hand, now tucked close to the boy's chest. He seems so small this way, more like the child Maverick raised than he's been in years. 

          "Mav?" 

          "What's up, baby goose?" 

          Bradley blinks several times, fighting the pull of sleep. "Would you drive with me for a little while?" 

          Maverick smiles, quietly agreeing and helping the younger aviator to his feet. Rooster leans heavily on him the entire way to the Bronco. He rolls the window down on the passenger side and tilts against the frame of the vehicle when Mav starts driving away from the beach. The wind tousles his curls. He looks young, almost unfairly so because Mav feels the missed years between them like a spike through his lungs. Maybe that's why Goose looked at Bradley so lovingly and longingly all at the same time. He knew those days wouldn't last, that one day Bradley would be grown up and not need him anymore. 

          It would thrill him to know the opposite was true. 

          Bradley is asleep by the time they make it home. Standing exactly zero chance of carrying him inside, Mav rouses him just enough to safely get into the house and up to his bedroom. The many nights of interrupted sleep have taken their toll. Bradley falls asleep again within seconds of being laid on the mattress. 

          Or maybe not, considering the unyielding grip on Mav's coat sleeve. "Bradley, kiddo, you gotta let go. I don't want to get extra sand in your bed, buddy. Come on." 

          "No." 

          Maverick crouches beside the bed and presses a light kiss to the back of Bradley's hand. "Roo." 

          Bradley cracks open one eye and gives a meaningful tug. "Stay. Please?" 

          The small, hopeful plea breaks Maverick's will in one fell swoop. Mav lays far enough to one side of the bed for Bradley to twist around sideways and rest on him the way he had been on the beach. Then, and only then, does he drift off to sleep again, giving a sleepy and contented hum that serves to further solidify Maverick's continued presence. 

          Oh, well. A little sand won't hurt anyone.

Chapter Text

          Maverick groans when something bony and fleshy digs into his spleen, cracking his eyes open to an incredibly familiar mop of curls just under his chin. Since the night they spent on the beach, Bradley's insomnia improved greatly, but on the rare nights when he still can't sleep, he avails himself to Maverick's bed. That doesn't explain the knife-like pressure in his guts, because Rooster's still form lays placidly alongside Maverick's. 

          Another thing that doesn't make sense is the loud snoring. 

          Bradley mutters in his sleep. "Fuckin' chainsaw motherfucker. Shut the fuck up." 

          Mav grins at that, grimacing when the pressure digs deeper into his middle. He lifts his head as much as he can without waking Bradley, eyes widening at the sight that greets him.  

          The weight on his organs belongs to Payback's chin, but that's not the most surprising part.  

          No, the surprising part is that he snoozes on top of Phoenix, and Rooster by association because she's wrapped around him as an unexpected big spoon. Hangman sleeps curled up against Mav's opposite side. Bob rests just beside him, his back pressed against Jake's. Fanboy lays in a ball at the foot of the bed, snuggling a couch pillow. 

          "Jake?" 

          Fanboy's obnoxious snoring covers the quiet word, so Mav tries again, giving the blond's hair a light tug. Hangman rouses easily, a trait Mav wasn't aware of but is grateful for all the same. He blinks sluggishly up at Mav, and then his eyes widen. 

          "... Sir?" 

          "What're you guys all doing here?" 

          Jake squints one eye and rubs at his face, doing his level best to remember. Mav knows that expression. It usually follows after a particularly exciting night at the Hard Deck. "Uh. This is kinda embarrassing, but I don't know. Head hurts." 

          Maverick frowns. "Were any of you sober last night?" 

          "Fanboy." 

          Comforted by that answer, Mav gently tips Hangman's head back against his side and tells him to go back to sleep. He can't, but he does stay put. Before Mav can do anything else, Payback's chin digs further into his stomach. He flicks the kid's ear, and then when Payback doesn't move, he does it again. The repetition is enough encouragement to get him to curl the other way, but unfortunately, he sticks his elbow right into Rooster's ribs. 

          Bradley yelps, waking fully and trying to jerk away. With Phoenix's arms and legs caging him in, he doesn't make it far. Payback wakes when another shift draws an actual shout out of Rooster. Thinking fast, Jake kicks Reuben from the bed just to get his weight off. Mav sits up immediately once freed, unwinding Phoenix's arms and checking Bradley over. That can't have been comfortable. 

          "You okay?" 

          A light groan accompanied by a nod relaxes Mav's nerves. Bradley makes no move to fight when Phoenix's limbs curl back around him. From the floor, Payback is looking a few shades too pale. On his other side, Jake massages his temples while Bob crawls out of the bed. 

          The only ones unaffected by the disturbance are Phoenix and, still snoring loud enough to wake all of Nevada, Fanboy. 

          "Payback, if you don't get to the bathroom, you're going to make a mess." 

          Reuben flees the room. 

          "How's your head, Jake?" 

          "Eh." 

          Maverick sighs when he hears the distant sound of Payback chucking his cookies. This is shaping up to be an excellent day off. "Okay. You lay back down, then. Bob, what are you doing?" 

          The zombified aviator pauses by the door. "Gon' make coffee, sir." 

          "That sounds like a good idea. Go for it, kiddo. Just be careful not to burn yourself." 

          "Yes, sir." 

          Mav scrubs a hand over his face and glances around at the four other bodies still in the room with him. He reaches over to Natasha and squeezes her shoulder. "Trace, wake up." 

          At the direct mention of her name, she cracks open tired eyes. When she realizes she's spooning Rooster, she plops a small kiss into his curls and opens her arms to let him go. Bradley sits up with a warm chuckle, rubbing self-consciously at the back of his head. As an only-child, he's still getting used to getting picked on at a more personal level, especially in a playful fashion. 

          "Bob is out in the kitchen making coffee if you want some," Mav says. 

          "Oooh." 

          She's gone in a matter of seconds, but Mav hears her change course when Payback throws up again. She must be one of the lucky percentage of people who don't experience hangovers. Good for her. Between Mav, Rooster, Phoenix, and Fanboy, they should have a far more equal percentage of hungover people to sober. 

          "I don't remember falling asleep with so many people in the bed," Bradley muses, a light smile on his face. 

          "Yeah. Me neither, kid." 

          Jake shifts to sit up with them, scrubbing his hands through his hair. "I just remembered what we were doing here." He smiles. "We went to the Hard Deck to have a good time before our day off, and then about halfway through, Fanboy checked his phone and realized today was Father's Day." 

          The cocky aviator slips from the room before Mav can say anything to that. 

          Mav blinks. "That doesn't explain why they're here." 

          Rooster rolls his eyes. "And you call Hangman the blond one. You're the only guy with four adoptive children, plus whatever I am, that I know who doesn't even realize he has that many kids. Even Cyclone calls them yours, and I think you're on everyone's emergency contact list. So, yeah. Pretty sure they're yours now." 

          Mav blinks some more. "That's not how adoption works." 

          "Aren't they, though?" 

          A few seconds pass in silence while Maverick considers. He knew he cared about his detachment of aviators, maybe a little too much, but now he's realizing caring about them isn't the right terminology. Mav keeps pictures of these kids on his fridge and in his wallet. Rooster always belonged to Maverick, since the very first moment Goose let him hold the boy. He was family, but the rest? 

          Those are your pilots.  

          Yes, they're his pilots, but what is he to them? 

          He protected them when the Navy wanted to use them as human sacrifices on a suicide mission. He taught them to defend one another. Mav saved Bradley, when as far as everyone else knew, Bradley hated his guts. It was proof he cared more about them as people than tools, and that's a big deal for them. 

          No wonder these kids are so receptive when he's around. 

          "I'm fucking blind." 

          Bradley laughs and tips his head against Mav's shoulder. "I'm sure they don't mind. Besides, I'm still your favorite." 

          "Well, thanks for the vote of confidence, kiddo. And, yes, you are." Maverick smirks, burying his nose in Bradley's hair and kissing his head. "Why don't you head on out to the kitchen with the others. I can wake Fanboy." 

          "Mmkay." 

          Mav watches him go with a soft smile on his face. Bradley is so damn smart, and every time Mav thinks he can't possibly love him any more, he goes and endears himself further. Not only that, but he very humbly accepted the fact that Mav now has a lot more children than just him. Bradley never was the jealous type. 

          Maverick loves the boy he raised so very much. 

          But, as said boy—young man—so kindly pointed out, he loves the others, too. In the spirit of that notion, Mav nudges Fanboy with his foot. Fanboy snores on. A wicked smile grows on Mav's face as he nudges a little lower, right in the sensitive cluster of nerves that always made Bradley giggle wildly as a child. Mickey arches away from the touch with an undignified squawk and falls from the foot of the bed. 

          "Who the fuck- Oh!" Fanboy straightens his shirt and stands. "Uh.... Morning, sir?" 

          "Morning, Mickey," Mav ventures, his tone purposefully warm and pleasant. "Bob's making coffee, so you're free to join the rest of the kids in the kitchen." 

          Fanboy perks up upon realizing they aren't in any trouble and breaks into a wide grin. "Okay!" 

          Maverick rolls his eyes fondly as he bounds out the door, crawling from the bed himself and moving to get dressed. He certainly was not expecting to end up with a bed full of aviators today—mostly hungover aviators, at that. 

          When he reaches the kitchen, he can't help the abrupt peal of choked laughter that leaves him, because the room has decorations in it that certainly look like they were put up by a bunch of drunken kids. On the wall is a sign made from newspaper with 'Happy FahtFather's Day ;)' scrawled on it, and a few sad-looking balloons sit on the table by the sink. Another one lays on the floor, rather dejected and wrinkled. A cake rests on the kitchen table, neat but for the piping on it proclaiming 'Daderick Day.' He would guess it was Phoenix's idea, even drunk, to buy a cake, even if someone else decided they should letter it themselves. 

          "Thanks, kids," Maverick cackles. "This is great, seriously. I love it." 

          Bob sips his coffee from his spot on the counter and smiles. "Really? It's a little messy." 

          "Doesn't matter," Mav chirps, ruffling Jake's hair where he sits at the table and squeezing Payback's shoulder on the way by. He looks a lot better than he did five minutes ago. "I'm sure the cake will taste good, regardless." 

          The younger aviators converge on the kitchen table in various stages of hungover to Fanboy's pure sunshine state. Maverick digs a knife out of the silverware drawer and cuts the cake into equal portions, offering the first to Bradley. As he watches his pilots drowse over their unhealthy breakfast of sugar and coffee, he props his head on one hand. All of them came here to be with him on Father's Day. That alone stirs a warm feeling in his chest. 

          As Bradley and Jake start in on a gentle—for the sake of Hangman's headache—debate about the pros and cons of pancakes over waffles, Mav thinks there's no other place he'd rather be.