Chapter Text
“Talk to me Brett!”
Sylvie wheeled in the gurney, Connor jogging to join her at the entrance to the Emergency Department.
“John Doe, multiple car collision. The light was green from his side when the other driver went through a red light. Head laceration, dislocated shoulder and hip, potential concussion. He’s unconscious for now.”
“BP, heart rate?” Will asked as he met up with them in Baghdad.
“Both stable despite his head laceration.”
“Maggie,” Connor barely opened his mouth before Maggie was carefully patting down their patient, producing a wallet where she found his driver’s license.
“Bradley Bradshaw, date of birth 26th June 1982. Might be 1984, the author couldn’t be bothered doing her research. About 6’1, 180 pounds. Brown hair brown eyes?”
They glanced at their patient and agreed the ID matched. Connor was already inspecting the head laceration while Will worked on stabilising his shoulder and hip.
“What kinda self-respecting parent names their kid Bradley Bradshaw?” Will muttered to himself as he finished the brace on the shoulder and moved to inspect the hip.
“Any next of kin?” He asked as an afterthought.
“Not in the system; he’s never been in Chicago apparently.”
The doors opened and Jay appeared in the doorway, nodding at his brother and Connor.
“How is he?” He asked. Will glanced over at Jay and sighed.
“His full name’s Bradley Bradshaw, date of birth 26th June 1982. He’s unconscious, understandable though considering it looks like he took a knock to the head. His pupils are equal and reactive. Do you have any next of kin?”
“Negative on the next of Kin- what kinda idiot calls their kid Bradley Bradshaw?”
“That’s what I said!” Will exclaimed. Connor rolled his eyes at the Halstead brothers, used to their ways.
They continued stripping off his jeans and shirt, revealing a tattoo on his right arm-
“He’s Navy,” Jay said suddenly. When Maggie opened her mouth to question where he’d gotten that idea he pointed at the tattoo.
“That’s his squadron. A lot of them, after their service with their current detachment, get their squadron somewhere on their body.”
“Where’s Choi?” Connor asked, grimacing when the cut kept bleeding.
“I’ll talk to him, see if he can ask his contacts. Now that I know his name, we can get the word out, maybe inform his CO.”
“He’s an incredibly attractive Navy man,” Maggie whistled in passing. Will and Connor exchanged glances with Jay, the three of them chuckling as Will and Connor got Bradley ready for transfer.
“Oh! Before I forget, I’ll find out where he was staying, see if he was with anyone else.”
“Good call,” Will said to Jay. Jay stepped back, letting them push the gurney through the department to head for the elevator.
“Let us know if you have anything that might help us,” Connor called to Jay over his shoulder.
Ethan rounded the corner toward the doctor’s lounge and almost collided with Jay, grabbing his shoulder at the last minute.
“Hey, man, got a minute? I could use a hand,” Jay said. Ethan glanced at his watch, then shrugged.
“Sure thing. What’s up?”
“You’re Navy Reserve, right?”
“Yeah.”
Jay reached into his back pocket and produced his phone, bringing up Bradley Bradshaw’s driver’s license followed by photos of the tattoos they’d found.
“What can you tell me about him by his tattoos?”
Ethan peered at the photos, and then cleared his throat.
“You need to call through to Miramar. He’s not Medical Corp; he’s TOPGUN.”
“What? Like that dumb 80’s movie?”
“Respect it or shut your mouth, Halstead. That movie has been a staple in my family for years. Anyway, yeah, Voight would need to use his Sergeant status to get through to them. I have contacts there; let me see if I can get you his CO.”
“Thanks, man, really appreciate it. Call me if you get through.”
Pete Mitchell had been nervously pacing the entire morning. Whenever Rooster disappeared in his Bronco and it wasn’t for a detachment, he generally called at least once a day to confirm his status as alive. Ever since the uranium mission, he’d been a staple in the Mitchell household.
“Mav,” Jake said as he walked past the Captain, “you’re making me nervous. I’m sure he’s fine; found a lovely lady- or man? Huh, whatever floats his boat.”
“It’s not like him,” Maverick replied, checking his phone again.
“Give him time,” Phoenix hummed as she flicked through a magazine that she’d found on Maverick’s coffee table. Bob was sitting beside her, glued to her hip as always, passing Phoenix a Sour Patch Kid occasionally (jesus fuck, Bob, are you trying to kill me with that shit?). Hangman’s phone rang and he glanced at the caller ID, frowned, then answered it.
“This is Jake.”
“Seresin, hey. It’s Ethan Choi, Navy Reserves. I’m just wondering if you would have someone who would know the CO for Bradley Bradshaw?”
Jake’s mouth dried up and he cleared his throat, getting off the couch to step outside.
“Say that again.”
“Do you know who Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw’s CO is?”
Jake grimaced, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Dammit, Roo,” he muttered to himself.
“You know him?” Ethan questioned.
“I do, known him since pilot training. Uh, his- his CO is also his godfather. I’ll just- put you on, I guess. Hang on two secs.”
Jake walked back into the living area. Just by looking at his face, Natasha grabbed Bob by the shoulder.
“We should go,” she said. He opened his mouth, about to question her, when he too glanced over and immediately nodded.
“Yeah, uh, we’ve got some. Uh. Shit to do.”
Ethan jogged down the hallway, weaving and dodging. He found Will, Jay and Connor in the middle of ED, discussing something irrelevant, and waved at them as well as Maggie.
“Hey, guys, I have an update on that patient Jay thought was Navy.”
Jay was reaching for his phone already, dialling for Voight.
“Gotta clue him in, you know how it is,” he said. Ethan nodded, still on the phone himself.
“Okay, Captain Mitchell, go,” he said and put his phone on speaker right as Jay got through to Voight.
“Bradley Bradshaw is my godson, he’s a TOPGUN graduate.”
“What, like the stupid 80’s movie?” Will whispered to Connor who rolled his eyes.
“My name is Captain Pete Mitchell, callsign Maverick. Roo- uh, Bradley- was heading to Chicago for a fighter plane conference as a representative from here. I was only informed of this five minutes ago by my CO, Admiral Beau Simpson. He and I are on our way as well as Natasha Trace and Jake Seresin.”
“Does Bradley have any living family?” Jay asked.
“No. His mom died of cancer when he was 18 and his dad was- uh. It was a training accident when Bradley was four. He doesn’t remember it.”
“Captain Mitchell, is there anything we need to know from a medical perspective? Any allergies, previous injuries that may impact our ability to treat him now?”
“He has screws in his right knee- baseball injury when he was a teenager. I’m actually not sure if he got them out-“
There was some scuffling in the background, a muted conversation, then Maverick cleared his throat.
“Apparently he’s had the screws out. Other than that, he was, uh, injured badly in a detachment last year that’s classified. I can disclose that he dislocated his shoulder, and he was bleeding from his neck but the docs managed to get it stopped pretty quickly. Um, you gotta be- you gotta be careful if you give him morphine, he’ll pass out and choke on his own puke or wet himself.”
“Thanks, Captain Mitchell. Is there anything else you can give us?”
“Is he conscious? Can I talk to him?”
“Not right now; we’ll let you know the second he’s awake. It’s normal, considering the head trauma he suffered in the accident. We’ll know more in the coming hours.”
“Okay, well, we’re going to board in like, an hour. Just tell him we’re on our way. He’s not prone to panic attacks or anxiety, but who knows how he’ll be when he wakes up.”
“Captain Mitchell, one last thing,” Connor said, “if we can’t stop the head laceration or if we find that we can’t stabilise his hip, we may need to take him into surgery. Do you consent?”
Silence. Hesitation. Another muted conversation.
“Yeah, yeah. Please, do whatever you have to do to make him comfortable.”
Cyclone was so used to receiving random phone calls from Maverick that he expected them at this point. When he answered it and it was Lieutenant Seresin, going a million miles an hour about Bradshaw and a car accident in Chicago, it hit Cyclone that he hadn’t mentioned to Maverick where his godson was.
“I’ll get flights organised. Who’s coming to Chicago, Lieutenant Seresin?”
“Uh, Captain Mitchell, me, and Lieutenant Trace, sir.”
“Pack your bags, get here as soon as you can. Are you safe to fly?”
“Absolutely.”
“Good, I want you and Lieutenant Trace in one plane, Maverick and I in the other. Understood?”
“I understand. We’ll be on base within the hour.”
“Good.”
Cyclone hung up and Warlock furrowed his brows at him.
“Was that Jake Seresin?”
“Bradshaw’s been in an accident in Chicago.”
“Is he okay?”
“I don’t know.”
Cyclone was moving to his laptop, Warlock sitting on the chair on the other side of the desk.
“Are you okay to fly with Mav? Love the man but when it comes to Bradshaw he’s kind of a reckless idiot. Maybe you’d be better off going commercial-“
“-you’re a genius, Warlock.”
Cyclone was reaching for his phone again, gearing up to do the one thing he never thought he’d do; call in a favour from someone for Maverick.
Hangman and Phoenix walked into the base mess hall and immediately the rest of their old detachment was there, asking a million questions- well, except Bob, but he would wait until everyone was gone.
“Roo’s okay,” Phoenix said firmly, though she looked to Hangman to back that statement up. He shrugged.
“Sounds like he’s gonna be hurting, and flying is out of the question for a while, but he should be okay.”
“What the hell happened?” Fanboy asked. Jake shrugged, clearing his throat.
“Got a call from one of my buddies in the Reserve. He said Bradshaw presented to his ED after a car accident. Not really sure how it happened, he didn’t say a lot about that. Mav and Tash and I are flying to see him with Admiral Simpson.”
Coyote got up, patting Jake’s shoulder and giving Natasha a hug.
“Are you sure you don’t want us to go with you?” Coyote asked. Jake shook his head.
“I don’t want to overload Roo or Mav; Tash has known him the longest other than Mav, and she’s got a good idea of his medical history that he might not have disclosed.”
“Probably better that Mav doesn’t know about his stoner phase,” Natasha said as she laughed. She looked like she was trying not to cry.
“And he had sepsis a few years ago; Mav doesn’t know about that either.”
“Damn, sepsis?” Bob asked, a frown crossing his features.
“Ha, yeah, idiot sliced his back and didn’t get it checked out for like, ages. Only found out he had it when he collapsed. Anyway, we better go pack, we fly out in like, an hour.”
“Call us, okay? Keep us in the loop,” Coyote requested. Jake nodded, giving Natasha’s shoulder a squeeze as he headed for his apartment block.
“Can you pack Rooster’s bag?” Phoenix asked as she trailed after him.
“Mav probably will, he’s got a spare key,” Jake replied. They both stepped into their apartments, the door closing.
Nearby, Maverick let himself into Bradley’s townhouse and promptly froze. What would he want, some spare clothes? Wouldn’t he have taken some with him when he flew to Chicago? Did he fly or did he drive? The fact he couldn’t answer those questions made him a little more nervous. Jogging up the stairs he found an empty duffle bag and a basket of (hopefully) clean laundry that he managed to scoop a couple of pairs of boxers out of, not even considering the fact he’d most likely be ass-naked under the hospital gown if Maverick didn’t get him a pair. Damn hospitals. Next came a white long-sleeve Henley, and a pair of sweatpants hanging over the staircase railing. Typical Bradley; shit everywhere and it all somehow made sense. Gathering a couple of hoodies from the closet in his bedroom, Maverick paused when he spotted Goose’s shirt, and promptly decided fuck it, that was going in there too. It was worn, falling apart in some places, yet it still smelled like a combination of Goose and his son. He found a pair of basketball shorts and tossed them into the bag as well as a pair of Nike sneakers. There was no telling how active he’d be, but maybe he’d prefer sneakers over his usual jeans and boots. Sweatpants and spare deodorant were the last things to go into the bag beside a couple of simple t-shirts that looked like they’d fit maybe fifteen years ago. Finally, his laptop charger- no laptop though. Weird.
“Admiral Simpson.”
“Maverick.”
“Donkey,” Natasha uttered to Jake who stifled an amused snort. Cyclone and Maverick stared each other down for a moment, before Cyclone stepped aside.
“Come with me.”
He led them to the nearby hangar, where they found a jet similar to the one on Criminal Minds waiting for them. Jake gaped, unashamedly, while Phoenix grinned.
“Oh, Roo’s gonna be mad he missed this,” she said. Maverick turned to Cyclone, who shrugged.
“It’s a long flight, and this is your kid we’re talking about. If you get even an hour of sleep you’ll be a lot less likely to get your ass sent elsewhere for another dumb stunt. Besides; someone owed me a favour.”
Maverick stared for a moment, Jake and Natasha jogging ahead with their duffle bags to board the plane.
“Holy shit!” Jake exclaimed from inside. Finally, Maverick shook Cyclone’s hand.
“Thank you.”
Jake immediately called dibs on the long couch along one wall of the plane, because he was taller than everyone else so he needed more room to stretch out. Natasha took the seat beside him, unsure if she really wanted to get too close to Cyclone. Deep down she was scared he’d bite. Sticking close to Hangman was just as risky but she was more willing to accept that rather than Cyclone sending her to some remote country. Maverick took a seat toward the back of the plane too, while Cyclone spoke to the pilot of the plane about the best route to Chicago. Nudging Jake’s leg, Maverick caught his eye.
“I want one of you to go to the hotel Bradley was staying at, get his bags and some info. The other needs to go to the 21st District and speak to Detective Halstead in Intelligence; he’s in charge of this case. I’m going straight to Gaffney Medical and I’ll be speaking with Doctor Halstead and Doctor Rhodes about the next steps for Bradley.”
“Any relation between Doctor Halstead and Detective Halstead?” Phoenix asked.
“I think they’re brothers, from what Choi said,” Jake said absentmindedly, reaching for a book. Who knew he was a reader?
“Sounds good. I can go to the hotel, Bagman you can go and rile up Detective Halstead,” Natasha said. She was untangling headphones, swearing at the fact she hadn’t bothered to pack her airpods while Jake was putting his in.
“Yeah, cool,” he muttered as he fumbled with his phone.
“One last thing. Bradley is going to be in a lot of pain, and really out of it. If you feel like it’s too much, you don’t have to go to the hospital. I wouldn’t ask that of you.”
“We’re good, Mav.”
To Maverick’s surprise it was Jake who was firm, eyes dark.