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1.
Maverick doesn’t mean to walk in on the tail end of Phoenix chewing Rooster out. He knows the kid would probably prefer to be far away from him at any given moment but especially this one. He’s just been chewed up and spat out by Cyclone himself, and is looking for Hondo to compare notes on today’s flights when he sees them.
It’s almost comical, the size difference between Phoenix and Rooster as she drags him off the tarmac through sheer willpower. Rooster is slouched defensively behind her, hands fisted at his sides but he’s following her regardless. Even their shadows loom unevenly, stretched in the waning light, moving in perfect harmony.
It’s ridiculous, that the first thing Maverick thinks of is Carole dragging Goose behind her through a high school hallway, winding between people he had to apologize to when his larger frame couldn’t fit in the path she left. It’s ridiculous because there’s no way it wouldn’t have been flagged, a relationship between two aviators, for a mission like this.
“You saw that too, right?” Hondo says behind him, a little too knowing.
“Saw what?” Maverick answers. He’s not playing dumb, despite how it sounds, he’s playing it smart. It’s too early to decide who’s going on this mission but he likes Phoenix for it.
It might be borderline irresponsible to fill a spot for a mission of this caliber from an overheard conversation in a bar before ever seeing the aviator fly, yet, from the moment Maverick’s made aware of the crew in the Hard Deck he knows Phoenix is one to watch. It’s not the bravado— you’d be hard pressed to find a Top Gun graduate without it— though he admits she’s got that in spades. It’s the connection she has with every single person in the room; she’s a natural leader that evens out the rest of the hot-shot personalities as she directs and manages and includes. When Hangman brags, she confronts him. When Bob fades into the background, she drags him to the fore. Fanboy and Payback stand at her back but the three of them move in a synchronicity born from mutual respect. She declared them all the best of the best— genuinely. It’s refreshing, Maverick thinks, to find an aviator who isn’t so consumed with being the best that they have to prove it, although that might come down to having to figure out a brand new WSO more than humility.
And Bradley is Bradley. Rooster. There’s undeniable skill in his flying but Maverick is going to have to wade through enough issues about him without adding this suspicion to his list of considerations for the mission. Even if Phoenix seems like exactly the type of girl a gangly teenage boy used to gush over, back when he trusted Uncle Mav with those kind of secrets.
“Come on, Mav,” Hondo says, exasperatedly shaking his head but letting Maverick have this.
Maybe it’s also a little irresponsible to ignore what was clearly a deeply developed emotional connection between two aviators— developed enough that Phoenix felt entitled to an answer and Rooster felt obliged to give it to her. Developed enough that Phoenix knows he and Bradley have a family history, even if she didn’t know the details until now.
All Maverick knows is there isn’t a sniff of a romantic relationship in either of their files, except for the insinuations by a commander in their early shared posting. Maverick knows Commander Richard “Snitch” Novak came by that name honestly and holds very little regard for the man’s words.
But he saw also them at the Hard Deck, saw the secret language of looks and inclined heads and shared space few people ever truly master. Saw the conversation in the space between what was said and what was meant. Saw the way Phoenix settled herself right into Rooster’s side at the piano.
It merits keeping an eye on them, but not enough to inquire about it. It would be more irresponsible to dismiss two of the best aviators Top Gun has ever produced from a mission before he has a chance to really test them.
2.
For a single second, Maverick’s heart stops.
It’s not Hangman’s implied accusations, not Rooster’s explosive temper, not the chaos of the classroom as they get pulled apart by the nearest aviators and the single worst moment of Maverick’s life gets aired like dirty laundry.
No, it’s the fact that for one terrible second, he’d been thrown back to 1980-something, when people were passing around the only scuttlebutt that ever made Goose lash out instead of laughing it off: whispered rumours of Pete Mitchell’s treasonous father and floating accusations of why he’d been barred from the Naval Academy. The only thing that ever made Nick Bradshaw lose his shit and hit first; the only times Carole ever got involved in fights, her hand cradled over her husband’s heart as she pushed him back and told him to smarten up before he got them all in trouble.
It was all there and for one terrible second Phoenix had born a remarkable resemblance to Carole Bradshaw’s fierce determination and even fiercer protective instinct. The way she’d thrown herself in between Rooster and Hangman, the hissed warnings for Rooster to knock it off as his temper flared in defense of his father’s memory and, maybe, of Maverick. The hand over Bradley’s heart forcing him back.
It should make him ask questions, even as Maverick dismisses them all and tries to get the world to stop spinning the wrong way. It should make him ask even more questions when Phoenix flips Hangman the bird and pulls a simmering Rooster easily out of the room by the sleeve of his flight suit. It should make him ask questions when no one else questions this at all.
Then again, by default it’s been Phoenix who handles Hangman and Rooster’s clashing egos and ethos that suck all the oxygen out of the room. Maybe that’s why Maverick’s head is still spinning— oxygen deprivation. He still can’t breathe, even as he leaves the room himself.
He should question it, now, when the picture of Rooster and Phoenix is starting to take on the shape Hondo warned him about. But now he’s got more important priorities, namely getting these hard-headed morons to learn from his mistakes before someone dies.
3.
Getting back in the air after an ejection makes or breaks careers. Phoenix is handling being airborne again like a champ, Maverick thinks, not pushing off concern with bravado like most aviators. She’s honest about it— about feeling nervous and pre-occupied with the safety of her back-seater— and there’s something soothing in that. For Maverick. For Bob. There’s confidence in recognizing fallibility.
Rooster is requested specifically to fly with her, Phoenix simply stating that Bradley has been her wingman since flight school and she trusts him to talk her out of anything in case she freezes. Maverick isn’t sure how much of it was for her sake and how much of it was for Rooster, given the ghosts in the younger man’s eyes. He allows it anyway once he sees how emphatically Bob agrees.
She throws up after landing, wipes her chin, and asks to go back up. Bob grits his teeth and agrees with his pilot, looking all the more like he is the one who wants to be sick.
The second time she requests just Maverick as their wingman. He isn’t sure whose ghosts she’s exorcising, his or Rooster’s, but he’s certain by her self-satisfied smile she managed to shake hers loose with the first flight. It’s the moment he realizes Phoenix terrifies him, just a little bit. The perfect combination of Iceman and himself, daring but always in control. She’ll go far, Maverick is certain of it. He’s already decided she and Bob are a key part of this mission, as long as they don’t let the bird strike shake them. As long as Phoenix and Rooster can keep it professional.
They haven’t been subtle, since the bird strike. Rooster’s having trouble keeping his hands to himself, casual touches that wouldn’t be a red flag if they weren’t paired with a desperate stare like she’s about to go up in flames in front of his eyes. Phoenix, for her part, rarely seems to be more than three steps away from Rooster. Quick to reassure that she’s still there, although Maverick isn’t entirely certain who is reassuring who. That’s what worries him most. It’s hard to tell where Rooster ends and Phoenix starts, where Bradley and Natasha diverge. If it’s possible for them to fly separately. If it’s possible for them to fly together and not lose focus on the mission.
They orbit each other unthinkingly, like dance partners to a song only they can hear. If he could hear it, Maverick thinks it would probably sound like Jerry Lee Lewis in base-housing kitchens and the delighted giggles of a toddler as his parents twirled over old linoleum. Maverick has seen Rooster and Phoenix enough at the Hard Deck to know they dance even better than Carole and Goose used to. They’ve been practicing for almost as long.
Yet, Phoenix is fully in control during the second flight with just him, to the point that she gets a little cocky. Maverick pushes her and Bob, directing them through a handful of difficult maneuvers. She hits every note perfectly, a symphony in the sky. When they land, Bob is a bit green but Phoenix is beaming. Rooster is watching from the old hangar couch beside the radio, jaw clenched until he sees Phoenix. Her joy is radiant, infectious, and nobody is immune. Hondo and the flight crew have all shaken their serious expressions and Maverick is smiling despite himself. Bob is starting to reflect some of his pilot’s swagger.
“I fucking love flying,” Phoenix tells Rooster simply and starts to go through her post-flight check. It’s a reassurance and a dismissal of any other concern. Rooster’s shoulders relax somewhat as he catches her enthusiasm and goes to check his own plane.
Phoenix flew without Rooster. They haven’t been paired up in practice yet, mostly because Maverick has got half a decade’s worth of flight records saying they make a hell of a team, but there’s time to test it. It’s enough to stop the questions in their tracks for now.
4.
Phoenix is three steps behind Rooster when he goes to pay his respects to Sarah Kazansky.
Maverick can’t bring himself to stand near Sarah like she invited him to. Can’t stand the pitying looks half of the Admiralty are sending him because they know exactly how fucked he is now that his guardian angel is gone while the other half look downright gleeful. But more importantly, he can’t bring himself to stand next to Sarah because it feels entirely too much like a different funeral, one where he stood beside a much younger widow and held a much smaller child and wore his grief on his sleeve, making it everyone else’s problem. As Bradley so eloquently put it, there’s no one left who wants to handle his grief.
At least his kid’s not alone, not today. Today, he’s giving Sarah Kazansky a long hug and Phoenix is hovering just within reach like she has been since the bird strike. Like nobody is supposed to notice the way Rooster checks constantly to see that his wingman is still there. Like Bradley checks constantly to make sure Natasha is still breathing.
To his surprise, Sarah pulls Phoenix into a shorter hug that reeks of familiarity. It’s over in a blink, and Phoenix is offering more professional condolences, but the moment is burned into Mavericks memory along with Rooster’s tender smile at the sight of it.
Penny taps Maverick on the shoulder and whispers, “If you keep staring, Pete, other people are going to notice.”
It’s enough to put off his curiosity until he’s alone with Sarah, staring at a grave he never expected to live long enough to see.
“Thank you, for giving him his wings,” Sarah says, the words swimming in loss.
“Least I could do. If you need anything, Sarah, you know I’m here.”
“I know,” she chuckles wetly, “Bradley said the same thing. I’m not sure if it was you or Carole who rubbed off on that boy, but you both raised him right.”
“That was all Carole,” Maverick shakes his head.
“She reminds me a bit of her, that nice young woman. Natasha. Brings some light back into Bradley’s eyes.”
“Lieutenant Trace is a hell of an aviator,” Maverick says neutrally, almost a warning.
Sarah smiles ruefully. “You sound like Tom. Bradley brought her to brunch a few years ago when we were out East, introduced her as his wingman. The boy hangs on her every word, not that I can blame him. She’s clever, funny, and pretty to boot. Tom thought it was adorable, them pretending to just be colleagues. Said not his fleet, not his problem.”
“They are my problem. And so far, that problem is purely professional,” Maverick says, pointedly ignoring his peripheral vision. If he doesn’t, he can see Phoenix is standing, waiting, three steps back while Rooster kneels at Goose’s grave. It's far enough from Ice that it’s a hike but not far enough to hide the tears on Phoenix's face as well as on Rooster. Maverick thinks he should update his will, specify he wants to be buried here with his wingman and his RIO. If only to make it easier on the kid.
“Of course. Professional,” Sarah says, her wry smile turning arch “He stopped by to see Tom a few days ago, something about an incident with a flight instructor. He wanted him to know before it was official paperwork. Bradley always has been such a thoughtful boy.”
Maverick catches the admonishment, that Bradley had the guts to fess up when he had to be summoned.
“Sometimes too thoughtful.” It’s as true of Bradley’s flying as the kid’s bleeding heart, always dragging home strays. Just like Goose. Just like Carole.
“Natasha had tea with me while she waited. The two of them were tracking down her favourite taco truck on this app. Too blow off some steam, she told me, get off base. Such a sweet girl, she remembered that I mentioned how much I love a good enchilada, and offered to send me an access code to set it up on my phone.”
Maverick wonders if Phoenix— whip-smart, whiplash Phoenix— would appreciate being called sweet. Then again, Carole was the sweetest and strongest person Maverick has ever met, with the exceptional ability to make men twice her size cry. Sarah might have a point about the similarities between her and Phoenix.
“She’s good for him.” Her smile wobbles and drops. “Don’t make me come to another one of these any time soon, Maverick. You bring those kids home safe.”
It’s not the same thing Ice would have said but it’s what Maverick expects from Sarah. It sounds like Carole, begging him to clip Bradley’s wings. The ones left behind, the ones left on the ground.
“I’m doing my best. The rest is up to them.”
“It comes down to the pilot in the box.” These words do sound like Ice and Sarah knows it, her hand tracing the edge of the headstone.
“It does.”
Sarah wraps her arm around Maverick’s and leans into him, borrowing strength he’s not sure he has. “I believe there’s a room full of cake eaters gunning for my husband’s job that requires my presence.”
It’s too easy to forget, Maverick thinks, that Sarah was once a sailor, too. Enlisted, not an officer, working in a ship’s galley in food operations. She called Iceman a cake eater to his face and the man fell in love.
She pulls insistently on his arm, like she knows he’d stand here all day if she didn’t. “Walk me to the car, please, Mav.”
Penny’s waiting too, leaning one hip against the vintage car she drove them here in. Down from her in the emptying lot is Bradley’s old Bronco, Phoenix holding her hand out in demand for Rooster’s keys. His kid looks half amused, half relieved at the action. Maverick isn’t sure if it’s his fault or Goose’s, or even Ice’s, that the kid managed to land himself a partner— professionally, of course— that can kick his ass into gear. He wants to ask him, but the answer might cause more harm than good.
“Lead the way, Sarah.”
5.
The transport order is for 0400 hours in the hangar, ready for immediate departure to the aircraft carrier. It’s a departure point, really, to make sure there aren’t any stragglers, like roll call before a field trip. A very dangerous field trip.
Maverick is there early, trying to set an example. He’s sitting with Hondo on the old couch, both of them too tired to talk. It’s no surprise when the first to show are Payback and Fanboy, the former collapsing onto the concrete to rack out for a few minutes. They’re eager and Mickey likes to be early. It’s more of a surprise when Phoenix shows up solo, sans Bob or Rooster. She’s clutching a bubblegum pink travel mug sleepily to her chest, but not a hair is out of place despite the hour.
Rooster stumbles in a few minutes later, seeking Phoenix like a moth to flame where she stands talking quietly with Fanboy. He stands so closely behind her that Phoenix tilts her head back to rest against his chest for a second, until he folds his arms loosely around her and rests his chin on top of her head and closes his eyes. She rolls her eyes at Fanboy and supports Rooster’s dozing. No one bats an eye at the two of them as they arrive, save for Hondo’s I-told-you-so look. Not even Hangman, when he and Coyote show up and lean half-asleep against the hangar wall, has something to say.
Maverick isn’t trying to watch them, as much as he is fascinated that Phoenix and Rooster are comfortable enough with the assembled aviators and flight crew to put on such a flagrant display of affection. Even platonic— and even waiting on Warlock and Cyclone’s arrival— it’s pushing it. Especially when Rooster lifts his head and says something that makes Phoenix take a drink from her mug and hand it straight up to him to share, a practiced motion. Rooster takes a sip, no hesitation.
“Natasha,” Rooster whines after he swallows, passing the mug back to her with a disgusted frown. “A little warning.”
“Warning about my drink?” she smiles slyly. Fanboy and Bob are watching them in amusement.
“I thought it was coffee.”
“It’s too early for coffee.”
“Blasphemy.”
“I like tea sometimes.”
“Coffee is hot. Tea is supposed to be cold,” Rooster says, like he’s explaining a fact of life. He is, in a way. Maverick knows it was one of the Texan tendencies Carole held fast to.
“I gotta say Rooster is right on that. Tea is cold,” Bob says, adjusting his glasses. Maverick can’t say if it’s the early hour or the concept of sweet tea making Bob’s accent thicker.
“See, Bob agrees with me,” Rooster holds out a hand to fist bump Bob.
“Bob’s a traitor who can fly his own damn plane,” Phoenix mutters, leaning further into Rooster’s arms. Maverick should really tell them to knock it off before Command gets here. He still hasn’t fully decided who’s coming on this mission with him beyond a blueprint, but he’s got Phoenix and Bob pegged for Dagger 3. This could ruin that.
“Nah,” Coyote inserts himself into the conversation, kicking off from the wall. “Tea is cold and coffee has chicory. End of story.”
“Boy, howdy. I could go for some chicory about now. Coyote, tell Mama Machado I need a care package,” Hangman kicks off the wall too, pulling the toothpick from between his teeth.
“You want a care package, you gotta show up to a family event. Machado family rules.”
“Loser,” Phoenix huffs a laugh. “Mrs. Machado sent me chicory coffee for Christmas. Guess she just likes me more, Bagman.”
“And you’re drinking that swill instead?” Hangman pouts at her, “Tea is supposed to be cold and sweet.”
“What absolute garbage are you spewing?” Yale says, sharing a disbelieving look with Halo as the conversation makes it to the larger group. “Tea is supposed to be hot.”
“Or boba,” Fritz adds, not particularly helpful.
“What are you drinking, Phoenix?” Halo asks, eyes catching on the mug that started it all.
“Trash,” Rooster says. Phoenix tsks at him. “Earl grey.”
“Ew, never mind,” Yale backtracks, shaking his head vehemently. “Tea is supposed to be hot and simple. Fuck colonial blends that need milk to taste good.”
Halo’s nose is scrunched in distaste. “Could be worse, I guess. English breakfast taste like mud.”
“Coffee taste like mud,” Fanboy says so quietly Maverick almost doesn’t hear him. Immediately, everyone’s heads swivel towards him in outrage. Fanboy doesn’t shrink under their eyes but he does look at Bob for help. Bob just shakes his head.
“Jesus, Mickey,” Payback comments from the ground. “Keep your controversial opinions for after O-four-fucking-hundred, for the love of god.”
“How the hell do you stay awake?” Harvard demands through a yawn.
“The caffeine content in Diet Coke is super high! And caffeine pills exist?”
“That’s hardcore shit,” Coyote’s words are colored by complete disbelief that Fanboy is the one bringing this up.
“Tea can be hot or cold. Same with coffee. What is everyone’s problem?” Omaha says, circling back around to the topic even as he glances at Fanboy like he’s an alien.
“That only works if you’re drinking it where seasons change,” Bob argues, trying to make it logical.
“It’s the principal of the thing,” Coyote says, prompting a very firm display of hot tea superiority from the combined forces of Yale, Halo, and Harvard. Omaha joins too, on the basis that hot tea is more versatile.
The change in atmosphere is almost electric, the collected aviators debating raucously enough that the assembled flight crew is trying not to laugh. Everyone is suddenly wide awake.
Maverick notices the way Phoenix and Rooster don’t comment again, content to stand swaying slightly on the edge of the crowded group. Phoenix seems smugly satisfied and Rooster’s smile is so close to adoring Maverick should look away. There’s a polaroid he still has, tucked away somewhere for safe keeping, of an early morning deployment too much like this one. A photo he took of an oblivious Carole and Goose, standing nearly identical to how Natasha and Bradley are, staring into the sunrise on an air strip. The only difference is the coffee mug clutched to Phoenix's chest, switched out for an infant Bradley. It’s not a hard substitution to imagine.
At this point, whatever questions Maverick has, they’re unofficially answered. But he never asked, and as far as anyone else is concerned, the questions don’t exist and certainly don’t bear any affect on his choices for this mission. But, god, these two are trying to kill him, he’s certain of it.
+1
“So, you and Phoenix?” Maverick tries for subtle, as he hands Rooster a beer in Penny’s living room. The younger man looks at him in confusion, locking his phone over his message thread with the aforementioned woman as he does.
“Me and Phoenix what?” It’s an easy response, a practiced one. The kind of thing both of them have probably said a million times. Maverick doesn’t believe it for a fucking second.
“You just… seem close.”
“She’s my best friend.”
“That’s nice.” He waits, hoping the technique to get Bradley talking still works. It takes longer than it used to, this is Rooster after all, but eventually Bradley talks.
“You’re still my CO, Mav.”
“Right.”
“Some things might have to wait until you’re not, you know?” Bradley fiddles with the label on the bottle, eyes anywhere but on Maverick. He’s pretty sure there is a flush crawling up the back of his kid’s neck. Bingo.
“Bradley, I’m gonna remind you of the time I dated my Top Gun instructor for three years, including while she was my instructor.”
“Or that time he took an admiral’s daughter on a joyride in the back of an F-14,” Penny says, sliding into the conversation with the pizza she and Amelia went to pick up. The teenager is following close behind her mom, a six-pack of Pepsi dangling from her fingertips. She rolls her eyes at Rooster in commiseration but Maverick can’t tell if it’s about him and Penny reminiscing or life in general.
“Charlie says hi, by the way,” Rooster looks up, humour in his eyes. “She called yesterday but said you weren’t picking up.”
“I’m giving her time to cool down to avoid the lecture,” Maverick concedes. He and Charlie hadn’t worked out romantically, especially not after she got promoted to DC— because absolutely no one wanted Maverick in DC, including Maverick— but Carole had been too firmly attached to let her friend go. They’d parted on good terms, staying good friends, and Charlie had been a staple at most Bradshaw circle events for years. It was nice to know she still checked on Bradley as well as him.
“Why are we talking about your reckless romance greatest hits?” Amelia pulls the entire box of vegetarian pizza into her lap and opens one of the Pepsi cans.
“He’s trying to convince Bradley he’s cool enough to tell secrets too,” Penny smirks, opening up a box of pepperoni on the coffee table to share. “I remember this game.”
“What game?” Rooster squawks, indignant. Maverick catches Penny’s eye and they both laugh. “Seriously, what game, Mav?”
“You never noticed? Any time you did anything remotely bad as a kid, your mom would sit you down and tell you one story of a bad thing she did so you’d fess up. Worked like a charm.”
“You’ve got that in your arsenal and I get the I’m not mad, I’m disappointed routine? This feels unfair,” Amelia complains.
“You know too much as it is,” Penny shushes her daughter. “And it also works like a charm.”
“I blame you for this,” Amelia accuses Rooster, gesturing at Maverick and Penny. Rooster just shrugs, helping himself to a slice of pizza.
“Penny was my favourite babysitter, what can I say.”
“Nice try, Bradley. Now fess up.”
“There’s nothing to confess,” he insists, stubbornly biting into his pizza. He makes them wait until he swallows to add, “Phoenix is my best friend, that’s it.”
“Wait, Phoenix is the hot girl who looks like she could cut you, right?” Amelia asks, resting her chin in the palm of her hand. Her eyes narrow in on Rooster like a targeting system.
“Seriously?” Rooster smiles around his beer bottle at the description. Maverick wonders if the kid actually doesn’t realize he’s in this deep. Maybe he’s been reading all the signs wrong.
“That’s her,” Maverick confirms. Amelia jumped very quickly onto the teasing the shit out of Bradley train and it’s turning out to be hilarious.
Penny hums. “I think a more apt description would be the one who looks like she could eviscerate you.”
“Either way, totally out of your league. How’d you manage?”
“How’d Mav manage Penny?”
Penny clucks her tongue. “Aviators have a certain charm, what can I say? But Phoenix doesn’t have that excuse.”
Rooster tips his head back to the ceiling, eyes closed at the sudden ambush. “Natasha is my best friend.”
“Oh, it’s Natasha now,” Maverick says, grinning into his own pizza. He cancels his earlier thought— Bradley is well aware how in deep he is and is desperately trying to dissuade them.
“Fuck off, Mav. Please.”
“This sounds an awful lot like when Rachel Gratton went from Rachel to Rach, pretty quickly.” Penny is looking at him knowingly and Rooster is blushing so strongly Maverick almost doesn’t want to ask.
“Why do I feel like Rachel Gratton was the girl you wouldn’t name.”
“Maybe.”
“I can’t believe you told Penny and not me!”
“You were in Bosnia! And like hell I was gonna tell Mom. Penny is cool!”
“Yeah, Pete. I’m cool,” Penny teases, waving at Amelia to hand her a soda. “Plus, I own a bar. Getting people to talk to me is a necessary skill.”
“As fascinating as hearing about some girl Bradley lost his virginity to is, I thought we were busting his balls about Phoenix?”
“Amelia!” Maverick scolds, as Penny tries not to laugh and Bradley turns more red than Maverick thought humanly possible.
“What? Is that not what the veiled hints were about?” Amelia raises her eyebrows at them all, like she can’t believe they think she’s that naive. Maverick is absolutely certain that this child will be the death of him, despite Bradley’s best efforts. Of course, he’s always known that. It’s part of what kept him running for so long, the fear of disappointing Amelia and Penny like he had Bradley. It’s about time he started making up for it.
“I thought we agreed to be on the same team, Ames,” Rooster scowls at her.
“That was before I realized Mom learned all her best parenting tricks because of you,” Amelia says, a little spitefully.
“Sorry I was born first.”
“Okay, enough, you two,” Penny interjects, fondness unmistakable in her voice. “As much as I love the dynamic, eat your pizza. And Bradley, we’ll leave you alone about Natasha.”
“Thank you.”
“At least until Pete isn’t your CO anymore.”
“Penny!”
“So, I shouldn’t mention that I saw him and Phoenix making out on the beach outside the bar last week?”
“For fucks sake Amelia!” Rooster buries his face in his hands.
“You’ve been sitting on that this whole time?” Maverick chides, a little impressed. Amelia’s poker face is a monument to self-discipline. She definitely learned that from her mom.
She shrugs. “I was waiting for him to fold or double down on his bluff, but Mom gave him an out. I couldn’t let him use it.”
“Really, Bradley, the beach outside my bar?”
“Natasha likes the beach,” Rooster defends, peeling his hands away from his face. “We were off base and out of uniform. Everybody else went to get sushi. Nobody would have recognized us if it wasn’t for the urchin.” The misery in Rooster’s admittance at getting caught is countered by the smile creeping over his face. It matches the adoring one he wore the morning they left for the carrier, swaying softly with Phoenix as the detachment squabbled around them.
“It’s literally a public beach,” Amelia sounds too pleased with herself. Maverick thinks maybe he’s rubbed off on her too, over the years.
“So, Natasha?” Maverick asks again, and this time Bradley meets his eyes. The love in them would be overwhelming, if Maverick hadn’t spent a significant part of his life looking at eyes that sparkled like that. If there was one key characteristic for all Bradshaws, it was that they loved good and they loved hard.
“It’s complicated,” Rooster says, even as his eyes betray him. “But, yeah. Natasha.”
Maverick has a feeling, a building hope, that one day complications won’t be standing in the way. He understands complications. But he’s here, eating pizza in Penny Benjamin’s living room, while Amelia roasts Bradley with the same enthusiasm she used to waddle after him as a toddler. Complications can be overcome. They just require the courage to stop running and face them.
Maverick has seen Phoenix and Rooster in action— neither of them are running. More like waiting. And Bradley finally has the courage to take the shot. If he hesitates, Maverick doesn’t doubt that Natasha will take it for him.
And, shit. He owes Hondo a week’s worth of lunch for letting him pull the blinders down over his own eyes. Maybe two, for the sheer level of willful ignorance.