Work Text:
Bradley crawls from his jet after he lands on the carrier, his legs buckling beneath him the moment he's off the ladder. It hurts, but he barely feels the sting. He makes for the edge of the deck on his hands and knees and throws up into the ocean below.
Maverick died for him.
All the things Bradley said and did, and Maverick threw himself in front of a missile to save his life. They were supposed to talk. Bradley never got to say he was sorry, and now he'll never have the chance.
He heaves again, coughing bile onto the deck—some poor crew member is going to have to clean that up. A hand lands on his shoulder and he shrinks away from it. He manages to stagger to his feet, making it all of three steps before collapsing. He can't believe Maverick, immortal and untouchable Maverick, died. Bradley is alone.
Fifteen years, he tried to tell himself he wanted that, but now his whole world came crashing down around his head and he wishes more than anything to go back. He should've stayed. He would give anything to go back.
There's a lot of yelling and shouting, but he doesn't understand a word of it. As black crowds his vision, he can't bring himself to care.
*******
Maverick "lands" the F-14 on the deck with a dreadful screech of metal. To both his surprise and pleasure, he lived. Without Hangman, he'd have been toast, but he lived!
The joy lasts throughout the hugs and cheers, right up until a hand takes hold of his and starts dragging him through the crowd of bodies. He follows the urgent tugging blindly, only catching sight of Phoenix when they emerge on the other side of the sea of people. Pain shoots up his leg from his ankle, but he ignores it.
"Phoenix? What's going on?"
"Rooster's in the infirmary."
Mav's gut drops, the exhilaration of his survival fading as all the air punches from his lungs. "What? Why? What happened?"
"The medics aren't really sure outside of a severe trauma response. As soon as he landed on deck, he started throwing up, and then he passed out cold. They say he's healthy physically aside from some harness bruising." Phoenix hops over the bulkhead leading down into the ship, still holding his hand. "He woke up thirty minutes ago, but he's been nonresponsive ever since."
Shit.
"He's fine otherwise?" Mav asks, hoping the desperation in his tone isn't as plain as he thinks.
"Yeah. Perfectly healthy."
Relief seeps into his bones despite Bradley's current circumstances. Nonresponsive, he can deal with. The kid hasn't had an episode like this since he was a teenager after his mom died, but it's easier to handle than a physical injury. At least, Bradley hasn't had any episodes that he knows of. He wonders if Phoenix ever saw him have one in the past, but if she had, he'd have told her how to help him through one after the fact.
Mav follows her into the infirmary, puffing out a breath of relief when he sees Bradley laying placidly on one of the beds. The sight of Bradley alive and well nearly makes him cry on the spot. He saved the kid—all of his pilots. The rest of the Daggers camp on the empty beds, all minding their own business seeing as they haven't noticed Phoenix and Mav yet.
Bob perks up from where he sits on Rooster's far side, a smile spreading across his lips. "It's good to see you. Uh, sir, that is. Good to see you, sir."
"It's good to see you kids, too."
Several faces shoot up from morose card games and light dozes. He finds himself surrounded by his team, Hangman stepping in behind them shortly after. They part ways when he makes a beeline for Rooster's bed. The full weight of their reunion will have to take place at a later time.
"All right, first things first. I need one of you kids to run and grab my jacket."
"I've got it!" Fanboy answers, darting off so fast, he nearly knocks over a passing lieutenant in the hall.
Mav settles on the edge of the infirmary bed while he waits, gently swiping at the flowing tears on Bradley's cheeks. His brown eyes, so much like his father's, stare listlessly up at the ceiling. It squeezes Mav's heart to see him this way, partially because seeing him broken up always stabs at him and partially because of his own eagerness to be able to help Bradley. He wants to take care of him, hold him until all the horrors of the world go away.
Fanboy reappears, a familiar leather bomber wrinkled in his hand. "Here, sir."
"Thanks, Fanboy," Mav says. He slides off the bed and begins the process of helping Bradley sit up. He shrugs achingly out of his flight gear and ties the arms of his flight suit around his waist. "Okay, kid. Been a minute since we've done this, huh?"
Phoenix stands beside him, pulling on Bradley's other arm until his legs hang over the edge of the bed. "What now, sir?"
Mav doesn't answer, instead taking Bradley's hands and pressing a kiss into each of his palms. Bradley's expression shutters with emotion before glazing again. Careful as can be, Mav drapes his jacket around the kid's shoulders. He definitely won't fit into it the way he did at fifteen.
"Bradley, honey," Mav implores, feeling the eyes of the team boring into his back at the soft call. He ignores them, running the index finger of his right hand over the shell of Bradley's ear. "You remember how this goes, don't you?" When Bradley doesn't answer, Mav repeats the motion to his other ear. "I know you're scared, kiddo. We'll start right... here." Mav presses the scarred tip of his pinky finger to Bradley's. "You remember that one?"
At first, Bradley remains quiet, but then he blinks and slowly shifts his hand until his fingers align with Mav's. His voice rasps out with a croak of, "Blood brothers and a pinky swear, 1977."
Maverick smiles. "That's right." He guides Bradley's hand to the crook of his elbow. "This one?"
"Welding mishap, 1982."
"A mishap is what I called it. You remember what your dad called it?"
An ever-so slight smile forms on Bradley's lips. His words come slowly, still a little slurred. "I wasn' s'posed to say that word. He called it a clusterfuck. Got in a lotta trouble for repeating it."
Mav laughs. "Yes, you certainly did, kiddo."
"Mom thought I learned it from you."
"I remember. She threw a dirty mophead at me and Goose spent the entire time snickering like he had nothing to do with it."
Bradley giggles, blinking teary eyes that still focus about midway down Mav's chest. He probably still thinks he's taking a stroll down memory lane. The other kids must be incredibly confused right now, but that sits pretty low on the priority list. Mav lifts the hem of his shirt and moves Bradley's hand deliberately to one of his bigger scars, a prominent line of mottled skin hidden just under the rise of his ribcage, and watches his expression wrinkle in confusion.
"I don't know this one," Bradley murmurs.
"Classified, 2004. Caught flak."
"2004...." Bradley echoes, confounded by his sudden knowledge of an event he wasn't even around for.
His eyes finally move, blearily focusing on the ridge of flesh under his fingers. He takes in the fresh bruises on Mav's skin, the deep patch on the opposite side of Mav's chest. Even though he knows it'll hurt like a bitch, Mav lets him move his fingers to touch, holding his shirt up so it doesn't get in the way. Bradley's touch skims the surface at first, then prods inquisitively. Mav flinches with a sharp wince.
Bradley's hand jumps away and he finally, finally looks up at Maverick. In a small and disbelieving, hopeful, voice, Bradley breathes, "Mav?"
Maverick's heart jumps into his throat and he nods, beaming at the kid. "I'm right here, baby."
Before anyone can question his words, Mav has an armful of hiccupping and crying aviator. The kid strings together apology after apology, trembling while he buries his face in Maverick's hair. Mav hugs him back and whispers forgiveness in his ears. He strokes the soft hairs at the nape of his son's neck, consoling him while he sobs.
"I almost lost you," Bradley whimpers, his hand protectively cradling Maverick's head.
"You know me, kiddo. Too stubborn to die."
Bradley doesn't even laugh, just holds him tighter while carefully avoiding putting pressure on his side. Mav isn't ashamed to admit he cries a little even as he does his best to calm the kid down. It's been so long since he could hold Bradley.
When Bradley wears himself out, Mav coaxes him to lay down. He drags over a rolling stool and sits beside the younger aviator, stroking his hair until he falls asleep.
"I'd like to be the first to ask what the fuck just happened."
Mav cocks a brow at Hangman. "I'm sure you would."
Before he can get started, Hondo storms into the med bay. "Have any of you kids seen- Oh. Maverick." A mix of emotions crosses his features before he settles on relief. "Normally, I'd say the infirmary is the last place I'd expect to find you, but I guess in this case I shouldn't be surprised. We've been looking all over."
"Phoenix came and got me."
"Don't worry. That just makes life convenient for the first medic I sic on you." Hondo smirks, stepping into the hall for a second and conferring with one he, apparently, had following him around. "Get him, Johnson."
Maverick rolls his eyes, saving the medic some time by scooting his chair to the nearest bed and settling himself into it. He's not about to leave Bradley alone to be interrogated by his fellow pilots, and even if he did want to run, Hondo blocks the only door. The WRO knows it, too, leaning there with a challenging quirk of his brow and crossed arms.
"So, back on topic," Hangman redirects, arching a brow at Mav, helpless as he is to the whims of the medic. "What was all that about?"
"He's my kid."
Mav leaves the explanation at that and leans back in the bed when instructed, hissing when Johnson gauges the damage to his ribs. The stubborn medic forces him to strip out of his boots and flight suit, offering him a pair of sweatpants that must belong to a tall person. Aside from two broken ribs, a sprained ankle, and several abrasions and bruises from his rough landings, he's peachy keen.
The second the medic leaves him alone, Mav hops off the bed while cradling his freshly wrapped ribs and rolls his chair back over to Bradley.
Bradley's eyes flutter closed as he pretends to have been sleeping the whole time, but it's already too late for that. Mav softens on the kid, resting a hand at the top of his head and folding Bradley's waiting fingers into his other. Bradley keeps up his poorly contrived ruse right up until Mav kisses his forehead.
"You okay?"
Mav nods, brushing his thumb over his son's knuckles. "I'm okay, Brad. Just a little banged up."
"And are.... Are we okay?" Bradley asks, so timid that it breaks Mav's heart a little.
"Yeah, baby goose," Mav promises. "We are."