Archive of Our Own ^beta

Walking at night around the Mojave was one of the closest things Maverick had to a supernatural experience with his feet on the ground. There was the ever-present edge of potential danger presented by his solitude in raw nature in the dark of night. And it was just enough of an edge to make the quiet more rejuvenating and the stars all that more brilliant above him. When sleep alluded him or betrayed him into memories or equally-as-horrific possibilities, Mav padded around the sand and let his loneliness and his smallness be comforted by a universe that was bigger even than the shrapnel still lodged in his heart.

Walking around the ship was not nearly as restorative, even if the stars were still technically visible from deck in their unmuted glory, but it did give the unique benefit of being able to stumble across humanity showing off its softer, funnier, more brilliant side. That early morning alone, Mav had quietly witnessed a deck tec complete his share of what Mav gleaned to be stocktake/sort-and-clean, glance around for a few moments, and then begin the next section of the racks. Despite the late hour of Mav’s quiet and unseen observation, the tech’s vigorous waving away of all the apologies that his colleague made when the woman came rearing through the door five minutes later were all genuine. Mav had also given a corpsman a fright that could have been directed by Charlie Chaplan, but that amusement was tempered by the genuine fear on the kid's face that Mav thought spoke to things he shouldn't poke at. Even unintentionally. 

Then again, perhaps it had been that very shock that had been what made it possible for Mav to still sneak out the sickbay without being firmly frog-marched back to the bed assigned to him — he was grateful for the startle for that alone, in a slightly guilty way. He wouldn't get the kid in trouble by mentioning he'd seen him or by undoing any of the work the doctors were trying to do to him despite his body deciding that age (and stress, probably) was going to make what would once have been a mandatory overnight in the ship's infirmary turn into a three-day stint under doctors’ watchful eyes.

Okay, so he hadn't slept very well since the Darkstar test flight, not even post-suicide-mission. (Perhaps especially since the mission. He'd never before had actual evidence of what Bradley's true terror sounded like, or what it would look like seeing Bradley shot down. Now, there was a plethora he found he remembered in exquisite detail once his eyes were closed, compounding on the years of hypotheticals that ranged from ridiculous to nauseatingly possible.) And, okay, so he hadn't eaten quite as well as he probably should have since the Darkstar, either. And... okay, so he had been more bruised and beaten up by the first ejection than he'd let himself register. And had then been thrown out a bar, had wrangled a boat, been roughed up in dogfight football and... the whole list of other things that started with his failure of an ejection. His second in less than thirty days.

So the doctors on-board had made it abundantly clear that Maverick was to stay in the sickbay until the mission team was fully debriefed and it was confirmed there would be no aftershocks from said mission that would complicate anything and said team were allowed to get off the boat and go on leave, or until the doctors were satisfied with... Well. Him, he supposed. He wasn't quite sure what they were looking for, given that he was exhausted and not sleeping and bruised seven ways to Sunday with a few worse-than-bruises here and there but... He was breathing. He was alive. He still had one member of the Bradshaws left in the world, unknown status of his relationship with Bradley aside. That was... Exceptional. Supernatural, in its own right. 

Forget Cyclone and orders. Bradley was the real reason Maverick only left the infirmary in the midnight hours. Bradley, with bruised ribs at worst, who had been released from medical with an all-clear and a minor prescription the morning after the mission. Bradley, who turned his anger at Mav for pulling his papers into anger-tinged-fear at the idea of Mav treating medical procedure exactly as loosely as he usually did. There had been no time to have that talk that they needed to have in the two days since the mission, and Bradley had used the ambiguity of the space between them to offer concern still wrapped in fierce frowns and flashing eyes. Mav didn't want to lose him again. Not to another mistake or action or miscalculation on his part. And so he mostly shut his mouth and stayed put and skirted around the elephant in the room and dared to hope like he hadn't in a number of years, fuelled by the mere fact that Bradley visited him often.

And that was why, watch informing him it was close to 0600, Mav was beginning a slow walk back to the infirmary bed people thought he was asleep in. His ribs and back were starting to protest loudly enough to be taken notice of, anyway, and, despite his natural recklessness, Maverick didn't want to make recovery longer than it had to be. And, yet, the sight of Phoenix through the port hole of an empty meeting room door made him pause instantly. In the quiet of the early morning, Mav could hear muffled talking and then, a moment later, lilting classical music. Phoenix, frowning at a tablet propped up on a table, stepped back, hesitantly raised her arms and then began stumbling through steps. It took Mav two rotations to recognise the waltz.

One part of him was firm in the conviction that it was none of his business. But the other part of him was unfurling in warm fondness, eager to help this person who had been a stranger two weeks ago. Had. Mav hesitated in the indecision for only a moment before the thinking cut off and the doing started.

Phoenix whirled around when the door opened, arms dropping and spine straightening in an automatic posture that was half discipline and half defensiveness.

"Lieutenant," Maverick greeted her, gentle and warm as he stayed in the doorway until otherwise invited.

"Sir." Surprise, first. Then warmth. Then a furrow of suspicion. "I thought you were only being discharged tomorrow, Sir."

Bradley and her being close friends had made it even easier for Brad to get her on Wrangle Maverick Duty as well. Although... The other Daggers hadn't needed that closeness to take up the charge, come to think of it. They were a lot more hesitant, still unsure of him and what the lines were and bewildered by Rooster's unexplained, unsettled treatment of Mav. He thought they probably put it down to a mixture of them being shot down together —for one another — and what Hangman had said about Maverick and Goose's death. The clarification thereof was up to Bradley, though, so Mav kept his mouth shut once again (he could do it, when properly motivated) and put his energy toward reassuring the kids that they could take liberties with him because he enjoyed their company, Penny was right about them being his, and they anyway deserved the treat of borderline insubordination because they'd all come home. 

"And I thought you were already on half-leave, meaning you can sleep in until breakfast," Maverick countered lightly. 

The furrow deepened for a moment, and then Phoenix glanced at the tablet. The moment of calculation was obvious, but Mav left her to it. If she (politely, knowing her) brushed him off, he'd leave. Instead, Phoenix looked back at him with a wry smile and offered him another step into her world, like he deserved to be there. 

"My cousin is getting married. We're close, and she asked me to be one of her bridesmaids. There's this whole... Thing." Phoenix waved a hand. "You know, the first dance? They want the whole bridal party to join in toward the end and make it a...like an elegant flash mob. The theory of it is great, but I have no clue. Figured I had enough time to learn in my off moments and then... Well."

"When's the wedding?" 

"Four days."

"Yikes," Maverick said, sympathetically. Phoenix snorted in laughter. That was a positive sign, so Mav took another tentative plunge. "You know... It's easier to learn with a partner."

"The others are still asleep. Even the usual early-risers. Getting to sleep in, and all." The and I don't want to take their sleep for this was unspoken. The fondness in Maverick's chest expanded.

"I'm here," he offered, going for neutral and light. 

Phoenix stared at him for a beat. "Sir..."

Maverick gave her a smile and a palm held up in peace. "Don't worry about it. I apologise if I made you feel uncomfortable, Lieutenant." 

"You didn't, Sir," she responded, immediately. "But you have three broken ribs and extensive torso and spinal bruising."

The disapproval was obvious enough it almost made Mav feel bashful. Almost. Instead, he pulled a face, hissing air through his teeth. 

"You may need more help than a video if you don't know a proper waltz hold doesn't look like a takedown."

"Sir." There was suppressed laughter in her voice. 

"Lieutenant," he replied, cheerfully, sure he had her. 

And Phoenix sighed. As exasperated as she'd let herself in the face of a Captain. Another glance to the screen, and then she was looking at Maverick with something complicated on her face. Vulnerability was definitely one of the stable colours of the mix, and so he let himself fully into the room without asking her to say anything else, shutting the door behind him. Phoenix had a sharp gaze on him as he moved to join her, and Mav thus made extra effort to move as though not stiff and a little achy. He stopped a good foot in front of her, unwilling to breach her personal space completely without more express permission.

“It’s easier to learn in the shoes you’ll be dancing in.” Both of them glanced down in sync to her boots. “Will you be wearing heels?”

“Hell no,” she said, almost before he’d finished talking.

Mav grinned at her. “Good. Then you won’t tower over me.”

Phoenix snorted at him, grin threatening the corners of her mouth, and Maverick raised his arms into a passable waltz hold in invitation. The movement pulled on his cracked ribs the worst, but he kept the smile in place and breathed through it. Phoenix stepped closer and into his hold, right hand slotting into his left, but then stiffened in hesitation. Mav removed his hand from her back slightly in case that was the reason for her unease.

“Are you sure this is going to be okay?” she asked, eyes flicking between his in scrutiny.

“I have waltzed before, I promise,” Mav said, tone serious.

“Okay for your injuries,” she replied, dry as the desert he lived in.

At least she’d stopped calling him sir. “I’ll be okay, Phoenix. You good?” At her nod and hum, he placed a hand on her back, touch light. “Now, obviously, this is a civilian waltz hold. You do this competitively, and they’ll weep at our posture. But it’ll do for a wedding or three.” Her smile came out in earnest, warm and trusting as she intently hung on his words. “Your partner should have their hand around where mine is. Any higher, and the leading will be off. Any lower... well. You’re close enough to aim and knee without trouble.”

She laughed outright at that, and Mav couldn’t help the cheeky grin. Slowly, he talked her through the steps before leading her through a basic rotation, getting her body used to the rhythm and the feeling of subtle nudges so she’d know which way she was being taken, next. Phoenix was smart, and used to flowing with a plane’s movements at high Gs, and she cottoned on so fast that Mav felt pride he probably had no real right to feel. If she ever made Admiral, which was damn likely, she’d be one of the very good ones; Phoenix knew how to lead and follow with equal skill and discernment.

“There’s also an underarm turn that can be thrown in for some extra flare, but I’m afraid we’re gonna have to largely skip that one. Can’t get my arms that high at the moment.”

Mav kept the confession light and joking, but he felt Phoenix’s hand in his tighten for a moment at the reminder of his injuries. Truth be told, things were really starting to complain by that stage. But there was a delighted air about her as he waltzed her around the room, now in time with music, and he’d pay some hours of pain for this memory and moment. She took a breath as though to speak, but the words seemed to get caught in her throat. Mav was grateful for the lack of fussing and misplaced guilt until, a beat later, she did speak.

“We have company.”

Mav barely stopped his instinctive desire to twist around and look in the direction she was facing. Thankfully; there would have been no hiding the agony that would have caused, and he didn’t want to end a nice moment with an embarrassing, awkward display. He did turn them twice in quick succession so that he was facing the door. Pressed together like sardines so that they could see through the door’s glass were the other mission-chosen Daggers and Coyote. Maverick had to laugh lightly at the ridiculous picture they posed, unable to stop even with the slight increase in pain it brought, and Phoenix joined in not a second later. She stepped out of Mav’s hold and put her hands on her hips, no doubt shooting the men a challenging look. Who it was that was bold enough to actually open the door Mav had no idea, but he felt fond, very amused respect for the guy anyway.

“Was the mission not Disney enough for you, Trace?” Hangman drawled, obviously the first to open his mouth.

Phoenix happily shot him a middle finger. “Cousin’s wedding. Need to know how to dance. Mav said he knew how.”

“Wait, wait, how did this even —?” Payback asked, bewildered and amused in equal measure.

“More importantly,” Fanboy interrupted. “Is it, like, a closed class? ‘Cause, uh...” He raised a hand. “Please?”

Phoenix turned to look at Mav. He grinned back at her. “Up to you.”

Phoenix’s smirk appeared like a flare. “I’d say they definitely need all the help they can get.”

Mav gestured to the other pilots to step further inside, but Fanboy was already eagerly making his way forward. Bob was close on his heels, and Coyote and Payback only hesitated a moment to glance at each other and weigh up their decisions and their pride before also following suit. Rooster and Hangman stepped into the room, the latter closing the door behind them, but they didn’t venture quite as far in. Mav raised a questioning eyebrow at both of them.

“It would be an insult to every débutante I have escorted to be part of this tomfoolery,” Hangman drawled, seating himself jauntily on a desk.

“You could leave,” Payback shot at him.

“Wouldn’t want to insult your long line of débutantes,” Bob chipped in.

Hangman’s grin was large and unbothered and, because Mav knew to look for it, actually warm beneath the pointed barbing. “And miss all this? Not a chance.”

“One sign of a phone, Hangman, and I’m on you,” Coyote warned, pointing at his friend threateningly.

“Rooster, you bailing, too, man?” Fanboy asked.

Rooster shrugged lightly, his smile a lot less aggravating than Hangman’s wanted to be. “I don’t think there’s anything the old man could teach me.”

His eyes flickered to Mav’s, and there was a warm undercurrent of connection there. Had the ground between them been more stable, Mav would have taken his obvious familiarity and turned it into teasing and camaraderie in return — would have told him, your mom may have taught me every other dance I know, kiddo, but the waltz? That was all your dad’s doing. He might even have told Bradley how it had played out: Goose and him and an old record player and playful arguments and real exasperation and a heavily pregnant Carole in the corner giggling herself to tears at Goose’s attempts to teach Mav to dance in order to impress a girl. A débutante, as irony would have it.

But Maverick didn’t know if that would tug Bradley closer or push him away again, especially with fragile things like that shared within hearing of his team mates. And it was more than caution for their relationship that kept Maverick’s response to only a warm, knowing grin and nod in Rooster’s direction. It was also, admittedly (and guiltily so), because Maverick didn’t want that memory tainted by Rooster’s pain or anger. It was one of the good ones, and Maverick hoarded it selfishly to his chest where it frequently was used as a tourniquet against the regrets and the ache of loss.

“Alright, so that makes it an even six between us. Partner up, everybody. We’re gonna take turns learning both parts to the dance, so don’t grade-school squabble about who is who now.”

Naturally, Payback and Fanboy immediately gravitated toward each other with enthusiasm and melodramatic goofiness, and Maverick, still full of thoughts of Goose, had to turn his gaze away from the pilot-WSO pair in favour of watching Bob and Coyote awkwardly try and suss each other out and negotiate who would, for the time being, take the traditional male role in their dance. Phoenix started sniggering, lightly, and Maverick found her expression torn between amusement and affection as she watched said negotiations.

“Alright.” The call was only slightly above average volume, but all the kids — even Rooster and Bradley in their seats — quietened at once and turned to him in rapt attention. If only they’d been that easy to command when he was trying to teach them how to fly to save their own lives. “Leading dancers of the moment. Hands like so.”

Obediently, Fanboy and Coyote copied Mav, and he started with the same spiel he’d told Phoenix about the proper waltz hold and about where a gentleman kept his hands. Predictably, Hangman cheerfully said he’d never gotten any complaints, and that started off a volley of comebacks from everybody. The words were light, however, and the smiles evident, and Maverick called them all back to order and began to teach them how to dance. It was something surreal and bemusing, and the possibility of missing breakfast became greater and greater, and, yet, Mav felt like this was someplace he had to be. As natural as a new flight manoeuvre. As relaxed as a day with the Kazansky and Kerner hoard and a grill.

Sadly, though his brain and heart were in total agreement about the activity and its merits, his body decided to be ornery. Slowly but surely, the discomfort in his sides and back and even his left knee increased until it crossed over from strongly noted discomfort into a steady pain that couldn’t be simply pressed through. Maverick kept telling himself to just push it out for five minutes more — the kids were having fun. He didn’t want to end this moment. He didn’t want to draw attention to himself like that — until Phoenix suddenly stopped moving, pulling them both to a rather abrupt halt. Maverick, embarrassingly, swayed a little at the sharp spike of agony at the little jolt, and Phoenix’s hold on him turned into something more bracing.

“Mav.” Her voice was quiet but as earnest as her face. “I think you should go sit down.”

He frowned at her, protests already forming even as he chalked the merit in her words and came to realise that he was not breathing nearly as easily, or as quietly, as he’d thought up to that moment. Phoenix’s eyes left his and looked at something over his shoulder, an expression coming across her face that he couldn’t interpret. Mere moments later, there was a presence behind him, a strong hand catching his elbow. Ah. Phoenix had summoned Rooster with that look.

“Mav,” Rooster said, and then seemed to run out of words. His concern was like the body heat suddenly radiating into Maverick’s back: warm, solid, enclosing.

“’s fine,” Mav told him, but he did let go of Phoenix to pat Rooster absently on the arm. The motion pulled, and Mav fought a wince and just... left his arm curled around his body even after the reassuring pat had ended. The hold on his elbow tightened.

“Right,” Hangman said, loudly, scraping himself to his feet with flair. “I can’t sit by and watch this any longer. I’m taking over training y’all properly.”

As Hangman swaggered closer to the group, taking their grumbles and eye rolls, Phoenix stepped away from Mav and Rooster gently started steering Mav toward the chair he’d just vacated. Bemused, Mav let himself be gently manhandled, not missing the way that Hangman’s eyes flickered over to him more than once, very obviously checking on him even as he usurped Mav’s class from him. Hangman’s loud decoy was unsuccessful; every one of those kids shot equally assessing-concerned looks Mav’s way when they thought they were being sneaky about it, and Rooster didn’t let go of Mav until he’d helped Mav into the seat. In return, Maverick didn’t call a single one of them out on their lack of subtlety, and certainly didn’t remind Rooster that he could walk and get into a chair by himself. The wince and the hiss of pain at said lowering were kept firmly from sight and earshot, too, because the last thing he wanted to do was shatter the moment and make them really worry about him.

Rooster lingered at his side for a few moments, sentry against things he couldn’t fight, but eventually went to go and mediate in the class, stepping in as Phoenix’s partner so Hangman could be free to walk around and give correction and Phoenix could get in some more actual practise for the upcoming wedding. Unsurprisingly, Phoenix and Rooster danced well together, even in the small space packed with other beginners. Maverick tried to make himself comfortable in the chair, aching in waves but utterly content. Watching those kids, he wondered whether dance classes would have worked as well as — if not better than — dogfight football. Something for him to keep in mind for the future, perhaps, when the other five, redeployed already, were back among them. He wanted to bet Yale, at the very least, would whip out some rhythm that would delight the rest of them.

“This really feels like a scene from, like, High School Musical, like... five,” Fanboy said as Hangman demonstrated a turn with him.

“This is so obviously Take the Lead,” Coyote shot back, and then looked a little startled at himself.

“I have no idea what that is,” Payback said, in response to Coyote’s argument, “but I resent being put into High School Musical.”

Of course, that started a bickering match about what Maverick gleaned was a franchise of musical movies. When Fanboy appealed for Mav’s input, somehow hoping Mav would be on his side, and it was discovered that Mav was utterly clueless about not only High School Musical but a lot of other movies the kids threw out, the dancing largely derailed to plans for a movie night. It took absurdly little time to make the plans an actual reality: the lot of them would all follow Maverick home (he tried and failed not to think of migratory birds) the next day, and they’d turn the hangar wall into a projector screen for a good old movie night and campout.

“You sure you’re okay with this, Sir?” Bob asked as the bickering over every detail from snacks to movies to ride distributions continued.

Mav was a lot more than okay with it. He didn’t mind living in the desert alone with his pet project of a plane and did enjoy the quiet and those stars but... But. These were his pilots. And he needed a bit more time with people around him; a bit more time with buffers against Ice’s death and the still-fading-horror of what had nearly happened on that mission.

“You kids are more than welcome,” he said, serious instead of teasing, and Bob’s answering smile was sunshine.

“Alright, we’ve completely drifted from mission objectives, here.” Coyote glanced at his watch. “And, if we wanna make mess in time, we gotta leave now.”

Food was a powerful motivator, and the group started gathering themselves and their small collection of items in haste.

“Are we smuggling Mav into mess with us?” Fanboy asked.

“No,” Rooster said at once, shooting Mav a glare as though Mav had been the one to suggest it. “He’s going back to the infirmary.”

Mav held up both hands in surrender against Rooster’s warning, amused, even as Bob said, “I’ll bet hospital food is better than mess food. And I can’t believe I’m saying that.”

“Which hospitals you been to?” Payback said, incredulous. “I’d take mess over sickbay any day.”

“Not sickbay,” Bob started.

“They’re the same cooks, you idiots,” Coyote sighed.

“Hospital, not sickbay,” Bob protested, trying to make his case.

“Mav, take notes on your breakfast so we can compare,” Payback suggested.

“They’re the same cooks.”

“Not sickbay.”

Squabbling ensued, and Mav found himself unable to stop poking at the fire. “’Course I will; anything for science.”

“They’re the same—”

Amidst the bickering, Rooster made his way over to Mav’s chair and held out an arm to help him up, as wilfully ignorant of the weight behind the move as he had been when Mav had been knocked down during football. And Mav hated to push away the acknowledgement of care that was encased by the gesture of help, but he reluctantly patted Rooster’s arm instead of gripping it.

“You guys better hurry. I’ll see you around.”

Confusion wrinkled across Rooster’s face, and he kept his hand there for a few more moments as though sure Mav was about to take it at any second. Maverick tried to minimise the damage with a smile and another shoo toward the door. Unfortunately for him, Hangman had eyes as sharp as his instincts.

“What’s the matter, Pops?” Derisively teasing on the outside, but Maverick could now easily detect the foundation of true concern underneath it and in the way Hangman started toward him instead of the door. “Stuck in the chair?”

They’d be hurt if he lied to their faces, Maverick knew. But he also didn’t want to let on that that was exactly what had happened. He’d stopped moving too abruptly, and all his abused muscles had simply locked up, leaving him largely frozen in place in that chair. It hurt, even then, but Mav knew from experience what the agony would be if he had to attempt to move at that exact moment. And he’d been hoping he could go through said agony without an audience. Scrambling for a lie took a beat too long; the Dagger squad all shifted out of relaxation into tension.

“Wait, you’re not really...?” Rooster dropped his arm and peered at Mav, who couldn’t meet his gaze. “Oh, shit, Mav. Shit.” Both hands reached out and fluttered about, anxious and useless.

“Damn, that sucks,” Payback muttered with a deep wince of sympathy.

“What do we do?” Bob asked.

“Go get a corpsman,” Hangman ordered, and Bob peeled toward the door.

“No — hey, no, don’t,” Mav ordered, and poor Bob froze at once at the order of somebody who outranked him, looking helplessly to Phoenix, first, and then to Rooster.

“Maverick,” Rooster growled, already halfway to angry in his... what? Concern? Mav hoped it was concern. With all of him. “Don’t be an ass.”

All those that Mav could see startled and gave Rooster a weary, sort of horrified look. As comfortable as they were slowly getting with Mav, the closest to that kind of disrespect that had occurred was Hangman’s little speech that had nearly resulted in a fight. Maverick was close to convinced that at least one person he knew was somewhere laughing their ass off at how much people politicking he’d had to do in the last two weeks. And how he was still utterly terrible at it.

“Rooster,” he said, going for calm and logical. Bradley’s shoulders tensed and his eyes tightened even more, preparing for a fight, and Maverick wanted to bury his head in his hands and ask for the user manual on this kid. “I’m fine. Things locked up a little bit, but it’ll only take a few minutes to ease up. And then I’ll go back to the infirmary. You guys head to breakfast.”

Rooster opened his mouth, crossing his arms sharply. Too sharply; he winced, and Phoenix used the momentary pause to swoop in and clamped a hand on his shoulder. Rooster startled, but fell quiet under her touch. Giving him one meaningful look, Phoenix turned to Mav instead.

“Sir.” Her logical and calm voice was so much better than Mav’s. He was half irritated and half impressed. “The best is to let a professional assess and help with getting any spasms properly unlocked so no more damage is caused. I suspect you may be due a dose of muscle relaxants, anyway.” He was. And painkillers. “The best procedure is to do things with caution to allow for proper healing and no setbacks.” Then she tipped her head to the side a little. “Please.”

The plea threw him. And Rooster, if the startle was anything to go by. But... what was he supposed to say in return? No? The seven of them were all roiling with different levels of tension, and Mav supposed even forcing them out the room wouldn’t make them suddenly relax and forget about him. Shame made him want to fight back so that he could reclaim some dignity and forgo being lectured for sneaking out the infirmary but... If he was released tomorrow, then it wouldn’t matter that they kept a closer eye on him in the infirmary for his remaining hours. And pride could be swallowed. It was a painful, horrible experience to do so, but it could be done. Gritting his teeth for a moment, gaze locked on Bradley’s stony expression, Maverick wrestled with the shame and embarrassment until he could nod, once, to Phoenix’s suggestion.

“I’ll call the infirmary and ask them to send someone. You guys get to breakfast,” Mav relented.

“Sir. We can’t just leave you stuck in a chair,” Fanboy said, incredulously glancing at the others as though to read sanity on their faces, at least.

Maverick saw Phoenix lean in to start talking into Rooster’s ear from the corner of his eye as he turned to reassure Payback. “You standing here isn’t going to make any difference, kid. I’d rather you be fed.”

“Sure we can trust you not to get into shit as soon as we turn our backs, Pops?” Hangman was scrutinising him. Almost as quiet as Mav had ever seen him.

So Mav crossed his heart, making smiles and soft sniggers break the layer of tension in the room a little. Rooster was the one to claim the job of finding somebody to go get a corpsman. His claim staked, he marched toward the door without another word, pace clipped. Maverick wanted to call after him, but “Bradley” got caught somewhere in his throat. He wouldn’t have known what to say if the man had stopped and turned, anyway. Mav did manage to snag Phoenix before she left.

“No stupid blame, okay, Lieutenant?”

She looked at him for a long moment, very subtlety chewing on her bottom lip. “No, Sir. I know this was all on you.”

Mav grinned at her and tried very hard not to laugh to spare his ribs and the long line of unyielding pain that was currently his back. “Good.”

He didn’t twist to see who glanced back at him as they left, and stayed quiet and still for a few beats after the door closed in case one of them suddenly came back. And then, in the sudden privacy, he let himself fall apart a little bit more. Mav had had worse, of course, but in the moment the logic of having survived this much pain and then some didn’t work to quell the stimuli being shoved into his brain, wave after wave. There were, he decided as he sat there and tried to breathe, far too many nerves in the spine. It sucked.

The corpsman who appeared less than ten minutes later was exasperated, but too professional to do anything except treat Mav with detached over-politeness even with Maverick’s attempts to befriend the guy. Eventually, rolling his eyes, Mav simply took the pills offered him and tried to resist the instinct to curl over the heating pad he was handed. The warmth was heavenly even before it started loosening his muscles, and he really never wanted to let the thing go. The door opening again was almost surprising enough to make him twist to look, but Mav fought down the instinct for the third time that day and waited for the footsteps to deliver somebody into his field of vision.

For a split second, he thought he was hallucinating.

“Bradley?” Internally, Mav winced at the choice of name. It just... it came so much easier than Rooster. So much more instinctual. In a hurry to cover his mistake, Mav let himself grow a little exasperated. “You were supposed to go to breakfast.”

Rooster folded his arms loosely, staring Mav down, a wall of stubborn. “I did. I ate, and I came back.”

He must have inhaled his food and run at least one trip. Possibly even broken reg to sneak some food out of the mess hall in order to be done that fast. Maverick frowned at him, but Rooster didn’t even blink. Who looked away first was debatable, but the silence continued to stretch, all the elephants and uncertainties rushing back into the room. Every so often, Maverick wanted to say something. Every so often, he could have sworn he heard Rooster take a breath as though to begin speaking. But nothing except the corpsman tapping on his tablet really broke the silence, and the presence of another human once again prevented Maverick of keeping his promise to have a much-needed talk with Bradley. Perhaps it was for the best; he wasn’t sure he could do much yelling, at the moment.

The meds kicked in incrementally, until Maverick was feeling about as good as he’d felt making his escape from sickbay all those hours ago. The corpsman did a few checks, which hurt but only in manageable amounts, and Rooster hovered with crossed arms and a furrowed brow the whole time. At the suggestion that Maverick try to rise, however, Rooster moved to situate himself as close to Mav’s side as possible, arms finally uncrossing just so they could hover around him.

“Don’t pull him, Lieutenant,” the corpsman commanded Rooster. “Just support if necessary.”

There was, Mav thought in a desperate moment of clarity, probably a metaphor in there. Parable? He wasn’t sure which. In any case, his attention was quickly taken up by the effort of getting out of a chair. How the mighty fall. And then suffer for falling twice in the span of a month. He made it upright without any embarrassing falls and only a couple of noises, and slightly faster than a geriatric. It hurt, but in ways that he could still control. He said a sanitised version of such to the corpsman, and was given permission to start moving back to the infirmary, with emphasis on taking it slowly and stopping to rest when he needed to.

Rooster stuck to his side like they were magnetised. For the first yard or so, it was just a silent, tense step-by-step partnership. Then Maverick shifted a little to try and ease the pressure on his protesting back, and Rooster’s hand shot out and snagged his elbow.

“I’m okay,” Maverick told him, quietly.

Rooster hummed without looking at him. And he didn’t let go. That damnable hope unfurled a little in Maverick’s chest, wishing desperately that that was a metaphor-or-whatever for what was coming next. Perhaps they’d take years to be able to define things between them — perhaps it would take years for them to stop wondering why the other was doing what he was doing, and how to respond in a way that wouldn’t cause another rift. Maverick would take it. He’d never backed down from a challenge, after all, and he’d slog his ass off and compromise as much as he could to keep Rooster at his side, even if it was tense and mulishly silent and with a steadying arm on his elbow he didn’t technically need but also... really did, for reasons unrelated to external hurts.

Back in the infirmary, Rooster even sweet-talked Maverick permission for staying in the shirt and sweatpants he’d changed into earlier. The unimpressed head corpsman was of the unsympathetic opinion that, if Maverick could get himself into the shirt and pants to escape despite doctor’s orders, he could get himself back into the hospital gown. Rooster talked her down, saving Mav a lot of manoeuvring with a shirt that had hurt earlier that morning and that would be far, far worse pain by then, even with the levels of painkillers and relaxants in his system.

“Thanks,” Maverick offered Rooster as he slowly, gingerly settled back into the bed.

“You’re an idiot for putting them on in the first place. Where the hell did you even get them?”

It took Maverick a beat too long to respond, because he was distracted by Rooster smoothing down the blanket around the arm closest to the side of the bed he sat at. So very, very close to tucking Maverick in. “Uh... I...” He forced himself to focus on the conversation, and not the sudden, chest-cracking realisation of how much it would hurt to lose all of this if he miss-stepped. Or wasn’t good enough to keep Rooster coming back. Part of him begged the universe to rather give him nothing instead of letting him have these moments only to lose them. He’d been doing fine for fifteen years with minimal oxygen. He couldn’t take breathing fresh air only to be shoved under again. “Hondo brought them.” Because Hondo was a good friend and knew which battles to fight where Mav was concerned.

“Right,” was all Rooster said.

The silence had, apparently, followed them back to the infirmary, and it crawled into the empty spaces in the room and took up too much of the air. Mav kept trying to sneak a look at Bradley without being caught, and found the younger man mostly staring into middle-distance. But he was lounging in that hospital seat, and his one hand was still absently on the bed, dangerously close to touching Maverick’s hand, and Mav was all about calculated risks: this was something he wasn’t sure he had the bank to pay off, and so he folded and let things progress as they wanted to. He and Bradley really had to have that talk, though. It was maddening to have so much indecision and tongue-swallowing with a looming, possible cliff-dive ending on the other end. Maverick didn’t necessarily put any stock in his own ability to convince Bradley to make peace with him, but Ice... Ice had hardly ever steered him wrong. (It was a punch to the chest to even think his name.) And the firm conviction that his wingman had had about Bradley needing him... Well. Perhaps it was Ice wearing slightly rose-tinted glasses when it came to Maverick. Endearingly, he’d grown rather indulgent with how he saw Mav’s skills and worth over their years of friendship. But even lowering the chances from Ice’s absolute to something more probable, the outlook was hopeful.

Damn that shitty, horrible hope. And, also, thank everything holy for hope. It was his constant companion as much as air had been, throughout his life. There was no way he could live the way he did without hope, even if it was a more twisted cousin to what most people knew it as.

“Is he still going to be released tomorrow?”

Rooster was the one to break the silence, and it wasn’t even to speak to Mav; instead, he addressed the corpsman who had come in to check that Mav hadn’t done any further damage to himself with his stunts. Said corpsman was an older individual by the name of Cottle, who Mav had been inflicted on a few times in the past. Without so much as blinking, he double-checked Bradley’s clearance to ask and receive medical updates, and found the kid’s name where it always had been on Mav’s next-of-kin list. Verification complete, he went back to checking Mav out in the next fluid movement, as though it were all a well-practised routine.

“Everything looks pretty much the same as it’s put on his chart from last night. Maybe a bit more heat and swelling around the back, but nothing I don’t anticipate going down with a few hours’ rest. Barring some complication we can’t see right now, Captain Mitchell is ready to be released tomorrow. With a list of self-care instructions that must be followed, Sir,” Cottle said to him, exasperated and firm at once. Mav raised his hands slightly in surrender, trying to look innocent and compliant. “One of those things is definitely going to be a back brace. I know the doctors let you off one because it’s hell on your ribs, but they’re swiftly becoming the lesser of the two problems. You’re favouring them and putting too much pressure on your back, and we can tell you’ve been doing so since the last ejection. And we really don’t want you developing back problems.” There was a beat of silence. “Prematurely, that is.”

“I’d say I’ve got a good twenty years before that should be a problem,” Mav protested.

Cottle raised an eyebrow. “Sir, I highly doubt age will do what lifestyle doesn’t manage to do first.”

And with that slightly cryptic omen, the corpsman left Rooster and Mav to their silence. It was becoming almost familiar. Maybe Mav should name it. Rooster very suddenly jerked a little, making Mav tense and look at him in alarm.

“Wh—?”

“The last ejection?” Rooster interrupted. His frown wasn’t (yet) angry, but it was certainly intense as he searched Mav’s eyes for his answer. “What did he mean by that? He meant the ejection that just happened, right? Why does it sound like there was another one?” Mav took as deep a breath as he could, and made some more mental calculations. “Maverick.” Rooster’s voice turned sharp.

“Most of it is classified, kid,” Mav started, buying himself time. “I can’t tell you details.”

“What can you tell me? You seriously ejected recently? Before our mission, I mean.”

Mav hesitated for a moment, but he couldn’t anticipate which way this was going to go. The biggest red warning sign that was flashing was that he should not lie to Rooster. And so he nodded, just once. Rooster swore and ran a hand through his hair. Too roughly, it seemed, because the kid winced and reached a little for his own ribs. With a swoop of horror, Mav realised that Bradley had been dancing, then crouching around Mav’s chair, then presumably running around, and finally hauling Mav’s ass around base. His ribs were bruised enough that they had to be giving him hell.

“Hey... hey, Bradl— do you have your pil—”

“We’re not talking about me right now,” Rooster snapped at him, and Mav missed his hand the moment it left the bed. “We’re talking about you. You... How long ago? How long ago was the other ejection?”

And... well, shit. There wasn’t any right answer for this, was there? There rarely was, in life, no matter what people kept trying to tell him. “About three weeks,” Mav said, trying to keep it vague.

“Oh, hell, Mav,” Rooster groaned, this time going for pinching the bridge of his nose. Mav watched for a wince, and thankfully didn’t see any. But he hadn’t seen anything earlier, either, so that didn’t really quell his anxiety.

“I was cleared to come to TOPGUN to teach,” Mav protested, which was... sort of the truth. He hadn’t not been cleared, anyway. “Okay, that’s me done. Now we’re talking about you. Do—”

“We are not done talki—”

“—have your painkillers on yo—”

“—you, you can’t just—”

“—temporary dose from the nurse?”

The two of them locked eyes, both refusing to be the first to look away. A clash of the stubborn-headed idiots, if there ever was one. Rooster broke first, looking away with a noise of frustration.

“Rooster. If you’re in pain—”

“Then I ignore it and hide it until it gets so bad I’m locked up in a chair trying to make people leave me there, right?” Rooster snapped at him at once, hackles raised and temper flaring. “That’s what you’re teaching by example, right?”

Even as the words came from his mouth, birthed by tiredness and drugs and worry and hurt of various kinds, Maverick regretted them. And, yet, out they came anyway: “Right, because after fifteen years you’re gonna start copying what I do instead of ignoring my existence.”

It felt like somebody had shoved the air out of Mav’s chest. He shut his eyes in regret, but the hurt that ripped across Bradley’s face was there for him to see before he could blot it out. He deserved the ripping agony of guilt, misery and regret, he really did.

“Rooster,” he started, quietly, still not entirely sure where he was going with the sentence but needing to start. Needing to latch on and cling in case Bradley just... got up and left again. “I’m — I — that was...”

“No, that was fair,” Rooster said, quietly. Incredulous, Mav opened his eyes so he could search the kid’s face for confirmation that there was none of the expected anger and blame. And there really was none. Just a frown of disquiet aimed at the lumps that were Mav’s feet under the blanket.

“I was a jerk,” Mav tried again.

And Bradley laughed, short and utterly devoid of humour. “Right. Yeah. Because I haven’t said worse to you in the last week.”

Mav took a moment to try and process that, thrown by the sudden re-direction of Bradley’s thoughts and mood. “Well. As the old saying goes, two wrongs don’t make a right.” It was a safe option; an olive branch given as lightly as he was trying to tread across the potentially thin ice between them. But it, of course, didn’t work; didn’t garner much reaction from Bradley at all. He was still frowning at Mav’s feet. “Rooster. You were shaken and worried about your friends.”

Mav would have called it scared before the day of the mission, but Bradley’s levels of terror on that day re-wrote what he’d experienced from the kid on the disastrous double-accident (Ice dying and carving another permanent black hole in Mav’s chest) day.

“I was,” Bradley agreed, quietly, and then shifted his gaze to Mav’s. The expression there was heavy, and Mav found his arm lifting without his permission, itching to reach out and comfort the kid. “And I was pissed. And you weren’t fighting back, and I just wanted... a reaction. An outlet. So I grabbed at easy lies that I knew would hurt you, and I used them.”

Mav’s half-raised arm froze and then curled slightly towards himself in something instinctive he couldn’t name. “You...”

“The irony of it is...” Bradley trailed off and swallowed once, twice, and Mav didn’t have any conceivable thing to say, so he just sat and stared. “The absolute, just — I was pissed at you. For... so many years. I still kinda am, but for so long I thought... I thought there was no reconciliation that could ever happen because all that anger was the biggest and the worst I’d ever felt and it didn’t go away. And then freaking Hangman, whose shit I’ve been dealing with for years without it getting to me — really getting to me, you know? — goes and says that shit in front of everybody and I... I was so angry, I don’t even have words to describe it. And it wasn’t because he was insulting me. Bagman’s said worse; you know him. And it wasn’t even about him poking at Goose. It was the insinuation... the audacity to blame you when...” Bradley let out another humourless laugh and scrubbed at his face, hiding his gaze from Mav. Shame coated his words as he spoke into the safety of his palms. “It put what I felt about you into real sharp perspective. It put all that anger I thought was so big into real shitting perspective. And I hated it. So took that exact thing and I purposefully used it to hurt you worse than Hangman did. Tried to hurt you worse than it hurt me. And I’m... shit, Mav, sorry doesn’t even begin to...”

“Bradley,” Mav said, quietly, trying not to let the words get shredded by the sudden lump in his throat. “Hey, kid, it’s okay.”

“No.” Bradley dropped his hands and shook his head at Mav, emphatically. “No, it’s not. Look... I’d still like... answers, you know? And I know myself. I can’t promise I’ll react amazingly.” Mav hated that little self-depreciating smile on Bradley’s face. “But I... I swear I’ll never go that low again. It’s what I wanted to say on the bridge. Because I’d been trying to figure out how since that very night. It wasn’t even Ice dying.” The reality of it was still fresh enough to slash grief into Mav’s heart that he had to swallow around in order to focus on Bradley’s next words. “I regretted it as soon as sense returned. And I said nothing. I can’t say nothing any more. Because, Mav, I’m so... I’m so freaking sorry. For all of it. I didn’t mean it. Please,” and Bradley really was pleading. “Please know that I didn’t mean it. It was deliberate shit to hurt you, that was all. Even back then, I would have cared if you... And I still care, okay? I care. And so... so... we need to talk. And it’s been fifteen years. And I don’t have a right to any of this, I know, but I’d mourn you. And I care. So please just... stop being a dickhead and not taking care of yourself.”

For a few moments, the two men just stared at each other, Mav lost for words and Bradley evidently fresh out of them. So many emotions were swirling, but Mav chose to snatch up and hold the fragile warmth of being cared for by his godson. He’d never fully lost hope over all those years, but he’d admit that it had looked pretty impossible to get a confession of care from Bradley for a long while there. That joy was strong enough that Mav smiled, easy as breathing usually was, and the sight of it made Bradley visibly relax, as well.

“Sorry, Baby Goose.” A gamble, that name, but it paid off; Bradley’s lip wobbled a little, but there was no affront at all. “I promise to try and do better, huh?” Bradley nodded, quickly, eager and relieved. And one hand returned to the top of Mav’s bed.

“Thanks. And me, uh, too. Promise to do better. And... we’ll talk?”

“We’ll talk,” Mav promised, firmly. “I... I’ll do my best there, too.”

Maybe his best wouldn’t be good enough. Maybe this was just the calm before the storm. But, for now at least, Bradley cared. And it was frustrating simply making another promise that the important, future-defining talk would come instead of having it, but Mav could recognise that it wasn’t the time or the place. He needed a much clearer head to carefully answer Bradley’s questions without making things worse than he had fifteen years ago.

Mav was brought breakfast, and Bradley was as determined for Mav to eat it all as Mav was determined that Bradley should have some due to his own hurried breakfast. The argument was light, however; nothing close to what had transpired between them since they’d been in each other’s space again. Bradley finally relented to a piece of toast, but firmly refused any other pain relief, stating it as unnecessary, and too soon after his morning dose of prescribed pills. Mav was still slowly picking his way through the tray — the medication had stolen his appetite, and it was a peach juggling eating and breathing and a torso as banged up as his was — when the rest of the Daggers inserted themselves into the infirmary.

“See? He has the same breakfast as we did,” Hangman said, the glint in his eye making it obvious he was trying to start shit.

“Could be a coincidence,” Coyote said, jumping on the bandwagon. “Everybody makes eggs for breakfast.”

“Yeah, we’d have to have a taste to determine whether sickbay or mess make it better,” Payback said, managing to keep a straight face.

“They’re the same cooks.”

“I never, once, said anything about comparing mess to sickbay from the same ship,” Bob said, sounding and looking thoroughly done with his friends. Phoenix patted him, gently, on the back a few times.

Mav caught Bradley’s eye, and then swallowed his smirk and turned to Payback. “Here. Try some, then you can make an informed decision.”

Payback hesitated until Mav made to give the tray to him, and then he stepped forward hurriedly before Mav could even think of reaching or stretching. And he wasn’t the only one who rocked in Mav’s direction, to Mav’s fond-irritated-amusement. Payback took a bite of the eggs, and made considering noises as he chewed at glacial speed. Then he nodded to himself, seriously, staring out into middle distance.

“Mess is better,” he proclaimed.

Everybody climbed in to the ridiculous, playful argument that broke out, Payback’s words their starting gun. Even Bradley loosened up to get in on the action, and Mav was soon grinning widely enough that it actually hurt. And then they got going enough that he started to laugh and... pain knifed up and through and out, choking the laugh to nothing and stealing his ability to inhale for a little while.

The kids knocked it off immediately, and Mav was regretful that he’d caused the abrupt end to their good time. “’s, augh, fine.” Bradley had his hand on Mav’s shoulder, almost tight enough to hurt, and Fanboy had one half of his body turned toward the door to go call somebody, if needed. “That was... just dumb... of me. Please, don’t...” He waved the hand not clamped around his middle instinctively at them to indicate continue or don’t be concerned; either would do.

“Sorry, Captain, but we’re more scared of them than you,” Bob said, seriously, thumbing in the corpsmen’s directions.

A smattering of sniggers and smiles broke out, and Mav gave Bob the best smile that he could, at the moment. Pain spike over, he loosened up, careful not to appear like he was shrugging Bradley’s hand off his shoulder. It must have worked, because Bradley didn’t let go.

“Fair enough,” Mav agreed.

“You... want us to go, Captain?” Coyote asked, hesitant.

“Nope,” Mav said, honestly. “I do want you to stop standing around so awkwardly, though.”

And so the aviators all parked themselves on various surfaces or on the floor around Mav’s bed, and the conversation flowed free and warm and soothing. Bradley’s hand eventually left Mav’s shoulder, but he kept it on Mav’s bed, even as he relaxed into the chair and parried verbally with the people around him. They moved from one topic to the next seamlessly, at ease with one another even with the slight edge to their words, sometimes. And it had the effect that the ocean had on some people lucky enough to not have met the inevitable in the waves: it started slowly rocking Maverick to sleep. Nobody paid any attention; simply stopped expecting input, lowered the volume slightly, and settled in even more.

It was embarrassing. It was heart-warming. It was...

It wasn’t walking outside in the Mojave, but Mav thought maybe it was time to trade in the lonely desert nights for something better.

Considering the fact that Bradley could easily have been court-martialed for disobeying direct — and repeated — orders, Cyclone's complete and utter dressing-down was a welcome alternative. Bradley made sure to stand at perfect attention, aching ribs and all, but only half of his mind was on the list of things — accurate, exaggerated and omitting the insubordination Bradley had shown Mav that Cyclone hadn't been told about — that were being flung his way. The other half of his brain was fretting over his godfather.

It wasn't even a very logical fretting. Mav had been kept in the infirmary when Bradley had been checked over one last time and then released, but they'd been told that that would happen very soon after Mav had been booked in. Despite being obviously unhappy with the decision, Mav didn't look like he was going to make a break for it. There weren't many places he could go on a ship in the middle of the ocean, even a ship of that size. And he was, medically, in no danger. Even the delay in ending the current assignment of the Dagger mission team was more for over-caution than any real fear that they would need to fly back into enemy territory for any reason, or defend against any sudden retaliation for their blowing up the airbase or the uranium plant. 

Logically, Bradley knew all this. But not having Mav in his sight was making his skin crawl. Like if he took too long to confirm that his godfather was there and alive, Mav would just… disappear. Or some injury they hadn't detected would claim him without warning, leaving Bradley with only his regrets and shame and lingering anger that he didn't want any more, but that he'd spent so long intentionally stoking so that it stayed alive that he didn't know, now, how to simply quench. He and Mav had to talk. There had to be a way to reconcile fifteen years of legitimately wishing the man completely out of his life and the new, inescapable realisation that Bradley wouldn't actually be able to cope if Mav wasn't just one potential phone call away. 

Because that's what it boiled down to, he'd realised last night, lying half-awake in his infirmary bed at an angle that wasn't fully comfortable, but that allowed him to watch Mav sleeping. He'd been able to be furious at the man — rightfully furious, he still felt —  because he'd always known, deeper than even the betrayal and anger and what he told himself was righteous hatred, that he could undo it all at any time. It was his to control. Somehow, the fact that Mav wouldn't want to reconcile only rarely crossed his mind, and these rare occasions helped fuel the well, he made his thoughts on me abundantly clear, so screw him to hell anger even brighter. The fact that Mav simply wouldn't be able to forgive Bradley because he'd be gone had never entered the equation. It should have, honestly: Bradley was, after all, acquainted with the reality of death twice over. But Mav had endured everything — even when Mav was the one causing the end of the universe, he'd been there. And Bradley had just assumed, arrogant and delusional, that Mav would just always be there. And had resented the fact that he couldn't get rid of the man, even as the certainty that Mav was always just-just around the proverbial corner had been the very permission for his decade-plus wrath.

The sudden, very real, very pervasive thought of Mav dying was so horrifying, therefore, that it had yet to cease making his heart pound in in the same galloping fear as he'd felt when he watched Mav get shot down (for him for him for him for him). Knowledge linked to the moment it had dawned on him that Mav was human. And humans died every day. And there could so, so easily be a split second that crumbled the foundation of Bradley's entire universe. Again.

So. Yeah. He wanted Mav in his sights. It wouldn't necessarily help much — he'd watched his mother slowly wilt away — but the loss of control was gutting, and this was the only way Bradley's lizard brain knew to make him feel better. It was admittedly as useless as the assumption of Mav's immortality, really. At least Bradley was aware of how stupid it was, even if he'd end up following it, at least for a little while longer. 

"Do you have anything to say for yourself, Lieutenant Bradshaw?" 

Bradley snapped out of his rapidly spiralling thoughts and focused on the situation at hand. He wasn't sure if Cyclone was being serious with the offer, so he hesitated, chewing on all the things he could say and the potential consequences thereof. 

"Lieutenant, this won't be on record," Warlock said, voice calm and almost gentle. "But it will certainly assist with future relations, should TOPGUN ever intersect with your career again." 

Bradley swallowed. "Sirs… I…" In the end, he decided to go for honesty. It was about damn time, and it might make it easier to face Mav for the necessary-needed-horrifying talk that was to happen. "I couldn't let him die," he admitted. "I understand why orders were given and, on paper, I understand their wisdom perfectly. But Mav — Captain Mitchell, he… He's the only family I have left." Bradley willed his voice not to crack. He did not break his gaze from Cyclone's for a second; not even to blink. "My mom and dad loved him like a brother. He helped raise me. He's the only family I have left. And I could not let him die." 

Cyclone, usually either impassive or pissed off, was visibly surprised. And Bradley felt a flare of irritation at how nobody in the Navy seemed to get their stories straight, despite so many things being so clearly evidenced in neat little files and photographs both. From what he'd heard from his mom and his other "uncles", Mav and Goose hadn't been the quiet, undercover sort of best friends. Why did that part of the story never attach itself to the ridiculous half-truths that got passed around repeatedly like an unwanted pot-luck dish? 

"I see…" Cyclone said.

No, you really don't, Bradley thought, with bitterness, and bit on his tongue to stop even a shred of what he was thinking show on his face. He straightened his posture a little bit more, and did not wince. Not at the pulling of his ribs, and not at the aching of his heart as layers of hard, unfeeling stone he'd placed over the love and the hurt of what Mav had done peeled away at his verbal confession, leaving the little-boy gaping wound that had been punched through him at the realisation that the last of his world wanted to take his dream from him, in the process all-but-admitting that he didn’t want Bradley any more, and that he didn’t think Bradley could prove all he wanted to prove and achieve, and that so many of Bradley’s memories of Mav’s encouragement and love were nothing but a lie.

It was a place of turmoil to be in: so many emotions, so many of them conflicting, the bedrock of all he'd based his whole adult life on to date as torn up as the airstrip the Navy had bombed. The rest of the team, Phoenix especially, were curious, but Bradley didn't assuage their curiosity because he didn't know what to tell them. Didn't know if he and Mav could come through this, even though he knew there was no other way for life to continue. Like another suicide mission: they either pulled off the impossible, or they didn't make it home. And Bradley was sure as shit not making reconciliation optional. 

Still, Bradley floundered over the next two-ish days. There was no training for this, and, with Mav apparently as unsure as he was, there was nobody to look to for direction. The look on Mav's face when Bradley apologised for the words he never should have thought, let alone used as a weapon, would lodge itself in his brain for a long, long while, he was sure. It hurt so much deeper than the bruising on his body. And a part of him didn't want to hurt like that; wanted to push it away with anger like he had at eighteen, claiming indifference and rage and detachment rather than to have to wallow in grief that deep, but Bradley needed to grow the hell up, sometime, and the reality of how much he could hurt himself by hurting Mav was a good way to cull down some of the anger that tried to rise up, like he'd taught it to, when Mav was being especially Mav-like. 

Thankfully, there was Hondo to help. 

"I've already organised a trailer for his bike, but it will take a while to sort it out and hook everything up. The ride out to the hangar is a good few hours; you guys should get going, get to the place and set up and chill, and I'll tow the bike and the little shit along when I can." 

"Thanks, Hondo,” Bradley said, and then hesitated. “Uh... you’ll... I mean, I know we’ve already got our miracle victory by getting him to agree not to ride his bike back, spending hours in utter agony but... the car ride will probably also be rough.”

Bradley hesitated to tell Hondo that, when Mav had been officially released from sickbay, Bradley had had to help him peel off his shirt and put another one on. The bruising on his godfather’s body had made Bradley clench his own jaw so much it hurt, something large and painful stuck in his chest and throat. And the ride back to shore had left Mav uncomfortably shifting, toward the end, and moving slow and stiff enough as they disembarked that much of the team had hovered, anxious that he was about to go down. Bradley’s own ribs still throbbed a little, and he certainly had it easier than Mav. Hondo was Mav’s friend, and had hung around even though he’d been shipped back earlier, and could thus probably be trusted with all of that information, but Bradley didn’t trust himself not to do something that was a jerk move where Mav was concerned, as uncertain as he was about boundaries at the moment.

But Hondo’s smile was understanding and warm. “I got you, Rooster. I’ll force the stubborn ass to get out and stretch every thirty minutes or so. He’ll hate it, but he owes me for giving me grey hairs when I still need to look beautiful for a few years.”

Bradley grinned at the joke, but the smile turned to something appreciative as he said, “Thanks, Hondo.”

Hondo inclined his head for a moment. Then he turned and yelled, “Mav! Bring your keys! The kids are going ahead of us.” Mav turned away from his conversation with Payback and Fanboy to glance at Hondo, and then he obediently reached (gingerly) into the pocket of his leather jacket. “Bring them, don’t try toss them,” Hondo yelled, seemingly anticipating Mav’s stupidity.

Mav rolled his eyes, slightly, but it was an amused-exasperated gesture. Patting Payback on the elbow gently, Mav did as Hondo bade and brought the keys over. Bradley couldn’t help but watch the way that he moved, looking for signs that Mav was trying to hide something. There was a slight limp to his godfather’s gait, and Mav was certainly less graceful and confident in his bearing than usual, but Bradley also felt himself relaxing as nothing too serious made itself apparent.

“To disable the alarm, press green,” Mav instructed, holding up a small set of keys in one hand and pointing to each as he spoke. “Then this is for the main padlock. There’s another on the deadbolt on the floor. This is for the Airstream.”

Mav offered the keys out to Bradley, casual, fully trusting, like there wasn’t a reason in the world not to trust Bradley with his house. Bradley gently took the keys and then tried to make his thanks sound normal around the sudden lump in his throat. Mav squeezed his shoulder in a brief goodbye and then... didn’t let go. Bradley didn’t move, either, as stupidly reluctant to part with Mav and face the outside world as Mav seemed to be. Like the moment they stepped off base things would return to how they had been, and there would be no way to keep hold of the promise for change.

“Come on, Mav. Let’s go get your trailer. Saying goodbye to Penny could take a while. If you still wanna do that.”

“I do,” Maverick agreed, but he still didn’t take his hand off Bradley’s shoulder. “You kids drive safe, okay?”

“Yeah. Of course. You guys, too.”

“Rooster, come on, we wanna stop for roadtrip snacks!” Fanboy called, cajoling and gentle.

And, finally, Maverick let go and stepped away. A single step, though, and Bradley knew, instinctively, the next was his. That was how they parted: each taking a single step away from the other in quicker succession until they were walking, and Bradley didn’t let himself look back because he’d be seeing Maverick in a few hours and everything would be fine.

The roadtrip did manage to take his mind off things; Phoenix and Bob were in his Bronco with him, but they made enough regular stops that Payback’s Jeep full of people were as much part of the ride as if they were in one car together. Phoenix and Bradley traded driving, a little as a compromise for different driving styles and a little because his ribs did hurt and because he was still tired in a way that would take the leave he had been granted to work out of him, he thought. But he was behind the wheel, searching for the house that Bob was insisting the GPS location Mav had given them told him was coming up soon, when the expanse of nothing finally gave way to a building.

A building that was not, in fact, a house in a small cluster of other, yuppie environmentalists and rich people wanting an escape out in nature as Bradley had supposed. There was a single building in the middle of nowhere, alone and stark, and it was a hangar in the most literal sense, rather than a metaphor like Bradley had been expecting.

Phoenix’s phone rang, and she wordlessly picked up the call and hit speaker. “Yo... does Mav stay in, like, an actual, literal hanger? In the middle of the desert? Miles away from civilisation?” Coyote asked, sounding utterly thrown.

“It looks like it,” Phoenix answered.

“I thought...”

“Yeah,” Bradley said, shock and discomfort and confusion all warring in him as they drove closer to the hangar. “Yeah, me, too.”

There was a loaded silence. “See you guys when we get there,” Phoenix told them before disconnecting the call.

In silence they drove the rest of the distance to the hangar. Luckily, Bob still had his head on his shoulders, and he leaned over Rooster’s shoulder from the back seat to grab at Mav’s keys, pressing the green button Mav had said was for the alarm. A red light above the hangar door went off a moment later, and Bradley drove the rest of the way to the slightly rundown building. They stepped out the car onto tarmac, and then all just... stared at the hangar doors while the Jeep pulled up behind them. Bradley could have sworn the other vehicle sounded tentative.

There was too much to unpack, there. And there was still no clarity between him and Mav to serve as some solid structure to begin unpacking anything. So Bradley steeled himself, shoved things down in a way he probably shouldn’t be so good at, and then held out his hand toward Bob.

“I’ll go open up. Could you guys start unloading, and then I’ll join you and help when I’m done?”

“Yeah, sure,” Bob agreed at once, giving Bradley a smile as he gently handed over the keys.

Bradley left them all to it and stepped up to the hangar, thumbing through the set of keys he held until he found the one he remembered Mav saying was for the hangar. The padlock was well-oiled, and the doors opened easily enough it barely twinged at his ribs, as slightly achy as they were by the long ride. Inside the massive space was mostly dark and littered with shapes of all sizes, and Bradley looked to the wall by the door for a light switch. Thankfully finding one, he flipped it on, and then immediately froze at the sight of the Mustang.

It was gorgeous. And Bradley shouldn’t have been surprised to see a plane in Maverick’s hangar that was also his house but he was. Enough that he blurted, “Holy shit there’s an actual plane in here,” out loud.

And that, of course, was enough to make the group of naval aviators behind him all abandon their work at once in favour of scrambling toward the hangar in great haste.

“Oh, baby,” Payback groaned as he took in the Mustang, walking forward in heavy reverence.

“Do you think Maverick owns her?” Coyote said, voiced hushed as he started forward.

“I don’t see why el— hot shitting damn, the bikes,” Fanboy yelped, and Bradley turned to see what he’d completely missed because of his awe with the P-51.

So. His godfather lived in a hangar in the middle of the desert all alone and hoarded vehicles. Bradley briefly put his face in his hands as he fought between amusement and exasperation and acknowledgement that, really, he should have known. It was Mav. The Kawasaki had basically been like the beloved family pet, when Bradley had been growing up. Dropping his hands, still deciding all of it was too much to deal with at once, Bradley left everybody to their inspection of the Mustang and went outside for some of the things that had been abandoned on the tarmac outside beside the cars. He had to crouch down awkwardly to avoid bending in a way that would really make his ribs mad, and, by the time he returned to the hangar with a light armful the team had spread a little from the plane, cautiously looking around the rest of the hangar in curiosity they weren’t sure they were allowed. And, really, Bradley wasn’t sure what to tell them: he didn’t know, any more, how Mav would feel about people poking at private things. He didn’t even know, any more, what Mav would consider private. Sure, there were things — posters? Pictures? Patches? — on the walls, but Bradley didn’t know if they were okay to be looked at. Mav might have put them up only because he figured nobody would ever come out there to see him.

And that...

Yeah, that was one of the things Bradley had to shove down for later; a big, long-clawed, painful something that seemed far too big to face on shaky ground.

And so he said nothing, tentatively stepping further into the hangar, spotting the Airstream and ignoring the implications thereof and then spotting Mav’s black Bronco and aching so much at the sight of it that shoving it down for later took longer than the other things had. It was providence, or retribution, or poetic justice, or something that had him still staring at the black Bronco when Fanboy’s voice cut across the hangar.

“Okay, seriously, Bradshaw. What. The. Hell.”

Bradley turned, noting that everybody else did as well. Fanboy had wondered over to inspect the bikes, presumably, and had continued wandering. He stood at the end of the hangar, around what looked like a sink or a workbench, and was staring at some of the things on the walls, there. And Bradley knew, a moment later, that the things on the walls had to be pictures. And those pictures had to be of Goose. And he had two choices: deflect, defend, clam up and make the team deal with it, or show them the wound he’d been hiding from them for weeks. One that could so easily have been fatal, really.

His eyes flickered until he met Phoenix’s. She looked back, steadily, expression open but devoid of any demands. And, as his heart settled, Bradley took a step forward, heading towards Fanboy. The others followed, even Hangman quiet as they seemed to sense that they were stepping into something. Fanboy turned around when the group approached, and his face twisted apologetically.

“Sorry, man. You don’t — I shouldn’t have — you can tell me to shove it, if you want.”

Bradley was going to reply, but the words were slammed out of him by the concussive force of what his eyes found on the wall and on the countertop. Goose was there, of course. Peppered everywhere, like so many fairylights. The class of ‘86 featured, too, in smatterings, either as a whole or in smaller groups in other settings. Carole was there, either attached to Goose or attached to Mav or alone, smiles wide despite the difference between sun-kissed skin and vibrant hair and hollow-boned and buzz-cut. And Bradley was there. He’d half known to steel himself for the baby-toddler-kid pictures. Maybe one or two of him as a teenager. But the gut-punch — the thing that had probably made Fanboy call out in the first place — was him in the years when he wasn’t supposed to feature on Mav’s wall or countertop.

Mav even had an official picture of him in his uniform. And, a little ways behind it, obscured partially by the class photo of '86, was a list of names, with BRADSHAW, BRADLEY P. carefully highlighted. An Academy graduation programme. His Academy graduation programme. Either Mav had come, despite Bradley’s spitting fury and contempt, and had hid in the crowd, watching but never seen. Or he’d somehow tracked down a copy of the programme, just to highlight Bradley’s name and carefully tack it to his wall. Bradley wasn’t sure which option was more terrible.

His heart nearly caved, and the pain was enough that anger rose like an instinct, demanding that the hurt stop and the easier-to-feel bitterness come to the fore instead. Who was Mav to have pictures and graduation programmes when he’d been the one to stand in Bradley’s way? To try and deny him his dream? To insinuate, without the balls to say it to Bradley’s face, that he wasn’t good enough to support, that he wasn’t wanted anywhere near Mav’s precious Navy planes where he could drag down Mav’s life any more than he already had?

With great effort, Bradley grabbed at the anger and tried to hold it back before it got a hold on him. Again. It was a struggle, to be sure; and one that left him quiet a beat too long for those who stood around him.

“Bradley.” Tash and he almost always stuck to each other’s callsigns, even when he was over at her family’s place for holidays. This was a deliberate attempt to ground him, and he appreciated her more than he had capacity to even think right then. “Hey.”

No demands for him to explain, or even share with the class how he was feeling. Just a call to come back, to stay grounded, to be in control. He loved that woman so very much, he re-discovered in that moment. And it was to Natasha that he turned, too raw to really think about what his face was doing, too off-balance to have a rational internal debate about how to handle the situation. He just... did, without thinking, speaking to her, but knowing the rest would listen and fill in Omaha, Yale, Fitz and Harvard later. Probably even off the groupchat, for Bradley’s sake, and the certainty of that tact and care, small as it was, made something settle in him enough that he could feel the ground beneath his feet, again.

“My mom always used to tell it like this,” Bradley explained, and the smile twitching at his lips was involuntary as he slipped into the story he’d loved so much and that he’d refused to think about since his mother’s death. Now, it didn’t hurt any more thinking about the people the story was about, or how his mother’s voice had sounded when she’d told the story, or the light in her eyes that spoke of things Bradley hadn’t had words for but had understood down to his loved-safe-at-home bones. “She was barely married, still getting used to being any kind of wife, let alone the wife of a Navy man. My dad was late getting home, and there were no cellphones in those days, so she just had to fret over the vegetables and wonder if the chicken would get dry. And then in walks my dad, and he greeted her with a tone she knew all too well. It was his please don’t be mad, but I found it, and it was hurt and alone, and we’ll just keep it for the night and then call animal control, I swear voice that had led to them spending weeks finding homes for dogs and cats of various tragic backstories in the past.”

None of the others appeared to even be moving. Everybody was, as far as Bradley could tell out of the corner of his eyes, watching him intently, standing almost at attention. But, then again, Hangman was in a blindspot so that might just have been wishful thinking. Not that he’d actually turn and check; in order to get through this, Bradley knew he’d have to just forget that Seresin was there. And deal with whatever fallout after. Don’t think, just do. Perhaps it was only a good philosophy for flying, but it was too late, now. The memories were rolling, thick and strong, and Bradley knew deep down that he needed this. He had needed this for years, but had buried it all under that hard shell of anger and distance.

“Except, this time, my dad came around the corner with a few bruises and a torn shirt and a whole, grown-ass other man. Or, you know, as grown as Mav has ever been.” He even said the teasing line in his mother’s inflection, and he hadn’t missed her that much or that fondly in a long time. “Turns out, there were a few assholes, and my dad always knew when to mouth off but missed the turnoff to stop, sometimes. Next thing he knew, there was a feral midget — his words, apparently — in the fray at his back. They found out afterwards that both of them were in the Navy, so my dad brought the guy home for some TLC. My mom patched them both up, and my dad apologised once Mav went home, and said he wouldn’t do it again. She knew what she’d married, though, and some sort of inkling was beginning to unfold.”

“See, my mom was smart.” He didn’t know how he was grinning, right then, but he was, and Tash was grinning softly, right back. She understood him, even though he didn’t. Risking a glance at Bob to Phoenix’s right gave Bradley even more hope that he wasn’t losing it; Bob wasn’t smiling, but it was a near thing, something warm in his gaze as he let Bradley tell his story. “And she loved my dad... completely. Fully. All of him. So she knew that he was a good man, a kind man, a responsible man, but that that wasn’t all of him. And he struggled to find a pilot that really understood him enough that they flew more than just passably well together. So when my dad started coming home with a bounce in his step and retold stories of the day with passion and humour, she made a note of them. Even when those days were also him coming home late, or coming home with an admission of a slap on the wrist. Eventually, after a month, she sat him down and told him, ‘Goose, honey, you be straight with me.’”

He would have given anything to see that moment. To remember his mom and dad interacting from more than just vagueness or other people’s recollections. He would have given anything to hear her, and not just her echo, tell this story again, her eyes laughing even as she barely kept the laughter from her voice.

“She said to him, ‘You’ve been actually happy on these days I’ve marked here. You tell me what was different about them.’ And my dad admitted those were the days he was put as the backseater of the feral midget from before. So my mom did what she knew to do: invited Mav around for dinner. She always said she didn’t know what to expect, and was half scared she’d dislike the man or find him to be really as crazy as my dad admitted the rumours were.” Bradley could feel his smile wobbling a little. “Way she always told it, she adopted Mav that very first dinner. And, from then on, he was family. My mom and dad were all the family Mav had, so he was folded right into their lives. It didn’t take long for the brass to capitulate to the fact that Maverick and Goose were the best match for each other, and my dad officially became Mav’s RIO. And then best friend. And then good-as-brother. When they had me... I mean, my middle name is Peter.”

“And then... and then the accident happened, and my dad died, and Mav just... stepped closer. Did everything he could to stick close to my mom and me, on assignment and not. He helped my mom raise me. And, when she died, he became my legal guardian. But, um...” For the first time, Bradley hesitated, the story turning from bittersweet to just bitter. How much of this did he even share with them? Phoenix knew Mav had pulled his papers, and he could see the pieces falling into place by the expression on her face. The rest, though... Bradley didn’t want them to know all the details, somehow. And he wasn’t entirely sure if it was to protect himself, or to protect Mav.

“My mom died about a year before I turned eighteen. And when I did turn eighteen, Mav and I... we had a huge... falling out. Really huge. And, uh... I haven’t seen him since. Or talked to him. So all of this” — he gestured around him to the hangar and to the photo wall — “is a surprise for me, too.”

Nobody said anything in the wake of Bradley's fumbling finish, but Bob did change his gaze from Bradley's face to the wall of photos behind him, expression strangely complicated. 

"You didn't talk for fifteen years?" 

Of course it was Hangman who broke the silence. Before turning around, Bradley caught sight of Phoenix's exasperated come on look that she was shooting Seresin. Bradley kept his face as impassive as he could, tilting his head a little to the side as he squarely met Hangman's eyes. 

"You got something to say, Hangman?" 

"Guys," Payback said, voice a mixture of pleading and irritated. 

For a moment, he and Jake simply stared at each other. Then something on Hangman's face shifted, and he shook his head, slowly. "Just what I said. Fifteen years is a long time." 

And didn't Bradley know it. A long time for things to change, and a long time to now navigate through while time refused to also stop rushing forward. Bradley inclined his head in Hangman's direction in quiet agreement, and was happy to leave it like that and break the moment so that they could all get back to unpacking for their epic camp-away at Mav's. But, as he began to turn, Hangman straightened. 

"Bradshaw." Bradley flicked an eyebrow at the blank expression on Seresin's face. There was no smugness. No sneering delight. Very little of anything, like he was purposefully shutting everything down instead of projecting the emotions he wanted people to see as a screen. "I… Uh…"  And that was weirder— Seresin wasn't one to stutter or waver on anything. So Bradley turned back toward him fully, more surprised than anything else, and saw Hangman visibly swallow. "Look. I stand by what I said about your flying, son, but I…" He huffed a little, and glanced away before seemingly forcing his eyes back to Bradley's. "Bringing up a dead parent is always a dick move. And, this time, it seems it was even worse than the usual." 

Realisation dawned: this was an apology. Or as close to one as he was going to get with Seresin. And Bradley would usually have shrugged it off, maybe with a smart comment of his own, because it was Hangman, because the guy had saved his and Mav's lives, because Bradley knew about pots and kettles and his own behaviour for the last two weeks. But that anger— the one that had first made him realise how dumb it was to refer to what he felt about Mav as "rage"— rekindled like a lightning strike. 

Bradley walked forward slowly until he was right in front of Hangman — so close that they were touching very slightly — and looked right into the other man's eyes. "For the record," he said, voice calm but very clearly full of warning, "everybody who looked into the accident that killed my dad all agreed that it wasn't Mav's fault in any way. They cleared him of all responsibility. The Navy never blamed him. My mom never blamed him. I never blamed him." That one was harder to get out without his voice cracking. It was the truth, but he had certainly said and acted differently, and he still regretted it to the point of feeling ill. "The only person who blames Maverick for Nick Bradshaw's death is Mav himself. I haven't spoken to him in fifteen years, but I know that is still true." And, hell, did he wish it wasn’t; that he’d tried that wildcard and his ploy had failed. "And so if you ever insinuate anything of the sort again, Seresin, I swear on Goose's grave that I will not stop at just knocking your teeth out. Understand?" 

There was a familiar ringing in Bradley's ears, and a slight tunnelling of his vision, but despite both he saw the emotion that crossed Jake's face. Saw and understood it, because it resided inside him, too. Shame. 

"Understood," was all Hangman said, uncharacteristically quiet and serious, but steady. 

Bradley nodded at him and then backed up, giving the man more space. But he still looked at Jake as he addressed the group at large, "Should we at least try and have things set up by the time Hondo gets here?" 

"Man, we can't help how we act after getting a P-51 in the flesh flung on us without warning," Payback divvied back at once. 

And everybody else forced the banter that cracked the sombre mood, working at it until, finally, the teasing came naturally again and the atmosphere was relaxed instead of uncertain and tense. Nobody said anything to Bradley about his revelation, but Phoenix did wordlessly give him a hug once everybody else's backs were turned, gentle on his ribs but fierce and warm all the same.

Bradley tried to keep his mind on the present, engaging with his friends as they unloaded the vehicles and started setting up the space that they’d use to watch movies, figuring out sleeping arrangements and sorting out the slightly slapdash bits of food they’d brought with them. But he was kept away from most of the heavy lifting due to his injuries and, without much to keep him distracted, the feelings and thoughts that he’d tried to keep at bay pulled him in, leaving him stuck in his own head.

As much as he didn’t want to, he felt angry that Maverick somehow had a picture of him in his uniform. Front and centre, as though the man hadn’t done all in his power — and, really, that included things in other people’s power, too; Mav wasn’t that important — to ensure that Bradley would never get to wear that uniform. It just didn’t make sense. He replayed the disastrous conversation between him and Mav from the night Iceman had died, rolling around Maverick’s answer in his head again and again. You weren’t ready. To trust your instincts. Don’t think; just do. You think up there, you’re dead. You weren’t ready.

But he had been, Bradley thought furiously, finding himself suddenly pacing in front of Mav’s sink, glaring at the photos that stared back at him as though in judgement. He’d been nothing but ready. He’d said he wanted to fly like his dad and like Uncle Mav since before Goose had died, and had known it was true and not just some child’s changing whim from the age of thirteen. He’d worked for it; shadowed Mav and his other “uncles” from the Class of ‘86, learning everything he possibly could from them. Bradley had done every possible bit of forward preparation he could, knowing that the Navy was where he was destined to be. And he’d only worked harder after his mom’s doctors gave up on her when he was sixteen. He wanted his mom to see him, if not graduate the Academy, then at least get in. While the inevitability of his mother’s passing had been something impossible to fully grasp, he had also clung, stubbornly, to the desire for her to still be around to see him take those steps he’d been working so hard for for what felt like his entire life.

She’d died before he could even apply and then, still empty and with half of his entire reality a black hole of grief, he’d been told Mav had personally tried to make sure it would never happen.

“Shit, damnit,” Bradley hissed to himself, the anger burning through his veins enough he wanted to march right out the hangar doors and just... keep walking. Get far away from Mav’s space, from his friends, from the memories. He knew, now, that he couldn’t live without Mav, but damn if he didn’t still want to... to... to... punch the man. At the very least.

“Roo?” Phoenix stood a little way off, watching him as he paced. “Left alone, or sounding board?” she asked, when he did nothing but glance at her and then look away.

“Left alone.” But then, after a second, “I don’t know. It just... it doesn’t make any sense, Phoe.”

“Yeah?” It was a filler; she was there to do nothing but listen to him process and offer opinion only when directly asked.

“He never said anything about not wanting me in the Navy. Not once. He was the one who... who encouraged it. My whole life! And then he just... without warning. If he didn’t think I was ready, he should have told me. Not gone behind my back to try and end my life. I mean... I mean...” He threw his hands up, regretting the sharp movement’s impact on his ribs. “What the hell.”

“Okay. So.” Phoenix walked over to lean against the counter, calm and collected. “Mav knew you wanted to be in the Navy, and supported your decision. Until very suddenly he didn’t. And he showed his disapproval by pulling your papers. You’re sure he didn’t say why?”

“Not back then, no.” Bradley didn’t pause in his pacing but did admit, a length later, “I don’t know if I asked, back then. I had my own assumptions.”

“Were they true?”

“I... No? At least... Recently, I asked, and Mav said it was because I wasn’t ready to trust my instincts and... and... not think, but just do. ‘Cause if you think up there, you’re dead,” he said, badly mimicking Mav’s voice for the end bit.

Phoenix remained impassive, humming slightly as she thought for a moment. “And that wasn’t one of the reasons that crossed your mind?”

“No,” he admitted, the pacing slowing somewhat. “I just thought... I dunno. It didn’t make sense, back then, either. But I...”

“Got mad instead of thinky,” Phoenix suggested, tone dry but free of judgement.

Bradley huffed a slight laugh. “Yeah. I guess... Yeah.”

“You must have had some sort of narrative, though.”

“I...” Bradley finally came to a stop, looking not at Phoenix but at those damn photos. Specifically of the ones of him, back when he’d been the age they were talking about. “I thought... I thought he’d been lying to me my whole life, and, now that my mom was gone, he was finally showing his true colours. I thought he was cutting me out, because I was old enough to not be his legal problem any more. I thought he was telling me I wasn’t good enough. I thought...” Bradley swallowed, tears rising up and choking him as suddenly as a thunderstorm breaking on a humid day. “I thought,” he whispered, “that he was punishing me for not... not doing better. Not making it on time. Not... not... not keeping Mom around. Making him... making him sacrifice so much for me growing up.”

“So you were an idiot,” Phoenix said, with such levity that it cut through Bradley’s grief and returned him to solid ground. Good old Tash. “And you were a teenager, which... not an excuse, but one hell of an explanation. I haven’t met a teenager who isn’t absolutely head-up-their-own-ass at least some of the time. And... and you were grieving, Bradley. Your mom just died. After a really shitty, really traumatising illness that lasted years.”

Bradley turned to face her again, scrubbing at his face as he did so. “Yeah,” he said, and even that one syllable cracked.

So Phoenix came closer, and put a hand on his shoulder. Grounding. Comforting. “I don’t know Mitchell like you did. But I know that he didn’t even punish Seresin out there. So I think I’m qualified to say that your assumptions were shit.”

“But then why, Tash? And why didn’t he give any prior warning?”

Phoenix pursed her lips, turning over the question for a few long moments while her thumb absently dug soothing circles into Bradley’s shoulder. “He told you it was ‘cause you weren’t ready?”

“Yeah.”

“Weren’t ready to... Oh.”

“Oh?”

“Weren’t ready to fly in a way you didn’t die.” Phoenix’s gaze turned to the photos. “He’d just lost your mom, too,” she said, quietly. “From what you said... they were close. And... and from the looks of it, he’s never... I mean, your dad is everywhere,” she said, treading lightly. Bradley frowned at her, not quite getting it, and, when she caught his gaze, she elaborated, “He was grieving, too, Brad. He’d lost his... what? One of his best friends, yeah?”

“More like his sister,” Bradley said, and the realisation he probably should have had for years started to dawn. Mav and his mom had been very close. They’d loved each other fully, if never romantically. And Mav had... hell. Bradley had never thought about what it must be like to watch your sister just wasting away. He suddenly got the horrific image of Phoenix in a hospital bed, looking like Mom had, and a roll of nausea swept through him, strong and hot.

“So he lost his good-as-sister. The wife of his best friend, who he, I’m guessing, still missed. And then there’s you; suddenly the only family he has left. And something made him think, ‘Shit. If Bradley flies right now, he’s gonna die. He’s not ready to fly in a way that won’t kill him. I’ve gotta make sure that, when he goes up there, when he goes into combat, it isn’t gonna make me stand in front of another casket.’” It was slightly more difficult to breathe. Phoenix’s grip tightened. “I’m not saying he was right. I’m not even saying that was what he was thinking. But... to me, it makes sense. And Mav... Mav just got scared enough he did something stupid, and way over-the-top. Instead of talking to you about how he felt and letting you reassure him that, hey, you could do this. You’d been showing you could do this. Maybe —”

Natasha's words faded out as Bradley sunk into memories he’d avoided for a very, very long time. He hadn’t wanted to think about his mother’s last days, even apart from the sting and anger of Mav that made it all ten times worse. The pain had been so acute, and so all-consuming, that he’d hidden it beneath the desperate attempt to get into the Navy, because having a goal gave him purpose and some activity to throw himself into so he didn’t have to think. And, of course, anger was so much easier to feel than grief and betrayal.

But now, years later, with the wound not so fresh and hindsight and maturity that he’d never had as a kid, Bradley was pulling open the memories and taking a good look and finding that things maybe hadn’t played out the way that he had assumed for so long. He’d just never, ever thought of Maverick as the type to get scared, before. The man’s callsign alone spoke to his reckless, daredevil take on flying and life in general. And that wasn’t even beginning to take into account the Mav of Bradley’s memories; always in control, always larger-than-life, always full of energy and hope and cheeky optimism. So Bradley had never even thought to consider the possibility that his mom dying had rattled Mav so hard he’d grown scared enough to want Bradley grounded. Scared enough to want to be sure before he’d allow Bradley in the air.

You’d go after them if I wasn’t here.

But you are here, Mav had said, and Bradley hadn’t been able to see his face, but that rawness in Mav’s voice was unmistakable. And it was starting to warp some memories like those optical illusion pictures that hid two completely different images in one. Or, perhaps, Bradley had to begrudgingly admit, it was less of revealing an opposite hidden in the inked certainty, and more like turning on a brighter light to reveal with more clarity what had been lurking just-just beyond sight.

Could Natasha be right? Could Mav have done it out of fear? Standing there, tuning her out, trying to sift through the murky memories of that time, dodging the landmines of emotion too big to handle even then, Bradley couldn’t remember Maverick looking scared. Sad, sure; shattered, even, a few times, when he thought Bradley wasn’t looking or had probably just been too torn up to keep a strong mask on for the kid he was trying to protect. But never scared. Even on the night in the hospital when it had been Bradley as the patient because of the bike accident —

“Oh, holy shit,” Bradley breathed, as things slotted into place with the force of punching out. Now he really felt like he couldn’t breathe.

“Roos? Rooster. Hey.” Bradley looked at Phoenix without seeing her, his mind spinning so hard that there was a faint ringing in his ears. There was no spare capacity, in the wake of this, to think anything. No capacity to feel. All there was was the breathless, all-encompassing, numbness. “Rooster? What’s happening?”

Phoenix closed the distance between them a little more, slowly reaching out to grab both his shoulders, giving Bradley an out if he needed it. Probably looking utterly checked-out, Bradley could only stare at her.

“So I’m guessing something just clicked. And you’re freaked out. Are you panicking? Bradley, I need you to tell me if you’re panicking.” Bradley managed to shake his head. “Okay. Okay, good. Nod or shake. Do you want water?” He shook his head. “Space?” Another shake. “A hug?”

He hesitated, and then nodded, and was immediately folded into Phoenix’s arms. There, breathing became a little easier, her presence and her warmth grounding him. She let go after a very long moment, watching him.

“Do you wanna talk about it now?” The implication that it would be talked about wasn’t a threat; it was a promise that she’d be there for him. Never mind that he’d kept all of this from her for years already.

“I...” Bradley shut his eyes. He knew he had to say it out loud and make it real, but the childish part of him wanted to bury it. Close the monster back into the closet, because if he just shut it down, then it wasn’t real and didn’t need to be dealt with. “I... I got into a bike accident. At seventeen. I was... it was one of those situations where another driver was being a shithead, but I hesitated to make a decision — speed up, slow down, swerve. And that hesitation — the doing nothing — is what made me crash.” A light of understanding appeared on Phoenix’s face, but Bradley shook his head at her. For once, she didn’t hear what he wasn’t saying. Because the full story went beyond Maverick having evidence, even before Bradley got into the air, that he was too cautious, and that that would cause problems. “It wasn’t too bad. But I did get pretty banged up. Worst was this.” He gestured at the scars on his face. “My mom was already pretty sick, and this just... freaked her out. Mav was there, and usually he could mediate between us — same way Mom mediated between Mav and I — but she was just... it really looped her. And I... I was so guilty for making her worry and stress above everything else that I just... I thought she was worried I wouldn’t make anything of my life. She didn’t say it outright like that, but that’s what I picked up. And I thought — I’ve thought this whole time — she was implying that she was scared she was gonna leave me and I’d have no aspiration. So I pushed even harder to get into the Academy before she left, so that she’d see. So that she’d be at peace. But I think... Tash...”

He started laughing, because he didn’t know how else to react to this information he didn’t want to know.

“I think I missed her entirely. Looking back right now, I think she was terrified flying would kill me. And she was trying to tell me without saying it outright, because I just... Flying had always been... and I wasn’t relenting...” Phoenix kept quiet, her gaze on him intently as Bradley scrubbed across his face and through his hair in agitation. “Shit. Shit. Tash. I think it was my mom. I think... I think she made Mav do it. Asked him to. Whatever. My accident wasn’t... I mean, it freaked her, to be sure, but toward the end there... toward the end there she was just... scared. Not herself; not who she’d always been.”

“Do you think Mav would have promised her something like that? Knowing what it meant to you? And then... what? Just not told you the truth?”

And Phoenix’s calm, detached questions finally drove it home all the way. Bradley still wanted to talk to Mav about it, but he didn’t need his godfather to confirm to know.

“He would have promised her anything,” he whispered, unable to stop the tears welling in his eyes. “Anything. Even before she was so sick and so scared. And he... he would have done anything to protect her. From me and my anger and...” And he would have done anything to protect Bradley from the pain of his mother ripping his dream away and then not even being there to talk to him about it, or comfort him through it, or explain.

Maybe it had always been Mav’s intention to lie. Maybe he’d intended to tell Bradley, right until he saw how angry and full of hate Bradley had been toward him. Maybe he’d just always assumed Bradley would see his best intentions in the action, and allow reconciliation to happen so that he could explain it all with all the initial anger behind him.

Had Mav really waited for fifteen years? Even a day ago, Bradley would have scoffed at the notion. But that Bradley, even though he’d saved and been saved by his godfather, wouldn’t have dreamed of the photos on Mav’s wall. The graduation programme preserved with such care.

“You okay?” Phoenix mumbled.

Bradley rubbed at his eyes, sniffing. “I...”

“Need some space?”

“No. I can’t... I need to not think about this. For now.”

Phoenix narrowed her eyes at him, a little. “That’s entirely fair, but you can’t put this off forever. You have to actually process. You hearing me? It doesn’t have to be with me. But you have to.”

“Yeah, I know. I know, Phoe, promise,” he repeated, emphatic but soft as her eyes narrowed further. He gripped her wrist and swung her hand a little. “I will. I just... need to leave it for a bit and then circle back.”

“Okay,” she said, easily. “Then get off your lazy ass and come help us set up, Bradshaw. Hell. You second one major mission and your head goes all the way up there.”

It got an almost-grin out of him, and Bradley obediently followed in Phoenix’s wake as she led him back to the others. Fanboy and Bob did little double-takes when they first caught sight of him, and Bradley wondered what expression he was wearing under the mask of control that he was fighting so very hard for. Or, maybe, something about him had been irreversibly changed; shifted along with the truth of his reality. Either way, neither those two nor anybody else commented on it, and the elephant in the hangar was allowed to exist peacefully as the aviators turned a corner of the place into a pretty cosy make-shift den.

And Bradley managed not to think; managed to lose himself to the motions, following instructions from his friends as though they were COs giving orders in drills. The awareness of where he was and who he would soon see and what changes had been wrought existed, but only as a vague wave of unease at the back of his mind, along with the slight aching of his ribs and the other harness bruises across his shoulders and back. Perhaps it was weak to sink into such a respite, but Bradley was fresh out of capacity to care. He was doing, not thinking and that approach had led him closer back to home than he’d been in almost two decades, so he’d continue to ride the wave until it inevitably had to break.

He just...

He just wished he could be sure what would be waiting for him on shore.

A soft, but pointed, cough caught his attention, and Bradley realised he’d completely frozen while folding open some sleeping bags. Blinking, he started back on the task, before another pointed cough had him glancing up and around until he met Fanboy’s gaze. Mickey smiled at him, very faintly, and then inclined his head toward the photo wall. Confused, Bradley flicked his gaze that way before looking again to Fanboy, his brow scrunching in confusion.

“Keep a weather eye on the horizon,” Fanboy said, softly.

What —? Was that a quote? With Fanboy, it was almost always a quote. Bradley narrowed his eyes more, trying to puzzle it out, and he got Mickey’s crooked grin; the one that was sad at the edges, and that usually came out when he was talking about his grandmother, fierce and strong and also gone too soon like Carole.

“Don’t lose sight of the grounding line of reality that you’re going toward,” Mickey translated, and it slotted into place in Bradley’s heart even as he spoke.

“Thanks,” Bradley whispered, unable to say anything else.

And Fanboy grinned at him, megawatt this time, and left him to his sleeping bags.

Bradley straightened one out before looking at the photos again. Even that far away, he knew now what he was looking at. That hit again as he stared at the indistinguishable rectangles of blurred colours. He knew what he was looking at. That was love, up there; heart on a sleeve tucked in the safe spaces of a place that was too cavernous and lonely to be a home but would make do with pluck and flair.

That was love up there. That was what was waiting. It seemed impossible, getting from where they were to where they had been, but the horizon was steady. And, realising it, Bradley suddenly found the burning band of anxiety lesson, somewhat.

What was one more miracle after so many had already taken place? He was sure they’d get it. Mav had paid in years of hope, after all. Hope and a love that obviously didn’t crumble, even under pressure. It was... overwhelming. Breathtaking. The kind of love Bradley had never thought to contemplate, and had been his for the taking if he’d just stopped to notice it was there. He couldn’t change the past, and couldn’t change how he felt right then — all the lingering anger and hurt and confusion and distance — but that love was a bedrock. And he’d fight for it, no matter how much the wave tried to dunk him under.

With a small smile and a lighter heart, Bradley returned to the sleeping bags, finally at peace for whatever would happen between him and Mav in the future.

The sun was beginning to set by the time the sound of an approaching car echoed up the tarmac. Phoenix was close to the door, so she leaned out to double-check the identity of those arriving, and managed to get a glimpse of Hondo and Mav through the windshield as the car rolled to a stop. Hondo got out at once, and he raised a hand in greeting to Phoenix as he headed to unhitch the trailer carrying Mav's bike, which she returned.

“Guys! Mav and Hondo!” she called into the hangar.

“Did they bring more food?” Coyote called, anxiously.

“Looks like it,” Phoenix confirmed as Hondo began to lift some plastic carrier bags from his trunk.

A happy cheer went out, and she had to roll her eyes fondly. In their defence, they hadn’t known quite how isolated Mav’s place would be, or that he really would have the very bare basics in a tiny Airstream. But, even with all that considered, they definitely should have planned meals better. Hondo was making his way around the car toward the hangar by the time Maverick peeled himself out of the car door, which had popped open almost as quick as Hondo’s had. Even from the distance, and without a look at Mav’s face, she could tell he was hurting something good. Mav even wobbled when he shut the car door, and Phoenix instinctively took a step forward before she hesitated, unsure of how to proceed. The hesitation had just melted away to conviction when a form strode past her, long legs eating up the distance between the hangar and the car.

“Mav, what the hell?” Rooster snapped as Mav shuffled toward the trunk, evidently with the intent of picking up some groceries or sorting out his bike despite his stiff gait and the way one arm was clamped loosely around his ribs.

Mav turned toward Rooster’s voice, eyes almost comically wide, and Phoenix watched the silent play unfolding in technicolour from her spot in the hangar doorway. She swore she heard Hondo huff a laugh as he passed her, and that made a smile curl across her face as well. Mav seemed to be arguing. Roo looked about as impressed as a bathed cat.

No wonder he’d cultivated and held on to all that anger. It would take a rage as huge as all that to hide this much love and care. Phoenix shook her head. Dumb idiot. Actually, plural; she didn’t know Maverick all that well, but she was starting to see where Rooster got some of the traits that periodically made her want to smother her best friend with a pillow.

“We need hands!” Phoenix called to the boys inside, and even Hangman answered her call.

He took the packets from Hondo instead of heading outside to the car with everybody else, true, but he did it without any attitude, and she actually trusted his ability to sort and organise groceries. Which was possibly one of the oddest things to trust about a person, but Hangman and her had never exactly had a relationship that could fit comfortably in some kind of box. It was the way they both liked it.

“Mav!” Fanboy was practically wagging his imaginary tail as they headed toward the car. Rooster was hovering so close to Mav they were almost touching. And he didn’t even seem to fully realise he was doing it. “You didn’t tell us you had a Mustang!”

Mav was definitely pale upon closer inspection, but he gave a smile as wide and genuine as could be. “Thought I’d surprise you kids. What do you think?”

“Holy shit, Sir,” Coyote said with mock decorum.

“And the bikes!” Fanboy crowed.

“Can she fly?” Payback broke in to ask.

“Not yet, I’m afraid. But. Hey. Maybe I’ll need somebody to test her out once I get her all fixed and polished, huh?”

There was a scramble of voices volunteering, and Mav’s smile turned that warm fond that made Phoenix feel like she was at home, surrounded by all of her family, but, at the same time, more seen than said family knew how to make her. It wasn’t their fault; they tried, but just couldn’t understand the things that made her heart explode and burn and soar in continuous cycles that felt like days and months and years in the span of moments. Mav’s gaze flickered to hers as though he’d read her thoughts, and Phoenix’s heart squeezed a little in joy.

“Do I wanna know what inside looks like?” Mav asked her, pulling an exaggerated expression of pain.

“Sir, it’s your own fault for letting them, unsupervised, onto your property,” she deadpanned back.

“Okay, firstly, we are way too far away from base or being on duty for sir. Sir is disallowed. Secondly, they were supervised! You were supposed to supervise!”

“Apologies. I didn’t get the memo,” she grinned.

Mav barked a laugh that sent him wincing a moment after, and Roos did that little leaning hover, anxiety clear through his thick scowl. Not even bothering to hide her grin, completely unrepentant even when Rooster turned the scowl onto her, Phoenix finished her walk to the trunk of the car and, finding all the groceries gone, snatched up Mav’s go bag.

“Oh, wait, you don’t —”

“Let her take it, Mav,” Rooster interrupted at once. “And Hondo'll get the bike. Come on.”

She left them to it, knowing it wasn’t her place to intervene, and simply shut the trunk and started back to the hangar. Even at a leisurely pace, she was faster than Mav’s shuffling gait, and she couldn’t help but be concerned for the man. The drive had been a long one, but she’d been hoping it wouldn’t have had this much of an effect on him. Rooster was obviously thinking the same thoughts as her, as he questioned Maverick as they walked about the ride and all the detours that had made their trip out take so much longer than the Daggers’ had.

“Penny wasn’t there,” she heard Mav say, quietly. “But I... I stopped by to see Sarah.” There was a pause heavy enough that Phoenix increased her pace so that she could give Mav and Rooster space for whatever dark little pocket they’d both just stepped into. “Slider is there with her and the kids, so she’s not alone but I...”

And that was all that she let herself hear, hurrying into the hangar and joining in the overly cheerful exuberance that the presence of good food brought out in twenty-somethings. Actually, thinking of it, Phoenix made a mental note to make sure they all contributed to the haul Mav and Hondo had brought; no way was it fair that Mav foot the bill for seven bottomless pits for two days. Especially if it meant he’d have to drive himself who-knew how long to replenish stock. Which brought about another slew of questions that Phoenix sorted through as swiftly as the groceries she was handed.

“Hey, Hondo,” she called, leaving the groceries to the boys while she chatted to the CWO about a few of her queries as he secured the bike beside all the rest.

By the time she and Hondo had sorted out the necessary administration, Mav and Rooster had made it back to the hangar. The Daggers immediately swarmed Mav, careful to keep a distance from him so they didn’t accidentally barrel into him, excited puppies wanting to bring their latest treasure in exchange for praise. The treasures in question were the ways they’d transformed the corner of Mav’s hangar, and they gently led the older aviator over to the collection of sleeping bags, framed by the couch and an armchair, and pointed out all of the “features”. It was very clear Rooster meant to follow behind, hovering close in case he was needed, but Phoenix got his attention and gestured him closer. Even then, Rooster hesitated, body leaning in the direction of Maverick, gaze flickering between the man and Phoenix. Eventually, however, he relented to her second, emphatic, call.

“What’s wrong?” Rooster asked as he reached Phoenix and Hondo, face pinched as though steeling himself for bad news.

“I made him put on the back brace medical issued him with,” Hondo said, without preamble. “His ribs hurt, to be sure, but he came very, very close to really messing up his back, and he’s definitely not out of those woods, yet. I trust medical more than my own judgement, of course, but... still. Two ejections in under a month...”

Phoenix turned to look at Hondo, sharply. “Two?” she asked.

Hondo gave her a wan little smile. “Sorry; classified beyond that bare minimum.” Hondo eyed Rooster. “Since you don’t seem surprised...”

“I have a bit of clearance as his NOK,” Rooster said, quietly. “He told me the bare bones in sickbay.”

Well, shit, Phoenix thought, giving another glance at where the boys were listening to Mav apparently explain something about the Mustang, their attention utterly focused on whatever was coming from Mav’s mouth. Phoenix was looking for any signs of swaying, though, or anything else that would indicate Mav was actually really not okay. Because one ejection was hellish enough; she was still smarting from having to punch out, and hers hadn’t been a bad one, all things considered. The thought of having another punchout tomorrow made her fading bruises ache in protest.

“Anything in particular about his back we have to watch for?” Rooster asked, also scrutinising his godfather from a distance.

“I’m afraid you’re better off asking Web MD than me,” Hondo said, ruefully. “Beyond, you know, the usual obvious signs. Which Mav is great at hiding.”

“Fantastic,” Rooster said, voice tight with emotion.

“I’m more worried about his breathing,” Hondo went on, before giving Rooster a smile of twisted sympathy. “As I said, I think the brace is necessary, especially if he’s gonna be on his feet, but it’ll be hard on his ribs. And it will make it more likely he won’t breathe deeply enough. And the very last thing we need is him getting a chest infection. So watch for that, will you? Remind him to breathe as deep as he can as often as he can. It’s important.”

Rooster nodded, as serious as though he were receiving orders for an assignment, shoulders tight with tension. Phoenix squeezed his nearest elbow, but the familiar contact didn’t seem to bring him that much comfort, this time. She didn’t take it personally.

“Thanks, Hondo,” she said, for both her and Roos, and Rooster startled a little as he seemed to realise he hadn’t thanked the CWO yet.

Hondo nodded once, deep and solemn. “I’m just over at China Lake. It’s not too far. You call me if there’s anything, okay?”

“Thanks, Hondo,” Rooster said, and it was impossible not to miss the depth of the gratitude.

Hondo gave him a smile and a quick shoulder pat. With a round of goodbyes, Hondo wandered over to Mav to bid him farewell, too. Phoenix slipped an arm around Rooster’s waist.

“Alright. Let’s split into teams and we can get some food made. You can be in charge of something that lets you get back to brooding.”

Rooster swatted away her hold with a scowl, and Phoenix didn’t hold on as she normally would, conscious of Rooster’s injured ribs. “I don’t brood,” he snapped, as huffy about her choice of words as she knew he’d be.

“Uh huh,” was all she answered, before leading the way to the larger group.

When Coyote explained that they’d dragged the sofa over for Mav, so that he didn’t have to sit on the ground, Mav’s protest was expected. Luckily, Bradley wasn’t the only one who had anticipated it, and the rest all had their reasons locked and ready to let fly at Mav until the man relented and sat on the damn couch. What was unexpected was how quickly Mav folded. It made sympathy and worry churn together at an increased rate in Bradley’s chest, like somebody had just turned up the electric beater inside his gut.

He was so distracted keeping an eye on Mav’s slow, heart-crushing descent onto said couch that Bradley agreed to sit on the armchair they’d brought over for him due to his own injuries without hearing what they were telling him. Only once Mav had settled, face a hard, stone mask as he tried to hide any signs of pain, did the words actually click in Bradley’s brain. By then, it was too late to protest. And, anyway, he couldn’t deny that his ribs were starting to really hurt after the day he’d had. Not to mention setting a good example for Mav so that his godfather didn’t get any further bright ideas or ammo to use as an excuse to continue ignoring self-preservation.

Although, to be fair, it looked like necessity was finally overcoming his stubbornness. Bradley wished he could be happier about the fact, but Mav needing to calculate every move to lie down, sometimes having to undo a step and re-do it a different way, pain cracking through the mask of stone, took all the real joy out of the victory. Handing his tray of the food over to Bob to place on the coffee tables with an arm squeeze of gratitude for being saved having to bend down, Bradley headed to his designated seat and got himself settled as easily as he could. He thought he’d done a good job of it, managing to cause himself minimal pain with the manoeuvre, but Mav was glancing at him in pale-faced worry when Bradley glanced his way.

“You good?” Mav asked, and a part of Bradley wanted to ask what Mav planned to do if he said no.

But there was more than a little fear that Mav’s answer would be to painstakingly claw his way upright again so that he could heave to his feet and then go and get what Bradley needed. And even Pissed Off At Maverick Bradley would not have enjoyed a sight that torturous.

“I’m good, Mav,” he said, swallowing the knee-jerk acidic sarcasm and intentionally letting gentle out instead. “I just took another dose; it’ll kick in, soon.”

The furrows in Mav’s forehead remained, however, and Bradley had to sigh, reaching over to lay a hand on his godfather’s shoulder. The angle made it awkward, but he felt Mav relax under his gentle squeeze, anyway. Bradley hadn’t stood much of a chance with both parents and Mav being overtly tactile people, and he’d struggled a bit before meeting Phoenix, who was as tactile once you’d proven yourself trustworthy. Mav made a move as though to reach up and touch Bradley’s hand, but it was aborted with a full-body jerk of pain as something pulled. Bradley’s grip grew tighter.

“Just... sit still,” he grumbled at Mav, the gentleness thankfully still there even as the worry and sympathy clogged his throat. “We’ll pass you things and fetch you things; you just lie there. And try not to laugh too hard, okay? But take deep breaths,” he added, remembering what Hondo had told him.

Mav was no longer frowning, but his look was definitely unimpressed. “Sir, yes, Sir,” he deadpanned.

Bradley pulled a face at him. “How did you —” he began, sarcastic exasperation forcing half of the sentence out before his brain caught up with him and he snapped his teeth shut on the rest of the words. “Never mind,” he sighed, keeping his tone exasperated to cover up for the fact that he’d just been about to put his foot in it, again.

Mav’s look turned wary, all the same, and damn him for still being able to read Bradley so easily. Instinctively, Bradley withdrew, and Mav turned away sharply enough that Bradley understood, a second too late, what the interaction might look like from Mav’s perspective. Frustration and withdrawal. Cursing at himself internally, Bradley made a show of shifting position and then leaned his arm against the armrest where Mav’s head was again, forearm resting against his godfather’s scalp and fingers almost-almost brushing Mav’s neck.

Mav relaxed, and Bradley felt shame, self-recrimination and even anger at the older man for misinterpreting his mood and actions. Bradley shoved them all down, mostly with the reminder of what he’d just managed to stop himself from saying. The sentence on the tip of his tongue had been how did you even make it this long without anybody to mother you?, and Bradley could anticipate with a tightness in his gut that didn’t dissipate even through the opening scene of the movie how much it would have sliced through Maverick. And how much effort his godfather would have put into hiding his hurt and trepidation and guilt and, perhaps, even frustration from Bradley so it didn’t start something.

Because the people taking care of Mav were largely all gone and buried, now, Ice’s grave still fresh and very probably more devastatingly raw than Maverick was letting on. Because Bradley knew that his dad was often called Mother Goose and why, and, again, knew too intimately how much guilt Mav still carried. Because Mav really was that tactile, and he lived alone in a hangar in the freaking desert, and Hondo was great and seemingly open to physical signs of affection, but the ones Bradley had seen Hondo initiate stopped at a certain level. Hondo was the shoulder pat and hug-in-a-big-moment guy. Mav was the hang-off-your-shoulder and basically-cuddle kind of guy.

So what had Maverick been doing in fifteen years? Iceman had still been around for them, true, but Mav hadn’t always been with Ice. Or even Slider. And Bradley knew Mav had spent less time with Hollywood and Wolf because Bradley had spent the first few years alternating between those men’s couches, and they hadn’t picked sides but they’d not invited Maverick around while Bradley had been with them, politely existing around the giant tusked mammoth in the room so that they could keep Bradley with some support system that Ice and Slider couldn’t be because of their proximity to Mav.

And that... hell. He’d felt somewhat guilty before, but that guilt had been overshadowed by his anger and his self-righteousness. Now... now, Bradley made a mental note to call Wolf and Wood as soon as he could and to apologise for the years he’d made them jump through emotional hoops just because they cared so much about him they wouldn’t let him be on his own. And Slider... Bradley hadn’t given the man chance to say his piece; Ice and Sli had been cut out as soon as Mav had, because Bradley had thought he’d known whose side they would be on. It hurt something fierce — and, Bradley couldn’t help but feel, something just — that he couldn’t apologise to Ice, but Slider was still there. Aunt Sarah was still there. Bradley added them to his mental list, and purposefully curled his fingers into Mav’s hair. Those calls would be painful. It could take years to re-grow trust. But Bradley was done being a child about all of this. And if Mav could keep trying for fifteen years... Well. Bradley would just have to follow in his godfather’s footsteps to mend his own mistakes.

Most of the first movie went over Bradley’s head, his thoughts a thousand miles away and splintering into fifty different directions. In the stretch between the first movie and the second, Bob was suddenly at Bradley’s side, hesitantly touching his shoulder to get his attention.

“Should we wake him? I’m sure the bed is gonna be better for him...”

Bradley glanced over at Mav and found his godfather had, indeed, passed out during the movie. He was still in a way that was slightly surprising to see, and Bradley was struck, for some reason, that Mav could fit all the way on the couch without much trouble.

“Nah, let him sleep, I think,” he answered Bob, also keeping his voice low. “If we wake him up, there’s no guarantee he’ll go back to sleep any time soon. And...” Bradley looked at the dark bags under Mav’s eyes, made more prominent by the man’s wan complexion. “I think he needs the sleep.”

“Oh, yeah, I’ll say,” Bob agreed, quiet but emphatic. “Can I get you anything? While I’m up?”

“Thanks, Bob. But I should probably wander around a bit.” Even knowing the truth in his words, Bradley hesitated to get up.

“I could sit with him while you go?” Bob offered.

There was no judgement in his voice; no scorn and no amusement at Bradley over-reacting about a grown man who was, according to medical, in no danger at all. Bradley still couldn’t look directly at Bob’s face for long.

“I... thanks, Bob,” he said, even quieter than before. “I’d appreciate that.”

“Sure. You go, and then you tap me out when you get back.”

Bradley came back from the bathroom to find Phoenix on the arm of the armchair, chatting with Bob. She stayed when Bob got up and gave Bradley a wide, warm smile at Bradley’s double-shoulder squeeze of gratitude. And Bradley realised, easing himself back into the chair, that his friendship with Phoenix might just become a tight little triangle. And he was more than okay with that.

“You bust something else today, viejo?”

“Mav is lying literally right next to me,” Bradley complained at her. “What would that make him, if I’m old?”

“Mav doesn’t act old. You do,” Phoenix answered back, sharp and cheerful.

Bradley flipped her off, and she grinned that shark grin at him. “Seriously.”

“I’m good. You know the first few days are the worst.” She hummed at him, and settled into his side without hurting him as the rest squabbled — very, very quietly, Bradley was amused to note — about snacks and blankets and the next movie. “Hey... Uh...” Bradley hesitated, feeling Phoenix’s eyes on him as he fiddled with his dogtags. “I’m not gonna leave you and Bob stranded,” he promised. “But... I... about me being your ride...”

“Hondo is headed to the airport tomorrow,” Phoenix interrupted him, calmly. “I talked to him, earlier, and he’s happy to go a bit earlier than he needs to for Bob’s flight, which is the earliest. Maybe Coyote should come with us, too; but I’ll run that by him in the morning.” Bradley exhaled in relief, hoping that his expression was as full of gratitude as his heart was. Phoenix smirked at him and nudged him, sharp but not as rough as she usually did. “You need to stay here,” she said, as though she also knew those were the words Bradley wanted — needed — to hear. “I didn’t tell my family you weren’t gonna be able to make it for Thanksgiving; it’s better to say right close to the time, because you know how deployments are. So that invite is still wide open if a huge, sentimental holiday with Mav is too much too soon. But you really have to stay here until then. For both your sakes.”

“Thanks, Tash.”

She softened, lightly nudging at his temple with her fist. “You got it. Call to cancel your flight first thing,” she reminded him, and he rolled his eyes at her.

“I’m not gonna forget.”

“You’re gonna forget.”

Bradley turfed her off the armchair in retribution and, laughing softly, Phoenix returned to the comfy nest on the floor. But she dragged her portion of things closer to Bradley so that she could lean against his legs, and he found himself smiling at the contact. When Mav jerked awake, unexpectedly, a quarter of the way through the movie, Phoenix reached out to him as instantly and instinctively as Bradley did. Both their hands kept Mav from trying to struggle upright, and Bradley felt a lump forming at how obviously fast Mav’s heart was beneath Bradley’s fingers.

“You’re good, Mav,” he said, quiet enough not to alert the others. “Just a dream,” he said, guessing at what had woken his godfather.

“You’re good?” Mav asked at once, voice hoarse, fingers searching.

“I’m good. We’re watching a movie. You wanna eat something? We’ve all been mowing through the food, but we put aside some for you so you didn’t miss out.”

“Nah... I’m okay...” Mav’s gaze finally left Bradley and turned to Phoenix on the floor, twisted slightly awkwardly as she kept one hand on the shoulder closest to her. Mav gave her a lopsided smile. “I’m not hosting very well...”

“We came here for your food and your space,” Phoenix told him flatly. “Besides. You said I was supervising. I haven’t been relieved of that duty, yet. Go back to sleep, Mav.”

She looked a little uncertain after that last bit; as confident as Phoenix was, bossing about her CO while not addressing him respectfully was still a bit of a stretch. But Mav grinned at her, still a little lopsided but genuinely warm, and reached up slowly, carefully, to squeeze her wrist.

Phoenix had told Bradley, without prompting and with forthrightness he’d still been learning to deal with at the time, that she had a large enough family, knew the problems and the blessings that came with such, and had made a rule that she wasn’t going to be adopting anybody in the Navy when she joined. I’m happy to make an exception for you, she’d said right after, face serious and eyes shining in mischief. And Bradley could see that exact look on her face as she gazed at Mav on the couch right then, even through the crappy light from the projector screen. She was definitely making an exception for Mav. If Bradley didn’t blow things, Mav would get an invite to the next Trace family holiday affair.

It was a good thing, because Mav was basically making spare keys for the entire Dagger squad in his head, Bradley was sure. And none so fast as Phoenix. It was... well, admittedly, Bradley was a little jealous, in a way that had a lot to do with his anxiety over his status with Mav at the moment. But the more mature part of him was delighted. His two families were converging, after too many years of being apart, and Phoenix would have Mav’s back, and Mav would have hers.

Mav stayed awake for the rest of the movie and the next, his breathing audible but mostly steady. And it was that, ironically enough, and Phoenix’s comforting weight against his legs, that combined with the pain medication and the emotional stress of the day to lull Bradley to sleep.

“Hey, could you get him a sleeping bag or something?” Bradley heard Maverick whisper.

He wanted to tell them that he was okay, and didn’t need a blanket, but somebody was already wrapping him in one. He was proud of Mav for asking instead of trying to do it himself, and wanted to say so, but all that came out were mashed syllables. Knuckles brushed lightly against his arm, soothing, comforting, and was that even a comfortable position for Mav to be in? But the question didn’t stay for long, and Bradley fell asleep warm and content.

The paving was warm beneath Bradley’s back, the few clouds in the sky lazy with the lack of breeze. He was a warm-weather boy through and through, and the recent stint in the snow was just more reason for him to seek out the heat. And he’d found the perfect spot: doused in shade, but still warm from the hours the sun had baked on it. Bradley had removed his rust-coloured T-shirt a while back to better feel the warm paving, unbothered by his actions as the only one still left to observe them was Mav, and the older man was dead to the world on the couch.

Having so many people over that he genuinely liked had made Mav incapable of simply sitting still that morning. Even with all the Daggers working together to try and keep him seated, Mav had joyfully scurried around the hangar, helping cook breakfast and a number of other things that just proved Bradley’s theory that he was two steps away from adopting the whole lot of them, regardless of the current status of people’s legal guardians. Mav had conceded to wearing the back brace, and it had presumably helped, even though Mav had still moved stiffly and cautiously, without his usual grace or swagger. And the wincing... Mav had obviously tried to hide his pain, but Bradley had still been sniped straight through the heart a few times when he’d caught Mav with his walls down.

Even before the rest had started to leave, Mav had slowed down considerably. Not even Hangman had made a joke about it; in fact, Seresin had been one of those hovering closest to Mav when Mav’s pallor changed to something green-white, and Bradley thought a lot of things about Hangman, but he trusted the guy to catch Mav should his legs buckle. But Mav had stayed mostly steady, even as his energy waned, and had kept awake and moving — always moving — until it was just him and Bradley left.

Neither of them had known what to do with the other as soon as the buffer of other people was gone. Bradley had awkwardly asked Mav if he could stay first thing in the morning, and Mav had almost missed a step coming out of the Airstream in his surprise. He’d simply, one arm around his ribs as Bradley wondered how much he was allowed to fuss, said, “Sure, kiddo, as long as you want.” And that had been the end of their discussion on the matter. Another thing left in limbo.

How was Bradley supposed to broach the subject? Most of his directness in conversation only came when he was pissed off enough that the natural caution filter was utterly switched off. But he didn’t want to mow his way toward Mav, vision red and tongue out of his control. Not again. Never again. Without the anger breaking inhibition, though, he was genuinely unsure how to just... sit his godfather down and go hey, so, wild that it was Mom and you lied about it, huh? Especially because he wasn’t... entirely sure how he felt about the fact that it had been his mother’s doing. The sense of betrayal and anger and devastating hurt that he’d felt with Mav was absent, but there was still a fresh sense of grief, like the sudden flareup of an old injury. And he’d conditioned himself for fifteen years not to want Mav anywhere near his vulnerabilities, much less his feelings toward or memories of his mother. Bradley had, he was realising, mentally taken Carole and even Goose with him when he’d cut ties with Mav, like the child he had been, he supposed. They’re mine, and I won’t let you have them. Very luckily, Mav hadn’t known this, and while Bradley had been happily selective with his memories and stories, Mav had kept his ties to his family alive himself.

Shit, but Bradley wished so hard that they’d been able to do it together. If Mav had just — But that wasn’t fair. Or productive. Even if a part of him did feel that way.

Bradley sighed, hard enough that his ribs twinged badly, and he winced and cursed softly out loud. His brain had been going on overdrive since Mav had first appeared at TOPGUN, and it was more exhausting than any of the physical strain. If only some of the whirling over-thinking would give him a damn solution to how to start mending the bridge between him and Mav so that they were on common ground and not yelling at each other across a gulf. The gap had narrowed significantly, but it was still there. Still threatening to swallow them if they stepped wrong. Bradley hated it.

“Brad.”

The unexpectedness of the shout would have already had Bradley jumping out of his skin and instinctively trying to sit up. But the tone of it shot pure adrenaline into him; Mav’s voice was utterly wrecked, the word torn from some place of desperate agony. And so Bradley was moving before he even processed why; before the emotion being yelled at him from the open hangar doors filtered past raw instinct. He moved far too quickly, and his side erupted into pain, making him tip to the side in a gasping, cursing ball.

“Bradley?”

Mav’s tone was wavering; disbelief and relief and Bradley gulped through the ebbing pain so he could turn — slower, this time — to his godfather. Maverick was staggering toward him at what would have been a speed had the walk been in a straight line or on steady legs. Bradley moved to a fully upright position and Mav gasped, taking another two steps before his legs folded beneath him.

“Mav.” It was Bradley’s turn to sound shocked, wrecked, desperate. This time, he didn’t even feel the pain as he shot upright and hurtled to his godfather. “Shit, shit, Mav. What — Mav!” He went down too hard beside Mav, jarring his side and scraping his knees and the combined pain was enough to slow him for a moment. But just a moment; Mav was wheezing and utterly bloodless and — “Shit, are you having a heart attack right now?”

Mav shut his eyes, taking a few years off Bradley’s life in that split second, but then he shook his head. “N...no. ‘s’kay.”

“This is not okay,” Bradley snapped back, hands gripping his godfather when Mav swayed where he sat. “Mav, what’s wrong? You have to tell me wh— Shit, I’m gonna go call an amb—”

“N—” Mav grabbed back. His hands were clammy and far too cold, and visibly shaking, but they gripped Bradley surprisingly firmly. “’s not... I’m— ugh.”

Mav instinctively tried to curl forward, and that only made him release a little noise that was more animalistic than human. Bradley, useless, gripped him tighter, franticly trying to figure out what he had to do. Mav was panting, hard, and every exhale was accompanied by a small noise of pain. He couldn’t imagine what that sort of breathing felt like with wrecked ribs and a wrecked back and, shit, he wasn’t wearing the back brace and he’d fallen and he was clearly very much not okay on top of it all.

“Mav.” He’d been going for firm and commanding, and it came out pleading and slightly high-pitched. “Tell me what to do. Please. For shit’s sake.”

“Sorry,” Mav gasped, which was not helpful. “I...” And then he gestured forward with the hand not braced against the floor to try and keep him upright, briefly letting go of his ribs to do so.

Confused, scared, frantic, Bradley glanced where Mav was pointing. And felt his stomach swoop to the floor because there was a patch of blood on the tarmac and — It hit a second later. His shirt. The colour in the shade, with the heat waves shimmering around them, looked very much like blood. Mav had seen him lying on his back, with what looked like blood pooling beside him and —

Oh.

Some of the sheer panic dissipated with the knowledge that Maverick was really, truly not having a heart attack in front of him. Taking a careful breath, and then another, Bradley shifted to a more steady position.

“Mav, I think you’re having a panic attack,” he said, trying for calm and almost succeeding. Mav nodded at once, eyes squeezed shut, and it allowed Bradley to be devastated without his godfather seeing his expression. If Mav knew, then this wasn’t the first time. And... How many times had Mav been alone for these? Had they started... shit, had they started after Bradley left? “O...okay.” His stutter made Mav’s eyes open, and his gaze try to settle on Bradley, and that made it worse. But, also, Bradley could use this to his advantage. “Okay. Tell me what works for you. Touch, see, smell, taste? Or...?” Mav only continued to look at him. “Come on, Mav,” Bradley said, pleading with an edge. “I know it’s hard to focus right now, but I’m seriously worried about what your breathing is doing to your ribs and back. I really don’t want you damaging yourself out here in the middle of nowhere. I know I don’t really deserve to know this, to be the one helping right now, but... please just let me help. Please. You’re hurting yourself.”

Another few moments passed, stretched thin and horrible, filled with the panting and uncontrollable whines of pain. Mav was almost vibrating. And then, quietly, he got out, “J’s... hold... please... hold onto me.”

“Yeah, okay, right.”

Bradley moved forward at once, and felt altogether foolish for not thinking about this. Had he not been contemplating Mav and touch just the night before? It made perfect sense that he derived comfort out of being held, even if somebody who knew Mav only at a surface level would probably surmise that a man that full of energy and that allergic to the rules would hate to be confined. Confinement was a very specific thing for Mav, Bradley thought, his mind focusing on the theory of it all because he didn’t want to process Mav hurting in so many different ways right then. Confinement was a very specific thing for Mav, and being held by loved ones did not fit that description.

And, though Bradley had been going for a side hug or even a front hug, as he moved some vague memory swam to the surface: Mav back from a deployment, when Bradley had still been so very young, and Carole holding him from behind while they both sat on the guest bed. Uncle Mav had a bad dream, Carole told Bradley in his memory. That’s why he was yelling. Wanna come up here and help make him feel better, Baby?

And so Bradley moved on instinct, shuffling until he was behind Mav, ignoring his protesting ribs with a sharp internal rebuke. Mav jolted even harder when Bradley began to wrap around him from behind, but there was no verbal protest, so Bradley just kept going. One moment he was awkwardly limpeting around his godfather, and the next Mav just sagged into him. It hurt, but Bradley clenched his teeth around the bark of pain and just gently, slowly, shifted Mav a little until he was leaning his weight against Bradley’s less-injured side. Mav’s eyes were closed, and Bradley couldn’t tell if that position was hurting him, so he tried his best to position Mav even better; tried to support the man’s spine, in particular. He only stopped his fussing when Mav let out a grunt of pain.

“Sorry, sorry,” Bradley apologised, settling in to just... holding Mav.

And it was awkward, and unfamiliar, but after a while the embarrassment faded, and Bradley just watched the clouds and held on as tightly as he dared and felt bone-melting relief as Mav very clearly calmed in his arms. Even when Mav’s breathing evened out and the shaking stilled from the bone-rattling trembles it had been, Mav didn’t move. And Bradley didn’t make him. The quiet was near complete all the way out there, and Bradley found that he quite liked it.

“Sorry,” Mav whispered, eventually. He made some move as though to sit up, and immediately flinched and bit back another noise of pain.

“Just... just stay for a bit. That must have hurt like a bitch. Just... acclimate.”

“Your ribs...”

“They’re okay, Mav. Actually okay; not whatever version of it you usually use.”

A second later, Bradley wished he hadn’t tried to joke; it came out sounding like an accusation. Like a cruel barb. But, to his surprise, Mav huffed an approximation of a laugh.

“Thank you,” he said, next.

“You’re welcome.” The silence stretched for a while longer as Bradley tried to articulate what he wanted to say. “I... Sorry I freaked you out. With the shirt.”

“Wasn’t your fault, Baby Goose,” Mav said, voice heavy with exhaustion. But Bradley got a pat on the leg as well. “I...” Bradley didn’t interrupt Mav’s pause, even as it sunk deeper and deeper around them. “I had a nightmare,” Mav finally confessed, tone more than a little sheepish. “I was still half asleep, but wanted to... just wanted to see you and...”

Bradley winced. That made it even worse; not just Mav seeing him in apparent blood, but a Mav still in the clutches of a nightmare that very clearly included Bradley being dead.

“That must have been awful,” he said, quiet enough it would have been lost in any other place except that desert.

“You’re here,” was all Mav replied. As if it were that simple.

Maybe it really was, for him. Bradley sighed, emotions raw and wild, and Mav began to try and shift again in response. “No, hey, stay put.”

“That can’t be comfortable, Brads,” Mav protested.

“I’m okay for a while longer.”

“Bradley...”

“I remember how to do this,” Bradley said, and he wasn’t quite sure why he’d gone with that phrasing. Mav paused, too, apparently thrown. “I mean... I used to... Or, at least, I did once. I remember. Remembered a little while ago, at least. Mom holding you like this when you came home, once. I didn’t understand it, then, of course, but it... slotted into place, now. Did you... did you get these, even back then?”

There was a long quiet, and Bradley, with all the patience he apparently had stored up for fifteen years instead of using, let Mav struggle through what he wanted to reveal and what not. “Yeah,” he finally admitted. His tone was something curious, and Bradley wished he could see his expression, suddenly. “Yeah, I...” Another hesitation. “Since... since your dad died.”

Bradley absorbed the hurt of that; let it roll into his heart and kick at the wounds of grief. None of them were for himself, though; all the grief and pain were for Mav, in that moment. And he hated, again, briefly but intensely, every person who had ever implied that Goose’s blood was on Mav’s hands. As the anger faded, more clarity came with it. And Bradley finally knew what to say. Or... so he thought.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of.” Mav let out a noise that could have been confirmation, and could just have been to give Bradley a response. “I mean, the shit we do, Mav? It’s scary. I was absolutely shitting myself up there on the mission, in case you somehow missed that.”

“I think my ears remember,” Mav said, some amusement in his tone.

Bradly poked him, lightly, in the shoulder, and imagined Mav’s lip quirking in the start of a smirk. “I’ll bet my dad got scared, too.”

“Sometimes,” Mav admitted, voice far away. “His... he tended to go into melodrama. Infuse humour into the fear to make it less scary. His favourite was proclaiming he was gonna have to become a truck driver, or something similar.”

Bradley grinned, fondness and amusement sprinkled with pain ballooning inside of him. But the levity lessened as he pushed his agenda a little more. Like inching a plane forward, just past its limits. “I know Mom got scared. Mom as she truly was but... especially toward the end, there. The meds and the illness combined...”

“Yeah.” Mav was no longer distant, but the grief in the presence of him was worse. “She just... she had to fight so long. At the end, there, she was just... surviving. It wasn’t her fault. It was just... all she could be in that moment. She loved you so, so much...”

Lump forming in his throat, Bradley took a few moments just to breathe. “Yeah, I know,” he whispered, unable to stop himself sounding choked. “I totally get it. And I don’t blame her. She didn’t do anything wrong. She was allowed to be afraid.” Another three deep breaths. Mouth feeling dry, heart hammering, Bradley said, “Even afraid enough to ask you to pull my papers.” He felt Maverick go absolutely rigid in his arms in a heartbeat; swore that his godfather stopped breathing. Bradley, by contrast, took a deep inhale. “I figured it out yesterday,” he told Mav, and he really was as calm as he felt, surprisingly. Like lancing a boil; it never was as painful as you thought it would be. The pain came from all the pus trapped under the surface. “After seeing all the pictures, and letting myself remember stuff I had blocked out because I didn’t wanna think about it. And Phoenix was there as a sounding wall and it just... I figured it out.”

“Bradley,” Maverick said, and made a real attempt to sit up.

Instinctively, Bradley placed a hand on Mav’s chest. Mav could have thrown it off, if he wanted, but the gesture had its intended effect of making the older man pause. He didn’t lean back into Bradley fully once more, though.

“It’s okay. Well, no, it’s not okay. It’s... I...”

“Bradley,” Mav said, still too tense, tone desperate. “She just wanted to protect you. She couldn’t bear the thought of you dying up there. And, at that moment in time, you were so... wild. She thought the grief would make you... We just needed a way to keep you grounded, just for a little bit longer. Just so you could process and... and... She didn’t want you to die. But it was me who actually did it. I pulled your papers. I —”

He was still protecting her. Mav was proverbially leaping in front of Carole, placing himself as a target instead of her. For Carole’s sake. For Bradley’s sake. And the grief was enough to make Bradley’s eyes fill with tears.

“Mav, stop. Stop. I’m not... Okay, I’m a little mad at her. But I know why she did it. And I forgive her for it. I’m not...” And he laughed, then, ugly and raw and choking on tears that were starting to fall. “I’m not gonna treat her like I treated you.”

“Hey. Hey, Brads. Bradley, lemme up, please?”

Finally, Bradley relented, slipping his arms away from Mav and then helping his godfather sit up and turn a little. It hurt, Bradley could see that, but Mav was determined. His eyes searched Bradley’s face, expression guarded.

“You had every right to be mad.”

“Mad, maybe. An utter dickass?” Bradley shook his head. “I should have known.”

Mav shook his head. “From your perspective, it came out of nowhere, kiddo. I... I should have seen that. Should have gotten some of the other guys to come in and talk to you when I couldn’t seem to get through...”

“I wouldn’t have listened.”

“You don’t know that,” Mav said, gently. Still absolving Bradley of most of his sins.

Bradley scoffed, and wiped at his cheeks with his wrists, sharply. “I guess we’ll never know. Because both of us are idiots.” Mav actually barked a surprised laugh at that one, though the caution and the tenseness never left him. Bradley shook his head. “I thought you were disappointed in me,” he confessed, the words slipping out before he could figure out if he actually wanted to say them. “I thought you looked at me, and found me lacking, after all those years, so you...”

Mav’s face turned stricken. So hurt, and horrified, that Bradley regretted having said anything. “Wh— Oh, Bradley, no,” he said, the last word more of an exhale.

Bradley gave a little shrug. “I had my head up my own —”

“No,” Mav repeated, and then he was awkwardly moving forward, yanking Bradley into a hug.

“Mav, your back—”

“You could never disappoint me, Brads,” Mav said, right over his protest.

And... and the words broke something in Bradley. A good kind of breaking. Like finally being free of a weight he’d held for so long he had forgotten that life could exist without it. And so he hugged back, against his better judgement, burying his nose in Mav’s hair.

“Baby Goose... all I ever wanted was for you to be safe.” And it had so much more impact, post mission. Post Bradley finding all those pictures on Mav’s wall; all that love, even years later. Post Bradley finding out that Mav still had panic attacks that started the day he lost his best friend. “And I... I’m sorry. I went about it the totally wrong way...”

“We both screwed up. Like... FUBAR levels.” Mav snorted, shakily. “But... we won’t do it again. Honesty, from here on out.”

“Yeah,” Mav said, relief so evident it nearly made Bradley tear up again. “Yeah. I promise.”

“Okay. Good. So let’s practise. How sore are you right now?”

Mav hesitated. And then slowly pulled back. “Uhhh...” Bradley raised an eyebrow. Mav gave a charming smile that did nothing to melt Bradley’s resolve. “Yeah. An ice pack would be appreciated.” And then, so fast the change left Bradley reeling, Mav was frowning and leaning to check at Bradley’s side. “Those look swollen...”

“No more than they were before,” Bradley said, deadpan and sounding more sure than he really was. The pain wasn’t any worse than he’d felt so far, anyway. “Come on, Old Man, let’s get you back to bed.”

Mav gave him an unimpressed look. Bradley only grinned at him, unrepentant. He felt more than a little washed out, but also lighter. Mav was there, and Mav was okay, and Mav loved him, and they were going to be able to rebuild. One awkward cuddle on the tarmac at a time, if that was what it took. Bradley stood first, Mav’s gaze on him slightly anxious. And then he helped Mav to his feet, which took far more effort than Bradley had even feared.

“Slow — easy, Mav,” he snapped.

“It’s— ugh.”

“You were gonna say fine, weren’t you?” Mav glowered at him, but the intensity was lost under his pale complexion and his inability to straighten all the way. “Okay. Now. Easy. And we stop when you need to.”

“I’m not that much an invalid, Bradley,” Mav said, warning in his tone.

“No, but you just did a whole lot to your body you’re not supposed to,” Bradley shot back, unmoved. “So we go slow. Rather safe than sorry, huh?” And, when that didn’t work: “Please, Mav, c’mon.”

That made him relent, after a moment, and the two of them shuffled back to the hangar at a pace that was halfway between what either of them wanted. Mav couldn’t keep back the noises of pain as Bradley lowered him to the couch, and Bradley immediately went to find a few icepacks, picking up one for himself as well so Mav didn’t fret about him. It didn't work. Or, rather, the icepack did reduce some of the uncomfortable tightness around the bruising on his side, but it didn't help Mav not fret about him.

"Compromise," Bradley finally grit out. "I'll let you make 'doubly sure' that I didn't crack anything, if you put on the back brace again."

Mav made a face that was almost childish, and Bradley just raised an eyebrow at him, unrelenting. After a while of mulling it over, Mav agreed. Bradley found the brace where they'd left it on the coffee table, and helped Mav to his feet so that it could be put on, properly. To Bradley's dismay, most of the colour Mav had regained in his cheeks drained to pasty grey again with the struggling movements to get his godfather upright. Mav was obviously stiffening up, and Bradley remembered the miserable sympathy and worry and dismay of finding out Mav had actually gotten stuck in a chair. It seemed like a week ago, at least, instead of just two days, and forcefully remembering the lack of time between that incident and now made Bradley want to kick himself. He should have remembered. He should have helped keep Mav in check better. Especially after his conversation with Hondo. The sting of failure in this particular form was new — or, at least, dusty with disuse — and that made it cut especially deep as Bradley began silently getting the brace around Mav, gently pushing his godfather's hands away when Mav tried to help.

"Gosling? The brace isn't that complex."

"I know."

"So why do you look like the picture of the lady with the math symbols?"

Despite himself, Bradley barked a laugh loud enough it tugged on his ribs. "You know the math lady meme?"

Mav gave him that head tilt of indignation. "I don't live under a rock, Rooster." Bradley very pointedly did a slow survey of the hangar in the middle of nowhere, eyebrows raised. Mav scowled at him, but without heat. "That changes the subject, but doesn't answer the question."

Bradley didn't necessarily want to answer the question, but they'd only just made a promise to be honest with each other. "I guess... I'm just thinking about how I shouldn't have let you expend so much energy earlier today. Or sit down where you could just get all stiff again. There are no corpsmen to help, this time. Lift your arms a little bit more — thanks." 

"Firstly," Mav said, doing as Bradley had asked so that the brace could be wrapped around him securely. Bradley was doing it over his shirt, hoping that the minimal extra cushioning would help something. And a little because, as raw as he was feeling right then, he honestly wasn't sure that having to see how ugly and deep Mav's bruises were — received for him, and the rest of the Daggers, and his country — wouldn't make him cry again. "You're not my moth—" The word cut off into a cry of pain, and Bradley immediately let go of the brace entirely, reaching up instinctively to try and catch Mav.

"I'm s—!"

"No, no, you're good," Mav gasped. "That was... ugh. That was me."

"Can I try again?"

"Hmmm." Mav was quiet for a few moments, and Bradley focused on getting the brace on and tight enough to help Mav's back without hurting his ribs. Even though Bradley tried his best not to touch Mav's back at all out of fear of hurting the man, he laid a guiding hand on Mav's side for a moment. And he felt the tense trembling. "Firstly," Mav began again. "You're not my mom. Or dad. Or wife." Bradley rolled his eyes at his godfather, finishing with the last straps. "You don't have to nurse me. Secondly, this brace is made to be put on alone. I could have done it. Thirdly—"

But that just caused the sadness to well higher, so he shook his head. "That's just it, Mav. I'm standing here thinking of all the times you've had to do something like this for yourself. And that is on me."

"Brads." There were hands on both his shoulders, squeezing warmly. "You can't keep beating yourself up about things that you can't change. You didn't do it on purpose. It was just... a side-effect of your choice."

"Consequences of my actions," Bradley half-agreed. His gaze flickered between Mav's eyes. "And I wanna feel those consequences, Mav. Not to punish myself. But because... I gotta acknowledge it all if I'm gonna work through it and let it go. I'm getting there. For now... for now I'm still in the realisation phase. Where I wonder how many times you were in pain alone, having to do your own brace and get up to get your own whatever and get stuck in chairs because you're seized up and spasming."

Bradley's throat closed a little bit. And he was aware he was being a little bit melodramatic. Perhaps a little bit self-centered, still. But there was so much to hold and feel that it all felt like different corners of his heart were being rubbed against a giant cheese grater.

"Less time than you're torturing yourself with, Baby Goose," Mav said, softly. "I do have friends, you know? One of life's mysteries, that one." Bradley sorted out a slightly wet laugh. Mav's right hand moved from his shoulder to the back of his neck, the hold warm and gentle but also very firm. "I'm okay, Brads. Just a little sore. But nothing's going to happen, okay? Bradley had to clench his jaw to keep hold of his emotions. Somehow, Mav had known what to say to the real core of his panic and pain and guilt. He was still so afraid Mav would just... not be there. In the blink of an eye. And if it was due to something Bradley could have prevented... Hell. Bradley might be getting a very good glimpse into what Mav probably still felt like about Nick's death. "Brads?"

"Yeah. I'm... I'm okay." Bradley let go of Mav with one arm, still supporting his godfather with another, and ran his free hand over his face. "It's just... you really are hurt, Mav. Not life-threateningly so, but... that doesn't mean that it doesn't... I'm getting used to it again. Maybe even used to it the first time. I mean, kids are a little oblivious."

"You were always a little too perceptive," Mav said, quiet and fond. "Okay. My end is held up; let me check on you, huh?"

Bradley relented to Mav's gentle ministrations, only interfering in the small measure of keeping one hand on Mav at all times. Mav was still shaky, even just standing there, and looked too wan and pale for Bradley's liking. Once it had been determined that Bradley hadn't done any noticeable damage to himself, he once again helped Mav back to the couch, relieved that the motion seemed less painful with the back brace. Bradley found them each a book, but he wasn't surprised when Mav dosed off. The dilemma then, of course, was whether to let his godfather sleep in a back brace on a couch or wake the man to try and coax him into a bed. Mav didn't nap for too long, though; whether by silent nightmare or a more pleasant means, he awoke after only about half an hour and then consented to Bradley grabbing them both some snacks. And there they sat, in companionable silence, both nursing their hurts, physical and emotional as their thoughts whirled in the silence. The sun set fully, slowly immersing them in darkness, but neither of them moved to put on a light. Mav finally glanced Bradley’s way.

“You good?” Mav asked, as the last of the light began to truly fade.

“Yeah, Mav, I am. I mean... it’s still gonna take time to process. Mom wanting that. Me not being able to see it and... and all that means for the memories.” Mav opened his mouth, brow furrowed and Bradley just shook his head at him. “No, Mav, I meant it earlier. I gotta come to terms with the fact that I didn’t hear her. It might not have been my fault, really, but it happened. And... and I gotta process years of my life being full of something that’s turned out to be a lie.”

“I’m sorry,” Mav said, voice catching again.

“I know.” And then Bradley shook his head. “Shit, no, that’s... I forgive you, Mav.” Mav looked at him like he’d just received a glancing blow to the head. And it cracked across tender places in Bradley’s heart. “I wish you had just told me, but I get why you didn’t. And I get why you pulled the papers. And that’s... that’s all I ever needed. Understanding. It’s gonna... we’re gonna be okay. ‘Cause now I can work through it. I... I’m sorry, in advance, for the times when I’m still full of shit.” He flicked his gaze between Mav’s eyes, suddenly anxious. “I’m... I’m gonna try. But we both know I have a temper and—”

“Bradley—”

“—say shit I don’t mean, again, so I’m—”

“It’s okay. We’ll figure it out. I’m not... I mean, as long as I’m here, Brads, you’ll be family. And that means you’ll always have the option of reaching out and trying again."

Bradley nodded, throat thick, and had to glance away for a while. He wasn't yet sure how to handle this; handle reality being the exact opposite of what he'd thought when Mav pulled his paper. “You’re all the family I have, too. I mean, there’s Phoenix, but she’s... it’s not quite the same.”

“Yeah,” Mav replied, as though he knew.

“Hey, Mav?”

“Yeah?” He was surprised at the sudden change in tone, Bradley could tell.

“Where’d you get my graduation programme from, of all things?”

“Ah.” Mav was giving him a grin that was that of a naughty kid caught and who couldn’t quite be truly sorry about what he’d done. “I got snuck in. Merlin — Rear Admiral Wells — and I are old friends. He actually backseated for me for quite a while just after your dad died.”

“No shit,” Bradley said, truly surprised. “He never said a thing. Did you warn him?”

“I did,” Mav admitted, some sheepishness now coming through. “I didn’t want... I knew he’d keep an eye out for you, and I didn’t want me complicating that.”

“But you didn’t hesitate to get him to sneak you into grad,” Bradley deadpanned.

“I hesitated,” Mav admitted, quietly, and Bradley’s gut clenched again. “But, ultimately... yeah. I just... I just had to...”

“Mav, you... you don’t have to explain. I’m... thank you. For being there. Even if I didn’t know it at the time.”

Bradley wanted to ask if Mav had been proud of him, back then, or if the fear had persisted. He wanted to know what Mav had been thinking in the audience; if, given the power, he would have stopped Bradley’s grad. It was a stupid, childish desire, and he had no way to form the words so that they were coherent, much less not embarrassing and without the very real potential of gutting Mav. But Mav tipped his head to the side, watching Bradley for a moment, and then smiled something heartbreaking.

“I was go glad I chose to sneak in,” Mav admitted, soft and warm. “You were... Well. You’ve done so much since then, Brads, but that moment was just... you in your uniform... I was so proud of you, I couldn’t stop gushing at all the other parents around me. I thought, at one point, I was so loud you’d heard.” Bradley shook his head, eyes prickling, heart crushed by love and regret and relief and pride. “Your parents would have been so proud. Even your mom. I know it. And now, too. Every moment since then.”

Bradley shook his head. “Not every moment.” Mav’s face turned alarmed, and he leaned toward Bradley, a hand wrapping around his ribs, clearly intent on wiping the thought of his parents’ lack of pride from his mind. “No. There’s no way — Look, I know I don’t know my dad very well, granted. But Mom? Mom would have slapped me upside the head a thousand times by now for some of the things I did and said. Not only to you, but those...” He grit his teeth against the wave of regret and shame, Mav looking at him in compassion and at a loss in equal measure. “I... I don’t... I have no idea how I would have faced them, either of them, after some of the shit I said to you,” he admitted, raw.

“Bradley, you—”

“Nope. No. You don’t get to — Mav, I want to be the kid they raised. The person they’d really be proud of. I haven’t been, in places, for a very long time. But I’m gonna be. And I... I wanna be the person you raised, too. I might... need help, though. If that’s okay.”

“Anything you need, Baby Goose. Any time.” It was impossible to ignore the wavers in Mav's voice.

Bradley grinned at him, a watery, wavering thing, and Mav grinned back. Also a little unsteady. Still too pale. But he would heal, and Bradley would heal, and they’d figure it out together.

“Hey, Brads, you ever walked around the desert at night?”

“No,” Bradley said, surprised by the sudden question. And then he let out a noise of protest when Mav struggled to his feet, a lumbering, cautious performance that didn't look right at all and that Bradley had to look away from.

“Come on,” Maverick said. “When we get back, we can get some of the good stuff.”

Bradley didn’t take his offered hand up, not wanting to injure his godfather further, and he didn’t bother hiding that he was checking Mav’s back brace before he conceded to letting Mav slowly lead them out to the darkness of the Mojave. For the first couple of minutes, Bradley was on edge, trying to watch his feet and listen for any noises and keep an eye on Mav at the same time. His godfather looked steady enough, but his movement still wasn't right, and the back brace kept catching Bradley's eyes and heart, and the darkness could be hiding a lot of Mav's struggles. Then Mav gently touched his arm, and gestured upwards with a tilt of his head. And the stars... the stars took Bradley’s breath away.

After that, he watched the heavens, and listened to Mav’s mostly-even breathing. And there was... there was something inexplicable about the experience of walking in the Mojave at night. Mav's hand, warm and steady, landed lightly on Bradley's shoulder, a gentle rudder to move Bradley around rocks and bushes as Bradley's gaze remained trained upwards in awe. Without thinking about it — without any real reason to do so — Bradley hooked his fingers around the hem of Mav's shirt. Like that, so close they frequently touched, the two did a slow circuit around the desert in silence. Bradley felt tiny and insignificant and tethered and so loved, and he settled into the slow pace of the walk with a sigh that released something deep inside of him. Slow going it was, but neither he nor Mav had anywhere else to be.