Chapter Text
Beau Simpson stares at the file in front of him. His hands sit steepled against his lips. He feels the same prickle of irritation looking at this file as he does looking at Maverick’s face, but something is stopping him from speaking. There is the desire to rip into the pilot standing at attention, have no doubt about it, but Beau cannot find it within himself to follow through with the reprimand.
Green eyes stare up at the photo from below him. He’s checked, and knows there is no marital or blood relation between Jacob Seresin and Beau’s own wife Clara. Yet, the shape of their eyes is similar, the cocky smirk of their mouths, the cut of their cheeks. It’s odd, and Beau wonders if that’s why he’s finding it so difficult to say something sharp. Because Jacob Seresin looks like Clara.
“You were not given orders to launch,” Beau eventually finds himself saying. “In your briefing with Admiral Kazansky, you said that you do not regret disobeying orders. You could have lost your wings.”
“Yes sir,” Seresin replies smoothly, maintaining direct and purposeful eye contact. “I understood and was fully prepared to pay the consequences for my actions.”
“Admiral Kazansky didn’t give you any consequences,” Cyclone shoots back. “You saved the lives of his husband and his son. I’m worried you think there will be no consequences in the future to similar actions.”
“I understand that I was lucky,” Seresin says. “I know that the likelihood of me getting off so easily again is nearly non-existent. I do not diminish that, sir, at all. But I made a judgment call when I defied orders. Not facing repercussions due to who I saved was lucky, as I said I understand. But the fact that I did not fail in saving my fellow pilots was not luck. I knew my skill, I knew how fast I could fly and I had radar to see how far away they were. I knew my capabilities within the parameters that were set, and I made the right choice. I continue to not regret it.”
Beau’s jaw sets. “Because it saved the lives of your fellow pilots?”
The corner of Seresin’s mouth twitches in response. Beau finds it difficult to read. Is it amusement? Is it frustration? Is it self-satisfaction?
“Yes, sir,” Seresin eventually says carefully. “I know that I damaged my aircraft to the point of not being able to fly it again. I know I disobeyed your direct order, an order intended to keep me and my plane safe, but I had the chance to bring home the rest of my team. I put the lives of my team above the mission, and I won’t lie and say I wouldn’t do it again.”
Beau sighs. “I don’t fault you for that, Lieutenant. In fact I admire it. Loyalty to your men means more out there than anything. I am ashamed to say I’ve lost touch with that.”
“Sir?” Seresin doesn’t bother hiding his shock.
“I don’t often have training accidents,” Beau admits. “And I haven’t lost anyone since I became Air Boss. I also have not been in active combat in ten years. I haven’t been part of a team, on a ship, haven’t been in charge of any active missions in that time. My biggest antagonists are young, cocky pilots who don’t care about their aircrafts or respecting orders. I’ve gotten comfortable in that role.”
Seresin waits.
“The dagger squadron are not the only people this mission has tested.” Beau continues. “And I’ve had to look at myself, at my career, and decide what’s important. Pilots like you, Lieutenant, are what’s important. Maverick is a brilliant pilot, and I will never contradict that. I know the rules and I respect the rules because they protect us. The difference between pilots of my generation and yours, however, is the balance you’ve achieved. The value you place on both the rules there to protect you and the lives of your team is what makes you a great pilot. Not your skill, not your attitude. Your values .”
Beau catches what looks like pride in Seresin’s eyes. He doesn’t begrudge the kid that, because it’s earned. Beau doesn’t hand out compliments for nothing.
“Sir,” Seresin says slowly. “May I ask what this is all about? I’ve been debriefed and cleared.”
“I know,” Beau says, unable to keep the slight bitchiness from his voice. God, he needs to work on not letting these arrogant pilots get under his skin. “You’re here so I can talk through a promotion.”
“Sir?”
“Admiral Kazansky is not the only one impressed by your efforts,” Beau leans back in his chair. “The president, briefed as he is on all missions this important, has expressed an interest in creating a new squadron. He wants the Daggers to be permanent. You’ll be stationed out of Top Gun, where you’ll run drills and assist in teaching pilots dogfighting through Top Gun. The unit as a whole will be picked for the most sensitive missions. You will be noted as an elite squadron, but you will be unable to discuss deployments and missions with anyone outside of the squadron. There will be superiors who don’t truly know your purpose. When you are on an aircraft, most of the personnel will not know your purpose.”
Seresin is stunned into silence.
“You and most of your squadron are set to receive a promotion to Lieutenant Commander,” he continues. “All of you being promoted have been serving for ten years or more, and you’ve been Lieutenants for more than three years. Combining the basic requirements with outstanding records, it’s high time you all received this deserved promotion.”
Seresin practically buzzes with pride.
“ Now. Out of the twelve pilots in this new squadron, I will need to elect a team leader. Not for an individual mission, but for the squadron. I’d like to pick you, because I fully believe in your career with the navy and in your ability to lead. I’m still hesitant, though. You will have more responsibility, and the lives of eleven other pilots in the hands of your decision making process. I need to be confident in this.”
“But I defied orders.” Seresin looks like he understands. His brow smooths out and he nods slowly. “And you’re worried they shouldn’t follow someone who can’t follow orders.”
“It concerns me, yes.” Beau is plain, factual. “I wanted to know your headspace at that moment. I need a team leader who’s going to back up his decisions and stand proudly at them. Who takes responsibility for himself and those of his team.”
He pauses.
“I do believe that’s you, Lieutenant. I am about to ask you a great deal. Not only will you be on reserve for the most dangerous and secret missions in the Navy, you will be responsible for your team members and their compliance. I also want you to take the other available teaching slot in the academy.”
“Other slot, sir?”
“Lieutenant Bradshaw,” Beau says quickly. He’s aware of the rivalry between the two, but had witnessed from the tower on the carrier how the two had interacted. There’s been scuttlebutt about the two of them burying the hatchet and being friends. “You’d be working directly with him as an instructor in the school, and as previously mentioned, your other team members would be assisting you and Lieutenant Bradshaw with hops when you two deem it appropriate.”
Seresin visibly swallows. “Thank you, sir. I know that it’s an honor to have your faith and your recommendations. I do not intend to let you down.”
Beau fights a smile and nods once. “Good. I’ll see you at the commendation ceremony on Friday. Other than that, I expect you to not return to base until December 1st.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you , sir.”
)-(
Seresin and Bradshaw are a deadly force.
In December, Beau spends most of his time overseeing the courses for the final Top Gun class of ‘20. He is, however, still responsible for the Dagger squadron. He lets Commander Hale and Civilian expert Dr. Walter Fisher use them in rotations to work with the students, who show promise but are no match for any of them - especially for Seresin and Bradshaw. In the air, their movements are coordinated, precise. They develop their own language, and barely have to say three words to know what one another is thinking.
“Haven’t seen a team like that in decades,” Warlock comments quietly one day when they’re reviewing the week’s lessons. “Not since I was here as a student myself.”
“Iceman and Maverick,” Beau recalls from Warlock’s class photo. “Who is who?”
Warlock tilts his head back and forth for a moment. “On the ground is different than in the air. Hangman is precise, efficient, and unshakeable in the air. Kind of like ice-cold, no mistakes. Even when he does something a little self-serving or out of routine, he’s ruthless in efficiency. On the ground, though, he’s cocky and loud, and likes attention, especially from Rooster.”
“And on the ground, Rooster is more contemplative. Takes a step back and works quietly, diligently, unless Hangman picks at him enough. In the air…”
“All Maverick,” Warlock chuckles.
“All Maverick,” Beau cringes. Bradshaw will generally preach precision and caution, but the pilot flies with his heart. He’s all natural talent and quick thinking, heart in the sky, making sure nothing else in his life matters. “How do you think they’ll do as instructors?”
“Very well,” his friend says simply. “They balance each other out, and will challenge students in different ways. I believe Rooster will be good for the classroom.”
“Even with his temper?”
“Haven’t you seen how he’s mellowed out? He came back from leave looking like a hundred pounds was lifted from his shoulders.”
Beau purses his lips, thinks of the tension between Maverick and Rooster during those awful three weeks. It doesn’t seem to shadow Bradshaw anymore, let’s him just be in a way Beau doesn’t think the kid’s ever been able to do. It’s odd to be on the outside with half of the information. “I suppose we’ll just have to see.”
)-(
Christmas time comes, and Beau spends the 23rd finalizing paperwork. He’s pretty certain he’s the only one left in the building until Seresin himself knocks on his open office door. “Sir?”
“Lt Commander Seresin,” he answers, eyebrows raised. “You haven’t escaped yet?”
“No sir,” he chuckles. “Rooster and I are about to head out for the week. We wanted to see if you had any plans tomorrow and invite you to the party for the squadron.”
Beau feels his eyebrows raise even higher. That was unexpected. “That’s very kind of you. I would accept it if my wife and I didn’t already have plans with her friends.”
“No problem,” Seresin shrugs. He walks fully into the office (presumptuous) and places the box he was holding on the corner of Cyclone’s desk. “Then I hope you have a Merry Christmas, sir.”
“Seresin,” Beau says. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“No, but you didn’t have to put your faith in me.” Seresin raps his knuckles on the desk and walks backwards. “Give my best wishes to your wife, sir.”
And he’s gone before Beau gives a dismissal. Still stunned, the admiral drags the box closer to his chair. He flips open the lid to find two presents wrapped in tissue paper. One was a cheap golden trophy labeled “Navy’s Best Boss.” He finds the corners of his lips twitching in amusement, as much as he fights it. It shouldn’t be endearing, but it is. Setting it next to his phone, he decides he’s going to leave it there and never acknowledge it.
The second present is a coffee mug. It’s a standard present for your boss, but his one is labeled with big black letters saying “TEARS OF THE LESSER” and in smaller letters “(THAT MEANS MAVERICK)”. Beau actually does laugh this time. He’s made no secret of his general disdain for Maverick, even after the mission - the man is infuriating as all hell, chaos incarnate - and the joke is a good one.
When he walks through the front door of his home three hours later, Clara is wrapping presents in the living room. Before he can say anything, she brushes her gray-blonde hair over her shoulder. “What on earth has you looking so pleased with yourself?”
He grins at her - because how can he not? She’s extraordinary - and reaches into his briefcase to pull out the mug. He places it on the coffee table and shows her what it says, grin stretching when she laughs. “And who got you this?”
“Hangman, of all people,” he tells her. “Kid came in and invited me to the squad party, and gave me this.”
Clara laughs, bright and beautiful. “Oh, he’s your new favorite, isn’t he?”
“Never had a favorite before,” Beau shrugs. “But he is certainly the first.”
)-(
The thing is, Beau can’t help it. He likes the kid.
The new year comes, and Seresin is around a lot more. He’s got to present debriefs and reports to Beau, always coming to drop them off in person. When Beau asks why he doesn’t have an ensign to deliver them, he shrugs and says “If you want to make sure something important is done, do it yourself.”
“And paperwork is important?” Beau wishes the concept wasn’t as endearing as it is, but it’s nice to see someone understand that their reports actually mean something.
Bradshaw, who is accompanying Seresin on his way out, laughs. “Hangman loves paperwork, sir. All about efficiency.”
“Yeah, yeah, watch it.” Seresin elbows him. He looks back to Beau with a dip of his head, making Beau think of Clara’s father tipping his hat at him when they visit Houston. “Have a good evening, sir.”
Truthfully, Seresin shouldn’t be Beau’s prized pupil. If anything, Bradshaw is proving to be the better lecturer. He and Seresin share the lectures they give on tactics, but he also puts his degree to work by teaching aeronautical maneuvers and basic understanding of your aircraft. He stresses the importance of maintenance, the relationship between plane and pilot, the value that the citizens of the country pay for. He’s actually brilliant, and he takes to being an instructor like he loves being in the classroom as much as he loves being in the air.
On the ground, Seresin is great, but in a different way. He teaches like Maverick did: hands on, about instinct and trust. He preaches the value of teamwork, and how the people you fly with are the reason you make it home at the end of the day. It should make Beau frustrated when he listens in, should make him pull Seresin aside and remind him not to encourage insubordination, even if it's subtle.
Instead, Beau feels pride. Seresin is probably the greatest pilot of his generation, and he’s learning to be part of a team, learning to be a leader. He’s getting better, and multiple members of the brass feel the need to comment on how Admiral Simpson is molding Seresin into quite the officer.
He doesn’t need me , he always tells them. But Top Gun is proud to have him.
The kid is also incredibly sociable. Beau isn’t one for rubbing elbows with the brass, prefers to let his work speak for him. Seresin, on the other hand, is a natural. He doesn’t know if it's southern hospitality or just his own personal charm, but the kid can work a room like nobody’s business. There’s a north eastern dinner in February that Top Gun instructors are expected to attend. Beau spends a majority of the time sitting with Bradshaw of all people, watching Seresin take a turn around the room.
More than one person comes up to him that night, shaking hands and telling Beau, “That’s a real asset you got there, Simpson. Don’t suppose there’s any chance you’ll approve a transfer?”
He responds as he always does: “I obey my orders, sir, and right now they’re working in my favor.”
“He’s annoyingly good at this,” Bradshaw mutters into his drink halfway through the evening. “I’ve never been good with crowd work unless I’m behind a piano.”
Beau huffs out a laugh, even though he’s entirely unused to Bradshaw’s conversation. He doesn’t think they’ve spoken more than twice without Seresin or Warlock in the same room. “He’s going to climb the ladder for certain.”
“He’ll be an admiral one day,” Bradshaw agrees. “And it’s going to annoy me then because he’ll be damned good at it.”
“You have a problem with success, Bradshaw?” Beau admonishes.
“Oh, no, sir,” Bradshaw is still all easy confidence. Quiet, unbothered by the accusation. “There’s just a little jealousy at how easily he presents himself. I could genuinely never be what he’s going to be.”
Beau looks at the pilot next to him. Bradshaw isn’t even looking back, his gaze locked on Seresin across the room. His expression is too gentle, too sweet for Beau to read it as anything other than complete adoration. “I think it’s a little more than jealousy, Lt Commander.”
Bradshaw is caught out and he knows it, judging by the flush of his cheeks.
Across the room, Seresin looks back at them. His eyes slide over Bradshaw’s form, shooting his friend a brilliant smile that Beau’s never seen on anyone. It’s blinding, all teeth and laughing eyes. Bradshaw is smiling right back, even as he “scratches” his eyebrow with his middle finger. It’s easy between the two, and Beau wants to shoot himself in the foot.
Iceman and Maverick reborn, indeed.
)-(
The first time Beau has a real conversation with Seresin comes barely two weeks later, when an ensign rushes into his office. “Admiral Simpson. Lt Commanders Seresin and Bradshaw are requesting a meeting with you and Admiral Bates.”
“About?” Beau is already standing. “They’re supposed to be in the air.”
“Lieutenant Harrison was seen being severely reprimanded by both Lieutenant Commanders. I don’t know any more information, sir.”
“Thank you, Ensign,” Beau says. He exits his office and looks to the ensign working as his assistant. “Jeffries, please take any calls to my direct line. If it’s urgent, you can find me in Warlock’s office.”
“Yes, sir.” Jeffries starts scribbling on a notepad.
He walks briskly, but calmly, to Warlock’s office. He finds both Jake and Bradshaw standing at attention on one side of the door, Lieutenant William “Mario” Harrison and Lieutenant Natalia “Khaleesi” Rossi on the other. He studies Jake's face, sees the rigid lines that mean some sort of tension. Bradshaw wears his anger clearly, mustache twitching and hands clenching at his side. Harrison looks like a kid, scared but defiant.
“Inside, all of you,” Beau barks. “Now.”
They file in obediently. Beau follows them in and shuts the door, walking to stand behind Warlock’s desk with the admiral himself and Maverick, who leans against the window behind far too casually. They share a quick nod before Beau turns and looks at the presenting pilots. “Lieutenant Commander Seresin. Who is the conflict primarily between?”
“Myself and Lieutenant Harrison, sir.” Jake’s voice is venomous.
“Then Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw is going to explain what happened in full detail. If I hear a word from anyone besides myself or Admiral Bates, you’ll be scrubbing toilets for a week. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir,” three voices chorus. Beau motions to Bradshaw to begin. “Sir, we were in the middle of a training exercise focused on evasive maneuvers. Lieutenant Harrison was joining Commander Seresin on the offensive. He spoke over the comms about a cobra maneuver he heard about Captain Mitchell using. He said if it worked against me, it would work against his fellow pilots.”
Beau closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. Fucking. Maverick .
“Lieutenant Commander Seresin reminded him that Captain Mitchell was a pilot with over thirty years of experience, and ordered Lieutenant Harrison to not engage without explicit permission, and to, under any circumstances, absolutely avoid doing the Cobra. Lieutenant Harrison then directly disobeyed an order and pushed forward to do exactly that. He was unsuccessful. His plane made physical contact with Lieutenant Rossi’s.”
Beau’s vision went red. “And Lieutenant Rossi?”
“An excellent pilot who listened to instruction dropped altitude when their wings grazed, carefully and creatively. She avoided a crash, though she had to dip below the Hard Deck to do so.”
“Lieutenant Rossi,” Beau says carefully. “Would you like to file a formal complaint?”
“No, sir,” she answers succinctly. “I only want to know if this means I will be restricted from flying.”
“Unfortunately, until I’ve reviewed the tapes and spoken with the board, yes. Only because you were directly involved. Do you have anything to add?”
“Lieutenant Seresin’s last minute advice saved my life. I’m not sure if it can be heard in the chaos of the recordings, but he gave me instructions over the sound of panic. He was level and told me what to do. I wouldn’t have known what to do without him.”
“Noted. Thank you, Lieutenant. You’re dismissed for lunch. You may attend afternoon classes, but there will be no hop. Please also write up a report on your first hand account of the incident and deliver it to my assistant before the end of the day.”
“Yes, sir.”
Once she’s gone, Beau crosses his arms and stares down Lieutenant Harrison. “Think carefully before you respond. I want to know why you disobeyed a direct order. The truth, at its core. Why did you disobey one of your commanding officers?”
Harrison’s face pinches and reddens. Beau waits until he squares his shoulders. “I thought I could successfully do it. I figured if I did it, they couldn't be mad.”
“You were incorrect and out of line.” Beau snaps. “Unless your commanding officer gives you an order that endangers your fellow pilots, you obey. Currently, you will be written up for insubordination. You’re grounded pending review from the disciplinary board. You will attend lectures, and you will think about the decision you made to endanger yourself, your aircrafts, and specifically Lieutenant Rossi’s goddamn life while you scrub dishes after every meal!”
Harrison flinches at the sound of Beau’s raised voice. “Sir, I-”
“No.” Beau steps closer. “Never in my life have I seen someone so insolent. You are a child, Lieutenant, and I will not allow your pride to kill someone or crash a plane. Do not apologize to me, do not try to explain yourself further. You have one hour to get changed, eat a meal, and report to the kitchen staff willing to work. If I hear even the slightest ripple of complaint, if someone tells me that you were anything less than exemplary, you will look Admiral Kazansky himself in the face and explain your faults. Do you understand me, Lieutenant?”
Harrison nods frantically. “Yes sir, crystal clear, sir.”
“Good. Get the fuck out of my sight.”
Pale and shaking, Harrison exits the office in a rush. Beau follows long enough to slam the door shut to Warlock’s office before he turns to the rest of the room. “At ease, Commanders.”
Bradshaw and Seresin relax just enough to show they heard. Bradshaw looks sharply at Maverick, who raises his hands in surrender. “I know, Rooster, I know.”
“He’s got the same amount of pride as you,” Warlock says to Maverick, his general amusement gone. “But none of the talent or discipline.”
Beau points at Maverick. “I knew that cobra shit was going to come back.”
“It wouldn’t have mattered,” Bradshaw spits furiously, marching over to the window. You can see directly onto base, where Harrison is scrambling through the courtyard towards the locker rooms. “Harrison is a good pilot, but only comparatively to his current squadron. Against the rest of the pilots here, he’s the bottom of the pack, and I cannot believe he thought he could pull it off.”
Seresin shakes his head. “He’s been cocky the whole time, like Warlock said. He’s been like this the whole time. I’m not surprised he tried. The blatant insubordination, though.”
“Fucking children,” Beau mutters. “I’m going to have to call the board. I want this taken care of as soon as possible. That means you both owe me a report by the end of the day. Mitchell, where were you?”
“Making plans for the afternoon hop for the Daggers,” Maverick says, his ever-lasting smug smile on his face. “I was collected when Rooster and Hangman ripped into Harrison on the tarmac.”
“Then I don’t need anything from you. Seeing as someone under your direct supervision is involved, though, you’ll be expected at the hearing in the morning. For now, Seresin is grounded, but Bradshaw is permitted to participate in the hop if its scheduled for after his lecture.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You and Bradshaw are dismissed.”
When it’s only Warlock, Seresin, and Beau, Warlock laces his fingers and leans on his desk. “And how are you, Hangman?”
“I’m pissed,” Seresin admits. “I wonder if it was preventable.”
“By your hand?” Beau asks. “No. It sounds like you did everything right. It was only preventable if Harrison wasn’t such a little prick.”
“Still.” Seresin’s voice is tight, and Beau steps back from his own frustration to look at the kid. It’s subtle, but the skin around his temple is taught from how tightly he’s clenching his jaw and straining to keep his chin up. There’s sweat fresh on his brow, despite the time that’s passed since he touched down. There’s something more than anger running through his mind. Beau studies all of these things for a moment before blowing out a sharp breath. “Alright, Seresin. Go change and meet me at my car.”
“Sir?” Seresin frowns, momentarily startled out of his frustration. “To go where?”
“We’re going to get a drink.”
The Hard Deck is quiet when they arrive. Given it’s a little before two on a weekday, it’s not terribly surprising. Beau thinks they should be thankful as they take a back booth and flag down Penny. He throws up the number two with his hand, and she nods before pulling out his favorite beer. Across from him, Seresin is tense and unsure.
“We don’t have to talk,” Beau says simply. “If you need to talk through something, though, now’s the time. It’s just us, kid.”
“What, no strong and silent treatment like a real man?” Seresin drawls. Beau sees the weak defense for what it is.
“Repressing emotions has consistently worked for nobody,” he fires back. “Eventually we all snap. But if you’re not ready to talk, you’re not ready to talk.”
Penny walks over and places the beer on the table. Beau picks up his own and motions to Seresin. “Now be grateful for your beer and drink.”
They sit in silence. Beau waits, drinks his beer and watches Seresin. He’s picking at the corner label of his Ultra, where the condensation is making the sticker weak. His shoulders are tense, rigid lines across the back of the booth to pair with his clenched jaw and shuttered off eyes. Beau is, as always, reminded of Clara when she’s fearful and frustrated. She throws up walls, prefers to pretend she’s tall and untouchable to prove she isn’t weak. He wonders if that’s what Seresin is doing – trying to prove he isn’t weak after Beau caught him feeling unstable.
Eventually, the kid does loosen up. After the first beer, his jaw unclenches and he leans back a bit in the booth. After the second one, his shoulders curve in a bit and he leans his forehead on his own hand. It makes him look smaller, younger, and Beau wonders where the flash of feeling comes from. He’s never felt particularly paternal, and he’s never been more protective over a student or coworker than anyone in his position is. Normally people are his responsibility, and he feels a connection to them through that, but this is different.
This is distinctly paternal, and he puts that to the side to examine later. Right now it is about Seresin feeling comfortable enough to share.
And he does, halfway through the third beer.
“My dad is a complete shit head.”
Beau doesn’t answer. He doesn’t believe he’s meant to.
“God, I’m such a stereotype sometimes. The little kid that’s always seeking Daddy’s approval. I can’t do anything mildly wrong without thinking about how he’d be disappointed in me, again. And when I was standing in Warlock’s office and he asked me how I felt, I…I was so pissed at myself. Not only for what happened, but for how every decision I make is tainted with trying to make him see I’m not a total failure.”
Beau frowns. “First of all, wanting your father’s approval isn’t a stereotype, it’s part of being someone’s son. Even when they disappoint us, we want our parents to approve of us, to love us, because it’s fundamentally what they’re meant to do.”
“So why couldn’t mine?” Jake asks sharply. It doesn’t seem voluntary, if the way his eyes widen mean anything. “I just mean – why is this still a thing? I turn thirty this year. I want to just not care. Things in my life are finally going how I want them to. I’m a highly decorated naval officer. I have actual friends, people I love, but all I can hear is his fucking voice in my head. Always expecting more, always reminding me that it’s not enough. That I’m not.”
“Drown him out.” Cyclone suggests. When Seresin just blinks at him, he shrugs. “Your father’s voice may never go away, I can’t say it will. But you don’t have to listen to him. There’s enough people in your life, ones you just said you love, who can help with that.”
“But they don’t know me.”
“And who’s fault is that?”
“Excuse me?”
“Don’t bullshit me, kid.” Beau sets aside his beer to place his elbows on the table. “You aren’t as clever as you think, even if you’re pretty damn clever. You push people away, my guess is to protect yourself. Am I wrong?”
“No,” Seresin bites out.
“Alright.” Beau shrugs. “So maybe you should let these people in, the ones you love, and let yourself fucking heal. By isolating yourself, you’re letting that shit head of a father have power over you. Enough is enough. You wanna be done, son? Be done.”
“Is it even that easy?”
“No,” Beau admits. “It’s work. But it starts with a decision, your decision.”
Seresin doesn’t say anything. He looks at Beau like he finally understands something. “So, what? You’re secretly a well-adjusted softie who just doesn’t like Maverick and that’s why you act like such a dick?”
Beau declines to answer, just takes a long draw from his beer. Seresin nods shortly, amused, before fully relaxing back into his seat. No longer slouching in on himself, but also not holding himself in a rigidly straight line. “What was the second thing, Admiral?”
Beau raises an unimpressed eyebrow.
“Earlier, you said ‘first of all’ and started talking about my dad. What was the second of all?”
“Ah.” Beau says. “About the flight. There’s nothing you could have done, so blaming yourself does nothing.”
“It’s my team and my students, I was responsible up there.”
“The pilot made a risky decision to do a move you explicitly instructed him not to do when he brought it up. One you haven’t even demonstrated for them, he heard it from a rumor about Maverick. There is no way that you could be at fault. You held it together in the air, ensured the other pilots were safely grounded. You reprimanded the pilot in question, marched him to Warlock’s office, and kept it together while you explained what happened. None of those actions have any reason to cast blame on you.”
Seresin’s jaw clicks, but he nods. “Thank you, sir.”
“There’s nothing to thank me for, those are the facts.”
“Well, then, thank you for the beer.”
“Oh, you think this is on me? No, you’re paying for the beer to compensate for the emotional exhaustion this conversation is giving me.”
“Fair enough, sir. Penny, my dear! Another round?”
)-(
After that, Seresin becomes Jake and Beau becomes a mentor of sorts.
Jake is a frequent visitor in his office. Whether it's questions about Top Gun policy or just to shoot shit about being squadron leader, Jake ends up in the chair across from Beau’s desk more often than not. He worries at first that the younger pilot’s presence will begin to grate on him, but it never does. He continues to enjoy having him around. He’s wicked smart, and it amuses Beau to no end when he uses it on the people around him. The more that he settles into his skin and allows the people around him to come close without lashing out, the brighter he looks on a general basis. He walks around with a bit more pep in his step, sincere smiles that blind the people around him, and an love-able asshole vibe that his squadron seems to be understanding is affection.
He begins to grow into himself, and Beau feels an immense amount of pride that he isn’t sure is warranted. He isn’t responsible for Jake’s career progressing, he’s just overseeing it now. Regardless, he feels a paternal response to the kid’s proximity and can’t help but be proud.
He says as much to Clara one weekend, the two of them painting the guest bedroom. “I’ve never faltered in our decision not to have children, I need you to know that.”
“I know, love,” Clara assures him. She’s standing by the window with a hand brush, a splash of yellow paint on her forearm. He takes a moment to look at her, bathed in sunlight and dressed in ratty clothes, nearly missing what she says next. “Just because we didn’t want to have or raise children doesn’t mean you don’t have the capacity to be a father. And Jake sounds like a wonderful man who needs a mentor in his life, someone to help him navigate things, especially if he’s pursuing a naval career.”
“It’s more than that, though.” Beau rolls paint up and down the wall. He really hates yellow. “I feel like he needs more support than just someone to help him at work. He looks lost.”
Clara puts down her paintbrush and comes to take Beau’s roller. He puts it down and looks at her jade green eyes, letting her cup his face in her hands.
“If you think he needs help and you want to help, we will help,” she tells him. “Let’s go to dinner on Tuesday. Bring Jake after work. Let me meet him, and we’ll see what we can do for him.”
“Okay.” Beau leans in to kiss his wife. “Thank you, honey.”
“Anything for you.”
)-(
“Lieutenant Commander Seresin.”
Jake stops where he’s in conversation with Lieutenant Lee and Bradshaw. They share a few farewells, Jake slapping Bradshaw on the shoulder. His hand stays for just a moment too long, where Bradshaw gives him a smile. As Jake drops his hand and turns away, Bradshaw’s eyes stay on him and the smile never drops from his face.
Jesus Christ, they’re moon-eyed.
Jake strolls down the hallway with easy swagger. He’s begun to relax as time has passed, and it’s been four months since they formed the new squadron. Beau is pleased to see genuine happiness on the kid’s face as he approaches Beau with a careful smile. “Sir?”
“My wife has asked that you join us for dinner tomorrow night,” Beau says carefully.
“Your wife, sir?” Jake’s brow furrows. “Why would she like to meet me?”
“She thinks its important that my mentee sees a healthy work-life balance.”
“I’m your mentee?” Jake teases, smirking lightly. “And you talk about me enough that your wife wants to meet me?”
“You can continue to be a pain-in-my-ass,” Beau sighs, looking up at the ceiling. “Or, you can take the offer of a free dinner with a beautiful and intellectually stimulating woman.”
“Oh, I definitely want to see this side of Cyclone,” Jake grins. “Domesticated.”
“You’re bordering on impertinence.”
“Me? Never.”
“Let’s go back to when you respected me and my position.”
Jake appears to settle down, but only slightly. He clears his throat and squares his shoulders. “I’d be honored to attend dinner with your family, Admiral. Just tell me a date and time.”
Beau looks heavenward. This is going to be a disaster.
)-(
As is expected, Clara and Jake get on like a house on fire. They sit down for dinner at Antonio’s, an italian restaurant that isn’t any better than Olive Garden, but serves breadsticks that are to do for, so they put in three orders and get dipping sauces. The first twenty minutes, Clara and Jake spend arguing Longhorns vs Aggies, lamenting how they can’t get a good biscuit in California, but the burritos are easier to find so that’s something. Clara tells Jake she keeps a pitcher of tea in the fridge at all times, and even can get her hands on good BBQ at the right festivals once a year. There’s talk of the smell of Texas air, the tornados, and the way the sky looks in the pasture when it’s sunset.
“Do you regret doing something that took you away?” Jake asks. “It sounds like you haven’t really been there since you graduated high school.”
“I visit occasionally,” Clara answers. “But Texas was only Beau’s home for a year. When he graduated and signed up for the navy, I knew I had to follow him. I loved my home, but I loved him more, and he loved me. My parents supported that decision, and paid for school as we traveled for the next four years.”
“We were incredibly lucky,” Beau adds. “My mother wanted me to make my own way, but Clara’s were always there to help us along. The Navy took fairly good care of us, but school and travel wasn’t cheap, and they never hesitated to say yes. We got to have each other and our dreams, no compromise.”
“That’s actually incredible.”
“It’s unheard of,” Clara wiggles her eyebrows. “But I’ve always believed things lined up for us because they knew we needed each other. Beau and I work because we understand one another, have our own language. Every one thinks their relationship is special, but I know ours is.”
“That’s beautiful,” Jake murmurs. “To have both things that you love.”
“Beau and the ocean were all I ever felt that I needed.”
“And the love of the ocean, that’s what made you want to do marine biology?” Jake is eating up everything Clara says. “I’m curious how that came to happen, honestly. I mean, you were a rancher. My memories of working with horses didn’t lend a lot of time to studying the ocean.”
“I didn’t fall in love with it until after I married Beau,” she explains. “At first, I just knew I wanted a career of my own while he found his. I took a low level ecology course and the small unit within it about marine life caught my attention. I started spending my free time studying it a bit more, reading textbooks for fun.”
Here, Jake beams. “I do the same thing.”
“It’s addicting, isn’t it?” Clara giggles. “I got so drawn into it, I decided to start taking more biology courses until I declared. Beau took me on a date for our anniversary to the local aquarium, when we were in Pensacola. I fell utterly in love and decided to try and do that for the rest of my life.”
“That’s incredible.” Jake shakes his head. “I can’t believe you’re a doctor running a research program. You sound like someone who’s going to win a Nobel prize.”
“That’s the plan, as soon as I figure out how to save the ocean from mankind.” Clara winks.
“I love the confidence.”
Clara shrugs. “I know my capabilities. I’ve worked incredibly hard to get where I am and still have a lot of years left to work hard. Why shouldn’t I be loud and proud about the skill and knowledge I’ve acquired?”
“Literally, exactly!” Jake’s eyes are brighter than they’ve ever been. “False modesty doesn’t mean anything. There’s a place for humility, I am beginning to understand that, but there’s no point in pretending you’re not smart or talented when you have the knowledge that you are.”
Beau watches them bounce back and forth in conversation. It’s nice to see Clara find a kindred soul. They laugh at the same things and relate to similar upbringings. They don’t have many of the same interests, but it doesn’t seem to matter. Jake listens avidly as Clara tells him specifics about her work. He asks questions that show he’s listening, and Clara is only too eager to answer them. In turn, she patiently listens to him discuss his (shocking) love of poetry. Beau sees in real time as Clara gives Jake her number and demands his recommendations to expand her literary palette.
“Oh dear,” Clara says eventually, blinking at her watch. “It’s nearly ten.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Jake colors, eyes dipping down. “It can be difficult to shut up once I get started.”
“No, sweetie,” Clara says, placing a hand tentatively on Jake’s arm. The kid locks up at first, but when he looks up, he relaxes at the gentle curve of her smile. “Never apologize for being passionate about something, Jake. Passion is what helps us live, and what gives us motivation. To be overflowing with that is not a problem.”
“Yeah,” Jake responds, small and quiet. “You’re right. Thank you, Ms. Simpson. I think we all need to get going, but it’s been such a wonderful night.”
“For me, too.” Clara squeezes his arm. “Sweet boy. We will pick this up on Saturday. You’re coming over for lunch.”
“Oh.” Jake blinks. “Okay.”
“In the meantime, I’m serious. Send me your suggestions.”
Jake pauses to think about something before placing his hand over the one Clara has on his arm. “Yes ma’am.”
)-(
Saturday, after Jake leaves from their home five hours after finishing lunch, Clara and Beau stand on the porch to watch him drive off. He’s barely taken the turn out of the driveway when Clara turns and smacks Beau on the chest. “Are you serious right now?”
“What did I do?” Beau tries to turn from her swatting hands.
“I never wanted children, Beau.”
Beau feels his face scrunch in confusion, knows he must be wrinkling around the eyes. “Yes, we agreed on that when we got married.”
“I did not plan to love a child.”
“I know.”
“I’m too selfish.”
“So you’ve said, even if I don’t believe it.”
Clara chews on her lip. “Except.”
“Except.” Beau sympathizes with her, he really does. “I don’t know how it happened.”
“Well it did, and you can’t take it back.” Clara looks at him sharply. Her eyes are bright, the same way they were in 1980 when she stood in front of him and declared that she wasn’t one of those girls he could knock up and leave when he ran off to the military. She would have a career, and she didn’t have any desire to be a homemaker or mother. He remembers how he fell in love with the sight, the strength of her. It’s there now, the strength she holds when she makes a decision. Eighteen or forty-eight, her spirit and resolve are unmatched.
“I won’t,” he promises her. “I couldn’t.”
“I’m serious.” Clara’s voice catches for a moment, but she points a stern finger at him. “He’s mine now, Beau Simpson. And I will not give him up easily.”
“I know, love.”
“Okay.” Clara nods. “Fuck, Beau.”
“I know, love.”
And he does, because he knows his wife. She proves herself right over the next month. They have dinner together every Tuesday night, the three of them, even if Beau often simply sits back to let them have at it. Jake comes over at least once more some time each week. The first time, it’s just lunch and conversation. The second time, Clara shows Jake her biscuit recipe on a Sunday morning. The third time, Clara isn’t home and Beau puts on the Cardinals game. He and Jake watch the game and share popcorn and beer.
“So, you guys really never wanted to have kids?” Jake asks when the game ends.
Beau shakes his head. “Not once. Clara’s known her whole life. I knew after I met her. I didn’t want children because I had her, and she’s always been more than enough.”
“So I’m not some weird replacement for the kids you never had?”
Beau rolls his eyes. “No, Jake, it’s not. It’s just you.”
“Just me?”
“The only kid we’ve ever wanted.” he shrugs, standing. “You staying for another beer until Clara gets home? Shouldn’t be long now.”
Jake’s eyes are suspiciously wet, but Beau says nothing. Just waits for the affirmation or denial. Jake is looking at him, mouth downturned like he’s distrustful of the situation. Beau, not for the first time, fantasizes about going a few rounds in the ring with Jake’s old man. It doesn’t make sense that someone quite so confident can be so insecure when it comes to his personal life. His father - and possibly even his mother - sure did a number on him.
“Yeah,” the kid says eventually. “I’ll stay.”
)-(
Jake shows up on their doorstep at 9:30 on a Friday evening. Beau is sitting on the couch, snuggled up to Clara, with their favorite show on the TV. He barely watches the contestants be charming while they bake because he’s too busy pressing soft kisses to his wife’s neck and shoulders. She giggles like she did when they were seventeen. His heart races as he tastes the salt water still on her skin and wonders how on earth he got so lucky.
“Did you have to actually get in the water today?” he murmurs against her skin. “You smell like the ocean.”
“Is that what does it for you navy boys?” she teases. A hand comes up to run fingers through the hair at the base of his skull. He shivers, goosebumps breaking out over his body and distracting him enough that he nearly misses the added “And yes, I had to collect some samples. Ended up tripping over one of my students and falling straight into the water.”
“Kinda like it,” he admits softly in her ear, enjoying that it seems to have an effect on her. It’s always good to know it’s not only him still reacting to her thirty years later. “We should go to the beach tomorrow.”
“It’s barely warm enough.”
“Maybe I just want to see you in a bikini.”
“I’ll order some new lingerie, how about that?”
“Only if I can rip it off with my teeth.” he nips at the skin behind her ear and enjoys that breathless laugh she gives him. Clara turns in his arms, pressing her body to his while they kiss. He gets so easily lost in her: the shape of her body, the taste of her tongue sliding against his. When he’s with her, his world narrows down and she’s the only thing worth paying attention to.
“I love you,” he reminds her, hands skirting down her skin.
“I love you.” She returns it sweetly, hands back in his hair. “I think you should take me to bed.”
“As my lady commands.”
Just as Beau is getting ready to scoop her into his arms like they’re teenagers again, the doorbell rings. He and Clara exchange looks of confusion. “Did you invite someone over, honey?”
“I did not,” Clara frowns. “I don’t suppose that bodes well for a military man.”
“Let’s see who it is.” Beau stands and offers a hand to his wife, who takes it and links their fingers. They go to the door together, Beau keeping Clara half a step behind him as he looks through the peephole. “It’s — it’s Jake.”
Clara makes a small, confused noise and hurries to open the door. Jake stands on the other side, shifting from left to right, hands twitching enough that he jams them in his pockets. He’s disheveled, sweatpants and a light hoodie stretched out like he’s been pulling on random spots of fabric when he isn’t running his hands through his hair and making some of it stick up. The eyes that dart back and forth between Clara and Beau complete the look. It’s such a departure from Jake’s usual countenance that Clara makes a small noise of discontent.
“Jake, sweetie,” she says, a tender touch to her tone. “Come inside, tell us what’s going on.”
“I’m going to go ahead and say this quickly,” Jake says instead. “Because if this goes poorly, I’d like to be able to just turn around and leave.”
“Jake,” Beau starts, but the young man holds out a hand. Beau raises his eyebrows. Jake would never outright disrespect his commanding officer. “Okay, son. Say what you need to.”
Jake nods, once, sharply, before squaring his shoulders. He’s all rigid lines and a proud jutting of his jaw that Beau recognizes as his defense. “Right. I love you both. It’s weird for me to say and I think I’m only doing it because I’ve had just enough to drink, but you deserve to know. You’ve been parents to me these last few months. I don’t know why you decided I was worthy of this kind of affection, but I don’t want it to go unrecognized. You are both incredible people and the way you’ve brought me into your life means everything to me. So I want you to know that I’m gay. Very gay and no longer feeling like keeping that part of me quiet. I don’t care if it derails my career.”
Here, his eyes begin to shine.
“I’ve been out for awhile now,” he continues, brave as ever. “But I always kept my head down because of the military. Even after the repeal, you know there’s still a lot of homophobia. Maybe that includes you and that’s just something you didn’t know about me. But you know for sure now. I’m gay. And I don’t want to continue under any kind of secrecy, even if it means you don’t want me anymore.”
Beau purses his lips for a second before remembering Jake's fears. He doesn’t want the kid to think he’s getting mad, so he does his best to soothe his features. He steps forward and gently claps a hand to Jake’s cheek, making sure he’s got his attention. Jade colored eyes flick up to Beau’s and the older man’s heart breaks to see the fear there.
“Thank you for telling us,” he says, being sure to make his voice soft. “Thank you for trusting us. This changes nothing.”
“Oh.” Jake's glassy eyes shine further when he blinks and a few tears fall. “Cl-Clara?”
“Come inside, sweetie,” Clara insists, stepping back and holding out her arms. Jake takes two steps before he’s folding into her like a child, bending his head to cry into her shoulder while she rubs his back and shushes him. “My brave boy. Of course we love you like our own. Nothing you could do or say would change that.”
“You guys never wanted kids,” Jake sniffles when he pulls back. “And my parents did, but after they found out, they wanted nothing to do with me.”
Clara squeezes his cheeks with how she grabs his face and makes him focus on her. Beau thinks it’s almost comical how his face scrunches beneath her small hands, but Jake clearly isn’t bothered. “Maybe so, but we aren’t them, Jake. We want you, and you’re with us now, and that’s all that matters.”
Jake’s watery smile of bewilderment breaks Beau’s heart. He longs to find Daniel Seresin and break his face.
“Why don’t you go sit down?” Clara suggests. “We’ll make you a cup of tea and watch Bake Off. Unless you’ve got other plans?”
“No, ma’am.” Jake shakes his head. “Nowhere to be.”
“Then go sit down,” Beau agrees. “We’ll be right in.”
Jake nods, hand rubbing at the back of his neck as he turns and strides to the living room. Beau follows his wife into the kitchen, where she throws her arms around his neck and shakes against him. He kisses her temple, breathing in the scent of salt still clinging to her skin, and centers himself.
“How could someone not want him?” Clara hisses through her tears. “Those people, how could they hurt him? He’s so good, Beau.”
“I don’t know, honey,” he breathes. “But we have him now.”
“And anyone can pry him from my cold dead hands.”
“Let’s not look for that, though, yeah?”
“You’re saying I can’t shoot them and dump the bodies on daddy’s farm?”
“Christ, you Texans freak me out.”
Clara chuckles through her tears, sliding her hands from his chest with a quick kiss. “Why don’t you take him some water why the kettle goes on? I would bet he’s dehydrated if he’s been drinking. Beer always takes it out of him.”
Beau loves that Clara knows that, but he gets a glass of water with lots of ice and kisses her head on his way out of the kitchen. Jake is sitting with his ass on the edge of the couch.
“Are you trying to make a break for it?” Beau admonishes. “You need to look more comfortable before Clara comes back, or she will worry you’re gonna bolt.”
“I’m not gonna bolt,” Jake grumbles, but scoots back, still skittish. He silently takes the offered water. When he doesn’t drink, Beau crosses his arms and raises his eyebrows. Jake huffs, a slight twitch to his lips, and raises it to his lips. He takes a couple long drinks and arches an eyebrow at Beau. “Is that acceptable?”
Jake is put out, but Beau is trying to keep it together so he only nods his approval and takes his own seat.
When Clara comes back, it’s with a cup of tea and a soft blanket draped over her arm. Jake looks confused as she dotes on him, but let’s it happen. He accepts that Clara places the blanket over his legs and pushes the tea into his hands. She informs him there’s plenty of food if he gets hungry, and that they expect him to stay the night. After they watch Bake Off, she’ll show him to the guest room and get him all set up. Jake is speechless at her declarations. Beau hides his laugh behind his fist.
“Now, nobody can talk. It’s bread week.” Clara presses play, her toes tucked under Jake’s thigh, and holds her own tea to her chest. They make a sweet picture, sitting on the couch together like mother and son. Jake looks content in a way Beau’s never seen, and Clara is clearly bursting with love for the boy she keeps shooting looks at. He thinks again about how lucky he is to have a woman like her, one who never wanted children but took to Jake like she’d never known anything else, all because he was important to Beau.
“I love you both,” he says, quietly, but firmly enough that they both hear it. He gets a wide grin from Clara, and a small, blushing smile from Jake. His heart aches in a good way, like it’s getting used to feeling so full, and Beau realizes how content he is.
He turns back to the TV, and watches his favorite show with his family.
It’s a good night.