Chapter Text
It started with a whisper in the dark.
“I think I’m going to retire.”
It started with a promise.
“I’m going to stay by your side no matter what you decide.”
And it started with a plan.
It was after the Uranium mission, after Bradley started to talk with them again and after they became the surrogate parents for eleven other pilots. They were only basking into each other’s presences, into the fact that everything was going to be fine, when Pete spoke up, voice rough with sleep and tiredness, but sure of what he wanted. This had been his last mission, the last time he had flown for the Navy for the rest of his life.
He wouldn’t stop flying — Of course not, Pete was too restless to stay in the ground for long — but he would be flying for himself from now on, with his own planes and flying plans. There was a reason why Tom had bought him that hangar on their twenty-eight anniversary and it wasn’t because he was feeling generous all of sudden. They had been talking about retiring for a long while, even then.
Tom’s cancer had caught them by surprise, Pete wanting to retire earlier to take care of him and Tom being adamantly against it. There had been fights and arguments, entire days gone without them speaking to each other and entire nights being used to make things up. Buying the hangar had been Tom’s way to say both ‘ I’m sorry ’ and ‘ I’m here, whatever you decide ’.
In the end, Pete didn’t retire earlier, Tom’s power stretching enough to keep him in the ground for enough time to help him through chemo, but after the last mission he started to reconsider it.
Deep down, he knew that he could stay in the air as he wanted to, that Tom would do anything he could to keep him there, but he was tired. His sixtieth birthday was closer than most people thought and being ejected again and again wasn’t doing him any good. On top of that, Tom was in remission — Had been for years now — and Bradley was talking with them again. Hell, they adopted eleven other children, if that was possible, and their door was never still for long anymore.
So, yes, retiring didn’t seem so bad, all things considered.
They talked that night, adrenaline still running through their veins and sleep not doing its job well enough, and decided what they were going to do. After the debriefing, Pete would send his papers in, ask for discharge and Tom would sign them. Then, they were going to take a week or two off — Tom would have to reschedule the next two or so months of appointments, but it was worth it — and they would travel somewhere away from all of this.
Maybe they would go visit Slider and his wife, Laurel, further down in the South, or, maybe, they could go to the North and visit Tom’s sister, Sarah, and his nephews and nieces. Maybe they wouldn’t even travel, staying home and hiding from the entire world. What they would be doing afterwards didn’t matter much, only that this was the beginning of the rest of their lives.
The debriefing came and went, longer and more tiring than the mission itself had been, and Pete asked for his retirement almost immediately after, surprising Cyclone. He would never forget the man’s face when he showed up at his office the very next day, papers filled and signed properly, a request he never thought would come voluntarily under Pete’s arm.
Now, they only had to break the news to the kids.
.
.
.
The first of them had been Bradley and it was an accident.
The boy had shown up at their door as Tom was starting on breakfast, Pete still blinking blearily at his husband as the smell of coffee filled the air. He was wearing only a white t-shirt and gray sweatpants, the brown nest on his head a telltale sign that he had gotten almost immediately after getting out of bed. The way he didn’t utter a single word when he got there was another.
Like his godfather, he wasn’t a morning person, despite his callsign suggesting otherwise. When he was younger, neither Pete nor Tom ever attempted to talk with him until there was enough food on his stomach and they were sure that his soul was back in place. They chuckled at each other, watching the boy settle at the island and bend his head down until his forehead touched the cool marble.
Pete patted his head, trying to tame the rebellious locks and smiling down at him, before coming around the counter and closer to Tom. The man had already brought out the eggs, some vegetables and the homemade pancake mix and was busy cutting the bread to put in the toaster. Kissing his shoulder, he reached for the chives, green bell peppers, onions and a knife.
They worked in relative silence, Tom asking him to move around quietly and Pete humming in response, putting the eggs and the pancakes on the stove. It was easy to fall back to their normal pace, a dance they had evolved to almost perfection during the years. Soft music wandered through the air, their beaten up radio working quietly, and gentle caresses were exchanged, a kiss or two in the mix where Tom or Pete trapped the other against the counter and cabinets.
Bradley, for the most part, just watched them, lifting his head from the island enough to rest it against his arms. This morning was no different from the ones when he was a child, where they would sit him at the counter and distract him from the fact his mom was spending more time at the hospital than at home. He chuckled as Pete caught Tom in his arms, dragging him into an impromptu dancing session and swaying around as the radio sang Remember when I could tell you not to smile when you were mad and you would always crack and Tom’s eyes wrinkled more as he giggled against Pete’s hair.
“Here,” Tom said as he pushed Pete away and turned to him with a smile, putting a mug of steaming coffee and a plate of toast with jelly and butter in front of him. “How was your night?”
“Good,” Bradley rasped, scratching his eye with the back of his hand and yawning. “Nat and Callie wiped the ground with Jake and Javy’s butts yesterday.”
“They did?” Pete asked, putting a lid over the eggs to let them finish cooking and handing a plate full of pancakes to him. He only hummed in response, mouth full of toast and coffee, and took the pancakes off his hands, taking one for his own as Tom sat on the other side of the island. “That’s something I’d have liked to have seen.”
“You should have. It was hilarious,” he said around his food, earning a hard glare from Tom.
“Not talking with your mouth full,” the man scolded before taking a sip of his own coffee and closing his eyes in bliss. “Don’t be like your godfather.”
“Fuck you,” Pete growled but he was laughing as he sat down beside the two of them with a cup of his own. “Did Jake cry a lot?”
“He did,” a wheeze left his nose as he remembered how truly and utterly defeated Jake had looked as Callie and Natasha won at poker, wiping the table and the ground with his and Javy’s tears. The only reason why it hadn’t been his tears as well was because Bob and Neil had warned him off. “I think Mickey filmed it.”
“He better show me it later,” he giggled, hiding behind his cup and settling down as Bradley started to tell them about his night.
As he spun his tale of Hangman’s great loss, Pete used the time to really look at his godson and how much he had grown. Last time they had seen him, before Top Gun and eighteen years ago, he was barely an adult, lanky and tall like his father with a barely-there mustache that he prided himself so much on. Now, not only had he grown into his skin, getting bigger with the passing of the years, but he had grown as a man too.
It had been a marvel to see interact with the rest of the group, laughing and joking around like when he was younger, but, at the same time, so much more adult than before. He was more serious now, focused on what he wanted and what he needed to do to get it. Despite knowing most of it probably had nothing to do with him, Pete was still glad to see him here, doing what he loved and making friends while it. He was proud of him.
Tom exchanged a look with him, the same pride he felt swelling in his chest just as clear on his blue eyes. After Bradley went away, both of them had felt his absence, but Tom had tried to hide his hurt, even if just to take care of him, pretend that he hadn’t been just as affected by the fight as him. Pete knew the truth, though, and he knew that he was as happy as him to see him back and talking with them.
“I will never forget the look he had on his eyes as Nat took all of his money away. So worth it,” Bradley said, finishing his tale and toast and Pete laughed at the image of the lost look Jake must have sported as Natasha laughed at him. Tom smiled as well, getting up to take the eggs of the burner and bring them to the counter. “Are we still doing the barbecue this weekend? All of them have been very excited for it, Halo even said she will cook some of her mom’s recipes to bring here.”
“Oh, yeah, we have an announcement to make for everyone,” Pete nodded, putting some eggs on his toast before stopping himself, Tom’s eyes burning holes at the side of his face.
Shit , he thought as he slowly turned to the older man, like a child caught red-handed, and smiled weakly to him. Early in the week, right after he had given his formal request to Cyclone, they agreed that they would tell everyone about the news this weekend, when they all would be together.
“Announcement? What announcement?” Bradley said, swallowing the last bit of toast and lookin between the two of them. “Is everything alright? I-Is the cancer back?”
“God, no, no, everything’s fine,” Pete said, lifting his hands up. He heard Tom rasp his knuckles against the wooden cabinets thrice, shaking his head as if to repel that thought away. “Everything is fine, Baby Goose.”
“Then what’s the announcement? You guys adopting another child? Because you just got another eleven kids last month,” he pointed over his shoulder, as if the rest of the kids would show up right then and there to prove his point. “They are even talking about doing a movie’s night after next week.”
“I didn't agree to any of that,” Tom said, furrowing his eyebrows and staring at him.
“Well, it doesn't seem to bother them,” Bradley shrugged, stealing a piece of egg from Pete's plate. “What's the announcement?”
“You'll know with the others,” Pete tried, not even fighting his little stealing hands away, and looked down at his own cup.
“Don't even try, Mav, the cat's out the bag now. Talk,” he said, eyes narrowed at him and waiting. “What's the announcement?”
“Tell him, Pete, no difference now,” Tom said, taking a bite from his own food. "The kid will know one way or another, what's the difference?" Added when Pete turned to look at him with a raised eyebrow and, yeah, okay, he was right. Bradley would know the truth sooner or later, so why not?
“It's nothing certain yet, okay? I've put in a request and there's going to be time before it's really settled, but I'm going to retire. It's going to take some time, a month or two, but, yeah, I'm going to retire,” he took a deep breath, staring down at his cup and ignoring the way his heart seemed set to break free from his chest.
There was no reason for him to feel so nervous about telling Bradley he was going to retire, no reason, at all. And he knew that, logically, he knew that. But here, face to face with him, he felt nervous. Maybe because they had only got him back, maybe because they had only started talking and he feared that the retirement would chase him away again.
Yet, for a moment, no one did anything. All of them stayed where they were, looking at one another and waiting to see who reacted first. Bradley looked between the two of them, a piece of toast clad between his teeth and coffee halfway to his mouth. His eyebrows were furrowed, almost touching, as his head moved from side to side, trying to determine if this was a joke or not.
“Is this a joke?” He said around his toast, eyes wide as sausages as he kept looking between them.
“Shocking, I know. I almost fell off bed when he told me,” Tom said by side, smoothly avoiding another elbow to the ribs. He hid a smirk behind his cup, but Pete could see the mirth dancing in his eyes, the pleasure of being a little shit still vibrant in them.
“Oh, fuck off,” he lifted his middle finger, making a face at him before turning around. “Why is that so surprising?”
“Because it's you , Mav,” Bradley stated as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Everyone knows that you would rather crash and burn than get retired. The Navy has been trying to get you grounded for years ,” and Pete didn't flinch at that, of course he didn't, but the screams were still too fresh in his mind ( “No wife, no kids, no one to mourn you when you burn in” ), and, by the guilty look in his eyes, he thought the same as him. “Sorry,” he muttered, eyes downcast and shameful.
“It's alright, kiddo,” he smiled as Tom's hand landed on his thigh, squeezing it. “It surprised me as well, to be honest, but I'm going to retire. I prefer to be grounded by my own terms than by some bitchass admiral like Cain,” the name fell off his lips like a curse, a bad taste being left behind in his mouth. “But I won’t stop flying, of course! I’ll just do it on my own now.”
“Not on your own,” Tom said, squeezing his thigh again and leaning in to kiss his cheek. “I’m here for you, kochanie,” his voice was barely above a whisper, like it always was after the surgery, but he could feel all the affection and all the love the man felt. It was clear on his face too, in the way he tilted his head to look at him, soft eyes taking in every detail in earnest.
“I know, mio cuore, I know,” he covered his hand with his own, bringing them closer and kissing their joined knuckles. A smile appeared on his lips without his input — He had long accepted it was a Pavlovian response to this man’s mere presence and that there was nothing he could do about it.
“And me as well. I mean, if you want me to, of course,” Bradley said, straightening up on his seat and looking between the two of them.
“Of course we do, bambino,” and that was what it took for him to get up, circling the island in a matter of seconds, and pull them both in a tight hug, burying his face in Pete’s hair.
A loud laugh escaped his lips, one hand shooting out to hold himself against the counter and the other rubbing at his back. It was the laugh that came from the deep of his belly, hearty and full, and that had his whole body shaking with it as he clung to them. He heard Tom chuckling by his side, his own arm coming around Bradley’s back and pulling him closer.
He knew that they still had a long way to go — apologies still needed to be said and sorrows still needed to be spoken — but, for now, that hug was enough. For enough, just having Bradley there with them was enough. Their little family was complete again — even if it wasn’t so little anymore — and Pete knew that they would do anything they could to keep it that way.
They hugged for a little while longer until Bradley stepped away and they pretended that their eyes weren’t wetter than before. Breakfast was shared in relative silence, the three of them trying to hide their tears, until Bradley asked what Cyclone’s reaction was and Pete fell in a laughing fit, remembering the Vice-Admiral’s face when he put the request in and how he had called Tom instantly. He had never felt more satisfaction than when he saw his face fall as Tom confirmed it, asking if his hearing was already that bad.
Bradley was still laughing as he walked out of the door, promising to come back later for dinner with both Jake and Bob. They finished eating, playfully kicking each other’s feet and pushing at each other, before they got up and took the dishes to the sink. Pete jumped on the counter, pulling a dish rag from above his head as Tom started to clean the plates.
They had a dishwasher in the house — Had one ever since they learned about the diagnosis — but, in early mornings like this, it rarely was used, reserved mostly for when they had guests or were too tired. Usually, they would do the dishes together, taking turns in who washed or dried, dancing around in the kitchen when the music was particularly good and Pete was feeling mischievous. It always took them longer than what they absolutely needed to, the task often being interrupted by his dancing or Tom crowding him against the cabinets and kissing him until they were both out of breath.
A small smile appeared on Pete’s lips as Tom muttered the song’s words under his breath, cleaning the plates calmly and thoroughly. His hair was still a mess from bed, falling over his forehead and glasses, and his sweater hung low on his shoulders, throat and collarbone exposed. It was so rare, these days, for Tom not to cover his neck like this even when they were alone at home and Pete knew when to take his fill.
Despite what Tom thought, the surgery scar or how he had gone soft in some places did nothing against Pete’s love or desire for him. If much, it only made him love him more because he was here, alive, breathing, well . The scars and soft places were proof he survived everything that life threw at him and was there to live another day. Another day to see his nephews and nieces grow, another day to laugh, another day to love, another day to live.
Pete had spent hours on his knees and sitting on the man’s thighs, kissing his neck and collarbone, caressing everywhere his hands reached. He lost count of how many times he pulled the man against himself, pushing him in the sofa while kissing him and sinking to his knees so he could kiss his thighs and belly. All he cared about was showing this beautiful, stubborn man how lovely he was.
Even now, he took his time looking at him, taking in every detail. How his hair curled a bit at the ends and how there were more wrinkles from laughing around his mouth these days. How his shoulders were more relaxed and how his muscles worked under his skin, strong and sure.
He was beautiful, more than that even, something out of this world that Pete still didn’t understand how he managed to get him. Pete loved him with his whole soul and body. He would forever love him, no matter what happened.
“You are staring, Mitchell,” Tom said, eyes trailed to the spotless plate in his head. His face was a perfect mask of poise and calmness, the face of a respectable four-star Admiral. The only thing giving him away was the way the corners of his lips kept turning upwards.
“I think I have the right to, Kazansky, with such beauty doing my dishes,” he said cheekily, smirking as he saw the tips of his ears reddening.
“Is that so?” His smile was in full display as he turned around, head tilted in his direction.
“It is,” and he kissed his nose, laughing when Tom grunted in displeasure.
“And does this beauty get to have any other thing rather than washing the dishes?” His eyes dropped to his lips, watching as they stretched in a wide, mischievous smile.
“Well, there's the laundry to do as well,” he shrugged, looking aside for a moment nonchalantly, and laughed when he was jostled by Tom's palm hitting his thigh.
“You are a menace to society,” he growled, teeth bare, but his eyes were amused. The look sent chills down his spine, his body reacting to it in seconds.
“Maybe, but I am your menace.” There was a smile on his face as he said it, pulling the dog tags — that Tom didn’t have to wear anymore, but still did — with one finger and tilting his head to the side.
Dangling with it was a single silver band, simple in its design, but with engravings inside of it. Just a simple TK-PM and 08/01/92 — Their names and the first time they proposed to each other — writing in simple lettering. Pete had an identical one hanging in his neck with the dog tags that read Kazansky, T. P. instead of the Mitchell, P. V. that read on Tom’s.
“And, maybe…” Pete started, pulling Tom closer by the chain, and leaned in until he was mere inches away from his mouth. “This beauty can do something other than the dishes and laundry.”
“Like what?” Their lips were a breath way from one another, but he could feel Tom's smile grow, ideas already forming in his head.
“Like me,” he whispered before closing the distance into a heated kiss. Tom's hands settled in his hips, dragging him closer to himself as one of his hands buried into his hair.
A moan fell off his lips as Tom sucked in the lower one, hips bucking in his hands in search of some, any kind of friction. His dick was already filling inside his boxers, responding to the light touches that scattered around his hips and thighs, touching everywhere but there. He whined as fingers dug into his skin, holding him still.
“Ice,” he pouted when Tom moved away from him, a strong hand landing on his chest to stop him from chasing after him.
He looked as disheveled as Pete felt. His hair was a mess, sticking to all directions possible, and his mouth was red and swollen from how long they were kissing. Even his sweater was astray, one shoulder higher than the other from when Pete pulled it down, trying to get him impossibly closer to himself.
“Bedroom,” Tom growled before fully stepping away from him and turning away, walking towards their bedroom upstairs. “You coming?” He asked when Pete just stared after him with an awed expression.
Pete never ran faster in his entire life.