Chapter Text
“Jeez, Pete, honey, you sound exhausted.”
“Gee, thanks, Carole,” he snorted, with a feeble attempt at sarcasm. “It’s zero-dark-thirty here in Guam, I just wanted to let you know they told us the transport’ll get in to North Island probably after midnight, I’ll crash somewhere on base, it’s a school night -”
“You don’t have to do that, Pete -”
“I’m not gonna keep you up that late -”
“No, you won’t. I’ll make up the pull-out couch and leave the keys under the frog by the door. You’re sleeping on clean sheets tonight, I heard there was black mold in some of the barracks.”
He let out a long breath; truthfully, the idea of clean sheets sounded immeasurably tempting.
“You’re sure? I might not make it there before 0200 -”
“You’re coming home, Pete, you really wanna tell me you’re up for another night sleeping on a bench on base with your cover over your eyes?”
Her tone was so pointed that he laughed a little in spite of his exhaustion.
“‘Kay, you got me. I’ll get there when I get there, don’t wait up.”
It was well after midnight when the C-130 landed at Miramar, and he gratefully accepted a ride from two medics headed the same direction. It was even darker, somehow, when the car pulled up outside the house and he muttered his thanks, slinging his duffel over his shoulder and fumbling for the key under the frog statue on the porch. He let himself in as quietly as he could, thanking all that was holy for the dim porch light illuminating the pulled-out couch bed so he didn’t have to turn on the lights. He dropped the seabag on the floor, toed off his boots, dropped his cover next to them and fumbled off the top of his fatigues, then collapsed facedown onto the pillow in his t-shirt. He was asleep almost before he had registered that the sheets still smelled like detergent.
He felt one eye crack open a few hours later, and for a second he wasn’t sure what had woken him. He took a breath in, and another followed it; kinda strange, to be breathing with an echo. Then he blinked. A tuft of blond hair caught his eye in the gray pre-dawn light. Bradley had apparently crawled into his bed, long enough ago that he was clearly fast asleep again, clutching the plush goose he and Goose had bought him years ago, even though he was six now. Maverick felt something warm spreading through his chest, and before he had really thought about it, he reached out, ruffling a hand through his curls. Bradley made a sleepy noise, but didn’t seem to wake, wriggling closer to his side in his sleep. Mav smiled to himself for a second, leaving his hand on the back of his neck as his eyelids dropped closed again.
“Wake up, sweetie, time to get ready for school -”
Carole’s voice rang through his head from somewhere upstairs, then stopped abruptly as her footsteps sounded on the stairs, followed by a soft, amused “oh” , at which Mav cracked open an eye again. The sun was streaming in through the living-room windows, and Bradley was stirring a little, his weight warm next to him. He ruffled his hair again, less gently this time, scooching himself forward to plant a kiss on his forehead.
“C’mon, baby goose, mom says it’s time to get up.”
There was a chuckle over his shoulder, then Carole leaned down and kissed him on the cheek.
“Good morning, Pete, it’s good to see you, hon.”
“Good - ah - to see you too,” he answered, through a yawn, turning his head to blink sleepily at her.
“You can stay in bed, you had a long trip. And you, mister -” she tapped Bradley’s shoulder “- I hope you didn’t wake him up.”
There was a small giggle, and Mav cut in “- no, it’s okay, I was looking forward to seeing you, buddy.”
He sat up properly, dipping the mattress under Bradley, then picked him up and set him on the floor.
“Jeez, kiddo, you gotta be, what, four inches taller since I last saw you?” He stood up, resting his hand on top of Bradley’s head for a second. “Pretty soon I won’t be able to pick you up anymore,” he added, moving his hand to where it almost reached his ribcage now, and Bradley’s sleepy expression cracked into a smile and he grabbed him around the waist in a hug.
“Can you make pancakes?” His voice was muffled into Pete’s shirt.
“Wow, where’s my ‘welcome home, Uncle Mav’, huh?” he answered, half joking, his arms settling around Bradley’s shoulders, rubbing a thumb through the hair at the back of his neck.
“Welcome home, Uncle Mav, can you make pancakes?”
Carole had reappeared, and started to say something, but Mav waved a hand airily in her direction.
“‘S’okay, Carole, I can make pancakes, you two get ready for work ‘n school. I’ll go back to bed when this one -” he tweaked Bradley’s ear gently “- gets on the bus.”
“Only if you get dressed now,” said Carole firmly, prodding Bradley. “Go on, scoot. I’ll make you coffee,” she added, looking up at Mav, and he let out a sigh of relief.
“Thank God. ”