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Summary
An explosion on the TV jerks his eyes open and he meets Rooster’s gaze, their faces awash in the fiery glow, and suddenly Maverick feels so damn sad for the kid on top of him that his throat locks up. Rooster’s brow is furrowed like he’s hurting somewhere and he’s searching Maverick’s face again, grip tightening on Maverick’s hips until it punches a noise out from the depths of his chest, and Maverick knows what he’s known since he walked out of that hospital room and saw the tiny kid curled up in the too-big waiting chair: Bradley was fucked the moment his dad died.