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Jake finds the envelope in his mailbox a week after it is announced that Admiral Thomas Kazansky had passed away peacefully in his home. There is no stamp on it, meaning it was hand delivered to his house and Jake feels very important for a moment.
The heavy paper of the envelope is tastefully embroidered with golden imprints, announcing the date and time for the private memorial service, cordially inviting him to join the friends and family to remember Tom, as the invite calls him. Not Admiral, not Iceman, just Tom. He is also asked to not bring flowers.
Frankly, he had found it quite rude, that Admiral Kazansky had the audacity to drop dead only a week after their completed mission, successfully taking away all their thunder. Not that he’d ever dare to say it out loud. He was raised better than this.
He had his moment of fame. That should be enough. Time to step out of the limelight again.
This recent moment of fame is also why he is not surprised to find an invitation to the memorial in his mail. Not at first a least.
Jake knows the public funeral service is scheduled for later in the next week, together with the official state funeral. The invite for that event came a day ago, in the form of a memo to every Navy Officer at the base, on cheap, thin printer paper, unceremoniously crammed into their pigeonholes.
He drops the invite on the kitchen table and continues to move though the house, following the measured steps of his evening routine.
Hang his Keys on the board by the door.
Open the Windows to let in air.
Have a glass of water.
Change out of the stiff polyester uniform he’s been sweating like a dog in all day and into shorts and a shirt.
Make his protein shake.
Sit on the sofa.
Drink his protein shake.
Goes to bed.
And if, at night, he dreams about brown curls and an electric smile behind a moustache, that is nobody’s business but his own.
In the morning, he gets up and goes to work, the envelope already half-forgotten in the back of his mind.
Until lunch, when they’re sitting in the commissary, still sweaty from their hop, scarfing down undercooked rice and overcooked broccoli.
Phoenix’ hair has come out of her bun, hanging in her face. She blows it out of her face, swallows her bite of mushy broccoli and asks, “We’re all still on for Karaoke on Sunday, right?”
Jake perks up at that. “Nah,” he says. “Don’t we have the funeral on Sunday?”
Coyote stabs a piece of chicken harder than necessary. “Dude, that’s not till next week, can’t you read?”
Jake rolls his eyes and pushes his own plate away. This is inedible. If his Momma knew what they were feeding him, she’d have an aneurysm right there. “Yeah, but the private one. Didn’t you read your invites?”
Halo frowns at him. “Private Funeral?”, she asks. Jake nods. “Yeah”, he says. “Got the invite yesterday? Didn’t you?”
She shakes her head. “Oh”, he says. He looks at Phoenix and Bob. “Did you?”, he asks. “Maybe just those who flew the mission?”
They shake their heads in unison.
“Wait.”, Coyote says. “So, you got an invite to THE Iceman’s fucking private funeral?”, he looks among the group, “And no-one else did?”
Headshakes all across the table.
“Well,” Bob says, “I’m sure Bradley did, but that makes sense. He was his stepdad.”
That had been another thing that had happened in wake of Iceman’s passing. Everyone had known, Bradley had had a difficult relationship with Maverick and that Maverick had had a slightly less difficult relationship with Iceman. However, no-one had expected that those difficult relationships would turn out to mean that Iceman and Maverick had been dating since ’87 and married since 2011 and that they had raised Bradley as their son for the majority of his life.
“Speaking of”, Phoenix says, “When’s Rooster coming back?”
“I texted him yesterday”, Halo says, and Jake almost gets jealous over the fact, that apparently Halo can just text Bradley without it being a big deal.
“He’s on family leave until the funeral. He’s helping Mav organise it.”, she turns to Jake. “Maybe he invited you?”
Jake scoffs. “Why would he? I’m pretty sure I’m the last person he wants there?”, admitting the words stings, but it doesn’t make them any less true. Sure, they had a moment, a fragile thing that could be considered a truce, but certainly nothing that warrants Bradley inviting Jake to his father’s funeral.
Which is a shame, because Jake is quite desperately in love with Bradley and he’d give, well maybe not everything, but quite a considerable lot for Bradley to voluntarily spend time with him, but that’s not going to happen. The curse of unrequited love, he supposes.
“Dude” Fanboy says, eyes wide. “This is kinda huge.”
“Maybe it was because he saved Mav and Rooster?”, Phoenix suggests.
Usually, Jake would jump at the chance to brag. He’s not even ashamed to admit it. But right now, for some reason, he doesn’t feel like it. There is something strange about the whole thing “Maybe”, he says. “We’ll see on Sunday.”
Sunday does end up coming much faster than Jake would like.
Since it is the private memorial service, he decided that a simple black suit would do and leaves his ceremonial uniform in the garment bag in the closet. He tucks the invite into the inner pocket of the jacket and gets in his car.
The house Admiral Kazansky lived in can better be described as a mansion. It sits proudly on top of a small hill, cradled between other houses with neatly kept lawns, too green to the California desert in June.
When he arrives, the parking lot is already filled with rows and rows of shiny cars and Jake feels oddly out of place as he parks his dusty truck in an empty spot.
Seeing Bradley’s Bronco right next to the large open garage that is attached to the house gives Jake a strange sense of peaceful familiarity. He looks up at the house again.
“Right”, he mutters to himself. Sitting in his car, which is slowly but surely turning into a furnace now that the AC is off, is not going to get him any answers. So, he climbs out of the car and begins to make his way to the house.
He is greeted at the door by a blonde woman who introduces herself as Iceman’s sister Theresa. She ushers him into the house, puts a drink in his hand and tells him to say hello to everyone.
Then she shuffles off, leaving him in the middle of the room with his drink, feeling entirely out of place.
He scans the faces.
He recognises Warlock and Cyclone, standing off to the side chatting to two older men. They seem surprised to see him, as he walks over to greet them.
“Gentlemen, this is Lieutenant Seresin, he flew the mission with Mav the other day.”, Warlock says. Then he turns to Jake. “These here are Slider and Wolfman, they were at Top Gun with Maverick and Iceman.”
Slider smiles wistfully, “Those were the days.”, he slaps Jake’s shoulder. “Enjoy it while you’re still young. Being old sucks ass.”, he says.
“Yes, Sir”, is all Jake can think to say.
“Are you bullying my aviators?”, comes a new voice. Mav has appeared next to them. He looks rough, Jake thinks. His face is place, his hair is muted. He seems to have lost his shine, even though he is smiling.
“Hey, Jake”, he says, warmly. Jake lets himself be pulled into a crushing hug. “I’m glad you’re here.”
He looks at him, like he is about to say something else, but before he can, Theresa calls his name, and he walks away. There is no spring in his step like usual, Jake notices.
His heart clenches. He didn't know Iceman as anyone but his boss, and of course he's heard the speeches about the loss he is for the Navy, but just now, he realises that Iceman didn't just leave a hole in the Navy.
As the sees Mav move easily between the plush sofa and the armchairs it hits him, that this is Mav’s home too. He wonders if it feels emptier now. After his dad died, his mother used to say their farmhouse had felt like an abandoned asylum.
“Poor Man”, Cyclone says. “If he weren’t such an ass, I’d feel sorry for him”.
“Hey,” Warlock says. “Now you’re being an ass,”
Jake turns away, hoping to somehow escape the hell that is being second hand embarrassed for his bosses and comes chest to chest with Bradley Bradshaw.
If he thought Maverick looked beaten down, Bradley is worse. His eyes are red and swollen and he looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks.
“Hangman”, he says. He doesn’t sound surprised or like his usual teasing. He just sounds flat and defeated. “Why are you here?”
“I’m not sure.”, Jake says honestly. All he wants to do it wrap Bradley in his arms and never let him go.
“I was invited.”
Bradley shrugs like that answers it, or maybe like he doesn’t even care, and shuffles off again. Jake wants to go after him, but he doesn't. He isn't sure it would be appreciated.
Jake swallows heavily against the lump in his throat and takes a sip of the whiskey Theresa handed him. It’s fucking amazing. Smooth like butter he thinks, as he shifts through the room, looking for a corner he can occupy without being in anyone’s way.
He ends up next to the fireplace. The mantle is overflowing with pictures in mismatched frames. He lets his gaze wander over them. There are multiple ones of Mav and Ice throughout the years. It’s painful to realise that in the older ones they are desperately trying not to look like a couple, while in the newer ones it’s plain to see that they can’t possibly be anything but a couple. They look happy, he thinks.
There are some Photos of Bradley too, most of them from when he was younger, some recent ones too. But it’s one photo that stops Jake in his tracks.
It’s his own face looking up at him, it was clearly taken after the mission, he’s on the tarmac, shaking Bradley’s hand, Phoenix, and Bob grinning widely behind them. But before he can begin to wonder why Mav and Ice even have this photo, someone speaks up.
“Hello, ladies and Gentlemen, we are ready for you now.” Jake turns, to see a small man in a blue suit standing in the double doors leading out of the sitting room.
“Right,”, the man in the blue suit says. “If you’d follow me, please?”
The group immediately begins to move to follow him through the open door into a large, open concept study.
If Jake felt out of place before, it’s nothing compared to now. More than a few of the people give him strange looks, like he is not supposed to be here. He just stays in the back, right by the door.
“Well, then”, the man says. “Most of you know me, but for those who don’t, I’m Dr. Lewis, Mr. Kazansky’s attorney.”, he pulls a thick, manila envelope from his briefcase. “This is Mr. Kazansky’s last will and testament. If you are here, it is because you have been considered in it.”
What the fuck.
So, for some reason, he has not only been invited to the memorial, but he is also in Iceman’s will? Or maybe, he was only invited because he is in the will.
Dr. Lewis begins to rattle off names and items, mostly Mav’s, sometimes Bradley’s. Some pieces of memorabilia go to the members of his and Mav’s old squad. Slider almost cries as he accepts a small statuette of a horse in a plane and Jake has no idea what the fuck that is all about.
Then Dr. Lewis turns to the last page of the testament. “This last one was only added three weeks ago, shortly before Mr. Kazansky’s passing”, he says. Three weeks ago. That must have been shortly after the mission.
“Mr Jacob Seresin.”, Dr Lewis says, looking around the room. Bradley’s and Mav’s eyes immediately zero in on him. Mav looks mildly curious. Bradley looks halfway between crying and wanting to shout at Jake, and Jake can’t blame him.
Jake swallows heavily. “Yes, Sir”, he says. Dr. Lewis looks at him, so thoroughly unimpressed Jake almost feels like he’s back in high school. Then he reaches into one of the cardboard boxes on the desk and produces an envelope.
Jake carefully pushes by the people in front of him and accepts the envelope with a nod. Mav smiles at him half-heartedly on his way back. Jake gives him a nod. The envelope he tucks into the pocket of his suit.
“Right then,” Dr. Lewis says. “That’ll be all. You may return to the party. My condolences.”
It’s not until much later, after a few speeches he didn’t fully listen to and two more drinks, when he’s in his car, that he pulls out the envelope. It is heavy and cream coloured, on it, his name is written in ink, a smooth cursive. He notices it says Jake , not Hangman.
Carefully he tears it open. Inside are two one-hundred-dollar bills and a blue sticky note. Jake’s frown deepens as he pulls it out. On the sticky note a phone number is written, in the same loopy cursive as his name on the envelope.
If Jake wasn’t confused before, he certainly is now. He turns it over.
I have a feeling you could be good together. Ask him out, dinner’s on me. Take care of him. Ice , the back reads.
“What the…”, Jake whispers to himself. Then he shrugs. Why make it a great mystery.
He tugs out his phone, ignores the texts from Javy and Nat and opens the keypad. He punches the number in and hits call.
It rings twice. Then, “Hangman, what do you want?”, a very familiar voice drawls in his ear.
“Uhm”, Jake says, intelligently. “So, this is awkward.”
“What is?”, Bradley asks.
“Actually,” Jake says, “Can I come back inside? I gotta show you something?”
Bradley makes a small, confused noise. “Sure”, he says.
Jake hangs up without saying goodbye, drop his phone into the cup holder, collected the envelope and climbs out the car.
Bradley is already waiting for him by the door.
“Wanna tell me what his is about?”, he asks when Jake comes to a stop next to him. He steps to the side to let Jake back into the house.
“Can we talk somewhere private?”, Jake asks and holds up the envelope. Bradley frowns but nods. “Yeah.”, he says.
They walk in silence as Bradley leads them further into the house, past wooden doors and picture frames, paintings and framed childhood drawings, debate plaques and sports day ribbons, all proudly displayed on the walls.
This whole place is a museum of Bradley's childhood and Mav and Ice's relationship. It's what a home should be, he thinks, a testament to the people living inside it.
They end up on a small balcony overlooking the valley below them. Bradley sits in one of the wicker armchairs and gestures to the other one. Jake sits.
He puts the envelope on the table and pulls out the sticky note.
“Why did your dad leave me your phone number in his will?”, he asks, holding the note out to Bradley.
Bradley takes the note from him. He reads it, flips it, flips it back, reads it again.
“Look”, Jake says. “I don’t know why he thought you might want to go out on a date with me. And you don’t have to. But maybe we can just get some drinks. In his memory I guess?”
He looks up at Bradley, who is staring down at the note, a suspicious wet shimmer in his eyes. Oh Shit.
“Hey;” Jake says, softly. “I’m sorry. I haven’t even thought to ask how you’re doing.”
Bradley laughs wetly. “I’m doing shit”, he says. “I just lost my dad. For the second time in my life. That’s kinda fucked up.”
Jake is surprised he’s gotten a genuine answer. He half expected some kind of snark. He reaches into the breast pocket of his suit, thanking God his mother raised him right and pulls out the fresh tissue he has in there and offers it to Bradley.
He accepts it with a surprised scoff.
“It’s not even that.”, Bradley says after wiping his face. “I mean, I knew it was coming. I had time to prepare. I just— “, he breaks off.
“Still hit you like a truck?”, Jake suggests. Bradley nods.
“I felt the same when my dad died. You think you’re ready for it, and then it happens and it’s still the worst thing on earth”, Jake says, digging his fingers in between the rows of neatly woven wicker on the armrest of his chair.
“Sorry.”, Bradley says “I didn’t know your dad wasn’t around anymore.”
Jake shrugs. “It happened years ago, and it really isn’t important now, you just lost your dad. That is way worse.”
Bradley shrugs. He looks so helpless, sitting in the chair, curled into himself. His suit jacket has been discarded somewhere leaving him in his now rumpled looking shirt. Jake can see the tear stains on the sleeve.
Then Bradley’s gaze flickers down to the sticky note again. “Listen,” he says, “I’m sorry about that. My dad, he had a weird sense of humour.”
Jake cocks his head but doesn’t say anything.
“After the mission, he told me to stop making heart eyes at you and make a move or he would do it for me”, Bradley mutters. Jake’s heartbeat picks up. He can’t mean—
“I just didn’t know he meant it literally,” Bradley barks out a laugh, but there is little humour in it.
“Look, I’m sorry. I don’t want things to get weird between us,”, he says as the carefully tucks the note back into the envelope. “So, let’s do what you suggested,” he slides the envelope back to Jake. “We’ll have to drinks on my dad and forget about it.”
“What do you mean heart eyes”, Jake blurts out before he can stop himself. Bradley’s teeth dig into his bottom lip. His eyes shift between Jake’s face and the table.
“Come on,” he says. “You can’t tell me you don’t know.”
“Know what?”, Jake asks, the urgency clear in his voice, but he doesn’t care. He can’t care. Not when it means, what the tiny blossom of hope in his heart is anticipating the direction of this conversation correctly.
“That I’m in love with you?”, Bradley’s voice is barely a whisper. “And I know you don’t want me the same, and I hope we can still be wingmen, and not make it weird but I— “
Jake hauls himself out of his chair, leans down and kisses Bradley.
The angle is a little strange and Jake has to hold onto the armrests of Bradley’s chair to not topple them over, but Bradley’s lips are soft and warm underneath his and he makes a little noise, that Jake swallows up immediately.
He kisses Jake back immediately, throwing himself into the kiss with reckless abandon.
“Hey”, Jake says, after they’ve separated for the imminent need to breathe. Bradley’s pupils are blown, and his neatly combed hair is a mess, which is fascinating because Jake’s hands haven’t been anywhere near it, which is a crime to be honest because it looks so soft .
Even his moustache is a little askew. It’s adorable.
“Hi”, Bradley says, “So I take it, you too?”
Jake smiles so wide it almost hurts. “Yeah”, he breathes. “Me too.”
“Good.”, Bradley says. He rises from the chair in one swift motion and ends up pressed against Jake, flush, not an inch between them.
“So, are you going to ask me to dinner?”
Jake smiles up at him. He used to hate the fact that Bradley has a few inches on him, but right now it’s the greatest thing in the world.
“I mean the Commander of the Pacific fleet told me to. I can hardly not ask you out now, can I?”
Bradley shrugs. “You should only ask me out if you want to.”, he says, carefully.
Jake takes his face gently into his hands, finds Bradley’s gaze with his and presses a soft kiss to his lips.
“Hey Roo”, he says. “Would you like to have dinner with me?”
Bradley’s smile is brilliant. “Yes,”, he says. “I would like that very much.”
“Good”, Jake says and leans in to kiss him again. The sun is warm on their faces, bright and hopeful and when Bradley moves back from his lips he looks up at the cloudless sky. He smiles. Jake knows he’s thinking about his dad.
“Do you believe in heaven?”, Jake asks. Bradley shakes his head. “No”, he says. “But I believe in the sky. And where else would my dad be? He loved the sky.”
“Makes sense.”, Jake says, tightening his hold around Bradley’s waist. It’s a nice sky up there today.
Bradley shifts them just enough so he can rest his head on Jake’s shoulder.
“I’m glad my dad was a meddling little shit”, Bradley says. Jake laughs quietly. Then it hits him. What all this means. And what is inevitably coming.
“Shit”, Jake says, arms still tightly wrapped around Bradley’s waist. “Javy is never going to let me live that down.”
And Javy doesn’t. Not the next day, the next month and certainly not the next year, when he raises his glass at their wedding after finishing reading the story of how they got together off a notecard and announces, “And there you have it folks. The story of how Jake inherited his husband’s phone number from the Commander of the Pacific Fleet of the US Navy. To the grooms.”
“To the grooms”, the room echoes.
Jake’s eyes find Mav’s for a second. He smiles and tip his glass in Jake’s direction. Jake smiles back. And then he leans into Bradley side and grins, as a kiss is immediately dropped to his hair.
Thank fuck, he thinks, that Iceman was such a meddling little shit.