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Maverick sighs as the phone call ends. He misses his kid, and Bradley had sounded like something was wrong. He had been practically chattering Mav’s ear off about the promotion process for several weeks before.
“What if I don’t make it, Mav?”
“Bradley–”
“I mean, I’m not exactly the most bemedalled pilot here, Virginia Beach is crawling with record-holders, and there are only a few slots for Captain every year, what if they think—”
“Hey, woah,” Mav chuckled gently. “Slow down on jumping to conclusions, baby goose.”
Bradley grumbled something about not thinking and just doing as Mav took a seat on his too-big couch in their very-empty house, a soft smile on his face, the phone pressed to his ear. Ever since Bradley had returned to full active duty, it had always seemed too empty and too big. He mostly stayed at his instructor’s quarters instead.
“Also, I heard from Jerry who heard from Grace…you know Grace, right? The lady who works as base admin’s secretary. He said that she said that Captain slots were less this year than last year, and the brass is really taking their sweet time, so what if I just don’t make the cut—”
“Bradley?”
Mav heard a sharp intake of breath as his son stopped his spiral for a second. “Yeah, I—sorry, I’ll shut up now.”
Mav grinned into the call as he settled deeper into the cushions. “You know I’m happy to hear you talk, kid, but what about some perspective, huh?”
Bradley grumbled but assented. “I think your application has a really good chance, kiddo.”
“Really?” Bradley squeaked through the phone. “Really really,” Mav laughed. “I looked over that file you sent over before you passed it to the brass, remember? It looks really good, kiddo. If I was on that board, you’d be a sure taker for a Captain slot.”
“Yeah, but you’re biased as hell, dad.”
Mav laughed out loud again. “Guess I am, sweetheart. Still, if you wanted my professional opinion, that’s it.”
Bradley makes an unsure noise. “And you promise that you didn’t tell Uncle Slider or any of the guys?”
“I promise, B. Can’t promise they won’t find out anyway, though. You know your uncles and their nose for gossip.”
And, well—almost all the 86 flyboys had been enlisted on Bradley duty as Maverick’s spies for fifteen years. Any mention of Bradley Bradshaw in official paperwork processes would have already pinged their well-practiced radars.
“I guess finding out after’s fine, as long as they don’t do anything with the actual application. I wanna get in honestly, Mav.”
“And you will, kiddo,” Mav reassured him. “Trust me, that application’s more than good enough. And–well, even if for some impossible reason the brass are blind and pass over you this year–” Bradley snorts, “–you know I’m still proud of you no matter what, right?”
A few seconds passed before Bradley replied, voice suspiciously thick. “Y-yeah, Mav. I know. Thanks.”
Mav smiled, wishing more than anything that he could be in Virginia right now to give his kid a hug. “Love you, sweetheart. Get some rest, huh? No use worrying about it now when it’s out of your hands.”
“Can–can we talk for a bit? Still kinda buzzed from work today.”
Mav settled further into the couch, willing himself awake even as he remembered he had class early in the morning.
“Mav?” Bradley sounded worried, and Mav realized that he hadn’t actually replied. “Or we can end the call if you’ve got to go to bed—shit, I hadn’t realized you must have class tomorrow, don’t want you flying on less than eight hours of sleep–”
“I’m just fine, kid,” Mav asserted. “Go ahead, talk to me. What’s base life like nowadays? They still got that tasteless mash in mess?”
“The green one? Oh yeah,” Bradley made a retching noise. “Cooks say it’s some sort of superfood. Looks like shit. Anyway, I wanted to ask your opinion since I tried that inverted maneuver you always do and my CO gave me hell for it, said it wasn’t anywhere in the manuals which duh, obviously…”
Mav spent the better part of three more hours happily chatting with his son, and never regretted it the next morning–even when he got through hops with a Red Bull and a prayer.
Now, though, his kid had sounded resigned and a little sad. That didn’t match up with someone who had just gotten confirmed and approved by the promotion board. Could the brass really have passed him over this year? Mav hadn’t been lying; it really had been an impressive application by any standard.
But Bradley said it had been good. Unless regulations had changed since the last time Mav had gone up for a promotion, he assumed that the meeting with the promotion board would finally let the applicant know once and for all if they had passed for the higher rank.
Surely “good” must have meant his kid passed?
“Why the sadness, baby goose?” Mav murmurs to himself as he sends a good night text to Bradley and receives a reply two minutes later.
Mav: Good night, baby goose. Love you.
Bradley: Night, dad. Love u too
Huh. Nothing out of the ordinary; still, something sends what Bradley calls his “dad-senses” tingling.
With nothing else to do, Mav clicks his phone off and goes to bed. They’ll have their regular call again in a few days, and maybe he’ll find out more.
Two days later, Maverick gets another call as he’s sorting his papers after a long day in class.
“Yoohoo! Congratulations to the proud pilot pops!”
Mav rolls his eyes. “Wood?”
“Yep. Got Wolf here with me too.”
“Hey Mav.”
“Sure you two jokers don’t have the wrong number?” Mav chuckles.
“Nah, you’re the only gosling parent we know.”
Mav stops what he’s doing and turns his full attention to the call. “Bradley got it?”
“Bullseye, Maverick,” Hollywood crows. “His papers passed Wolf’s table today for approval. Captain Bradley Bradshaw–holy shit, the kid must be bouncing off the walls!”
Mav stifles a laugh. Bradley was already forty, yet their whole tight-knit family group of flyboys couldn’t quite get the image of four-year-old Bradley out of their heads. “That’s great,” he sighs in relief, and the pride expands in his chest. “I knew he’d get in.”
“Kid’s got an impressive app,” Wolfman interjects. “If he hadn’t made it, I would’ve asked for an inquiry into the selection process in Virginia Beach.”
Mav chokes. “Don’t. You know he doesn’t want us interfering.”
“Eh. I would’ve been doing my job.” Mav can almost hear Wolfman shrug through the phone. “But I won’t have to do that now, because we’ve got a captain gosling on our hands.”
“How’re you going to get him to take his vitamins now without pulling rank, Captain Mitchell?” Hollywood teases. Mav rolls his eyes. “You guys do know that Bradley’s forty. He takes his vitamins all on his own.”
“Doesn’t stop you from mother-henning him whenever he’s back at North Island,” Hollywood says knowingly. “How’s the empty-nester life treating you?”
“Ha ha ha,” Mav says sarcastically at the bird jokes. “Thanks for the news, fellas. Appreciate it.”
“You mean he didn’t tell you?” Wolf asks concernedly. “I thought you’d be the first to know.”
Mav ignores the sharp stab that the words give him. I thought so too. “Haven’t talked to him since two days ago when he said the promotion board meeting went well. Said it was good, wouldn’t outright say they’d confirmed the promotion.”
“Huh.” Hollywood says. “That’s strange. The papers are dated exactly then; he’d already have known.”
Maybe he just didn’t want to tell you, Maverick, Mav thinks firmly. That’s his prerogative.
(It hurts, but nothing Mav can’t handle. He’s had fifteen years of practice for not knowing things about his kid’s life.)
“We’ll have a call again soon,” Mav says lightly. “Maybe he’s planning to surprise you?” Wolf suggests.
Oh, Mav hopes so. The feeling of being cut out of his son’s life is painfully familiar, and Mav recognizes it the same way he recognizes the taste of blood in his mouth.
“Yeah, maybe,” he says neutrally. “Thanks again for the call.”
“No problem,” Hollywood’s tone is more sober now, no doubt realizing that something was off. “The ceremony’s in a month, you know. You going?”
Mav bites down on the mournful and acidic he hasn’t invited me and I want to, please God I want to that wells up entirely out of his emotional memory. “We’ll see,” he says vaguely. “I’ll let you know.”
He thanks his friends again and hangs up, holding his head in his hands as he breathes through the sudden panicked turmoil.
This isn’t the same as those fifteen years, he tells himself fiercely. It isn’t. It can’t be. They’re okay now, him and his boy. They’ve made up, they have a home together, there are no secrets between them and Mav has never been happier.
So why didn’t Bradley tell him?
“Hi, B,” Mav smiles. “How was your day?”
“Okay,” his kid says, sounding distracted. “No flying. Did some maintenance on the planes, and a five-hour meeting that had no business being that long.”
“Sounds restful.”
A snort comes through the phone. “You mean boring, Mav.”
Mav laughs. “No, I mean it. Sometimes it’s nice to just have a day on the ground.”
There’s a silence that sounds so familiar, Mav can just about picture his boy’s expression. “Don’t give me that face,” he says, amused.
“This is a voice call, Mav.”
“Even so, kiddo,” Mav replies. “I know that look.”
Bradley barks a laugh. “It’s just…’A day on the ground’? Coming from you?”
“Hey,” Mav says indignantly. “I’ll have you know some of the best days of my life were spent on the ground. I don’t actually have wings, bud.”
Bradley mutters something like could’ve fooled me. “Oh yeah? Like when?”
Mav smiles fondly. “You remember my voicemails, right?”
“Wha–oh.”
Bradley sounds flustered as Mav’s smile grows wider. “Camping?”
“Got it in one, baby goose.” Mav’s chest squeezes at the memory. Just him and little Bradley under the stars. He’d spent many long moments during those fifteen years turning over old memories like weathered photos in his mind, memorizing every detail when he thought that they’d be the only thing he’d have left from his son. “And many other days like that one.”
After a long moment, Bradley sniffs through the phone. “You–you can’t make me cry when you’re not here to give me a hug.”
Mav crumbles. “Aw, sweetheart. I’m sorry. Shhh…don’t cry, it’s alright.”
“Too late,” Bradley mumbles, sniffing through the phone. “Miss you lots, dad.”
“I miss you too, dearest,” Mav says, mentally contemplating how much shit he’d be in with Cyclone if he just flew over to Virginia that night and didn’t show up for hops the next day. “Just a few more weeks, hm?”
A watery chuckle echoes through the phone. “Yeah. Feels like forever, though.”
Mav can’t help but agree. He could see his kid sooner, though—if he got invited to his promotion ceremony. Since that out-of-sorts phone call, Bradley had never mentioned it again.
“Hey, sweetheart?” he tries.
“Yeah?”
“You know I’m here for you, right? For anything.”
Bradley sighs through the phone; some insecure part of Mav wants to say that he sounds exasperated. Another part of him wants to say that he sounds relieved. “I know, dad. Sorry, I–” he sighs again, heavily. “I’ve just been so out of it.”
“Get some rest, baby goose,” Mav tells him. “No overthinking until you’ve had three square meals and eight hours of sleep, not a minute less.”
Bradley snorts, but at least this time he sounds more amused. “Is that an order?”
“I can make it one, Lieutenant Commander,” Mav says lightly, carefully, as they’re now treading towards unknown territory and the elephant in the room. “While I still can, you know. Can’t pull rank anymore when we’ve got the same one.”
Bradley is quiet for a long moment, and Mav is suddenly terrified that he’s pushed too far. “Bradley? I’m sorry, baby, I was just–”
“It’s fine, Mav,” Bradley finally replies, although now he sounds more–conflicted? “It’s fine. I’ll take care of myself, I promise.”
“You do that, kiddo,” Mav says slowly, a tiny bit relieved. “I’ll–I’ll see you soon, then?”
There, he’s given the boy an opening. He can invite Mav now, or–or not, and Mav will just have to live with it.
“Yeah, Mav,” his kid says heavily. “See you soon. Good night.”
“Love yo–”
The call clicks off before Mav can finish his sentence, and he feels suddenly empty.
He wasn’t invited. He–he’s not going.
Mav grips his phone tight and bites his lip to keep the tears from falling.
The evening before the promotion ceremony, Mav’s phone rings and he answers it without looking at the caller ID, not in the mood for anything. His son gets promoted tomorrow, and Mav won’t be there. It weighs him down like a stone tied around his neck.
“Hello?”
“If you aren’t on your way to an airport right now, what the hell are you doing?”
Mav sighs. “Sli? What are you talking about?”
“Don’t give me that,” Vice Admiral Kerner growls. “Tell me why I just got the program for Virginia Beach’s promotion ceremony and our soon-to-be Captain Bradley Bradshaw has no next-of-kin listed to pin his wings and rank?”
“Sli–”
“Because unless I missed a casualty call from CACO, you’re alive and breathing, correct?”
“Sli–”
“Is it Cyclone? Because he could stand to get off his ass and teach your classes for a few days, Mav–”
“Sli!”
Silence greets his outburst. Mav exhales heavily. “He didn’t invite me.”
A pause, and then–”and when has that ever stopped you, Maverick?”
Mav sits down heavily on his bed and holds his head in his hand. “This–this is different, Sli.”
“No it isn’t,” his friend says emphatically. Mav envies his certainty. “Hell, you made to his graduations even when he wouldn’t speak to you. Why in the flying fuck wouldn’t you make it to this one when the kid is practically attached to you now?”
Because it hurts more, Mav wants to say. He huffs a bitter laugh instead. “I don’t–I don’t want to intrude if he doesn’t want me there, Sli.”
“Maverick.” Slider sounds exasperated now. “Picture this for me, huh? Humor me, just for a little. Imagine you’re Bradley, all lined up with your cohort, and everyone has someone to pin their wings, everyone’s got family in the audience, taking pictures and shouting their names, except you. You don’t have a next-of-kin in attendance, so you get stuck with some random CO pinning your rank and patting your shoulder with some canned congratulations and nothing else. How would you feel, huh?”
Lonely, Mav wants to answer, heart breaking. Terribly lonely.
Slider must take his silence as some sort of agreement, because he sighs and his tone softens. “Look, Mav, I don’t know why the gosling didn’t tell you. But I promise you it would mean the world to the kid if you were there, just like all the other times.”
And that drives it home—because all Mav’s ever wanted is to be there for Bradley, in any way he can, from the day he was born. He told Bradley that he’d be there for him–what the hell is he still doing here?
“Shit.” Mav stands up immediately and grabs his go-bag. “There aren’t any more available flights to Virginia, I checked–”
“And that’s why pick-up will be outside your place in ten,” Slider says smoothly. Mav pauses, smiling faintly as he hastily crams his dress whites in the duffel, throwing in a pair of leather shoes. “Thanks, Sli. For everything. I appreciate it.”
“Anytime, Mav. Go get to your kid. I’ll see you there.”
Mav’s Slider-chartered transport lands at a private air hanger somewhere in Virginia, where the man himself is waiting for him, already dressed in his formal uniform. Mav had likewise changed on the plane.
“We’re cutting it pretty close,” is what their car driver says, turning around and giving Mav a two-fingered salute. “Hey, Mav.”
“Wood?” Mav laughs. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“I called him,” Slider says dryly, sliding into the seat beside Mav. “Needed all the help for Operation Pilot Pops.”
“Pilot Pops?” Mav says indignantly, but they both ignore him. “Would you prefer Pipsqueak Pops?” Hollywood asks innocently. “Because that can be arranged.”
Mav sits back in his seat with a huff.
“Called Wolf, Sli,” Hollywood says as they pull out of the airport. “The ceremony’s about to start, but we’re lucky it’s a pretty big group. Wolf called in a favor with Grace–you remember Grace?”
“Yeah,” both Mav and Slider say, shaking their heads with healthy fear. “What’d she do?” Slider asks.
“Mixed up the names on the program a bit so that our gosling goes last,” Hollywood laughs. “He’s gonna owe her bigtime, but he said it was worth it for little B.”
Mav’s heart warms at their little ragtag extended family. “Thanks, Wood. Tell Wolf I really appreciate it.”
“Yeah, well–we gotta get you there first, Mav. Hang on!”
“Jesus, Wood! Who taught you how to drive?”
“Do you want to get there on time or not?”
“On time but preferably alive, Hollywood!”
Hollywood drops them off at the building on base and tells them that he and Wolf will be at the back with the rest of the flyboys who could make it.
Slider takes Mav through a side entrance. The door that they’ll go through is right beside the stage, ajar so that they can hear the program proceedings. Slider takes out a copy of the program and goes through it.
“They’re at third to the last,” Slider murmurs, matching the name to the emcee’s announcement. “Just in time alright. We’re lucky to be alive, though. Remind me never to be Hollywood’s backseater.”
Mav snorts, because Ron “Slider” Kerner has only ever backseated as RIO for one pilot. Even years later, the loss of Ice still echoes in their little family.
Peering through the door, Mav can catch a glimpse of the senior and junior officers divided by the aisle. It doesn’t take long for him to see a familiar mustache and head of curls, seated in the second row because Bradshaws were always favored by alphabetical seating arrangements.
“That one’s yours alright,” Ice had told him once when he had snuck Mav in to watch Bradley’s Top Gun class go through hop 19. Bradley had performed flawlessly, even picking up the slack for his wingman who had frozen halfway through the hop. “Stubborn as a mule with a heart of gold. Not quite as crazy as you, though. That’s the Bradshaw sensibility.”
“I see him,” Mav says softly, Slider taking up position behind him. “What’d I tell you,” Slider replies. “Poor kid looks like a stray cat kicked to the curb.”
Mav swallows, because the imagery is crude but accurate. His kid is currently looking at the mother-daughter pair on stage, the mom barely holding back tears as she pins on her daughter’s new rank. Bradley blinks rapidly and scrubs a hand across his eyes; and Mav knows that tell–his kid is trying very hard not to cry.
Bradley fidgets in his seat, looking absentmindedly at the stage or keeping his head down, crossing his arms and uncrossing them after a few seconds, his knee bouncing up and down as he steeples his fingers.
Mav knows those tells too–his kid is nervous, and maybe a little scared.
He wouldn’t have missed this for the world–he knows that now. He knew it then, too; he had just been too caught up in phantom hurts. He shudders; if it hadn’t been for his friends, he would have missed this and never have forgiven himself. Slider had been right.
Still, if he shows up unwanted–
“Does he know?” Mav asks tentatively. Slider shrugs. “Wolf said he passed the emcee a new script when we arrived, so he’ll know eventually.”
“When he’s already on stage?” Mav whispers with gritted teeth. “Couldn’t we have given him a warning?”
Through the door, they hear the emcee announce: “Lastly, we would like to recognize Lieutenant Commander Bradley Bradshaw, on the occasion of his promotion to Captain.”
“You’re up, Pilot Pops.”
“Wait, Sli–!”
Slider just grins, and shoves Mav through the door.
Mav gathers what little decorum he has left after being pushed through the door and unceremoniously appearing on stage right, walking as formally he can to the stage proper after throwing a dirty look over his shoulder at Vice Admiral Ron Kerner, who enters sedately, blank-faced and every bit the composed vice admiral he pretends to be.
There might be a few raised eyebrows now in the senior officers’ section, but Mav pays them no mind.
He only has eyes now for his kid, on the opposite side of the stage, head bowed and shuffling his feet, looking nothing like someone about to receive a promotion. Mav catalogs his downcast face, devoid of all emotion and excitement; his defeated posture, shoulders slumped like he wants nothing more than to get this over with and sit back down again. Mav’s heart aches with sympathy.
Just a little more, kiddo, he thinks. Hope you like this surprise.
The emcee seems to be taking her damn time.
“Before we begin–”
She checks her script again, and Mav’s heart just about goes double-time. “Ahem. Apologies, ladies and gentlemen. Before we begin, we are pleased to welcome Bradley’s godfather, Captain Pete Mitchell.”
Mav straightens as Bradley finally, finally looks at him across the stage, hoping against hope that his kid doesn’t storm out like he did when he was eighteen.
It seems their surprise paid off, because the look of shock on Bradley’s face is quickly replaced by wide eyes and a trembling lower lip.
Mav knows that tell too, because it hasn’t changed since the boy was four years old—his kid wants a hug. His heart swells as he looks into Bradley’s eyes, holds his gaze and hopes that his kid can read his whole heart.
I’m here, kiddo, he thinks fiercely. I’m here.
The emcee sounds flustered to be announcing Slider, and if Mav had to guess, Wolf must have owed Grace big time for adding him in too. Mav takes the customary step back for the vice admiral to take the lead as they all enter the stage, Bradley in the middle. It takes all of Mav’s self-control to not pull the boy into a hug then and there.
“It is my honor to officiate this ceremony today,” Slider says, beginning his short remarks; but Mav only has eyes for Bradley.
It’s the first time he’s seen the kid in weeks, ever since he dropped him off for his flight to Virginia. Bradley’s almost shaking; whether with anxiety or anticipation, Mav finds it hard to tell. Still, if Slider’s going to take some more time, he figures it wouldn’t hurt to offer some comfort to the kid.
He promised he’d be there for Bradley, and he meant it.
Slowly, he brings up a hand to calm the boy. Bradley reacts immediately, almost sagging into his touch, and Mav smiles. It feels good to know that he can still be this for the boy, still a port in the storm.
“I have had the pleasure of following Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw’s illustrious and promising career. I think I speak for all of us who know him when I say that he is a credit to his squadron, to the Navy, and to those who raised him.”
Mav’s chest swells with pride as he nods at Slider in thanks, and the emcee reads out the attention to orders.
Mav tunes most of it out, choosing instead to keep a steady hold on Bradley, until the last sentence.
“Captain Mitchell, would you please assist Vice Admiral Kerner in pinning on your godson’s new rank?”
The admin assistant hands him the insignia and Bradley’s new wings, and he and Slider take opposite sides.
Mav takes his time, savoring the moment. He chances a glance at Bradley’s face and the intense emotion in his kid’s damp eyes really makes him want to hug him. Later, he’ll probably latch on and not let go.
He pats Bradley on the shoulder when he’s finished before he takes a step back, not missing the way his kid sways toward him before catching himself and remembering that he’s supposed to be following protocol.
The audience gives Bradley a round of applause, and Slider whispers something in his boy’s ear before re-administering the oath of office. Mav watches fondly; his kid always had a special bond with all his uncles. Must have been Slider’s own personal congratulations.
Just a little more, and they’re home free. Mav doesn’t think anything’s changed since his time going through this whole show. After the oath of office, Bradley will finally be announced as a Captain, will salute the highest-ranking officer on stage, say a few words, and they’ll be done. Then Mav can coddle the kid as much as he wants. He’s already thinking of what to cook for a celebratory dinner; they’ll probably have to pass by a deli on the way to Bradley’s housing and get some steaks, especially if the gleeful flyboys standing at the back are going to be staying for dinner.
Mav listens proudly as Bradley recites the oath, clear and strong. The Navy had an invaluable asset in Bradley; Mav just prays they’ll take care of his son.
Finally, the emcee announces what everyone has been waiting to hear. ”Ladies and gentlemen, Captain Bradley Bradshaw.”
There’s another round of applause, louder than before, courtesy of some very uncivilized whoops from some very highly-ranked officers in the back of the room–
–but for Mav, time has slowed and quieted, because instead of saluting Vice Admiral Kerner, Captain Bradley Bradshaw has turned around, an endearingly shy look in his eyes as he brings his hand up in a salute—
—towards Mav.
“Sir,” his son says, every sound drenched in emotion, “thank you.”
Oh, this kid. Mav barely stops his own tears as he responds with a salute of his own, his heart in his throat as he beholds the boy-now-man that he raised.
Salutes exchanged, he takes a step forward, protocol be damned, and wraps his arms around his kid’s broad shoulders, tugging him into the embrace.
Bradley all but melts into his hold, his hand gripping tightly at Mav’s starched uniform. Mav keeps them there for a few more seconds, breaking contact only when the audience starts to impatiently stir.
“I love you, sweetheart,” he murmurs before pulling back. He looks into his kid’s eyes and wishes–not for the first time–that Goose and Carole could have seen this. “I’m so proud of you,” he says tenderly. “Your parents would be too.”
Bradley just nods, emotion still brimming in his gaze. ”Thanks, dad.”
”Captain Bradshaw, any remarks?”
Mav lets his kid take over the mic as he and Slider take their seats. Bradley tries to find them in the crowd, and Mav smiles as soon as he does, encouraging him to go on.
“Making Captain would be special for any naval aviator’s career, but it’s especially important for me. As some have reminded me recently, my father, Nick Bradshaw, callsign Goose, never made it to Captain.” Mav inhales sharply as the old aches resurface, Slider laying a comforting hand on his shoulder. Bradley soldiers on. “He passed away in a training accident during his time at Top Gun. I wanted to be a naval aviator because of him, and I know that he and my mom would be proud of me if they were here today.”
They would be, baby goose. Oh, they’d be dancing with joy, Mav thinks, and aches.
Bradley finds his gaze again, and smiles, a touch more devilish than emotional. Uh oh–Mav knows that tell too. His kid’s got some sort of scheme in his head.
“Making Captain is also special to me because it remains to be the rank of the best man I know, who you have all seen pin my rank today.”
Bradley keeps his eyes on him, but also seems to be talking to someone else in the audience. Who, Mav doesn’t know. Still, the words spark an unavoidable warmth in Mav’s heart.
“I grew up with the best man to show me what being a Captain really means. It’s more than just the rank. From him, I learned that being Captain means stepping up and taking on responsibilities out of love more than duty.”
“You’re blushing, pipsqueak,” Slider chortles lowly beside him, and Mav shoves at him to shut up, the tips of his ears burning red.
“I learned that being Captain means putting others first, and yourself last, even if that means putting your life on the line. I learned that being Captain is as much about serving and caring for those you love, as much as it is about leadership and making sure everyone under your command comes home.”
Mav swallows the lump in his throat. Oh, Bradley.
“I wouldn’t have learned any of that if not for Captain Pete Mitchell. He taught me everything I know, and I will be forever grateful.”
The tears come. Mav doesn’t bother to stop them, brushing at his cheeks as he listens to Bradley’s words, holding on tight to every one of them, every one of them a soothing balm to his aching, inadequate parental heart. He had tried so hard and fallen so far short with the kid; it was a miracle that they had found their way back to each other.
Of course, his wingman had a lot to do with that. Thanks, Ice.
“I thank the Navy for this promotion, but first and foremost I’d like to thank him.”
Bradley’s looking directly at him now. A few of the curious and disdainful senior officers are craning their necks around in their seats too. Mav braces himself, but nothing could have prepared him for his kid’s parting words.
“Thank you, dad. I love you, and I’m so proud of you.”
Later, Mav spots him from across the room, and opens his arms wide.
He immediately has his arms full of forty-year-old aviator, Bradley pressing impossibly close, hiding his face in Mav’s shoulder. Mav feels the wetness from his kid’s tears dampen his collar, but he pays it no mind.
“Hi, kiddo,” Mav whispers as he brings a hand up to stroke his kid’s hair. “Shh, it’s okay,” he hushes. “It’s alright.”
“You came,” Bradley murmurs into his shoulder. “You came, you’re here.”
I almost wasn’t, Mav thinks desperately, all because I was holding on to old hurts. Forgive me, son.
“‘Course I did, baby goose.” He tucks Bradley closer with one hand, leaning his cheek against those tousled curls. “Wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”
Bradley pulls back and rubs at his eyes, still a bit teary. “How—how’d you…”
Mav beckons Slider over, who comes up with the biggest grin on his face. “Ah well, helps to have friends who are admirals.”
“You could be an admiral if you bothered to learn how to fill up a form,” Slider remarks dryly. “And you know I never learned, Sli,” Mav shoots back. “I just learned how to fly; no fancy paperwork maneuvers for me.”
Slider rolls his eyes as he shakes Bradley’s hand. “Congratulations, gosling. You make us all proud.”
Mav’s smile widens as Bradley asks, ”Us?”
Slider directs him to the back of the room, still unable to come forward due to the crowd rushing for the refreshments. Mav can’t stop smiling as he spies Hollywood, Wolfman, Sundown, Merlin, and Chipper all giving their biggest waves to Bradley.
”We didn’t want you to see us at all because the surprise might have been ruined,” Slider explains. Mav sobers. ”I hope it was okay, sweetheart,” he asks nervously, and Bradley blinks once, twice, before something like guilty realization dawns on his face. “More than okay, dad,” his kid says quickly, looking around. “I really did want you here, I just–”
Mav understands. There are too many ears here, too many judging eyes. “Talk later?” he offers.
“Yeah,” his kid answers, relieved. “I’d like that.”
“Okay, kiddo,” Mav says, slinging an arm around his kid’s back. “Your place later? Dinner’s on me, Captain.”
Bradley beams at him. “Let me introduce you to some people first, Mav,” he says. “If you’re up to it?”
“Sure,” Mav agrees readily. “I’d love to meet your friends.”
He knew all of them, before. Max from elementary, with the weird mom who made cupcakes that always tasted like sour lemon. Sam and Amy in junior high, because they helped Bradley out during chemistry lab. Will, Charlie, and Tim in senior high, because they all wanted to join the military forces after graduation.
It was another special hurt of its own to not know who Bradley was close with during those fifteen years—who had his back in the sky, who he talked about leave plans with, who his COs were. Seeing Bradley interact with the Daggers brought its own special joy that Mav hadn’t realized he’d missed.
“Perfect,” Bradley scans the room before his face lights up and he waves at another aviator. “Hey Lee! Over here.”
The other pilot comes over and greets Bradley, giving Mav a big smile. “Hey, Bradshaw! Glad to see your folks made it.”
“Apparently, it was a surprise,” Bradley grins. “Meet my dad, Captain Pete Mitchell, callsign Maverick. Dad, this is Lee. We fly together often.”
Mav nearly stumbles over his own two feet. After years, it still hits like a lightning bolt whenever Bradley uses that title, particularly when they’re around other people outside their circle.
He eventually manages a greeting. “Pleased to meet you, Lee.”
“Wait, Captain Mitchell is Maverick?” Lee’s eyes grow wide. “As in, the Maverick? The Navy’s flying ace?”
“Yep,” Bradley says proudly, popping the ‘p’ the same way he used to when Mav asked if he passed his math tests, practically beaming with pride and downright adorable. “The one and only.”
“Man, warn a guy,” Lee shakes his head as he shakes Mav’s hand. “Honored to meet you, sir. I’m a fan of your work.”
“Uh–thanks,” Mav says, still unsteady and a little flustered from Bradley’s speech and now this very obvious hero worship. Time to deflect. “Bradley says you fly together often?”
“Oh yeah,” Lee nods. “And if this guy says you taught him everything he knows–”
Bradley just grins and shrugs when Mav shoots him a sideways look.
“–well, that explains so damn much.”
“Oh?” Mav’s intrigued. “Like what?”
“Well,” Lee looks sideways to Bradley, who grins unbothered. “He does all these maneuvers that are downright illegal! Turned upside down on me once. Drives Admiral West crazy.”
Mav turns to his kid, who snickers. “Is that right?” he says mock-sternly. Bradley just shrugs, turning those wide innocent eyes back on Mav.
“Yeah,” Lee shakes his head. “I kept telling him it’s a blessing he made Captain with all the admirals he pissed off.”
If Mav’s eyebrows rise any further, they’re going to fly off his head. Beside him, Bradley can barely contain his snickering.
“They couldn’t have kept him back, though. My guy here knows the manuals inside and out and can fly protocol down the line, even if he goes a little crazy sometimes. Maybe now that he’s got the rank, he’ll behave.”
“Hear that, Bradley?” Mav says firmly to his boy. “Captains should behave.”
Bradley throws his head back and laughs and laughs.
They find themselves all together at Bradley’s housing, and Mav can’t stop grinning from ear to ear.
There are a few Goose and Ice-shaped holes in their tapestry, but they fill them with stories upon stories. Bradley’s heard most of them before, but he sits there anyway in the middle of his uncles, the man of the hour. Mav just sits opposite them and takes it all in, a soft smile on his face whenever Bradley meets his eye.
“Hey, little B,” Hollywood starts, grinning slyly at Mav. “Did we ever tell you about when Mav made captain?”
Bradley perks up. “No.”
“Weeell,” Wolfman smirks. “You sure you wanna hear it?”
Mav groans as he stacks the dirty plates. “Really?” At his reaction, Bradley leans forward eagerly. “Yes, please.”
“Aw, now we’ve got to tell it!” Sundown chortles.
“I’ll never forget Ice’s face,” Slider snorts, getting up to help Mav clear the table. “Man looked like he actually turned ice-blue trying to hold in his laugh.”
“Okay, little B. So you know how your dad and Ice had their promotion ceremonies on a carrier?”
“Yeah,” Bradley nods. “Mav came home from deployment with a new rank. He–” he looks shyly toward Mav. “He got me a new bike with his first salary raise.”
Mav smiles at him softly. He remembers that. Bradley, then a teenager, had grown too tall for his current two-wheeler. Mav had gotten him a brand-new mountain bike. Not quite a Kawasaki (Mav’s poor heart couldn’t have handled the rollercoaster teenage years and motorbike shenanigans) but still something that Bradley had hugged him tight for. Worth it, even just for that.
“Well, the carrier was busy as hell that day. Ice and Mav had patrol and the ceremony after, which was really going to be just a quick handover, yadda yadda and all that jazz.”
“Just their luck that some big hotshot four-star admiral was scheduled to visit the carrier, and command was all frazzled trying to keep everything in tiptop shape, you know how it is.”
“Everyone scurrying around to make everything perfect, nothing out of place and everyone on their best behavior.”
“So anyway, the admiral lands and command takes him up to the tower for the usual coffee and chitchat—”
“—and who do you think comes in for a landing?”
Bradley laughs. “Oh no.”
“Guess what dear old dad did?”
“He buzzed the tower?”
“He buzzed the tower!” they all say in unison, dissolving into laughter as Mav looks on, caught between a grin and a scowl.
“Oh man,” Hollywood wipes a tear from his eye. “And that’s not all. Turns out the man was already in his dress whites because command was like, eh, hey admiral, why not do the promotion ceremony since you decided to grace us with your presence?”
“Poor man had to do the ceremony in dress whites so coffee-stained that they looked like khakis,” Wolf adds, guffawing. “His face when he saw Mav and still had to do the whole awarding shtick and pin his rank—oh man.”
“Who was the admiral?” Bradley asks curiously.
All heads swivel towards Mav. “Yeah Mav, who was the admiral?” Merlin repeats, a sly grin on his face.
Mav sighs, replying to Bradley and Bradley only. “Admiral Alexander Benjamin.”
Bradley immediately laughs out loud. “Oh, Mav. No wonder he hates your guts. Has Penny heard this story?”
”Only a thousand times,” Mav groans as the hooligans he calls friends dissolve into another round of laughter at his expense. He shakes his head and begs for another story to change the subject as Wolfman obliges, regaling everyone with the time he and Slider played a RIO prank on Iceman and Hollywood. Mav takes the plates to the kitchen and begins the washing, relishing the quiet for a while.
“He’s a good kid,” Slider says as he appears behind him, setting down more dishes and grabbing a sponge to help Mav out. “Captain, huh? Can you believe it? Seems like yesterday he was that kid we’d chase down the street.”
“Yeah,” Mav murmurs. “He’ll go farther than me, that’s for sure.”
In truth, he’d love it if Bradley got promoted to higher ranks, the position giving him command responsibility further from the dangers of the frontline. Like Ice. His heart hurts longingly at the thought: his kid, relatively safer behind a desk than in the sky.
“What if he doesn’t want to?” Slider asks nonchalantly. “He’s a chip off the old block, you know.”
Mav knows that Bradley is capable of doing that too. Staying in the sky as long as possible, putting Mav’s frail heart on the tightrope instead. Relatively safer didn’t mean happier, and Mav is unfortunately self-aware enough to know just how alike he and the kid actually are.
“Whatever he decides,” Mav murmurs. He’s done with trying to make or break Bradley’s choices. He’s done fifteen years for that crime already. “Whatever he decides–I’ll be there.”
“You did a great job raising him,” Slider assures. “You’re doing a great job, Mav. Don’t let anyone tell you differently, especially yourself.”
Mav blinks wetly. “Thanks, Sli,” he replies. “If I haven’t said it enough, thank you. Really. For everything.”
“No problem, pipsqueak,” Slider grins. “Anytime.”
“Dad–?” Bradley pokes his head in. “Aw, come on, leave the dishes, I’ll do them later.”
“Kid–”
“It’s my house, Mav,” Bradley sidles up to them and slings an arm around Mav’s shoulders. “Come on, please? Uncle Hollywood wants to start a game of Pictionary and I got dibs for you on my team.”
Pictionary, really. Mav huffs. “Did they tell you Ice and I’ve got a winning streak that no team has yet to beat?”
“I’m sure Uncle Ice wouldn’t mind if we broke your record,” Bradley grins, leaning forward to direct the full force of his puppy dog eyes at Mav. “Please?”
Mav caves, of course he does.
The Mitchell-Bradshaw team beats them all.
Later, Mav hands his kid a drink as they sit outside, having firmly notched a new record above Kazansky-Mitchell in flyboy Pictionary.
“Thank you for being there today,” his kid says quietly.
Mav exhales. ”I wouldn’t have missed it.”
I almost did—but I didn’t.
”I’m sorry for not inviting you directly,” Bradley says heavily, and Mav does a double-take to make sure he hasn’t said any of his insecurities out loud. “I really did want you there, Mav. It’s just—some things got to my head.” His kid nurses his drink, something suspiciously like self-loathing clouding his face. Mav hates the sight of it. “Same old Rooster, huh?”
Oh, baby, no. Mav has to get to the bottom of this. “What’s wrong, kiddo? What happened?”
“Nothing,” Bradley answers quickly—too quickly. Alarm bells go off in Mav’s head.
”Something obviously did, bud,” he persists. “While I do appreciate your message earlier, it also felt like you were talking to someone else.”
Bradley leans into his shoulder, murmuring. “That was the least I could do. You deserve all the promotions and more, Mav.”
Mav’s heart does a flip like an F-18, the same way it does every time his kid goes soft on him, instead of the other way around. What did he do to deserve this belief?
Aw shucks, Mav—you don’t have to do anything, Goose had told him when Mav had panicked about being named Bradley’s godfather. Look, he loves you already.
He wraps an arm around Bradley, chuckling full of emotion. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Captain.”
The title fits his kid. More than it fits Mav, if Mav is being absolutely honest with himself. He should have been busted down to lieutenant a long time ago for all the shit he’s pulled, if not for Ice and his guardian angel wings.
He looks down, and the storm cloud seems to have intensified over his kid’s face. He must be cutting himself up over something, and Mav hates it.
“Hey,” he says gently. “What’s that face, baby goose?”
His kid stays stubbornly quiet, and Mav sighs internally at how alike they are in matters of the heart. He rubs his kid’s shoulder, wishing he’d taken the afghan from the couch. “Come on, sweetheart. You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to, but I can tell something’s bothering you. Today’s a great day, and you deserve to celebrate it properly, not with whatever’s holding you down.”
Bradley makes a mournful noise, and Mav’s heart aches as he looks down and sees the telltale tear tracks. This was simply unacceptable; whatever had happened, his kid didn’t deserve this. Not today, of all days.
Bradley shrugs off his arm as he straightens to take another swig of his drink. “Rear Admiral Johnson sat on my promotion board,” his kid says, voice numb. “He—he said some things.”
Mav frowns, committing the name to memory and resolving to ask Slider or Wolf about him. Rear Admiral Johnson. Hmm. “Can’t say I ever met him.”
His kid laughs bitterly. “Don’t. Not worth your time. He said—some shit about your reputation being the reason you never made it above Captain, and how me being promoted was…was something to shame you, like I could get back at you for what you did to Goose.”
The alarms in Mav’s head are roaring klaxons now, the anger almost instantaneous. He said what!?! He wrestles it down for his son’s sake, but it stews in his head.
Bradley puts down his drink and leans forward to hide his face in his hands, every limb shaking with sadness and shame. It hurts Mav to see. “I—I’m so sorry, Mav,” his boy gasps, voice breaking. “What he said got in my head and I just…I wanted you there so badly, but I didn’t want you to get hurt. You went through enough because of me.”
It’s so wrong that Mav doesn’t know where to begin, the fury rising up in his chest. How dare he. How dare this admiral use Goose and Mav and somehow twist their family into something poisonous, something that made his kid guilty for getting promoted? How dare he. Bradley had pulled off impossible missions, had come home from being a POW, and had steadily proven himself to be more than deserving of the rank with or without his last name or his familial associations. But more than that—the kid loved Goose and loved Mav, and it was so deeply unfair to the boy who felt so deeply to take all his hard-earned work and cast it into a sword that pointed at his loved ones.
Of course Bradley would rather fall on it than let Mav or the memory of Goose be sullied.
The kid (not really a kid anymore, but still Maverick’s kid) should be out celebrating with his friends and rightfully having the time of his life, enjoying the fruits of his labor—not falling into another guilt spiral over something so ridiculous.
He takes a second to rein in his anger on behalf of his son, and focus on comfort instead.
He reaches out a hand to rest on his kid’s back. “Sweetheart?” Mav starts rubbing comforting circles, worry spiking when Bradley doesn’t respond. “Hey. Think you can look at me, B?”
His son pulls himself up and turns, head still turned down like he’s afraid to meet Mav’s eyes. Heart aching, Mav gently, gently tips Bradley’s chin up, the same way he used to whenever the kid would come home from a bad day. “There you are, dearest,” he says softly, swiping at the tear tracks on Bradley’s cheeks. He shouldn’t be crying today of all days, he thinks darkly. He’s cried too much for one lifetime.
“Let’s clear some things up, hm? My turn to talk, and maybe these words will settle into your head more than that good-for-nothing admiral’s.”
Bradley snorts, and Mav smiles wider as the insult works to inject some levity in such a hopelessly confused conversation. He takes a deep breath, ready to will those storm clouds away. “First, your promotion today was all you, kiddo. I know you think I taught you everything you know, but all your accomplished missions and awards? That’s all you. I certainly wasn’t Dagger Two and dropping bullseye blind.” That particular stunt still fills Mav’s chest with so much pride that he has to remind himself to breathe. It’s too bad the mission was classified, or he’d be talking about it with anyone who cared to listen.
“Coming back home from being a POW, and getting back in a plane after? That’s all you,” he says earnestly, putting a hand on his kid’s shoulder as Bradley’s eyes shed some of that heavy darkness. That’s it kid, that’s it.
“Every accomplished mission in the years they evaluated, you were the one flying. You deserve this, Bradley. You do. Don’t let anyone tell you differently, or attach your accomplishments to any one person, you hear me?” Bradley nods slowly, finally, and Mav sighs.
“Second—well, I think I told you this before but I got the best I could’ve had, alright?” Mav repeats. He’ll repeat it as many times as he needs to. Bradley and his whole ragtag family was a grace he had never deserved. “I made my choices, Brad. You know I was never in it for the promotions; if I could have a few more weeks with you and your mom stateside, then my reputation didn’t matter. I always wanted more time with you, and if that meant getting busted down to ensign, well,” he chuckles. “I would have taken it. You don’t hold any responsibility or guilt for my own choices, alright?”
His kid seems to be more himself, turning over Mav’s words in his head in his own contemplative way. Mav wishes he could erase all the words that Rear Admiral Johnson had dropped into his kid’s ears. “Lastly,” Mav says gently, “I could never have been hurt or ashamed by coming here today, B. Let them talk; they don’t know any better. All I care about is you, sweetheart—and how proud I am of you.”
Mav has spent his whole life and career being stained by blood and dirty rumors; for Bradley to be touched by his sins (real or conjured) was something else entirely. His kid deserved a better life and name than he had; if there was one thing he regretted (which he would never tell his kid), he regretted that the Mitchell name had so much baggage to weigh down its bearer, and that Bradley had been caught as collateral damage. He’s forever grateful that Bradley is a Bradshaw; that, at least, was his comfort, that his kid carries the name of the best people Mav has ever known.
“I love you so much, and I will always want to be there for you. Getting to pin your rank and wings—it was the privilege of a lifetime for me.” He presses a tender kiss to that furrowed forehead. “Thank you for letting me do that.”
Bradley breaks and tips forward, and Mav catches him easily, feeling the exhaustion bleed out from his kid’s every limb. Oh, sweetheart. He holds the boy as Bradley sobs, holding tighter and tighter as the emotions wrack his kid’s frame. Sympathetic tears form in his own eyes as he presses another kiss to his kid’s head. “I’ve got you, Bradley,” he says softly. “I’ve got you. It’s okay.”
”I’m sorry,” Bradley whispers into his shoulder, anguished. “I’m sorry, dad, I’m so sorry.”
”Somehow I think a promotion isn’t something to apologize for, baby goose,” Mav says lightly but firmly as he holds his kid closer. Bradley shakes his head against his chest as he follows the hold.
“I’m sorry for not inviting you,” he says. Mav closes his eyes at the admission. His kid follows it up quickly, anxiously. “I know I—I’ve done it before, but this time I wasn’t angry, I promise, I was just—“
”You were looking out for me like a good wingman,” Mav says, cutting off the inevitable spiral the only way he knows how. “I know, dearest. There’s no need to apologize for that.” Mav hums. “Just for the record, though—I’ll always want to be where my wingman needs me, too.”
“Doesn’t that mean you’re my wingman?” his impertinent kid asks, bouncing back from the emotional rollercoaster so quickly that it gives Mav whiplash.
“Tough as nails,” Ice would have said. “What did I tell you, Mav? He takes after you.”
Mav smiles wide. “We are the same rank now, Captain Bradshaw. Maybe we’ll take turns, how does that sound?”
Bradley nuzzles further into his arms. “I’d like that, Captain Mitchell.”
Mav laughs. “Alright, kiddo. Time for bed.”
They stumble into the house, the alcohol and catharsis weighing them both down. By some miracle, they make it to the bedroom. Bradley collapses in his bed and pulls Mav down with him, feigning sleepiness as he wraps his arms around his dad.
“Bradley,” Mav says, amused. “Come on, kiddo.”
“Don’t ‘ave a guest room,” Bradley mumbles. “Stay ‘ere.”
“I can take the couch,” Mav tries.
“Mmh. Not with your back,” Bradley mutters, eyes already closed and not letting go. “Night, dad.”
Mav gives up and makes himself comfortable, wrapping one arm around Bradley as he tucks the boy under the covers. “Good night, sweetheart. Sweet dreams.”