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“Welcome back to the land of the living, pipsqueak.”
Mav groans as he blinks awake, the faces of Slider and Iceman swimming in his vision.
“Slider?”
“Look at that, he still recognizes me,” Slider says, grinning as he waves his fingers in front of Mav’s face. “Hey, Mav. How many fingers am I holding up?”
Mav blinks slowly several times and turns to the other man in the room. “Ice.”
“That’s not a number,” Slider protests.
“Maverick,” Iceman says roughly. Mav shakes his head. “Don’t talk,” he tells his friend, but his voice sounds no better, and the wry expression on Ice’s face tells him so.
“I’m six months out from a successful throat surgery, Maverick. You, on the other hand, just burned in from hypersonic speeds. I’ll talk all I like.”
Mav grins back as Slider feeds him some ice chips. “I’ll get the nurse,” Slider says, patting his pilot on the shoulder as he leaves. “You watch the troublemaker.”
The nurses arrive, pleased with Mav’s alertness. After a few tests, the medical staff leave with orders for Mav to continue his recovery in the hospital for the time being.
It’s after the dust has settled that Mav asks the question burning a hole in his chest.
“So,” he begins, fighting back the lump in his throat. The other empty chair in the corner of the room taunts him. “Guess he didn’t care that much,” Mav says, trying very hard to be nonchalant and landing on the side of heartbreaking.
Ice and Slider exchange a look. They don’t need to wonder who he’s talking about. “I wouldn’t say that,” Slider says slowly. Mav looks up at him, and the former RIO feels the full effect of those cursed Mitchell puppy eyes, brimming with hope. “What–what do you mean?” Mav asks, tentative and cautious.
Slider sighs, and Ice takes a seat. “He cares, Maverick. Sounded absolutely broken on the phone. Stayed on the carrier by choice, though, because he felt he didn’t have a right to your estate. Or a right to attend your funeral, which CACO sent a notice of before we could officially change your status.”
Mav blinks, his assumptions flying out the window. Oh, kiddo.
Ice taps his phone on his leg. “Rear Admiral Perry has been informing me of his flying since then. He’s–”
Worry spiking, Mav leans forward. “He’s--what, Ice? Tell me.”
Ice chooses his words carefully. “He’s–off, Mav.”
Slider snorts. “Tom’s putting it nicely. Perry said he’s gone batshit crazy.”
“What?”
“He’s racked up three counts of insubordination in the last two weeks alone. Multiple complaints filed by his squadmates for leaving them behind in the air. He’s been pulled off active missions and is left to basic patrol, but even then refuses to fly with anyone. Volatile, keeps to himself. Perry’s one insubordination act away from grounding him permanently and sending him back to shore to get court-martialed.”
Mav shakes his head, unbelieving. “That’s not like him.” Because he hasn’t been with Bradley for fifteen years but he’s been keeping tabs on Rooster, and all the reports he’s read and all the spies he’s put in place have told him that his boy’s an exemplary aviator and an even better colleague.
Every report, every glowing comment, every story shared swells Mav’s heart with pride—and breaks it a little more.
“It’s not,” Slider agrees. “But all accounts say he changed after—“ he looks at Ice.
“After I called him,” the COMPACFLT says stoically. “Before CACO could. He—he sounded shattered, Maverick. Wouldn’t allow me or Slider to come get him.”
Mav swallows. “Have—have you told him I’m fine?” He’s not sure if it’ll help or hurt Bradley further. He doesn’t know what to think. Fifteen years knowing the kid he loved hated him have taken their toll. Why was he reacting this way, if…if he–
”He wouldn’t take any further calls,” Ice says. “And we wanted to wait for you to wake up before pushing it any more. It’s been almost two weeks. Perry says there’s been no change in his behavior; if anything, he’s gotten worse.”
Mav bites his lip, worried and unsure. “I want to see him.”
“You think that’s a good idea?” Slider asks skeptically. “The last time—”
“I know,” Mav admits. “But–he deserves to be told the truth. I owe him that much.”
“The whole truth?” Ice asks meaningfully. Mav swallows. “One thing at a time,” he amends.
The two of them look at Mav pointedly, who sighs. “I know. But at the very least, I want to make sure he’s okay. If what you described is true–”
“–which it is,” Slider adds helpfully.
“Then who better to scare him straight than the Commander of the Pacific Fleet?” Mav says imploringly to his wingman.
Ice studies him for a second longer before looking to Slider and exhaling heavily. “I’ll get to work on a transport to the carrier,” he says. “As soon as you’re medically cleared,” he snaps at Mav, who is already moving out of the bed. “Keep still, Mav.”
Mav pouts. “I feel fine.”
“You’re not moving an inch until they clear you,” Iceman tells him sternly. Mav subsides, relenting.
“And for the record,” Ice says heavily. “If I had that kind of power over Bradley, I’d have scared him back home a long time ago.”
Mav stiffens and looks down.
“He’s right, you know,” Slider adds. “You think we haven’t tried? You’re the only one he would ever listen to.”
Except for Carole and Goose, it’s an adage that held true for the first eighteen years of Bradley’s life. Now, though? Mav thinks his friends are sorely mistaken.
“Where’s the doctor?” he croaks out. No use belaboring the point.
It takes three days for Maverick to be cleared, and the doctor leaves strict orders to the COMPACFLT and the Vice Admiral to not let him even look at the inside of a plane for at least three months. Six, if at all possible.
“Wear your damn brace, Mitchell,” Slider bites out, strapping Mav inside the brace even as he grunts and complains. “You’re not getting out of it this easy.”
“You say that like it’s a prisoner’s restraint,” Mav mutters, adjusting the way he’s seated in the passenger seat of Ice’s car.
“Might as well be, with how rule-abiding you are,” Slider shoots back, climbing into the backseat.
“Children,” Ice rolls his eyes. “Okay. I know it’s hopeless asking you to sleep at least one night before we head to Bradley’s carrier—”
Mav looks at him, wide eyes hopeful. Ice catches his look and groans.
“—don’t give me that look,” he warns. Mav immediately looks affronted. “I’ve already booked a transport at 1000,” Ice continues, ignoring Mav’s expression. “You have one hour, maximum, Captain Mitchell. Show yourself to your kid, and then it’s back to shore with you for some actual recovery.”
“Two hours,” Mav says immediately. “And I wear the brace for two weeks.”
Slider almost slaps him upside the head before he catches himself and remembers his friend is injured. “You’re supposed to wear it for at least a month, pipsqueak.”
“Two weeks longer than a month, then,” Mav bargains, looking into the COMPACFLT’s cold eyes. “I promise I won’t even try to escape wearing it.”
Slider scoffs, then turns incredulous when he realizes his pilot is actually considering it. “Ice. Really?”
“And you won’t forget to wear it, misplace it, or accidentally break it,” Ice says coldly. To anyone else in the Navy, that tone of voice would have them groveling on their knees.
For Captain Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell? Well, he just grins. “Cross my heart and hope to die, you sap,” he teases, and he knows he’s won when the fearsome Admiral’s mouth turns up in a shadow of a smile.
“No death jokes,” Iceman says in that same tone of voice as he turns the key to start the car. “It’s unbecoming.”
“Says the guy the ensigns call ‘Corpseman’,” Slider comments from the back, and Mav laughs and laughs.
“Bradshaw! Damn it, get your ass back here or you’re never sitting it down in a cockpit again! ”
Mav exchanges a look of surprise and alarm with Ice and Slider as they enter the control center of the carrier. Perry turns to them and his eyes widen at the sight of Ice, giving a salute and relaxing only after Ice tells him to. “Sir.”
”What’s the situation, Perry?”
Perry’s frustration bleeds out of every movement. “It’s that damn lieutenant you asked about, Sir. He’s refusing to make it back to the boat after a routine patrol. Thing is, he’s been out there for hours. There’s only so much fuel in that F-18. Radio silent.”
Slider steps up. “Play his last communication, please.”
Perry nods to the tech, who obliges. Bradley’s voice crackles through the speakers; and after fifteen years, it’s almost dizzying for Mav to hear.
“Control, this is Rooster. All systems good, flying patrol flight 56729 Bravo. Repeat, 56729 Bravo.”
”Copy, Rooster, 56729 Bravo approved, estimated patrol time 45 minutes.”
”45 minutes, copy.”
And yet, after fifteen years Mav would like to think he still knows his boy—there’s an emptiness in that voice that Mav doesn’t like at all.
The tech forwards the audio to the 45 minute mark.
”Rooster, control. Time patrol, repeat, time patrol. Confirm return to boat.”
”Negative, Control. Rooster out.”
”Lieutenant? Re-confirm order. Repeat, confirm return to boat.”
”Sorry, control.” Rooster’s voice is breathy now, like he’s struggling to speak. “Negative. Got to—got to follow dad.”
Mav inhales sharply. “Goose.”
“He’s not talking about Goose,” Ice and Slider say simultaneously.
Mav doesn’t allow himself to believe them. He can’t–can’t allow himself to hope that much, that he was–is still dad to the kid. Bradley–Bradley always deserved to have Goose anyway, instead of the poor replacement he got in exchange.
The audio cuts out. Perry turns to them with a questioning look on his face. “That’s the last we heard. All attempts to raise him again on comms failed. As far as we can tell, his comms are fine, he just isn’t talking back.”
”Where is he?” Mav asks. Perry notices him for the first time but doesn’t ask for his ID. The presence of the COMPACFLT must be enough for him. “E-SAT puts him fifty miles west-southwest of our position. Far as we can tell, he’s in a holding pattern but in danger of altitude drop soon, if not already.”
”Any land nearby?” Mav asks.
”None,” Perry shakes his head. “It’s water all around.”
Oh, Bradley. Mav’s heart thumps against his ribcage. “Follow dad.” No way, kid–
“Get me up, Ice,” he says, turning to his wingman and unabashedly begging. “Please. I can get him down. I have to.”
Slider immediately shakes his head no. “Mav, your ribs…damn it, your fucking spine–”
“Ice, please—”
“—you’re wearing a brace, for crying out loud—”
“It’s Bradley, Ice,” Mav says simply, not above begging. “Please. It has to be me.”
Ice looks at him for a few seconds and nods, turning to Perry. “Get him whatever he needs.”
“Ice–!”
“You’re the one who said that Mav’s the only one he’ll listen to,” Ice tells his former RIO blandly.
Perry raises an eyebrow at the dynamics of the three; definitely far and away from the things he’s heard about the COMPACFLT. “And you are?”
”Captain Pete Mitchell,” Mav says impatiently. “Please, Admiral. I’ll bring your plane back.” Just let me bring my kid back too.
Mav goes through the pre-flight checks so fast, he barely registers Ice climbing the ladder to loom over him in the cockpit.
He hides his shock well. “Miss it?” he asks his wingman glibly. “Maybe we can sneak into a two-seater up in Miramar when this is over. Old time’s sake.”
Ice gives no indication that he hears it. “Don’t crash,” is the only thing Ice says. “And bring him home.”
“Will do,” Mav says, saluting as the canopy closes around him. Ice gives him a pointed look as he steps down the ladder.
Mav launches, and he can feel his ribs protest immediately. He ignores the pain, breathes through it until it recedes in favor of his parental instincts blaring a warning to get his son. It's the same warning instinct that drove Mav to a frenzy to fetch his teenager from a house party that had almost gone very very wrong.
“Come on, Rooster, where are you?”
He flies in the general direction of his son’s plane for an indeterminable amount of time, relief washing over him as he spots the familiar shape of an F-18.
“Control, I see him. Switching to a private line.”
“Talk him down, Captain,” Ice’s voice comes through. “That’s an order.”
“Sir, yes, sir,” Mav says solemnly, before switching over to a private channel and hailing his kid’s plane. He takes a deep breath, and talks over fifteen years.
There are two photographs tucked into the corner of Rooster’s console.
Despite what it looks like, and despite his squadmates’ endless ribbing, the one of a man that looks like him and a woman in a sundress with a baby in her arms isn’t Bradley and his secret wife—it’s Goose and Carole, baby Bradley grinning up at his parents and squirming in his mom’s hold.
Behind it is another picture, one that Bradley usually keeps out of sight (out of mind), but in the last two weeks, it’s peeked out more and more, until Bradley can see the grinning face of the man he thought he hated more than anything.
It’s an old photograph of one of Bradley’s last Halloweens before he decided he grew up and didn’t want to go trick or treating anymore. He’s got an old familiar leather jacket wrapped around his shoulders, a wide open-mouthed smile of joy as he holds up his bag of candy to show Carole behind the camera.
Crouched down beside him, an even bigger grin on his face, gazing adoringly at Bradley, is Mav. Always larger than life—and now gone.
It feels like Bradley’s been on autopilot for the last two weeks, ever since that call from his Uncle Ice.
Bradley—I’m sorry. He’s gone.
And Uncle Ice—Admiral Thomas Kazansky, Commander of the Pacific Fleet—never made mistakes.
His communication system beeps, signaling an incoming transmission. He almost mutes it immediately, positive it’s Perry’s irate voice again, when another voice comes through instead.
“Rooster.”
Bradley sucks in a breath, because that voice–good god he can’t deal with hallucinations on top of everything too. Please don’t tell him there was something wrong with his oxygen.
“You’re fine, Lieutenant. There’s nothing wrong with your air.”
Oh. He must have said that out loud.
“Loud and clear, Rooster.” The voice seems to be grinning.
Bradley refuses to give the voice a name. Doing so would acknowledge that the voice was a ghost.
“Listen to me, okay? We’re on private comms. All your buddies are back on the boat. Why not come back to join them, hmm?”
“I–I can’t…”
His plane shudders around him. There’s something wrong, there’s something wrong and he can’t–
“Hey, hey, Bradley, you’re okay, alright? Look to your left, Lieutenant.”
The use of his name jolts him back to reality, and he looks to his left to see an unlabelled plane hovering in wingman’s position, the pilot just about visible enough for Bradley to see him give a two-finger salute.
“Nice and easy,” the voice soothes.
“Who are you?”
”Eh, someone Perry called to help you down, ” the voice says nonchalantly. “Anything wrong with your plane? ”
”No,” Bradley shakes his head, catches sight of the tattered photo out of the corner of his eye. “No, I—sorry. I’m what’s wrong…you can—you can go back.”
“Hey, come on,” Mav coaxes, and he’s rewarded by Rooster’s plane inching slowly in the carrier’s direction. But it’s not enough. “Don’t leave me with Perry and paperwork, buddy.”
Bradley snorts. “I’m sure he’ll understand."
“Yeah, have you met Perry?” Mav continues conversationally, all the while guiding Rooster along their course to the carrier. “Man’ll have my wings if I get back empty-handed.”
The radio goes quiet for a few seconds. Mav waits, nervous.
Finally, his kid’s voice crackles back over comms. “Sorry to disappoint."
Shit, they’re just a little over halfway back. Rooster’s stalled again.
“What’s wrong, Lieutenant?” Mav asks softly, trying another angle.
The radio is silent for another long minute, and Mav’s forced to think of his other options. Realistically, if Bradley goes down over water, Mav could eject to follow—that is, if the kid ejects at all. Mav shudders to think of that alternative.
”My dad’s gone,” Bradley sobs into his mask finally. “I can’t—I was horrible to him. I never got to tell him I’m sorry for shutting him out. He didn’t want me to fly, you know,” he snorts derisively. “God, maybe he was right. I can’t do this—I can’t—I don’t deserve to… ”
Mav’s heart jumps again as Rooster’s plane tilts unsteadily. “Hey, hey, Lieutenant, level wings, come on—“
”What’s the point,” the reply comes dejectedly. “Maybe if I go down, I’ll be able to see my dad again. Finally tell him I’m sorry, tell him he was right and I was too fucking stupid to know better—“
Mav feels his own heart breaking and wishes he could jump into the cockpit to hug his kid. His persona slips. “Bradley, sweetheart—“
”Don’t call me that,” Rooster snaps over the comms, cold. “He—he was the only one who…shit, I can’t do this, I can’t— “
”Okay, okay, Lieutenant,” Mav fights to keep his voice calm. Finally, he sees the outline of the boat up ahead. Just a little more, kiddo. He has to let Rooster land first. ”Boat up ahead. Level and catch a line for me, please?”
“What if I don’t?” Rooster says flatly, holding his plane steady. “Look man, whatever Perry told you to do, you can go ahead and say you weren’t successful. Mission failed, blah blah blah. My fuel line’s near zero and I’m going down anyway, nothing you can do about that.”
Mav’s panicked now. They’re a few klicks from the boat–if he can’t convince Bradley to land, at least he knows that search and rescue will be on them in less than fifteen minutes. He can keep his kid alive for fifteen minutes—but the memory of holding Goose’s body makes his stomach turn.
“You have orders to land, Lieutenant,” Mav tries, and knows immediately it’s the wrong thing to say.
“Orders,” Rooster huffs. “Yeah, right. And once I land, Perry’s gonna court-martial my ass. Send me back stateside. There’s nothing back there for me.”
“You’re wrong,” Mav counters. “What about your family and friends, huh?”
Rooster chokes back a frustrated sob that makes it across the line anyway. “Pushed everyone away. Everyone—everyone’s gone, my dad…he…” Mav hears a broken whimper that tears at his heartstrings. “I never got to tell him I was sorry for leaving. ”
Mav swallows before replying, forcing himself to maintain the detached air of a fellow naval aviator and nothing more. ”I’m sure he forgives you, Lieutenant. That’s what—that’s what parents do.”
Rooster is silent, his plane steady.
“It’s better this way,” his kid’s voice says finally, more resigned than Mav’s ever heard. It makes a chill go down his spine. “Please, just–let me go meet him. Let me say I’m sorry, I never got to say I’m sorry—”
“Hey, hey, Lieutenant,” Mav says urgently, even as he talks around the lump in his own throat. The desperation bleeds through his voice. “Your dad would want you to live, buddy.”
“What would you know about it?” Rooster snarks back.
“I’ve got a kid too,” Mav says softly. “He’s the best part of my life. And I know if I’m gone, I wouldn’t want him to follow me. It’s not what your dad would want, kiddo.”
Rooster stays radio silent. Mav watches his wings, heart in his throat.
“Now come on, Lieutenant,” Mav urges. “Why don’t we land, and you—you can tell me more about your dad.”
For some reason, that’s what gets his kid to push his plane towards the boat, and Mav watches with open pride as Rooster makes a textbook landing.
”Atta boy,” Mav says under his breath as he readies to catch his own line.
Mav lands and gets out of his plane so fast, he bangs his shins on the wing like a bumbling ensign. Ice and Slider are waiting for him a few meters away, concern written on their faces. Mav pushes himself to run to his kid’s plane, scrambling up the wing as the canopy pops open, not caring for the way his own chest grows tight, his braced ribs protesting.
“Bradley!”
Rooster’s eyes are closed tight, his chest heaving, not giving any indication that he’s heard him. “B, look at me, please,” Mav begs, unhooking the mask and taking his kid’s helmet off. His curls are damp with sweat, and when Mav pulls off a glove to feel his forehead, it’s warm to the touch.
Mav takes his face into two hands. “Bradley, baby, come on, open your eyes.”
Rooster whimpers, shaking his head free of Mav’s hold. “No, no, I can’t, you’re not him, Mav— “
”I’m here, sweetheart,” Mav says softly but firmly, uncaring for the small crowd that’s gathered around his kid’s plane. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Ice and Slider holding back the medical personnel on standby. “Breathe, just, just breathe, please…”
There are desperate tears gathering in his eyes now too. His kid is hurting, and there isn’t a damn thing Mav can do to help.
“You’re gone, Ice said—he called—you burned in, I’m sorry, dad, I’m so fucking sorry, I should’ve come home, I should’ve—“
”Hey, hey,” Mav doesn’t have it in him to get into their fifteen years of history now, Rooster still miserable in his cockpit, Mav awkwardly bending over the fuselage. “Brad, come on, let’s get you looked at, hmm? Then we can talk, baby goose, I promise.”
Rooster whimpers sharply at the nickname, hunching down lower in the cockpit and muttering to himself, his breaths coming faster and shallower. “Don’t—don’t deserve—god, dad—“
Mav is at a loss. His kid still hasn’t looked at him. The medical staff clambers up alongside Mav. “Captain, let us take him.”
”Maverick,” Ice and Slider call. “Let them look at him.”
Reluctantly, Mav gets off the wing as the medical staff bodily drag his kid out of his cockpit towards a waiting gurney.
Mav waits outside the door to sickbay, pacing back and forth and looking up as Ice and Slider enter the corridor.
“I smoothed things over with Perry,” Ice tells him. “The marks on his record will stay, but he won’t go through with the court-martial. He will have to be restationed, though, after his medical leave that I took the liberty of filing on his behalf.” He exchanges a meaningful look with Slider. “There might be a few postings stateside that I can send him to.”
(Like a special detachment at Top Gun and an impossible mission with his dad training them, but Mav didn’t need to know that yet.)
“Thanks, Ice,” Mav says, his eyes locked on the door to sickbay. “I really appreciate it. I know he will too.”
“You gonna take him home?” Slider asks, and Mav flinches. “As long as he wants me to,” Mav says honestly, barely allowing himself to hope.
The corpsman comes out then, and Mav turns to him quickly. “How is he?”
”Far as we can tell, a mild fever coupled with extreme dehydration and malnutrition. Exhaustion too. Looks like the lieutenant hasn’t been sleeping or eating properly for at least two weeks. Borderline delirious. He shouldn’t have been in the air.”
Mav’s mouth falls open. Two weeks, lining up exactly with when he— he looks to Ice for confirmation, who merely nods. Oh, kiddo. I’m sorry.
“Lieutenant Bradshaw was mistakenly informed about a casualty of a family member two weeks ago,” Slider says briskly, not looking at Mav. “Service member. Confusion was cleared up but he wasn’t notified properly.”
“Ah,” the corpsman nods. “Explains the erratic psychological behavior reported by Admiral Perry. We never had much trouble with Lieutenant Bradshaw before.”
Mav is practically vibrating with anxiety. “Can we see him?”
“This way, sir. We gave him a light sedative, so he won’t be waking up for a few hours. He needs all the rest he can get.”
Bradley’s laid out on the hospital bed, an IV line in one hand. He’s asleep, but tears leak out of his closed eyes. His skin is an unhealthy shade of pale, and the dark circles under his eyes worry Mav.
“Oh, baby goose,” Mav says mournfully, one gentle hand wiping the tear tracks dry, leaning forward to press a kiss on his kid’s forehead. Bradley doesn’t move.
“Kid’s all grown up,” Slider says fondly. “Seems like yesterday I was tossing him up on my shoulders.”
Mav smiles softly, brushing a messy curl out of his kid’s forehead. This is the closest he’s been to Bradley in fifteen years.
“Before he got the news, Perry’s evaluations were all praises for him, you know,” Ice informs Mav, who just keeps looking at his son.
Despite everything, the pride that Mav always felt for Bradley multiples at his wingman’s words. “Of course,” Mav replies softly, not an ounce of doubt in him. “Kid was born to fly.”
“You gonna tell him?” Slider asks. “About why you did it?”
Mav sobers, gazing at his kid’s face. He grew the mustache. He looks like Goose. He’s Carole’s darling.
But he’s Mav’s, too.
“If he wants to hear it,” Mav says finally, resigned. If Bradley wakes up and kicks him out of the room anyway, so be it. Mav’s taken scraps gratefully for the last fifteen years; being here at all is a privilege he won’t waste.
Bradley whimpers, then, and Mav freezes; but the younger man doesn’t wake.
“He’s exhausted,” Ice says, bringing over a chair for Mav to sit at his kid’s bedside. Mav takes it gratefully, keeping a hand on Bradley’s shoulder. “He won’t wake for hours.”
“He needs it.” Mav pulls up the sheet until it reaches Bradley’s chin, smoothing it down. “Let him be.”
“Well, I’m going out to look for some food on this boat. Come on, Ice. Maybe your COMPACFLT privileges will work on the cooks in mess,” Slider says, and the two of them leave Mav alone with his kid.
It takes a few minutes before Bradley starts murmuring in earnest, obviously distressed, soft cries coming from his mouth as his head whips back and forth on the pillow. Mav stands up and leans over his kid in an effort to soothe. “Hey, kiddo, shhh,” he says, carding his hand through Bradley’s hair. “It’s just a dream.”
He leans in closer and his heart cracks a little as he hears the words dropping from his kid’s mouth like a mantra. “No, dad, please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry–”
“Baby, it’s okay,” Mav says helplessly. “Shhh, keep still–”
It doesn’t work. Bradley’s almost shaking now in his distress, and Mav can’t take it anymore; he lets down the iron rail of the bed and climbs in gingerly to hold his son.
He lays on his side, slips an arm around Bradley’s shoulders and holds him close in an effort to keep him still. Bradley’s head stills against his shoulder for a half-second, and Mav’s afraid his kid has finally woken up; but then Bradley nuzzles closer, chasing Mav’s warmth the same way he used to do as a child, eyes still screwed shut, his hands curling into the cotton of Mav’s t-shirt.
”You can hate me for this when you wake up, kiddo,” Mav whispers into the head of hair as he leaves a kiss in those curls. He ignores the way his ribs protest as Bradley curls in closer, still mumbling. He moves his battered body as much as he’s able, forming a shield for his kid from the outside world, wishing for those days when Bradley fit on his lap and Mav could zip him into his old Navy hoodie. He can’t believe the towering aviator was ever that small. Kid definitely grew into the Bradshaw height. “But nothing’s gonna take me away from here.”
“Is that a threat?” Slider says mildly as he and Ice enter, food supplies secured, both of them unsurprised, watching Mav gingerly slotting himself against Bradley in the small sickbay bed. Mav looks at them over Bradley’s head and offers them a wan smile. “Thanks for everything, Ice. You too, Sli.”
“Don’t mention it, Mav,” Slider says as Ice wordlessly tugs up the thin sheet over the two of them. “We’ll be right outside, and Ice’ll get to work on the transport stateside.”
“I will?” Ice asks dryly, chuckling as Mav raises an eyebrow at him. “Guess I will.”
When they leave, Mav turns to the younger man in his arms. Bradley’s moved so that his head is pillowed on Mav’s shoulder, one hand curled across his torso. Soft tears well up in Mav’s eyes as he takes in the weight of his kid in his arms, the closest they’ve been after fifteen years. For so long, Mav had thought that he would never have this again.
He settles into the bed as he holds Bradley, pulling up the sheet further so that it covers his boy to the chin, one hand cradling his head as the other wraps around his shoulders. “Missed you, sweetheart,” Mav whispers into his hair, pressing another kiss to his kid’s forehead. “Don’t worry, everything will be better when you wake up,” his voice trembles. “I promise.”
Bradley comes slowly awake to a soft warmth and a hand in his hair. He breathes in a scent that takes him back fifteen years, of naps after school and baseball games, and late nights falling asleep watching movies on the couch. Another strong arm is wrapped around his shoulders, keeping him close.
Mav—his dad’s holding him.
Then this must be a dream, because Uncle Ice called him, and Uncle Ice never made mistakes. His dad’s gone.
And–and Mav probably wouldn’t want to hold him. Not after what he’d done.
Bradley feels his eyes fill with tears as he ducks his head and burrows closer, not wanting to wake up from his dream. Maybe his plan worked, maybe he went down over the ocean and this is what's on the other side.
Above him, dream-Mav grunts. “Brad? You okay, baby?” The drowsy question is punctuated by his dad wrapping his arms tighter around him. Bradley squeezes his eyes shut. He never wants to wake up now. This is too good to be true. He can stay here forever. Nothing else matters anymore.
”Bradley?” Dream-Mav sounds more awake now, concerned, pulling back a bit. The arms around him loosen, and Bradley whines in protest. One gentle knuckle runs down Bradley’s cheek. “Can you open your eyes for me, sweetheart?”
Bradley shakes his head, screwing his eyes shut tighter. He doesn’t want to. If he does, he’ll wake up to an empty bunk and Uncle Ice’s voice in his ears saying he always loved you and the CACO notification about the funeral that he didn’t (wouldn’t, couldn’t, didn’t deserve to) attend and the memory of fifteen years burned away and, and, and—
“Hey, hey, breathe, kiddo.” There’s worry in dream-Mav’s voice now, and urgent beeping somewhere in the background, and Bradley shudders because even in his imaginations, Mav is warm and caring and forgiving and everything that Bradley doesn’t deserve.
”Not real,” Bradley mutters, sucking in a breath with much effort.
”Oh, baby goose,” dream-Mav whispers. “It’s okay. I’m here. It isn’t a dream.”
”Should be,” Bradley chokes out. “Uncle Ice said…said…”. A gentle thumb swipes over his brow, cutting him off, the touch tender and pleading. “He said…”
The voice that follows is one that Bradley spent fifteen years trying to forget. Now, he’ll take every dream-whisper that he can. “I know, kiddo. It was a mistake. Ice found me, okay?”
Bradley had begged his uncle to send him on a search and rescue. Admiral Kazansky had given him a firm no. Why did his subconscious insist on torturing him this way? “No, no he didn’t, wouldn’t let me come find you, he called–he…he said…”
“Bradley. Come on, look at me.”
Oh. That’s the wake up, baby goose, time for school voice. That’s the easy on the gas voice. That's the are you sure you brushed your teeth voice. That’s the voice he’s never really going to hear again, and it cracks Bradley in two.
A gentle touch runs down his cheek and stays there, cradling his face. “Open ‘em just a little, baby. Please?”
Bradley whimpers as he cracks his eye open, just a sliver. Just a little, before he goes back to darkness and pretending.
Instead of his empty bunk, the warmth doesn’t disappear. Instead of empty air, a face swims before his vision. Eyes that he’d know anywhere, a butterfly bandage on his cheekbone, bruises on his jaw.
Smiling weakly, tears in his eyes.
“Hi, sweetheart.”
Bradley scrambles back like he’s been shot. “Mav?!”
Strong arms shoot out to hold him steady. ”Easy, kid. The bed’s barely big enough for both of us.”
Bradley flails all the same, sitting up and drinking in his dad’s appearance, eyes blown wide. “Uncle Ice—he called, he said—“
”I know.” Mav’s face is soft and forgiving. “I know, baby goose. I’m so sorry. They found me late, and I spent a few days in an induced coma. Ice didn’t want to let you know until something was more sure.”
Bradley brings up a shaking hand to gently touch the bruises on his dad’s face. “But you’re okay?”
Mav shrugs. He’s far from it, but being here with his kid is the best he can possibly be. “I’m okay, B. Better now that you’re here.”
Oh. Oh. His dad’s alive. His dad’s here.
Bradley surges forward to tuck his head under Mav’s chin. “I’m sorry, dad, I’m so fucking sorry—“
”Shh,” Mav wraps his arms around his boy again, doing his best to hide his wince as his ribs protest. “Shh, dearest. It’s alright. I’ve got you. It’s okay. I’ve got you…”
Bradley stays there a long while, sobbing into Mav’s chest, Mav whispering comfort and apologies and forgiveness into his son’s ears.
“You–you were the pilot who tried to make me land,” Bradley says, tipping his head up to look at his dad as realization strikes him. “Your voice–I didn’t…”
Mav sighs, holding his kid a little tighter as he remembers the flat empty tone of Rooster’s voice over comms. Maybe if I go down, I’ll get to see my dad again. “You scared me, baby goose,” he admits. “Damn near wanted to jump over to your cockpit.”
Bradley swallows. “I owe everyone a lot of apologies,” he says ruefully. “I wasn’t–I wasn’t okay. Probably should’ve been grounded immediately.”
Mav rubs his shoulder comfortingly. “Ice’s smoothing over a lot. You can talk to Rear Admiral Perry and your squad before we get on the transport.”
“Transport?”
“Ice also filed your medical leave,” Mav says carefully. “We’re going stateside soon. I don’t know what your plans are, but you’re welcome to stay with me, if–”
“Really?” Bradley asks, trembling. “You’d–you’d want me to stay with you?”
Mav looks at him incredulously. “Sweetheart, of course. You need sleep, and food that isn’t vending machine crap or unidentified meat in mess. I’m happy to take care of you for as long as you need.”
Bradley ducks his head, overwhelmed and unsure and guilty all at once. All the unforgivable things he’s done—ignoring his dad’s calls, cards, care packages, ignoring every next-of-kin call even if it meant Mav might be sick or dying in some random hospital, ignoring every invite to the Kazanskys because he just knew Mav might be there—all of it, for fifteen terrible years, and his dad is still here, holding him, asking him to come back home, wanting to take care of him.
He screws his eyes tight to stop the bitter tears as he shakes his head against his dad’s shoulder. “Why?”
”Why?” Mav sounds genuinely confused above him. “Why what, kiddo?”
”Why are you doing this?” Bradley grits out. “You should—all the shit I did, you shouldn’t—“
”Oh, sweetheart,” Mav says, understanding and forgiveness dripping from every word. Bradley feels a kiss pressed into his hair, and feels like every part of him is about to shatter. He chokes back another sob as his dad just holds him closer, one hand slowly stroking through Bradley’s hair, stopping every attempt to pull away. “I love you, Bradley,” his dad says, as if the last fifteen years don’t exist and didn’t happen. “If you need to hear it, I forgive you. I have forgiven you, a long time ago. I’m sorry, for costing us all that time. Now, all I want to do is to take care of you.” Mav cranes his head and tips Bradley’s teary face up so that they’re seeing eye to eye. “Let me take care of you, baby. Please?”
I haven’t been able to do it for fifteen years, Mav thinks. Please, God, please let me do this now.
Bradley’s face crumples as he lays his head back down on Mav’s chest, nodding quietly, too overwhelmed to say a word.
“Okay,” Mav breathes in relief. “Okay, kiddo. I love you, and I’m bringing you home, okay?” Bradley nods, still in disbelief, hiding his face in his dad’s shirt. Mav chuckles softly above him as a hand continues stroking through his hair, a supporting arm around his back. “Go back to sleep first, dearest. You need it. I’ve got you. You can relax.”
And for the first time in fifteen years, Bradley does.
Ice gets them stateside in record time, meaningfully implying that Mav should take Bradley to recover in their old house in Fightertown, not in the middle of nowhere.
(The fact that it’s a short drive away from the Top Gun base is convenient to everyone, particularly to Ice and his scheming. The uranium plant, thankfully, has been delayed in its operations. They have time.)
On the way there, Slider oh-so-helpfully lets it slip that Mav is still recovering from his ejection (from some hypersonic test craft that Bradley can only imagine the speeds of), which causes Bradley’s worry to spike once he notices that Mav is still careful with his ribs—and fuck, he had been lying down on him the whole time.
“I’m fine, kiddo,” Mav rushes to say, throwing an annoyed look to Slider as they pull up to the small white house. Bradley just shakes his head. “No way you’re moving around like that, Mav. Didn’t they let you go with a brace?”
”Sweetheart, you don’t need to worry about me—“
”It’s in the trunk,” Ice interrupts as they get out, Bradley now supporting his dad by the elbow, face contorted with worry.
He gets his dad in the door and settled on the couch. “What do you want for lunch, Mav?”
Mav shakes his head as he pushes himself back up to standing, barely hiding a wince as his ribs protest. “No can do, baby goose. I said I’d take care of you and I wi—“
”Both of you sit down,” Slider says with a huff before Bradley can argue back, barely steady on his own two feet. “I’m going out to pick up some takeout, and Ice is here to make sure both of you stay put.”
Mav and Bradley are both gently manhandled back down to the couch by the pilot and his RIO, wearing identical mullish expressions. Slider grins at just how alike they are—and how much they both need the other. He shares a knowing and triumphant look with Ice as he heads out the door on his errand.
“Lie down, Bradley,” Ice says firmly. “Medical said you need as much rest as possible.”
”Here you go, baby goose,” Mav says softly, patting his lap and smiling as Bradley lays his head down without protest. The deep bags under his eyes still worry him, but at least now he’ll be able to take care of his kid instead of leaving anonymous care packages from afar.
”And you, Captain Mitchell,” Ice says sternly, holding up his back brace, “get to wear this the whole time your boy is sleeping on your lap.” He taps Bradley’s forehead gently as he wraps the back brace around Mav, who looks at him with eyes of betrayal. “Take as long as you need, Lieutenant Bradshaw,” Ice commands, gently tapping Bradley’s forehead with one knuckle. “That’s an order.”
“Sir yes sir,” Bradley says, smiling up at his uncle as he understands the assignment immediately. When he was young, they used to have a routine whenever Mav would come back from deployment worse for wear—Carole and Ice and their whole group knew that Mav would keep still for one person and one person only: sweet innocent little Bradley, who’d bully his hapless godfather into submission by curling up in his lap or into his side, mindful of his injuries. Once they got Bradley onto him, Ice and Carole were reasonably assured that Mav wouldn’t move from the spot unless absolutely necessary. Bradley blinks back tears that well up from the memory.
Mav looks back down at him, softness in his gaze overwhelming his irritation at the back brace. One hand comes up to stroke through Bradley’s hair. “Get some rest, sweetheart,” Mav whispers softly, smiling as Bradley nods and closes his eyes, turning in towards Mav’s torso. Ice shakes out the afghan over the length of his kid.
”He’s home, Ice,” Mav says in wonder, watching as Bradley’s face relaxes. “My boy’s home.”
And not a moment too soon, Ice sighs internally. What needed to be done would require both of them; but for now, they could both heal.
“He’s too thin,” Mav worries, one hand rubbing up and down Bradley’s arm. “Ice, we need groceries, I’m not feeding him takeout for two days straight.”
Ice stifles a smile as Bradley stirs, murmuring as he catches Mav’s hand and cradles it to his chest, intertwining his fingers with his dad’s, eyes still closed. “Mm. You still make your special roast chicken, old man?”
And Ice watches as Mav’s face blooms into an aching fondness, smiling helplessly down at his son. “Yeah, kiddo. Anything you want. As long as that includes veggies on the side.”
Bradley cracks one eye open, grinning up at his dad. “Deal.”