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Maverick sprawled across the couch, lazily twirling his empty beer bottle in one hand while Goose sat cross-legged on the floor, flipping through an old photo album Ice had pulled out earlier. Ice occupied the armchair, looking at him fondly.
“Look at this one,” Goose said, holding up a photo of Ice in his dress whites at Annapolis. “Brigade Commander Kazansky. You look like you were born at attention.”
Ice glanced over, looking unbothered. “That’s because I was,” he replied, smirking at both of them. “Unlike you two, I didn’t need discipline paddled into me.”
Maverick blushed, deciding to ignore the end of Ice’s sentence. “Of course you were; I bet you had them all shaking in their boots.”
”Something like that,” Goose muttered, flipping over a page.
Maverick chuckled from his spot on the couch. “Can’t imagine you were thrilled about him making brigade commander.”
”Yeah, thrilled isn’t exactly how I’d have put it back then,” Goose said, flushing slightly.
Ice raised an eyebrow, and Goose immediately cracked. Mav held back a snicker at this, not wanting the same gaze turned on himself. “Fine, I was horrified,” Goose admitted, smirking as he jabbed a finger at Ice. “You were intense, man.”
“You turned out fine,” Ice said mildly, leaning back in his chair, “Even if you made my job harder than necessary from time to time.”
Mav felt his grin grow wider at this information. “Oh really? That’s not quite how Goose tells it to Carole.”
Ice snorted in amusement, and Mav felt his heart swell. He loved seeing Goose and his partner comfortable together like this. ”Why don’t you tell Mav the real story behind your call sign Goose?”
Sitting forward in his chair Mav grinned. “Am I about to find out why Ice and Slider call you ‘Mother Goose?’” he asks. “This bastard refused to tell me.”
Ice looked over at him, “Maverick,” he says warningly.
“Sorry,” Mav said quickly, “but it’s been years Ice, years!”
Goose let out a sigh that sounded long-suffering. “Not cool Ice,” he said, “you promised not to tell!”
“I did no such thing,” Ice said, smirking at them both openly, “get on with it.”
Goose groaned and turned towards Maverick. “Well, it all started when my platoon sergeant was giving this kid shit for no reason, and well, I stepped in.”
Tom Kazansky stood in his office, staring down at the report in front of him, the frown on his face deepening. Nick Bradshaw had never struck him as a troublemaker—not in this way. A month ago, he’d been on shaky ground, overwhelmed and unfocused, but they’d talked, at least Tom’s paddle had, and he’d started to turn things around, started looking like a leader.
And now this. Two counts of assault. On his platoon sergeant and another midshipman, no less.
Tom rubbed his temples. The problem wasn’t just that Nick had gotten himself into trouble—he’d also refused to say a word about why. Every effort to get an explanation had been met with silence or outright defiance.
Tom leaned back in his chair, exhaling through his nose. Whatever Nick had gotten himself into, he wasn’t making it easy to help him. And help him Tom wanted to. He’d seen the progress Nick had made over the last month, the determination that had finally replaced the hesitation that had been plaguing him. But none of that would matter if he couldn’t persuade him to explain himself.
He stood, sliding the report into his desk drawer and straightening his uniform. Outside the office, he knew Nick was waiting. Tom had told him to stand out there until he was ready to talk, and he was beginning to think Bradshaw was stubborn enough to do just that without complaint, no matter how long it took. It was time for a different approach.
Tom opened the door, and there he was. Nick stood at parade rest, his gaze fixed straight ahead, his shoulders tense, but he didn’t flinch when Tom’s eyes locked on him.
“Inside,” Tom said curtly, stepping back to let him through.
Nick’s eyes widened in surprise, but he didn’t say a word as he walked in, his posture rigid. He stopped in front of the desk and stood at attention, waiting.
“Sit,” Tom ordered, motioning to the chair across from him.
Nick complied, lowering himself stiffly into the chair. His hands rested on his thighs, his expression blank and unreadable.
Tom didn’t bother with pleasantries, dropping quickly back into his seat and starting in immediately. “I’ve read the report. Two counts of assault, refusal to explain your actions, and repeated insubordination. What the hell were you thinking?”
Nick didn’t respond, merely clenched his jaw tighter, the expression unfamiliar on the usually easygoing man.
“I asked you a question, Midshipman,” Tom said, his tone sharp. “This is your chance to explain yourself. I suggest you take it.”
“Nothing to explain, sir,” Nick said, still looking straight ahead. “I accept responsibility.”
Tom’s eyes narrowed. “Accepting responsibility isn’t the same as explaining your actions. Two of your fellow midshipmen say you attacked them without provocation. Is that true?”
Nick opened his mouth, but hesitated, didn’t answer.
Tom leaned forward, his voice hardening. “Let me be very clear, Bradshaw. Refusing to talk doesn’t make you noble. It makes you a fool. And if you think I’m going to let you sit here and throw your future away without a damn good reason, you’re sorely mistaken.”
Nick’s gaze flicked downward. For a long moment, the room was silent, save for the faint hum of the air conditioning. Tom’s patience wore thinner with every passing second.
“Bradshaw,” he said, his voice sharper now, “this isn’t a game. If you don’t start talking, you’ll leave me no choice but to forward this to the Commandant for formal proceedings. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, sir,” Nick said, but the words sounded hollow. He exhaled, then finally looked up, and Tom caught a flicker of something in his eyes—anger, yes, but also frustration. Maybe even guilt.
“They were bullying a pleb,” Nick said at last, his voice low but steady. “My platoon sergeant and his buddy. I told them to stop. They didn’t. So I made them.”
Tom’s brow furrowed. “Bullying?” he repeated.
“Yes, sir. Singling him out. Making him do pushups until he dropped. Calling him..” Nick paused and looked at him for a second before continuing, “calling him… names. Stuff that wasn’t discipline—just cruelty.” Nick’s fists clenched on his lap. “The kid didn’t want to report it. Said he’d just get it worse if he did. They weren’t gonna stop, so I stepped in.”
Tom let the words hang in the air for a moment. His instinct had been right—there was more to this story. But that didn’t excuse Nick’s actions.
“You should have reported it,” Tom said evenly. “If you thought the kid wouldn’t, you should have brought it to me. Or to someone in your company. That’s your responsibility.”
Nick’s eyes flashed. “And what would’ve happened in the meantime, sir? How long would it take before someone listened and stepped in? I wasn’t going to let it keep happening.”
Tom regarded him for a long moment. He saw the defiance in Nick’s expression, but he also saw conviction. And maybe a little fear about the consequences for crossing the line, even if he believed it was for the right reasons.
“Bradshaw,” Tom said finally, his tone quieter but no less firm, “what you did was reckless. You compromised your own position, and you’ve put me in a hell of a spot. Do you understand that?”
“Yes, sir.”
“But,” Tom continued, “I believe you. And I’ll handle this. But you’re going to face consequences for this—do you understand me?”
Nick nodded, his posture loosening just slightly. “Yes, sir. I understand.”
Tom leaned back, letting a sigh escape. “Dismissed. But don’t go far—I’ll call you back once I’ve decided what to do with you.”
Walking out of the office, Tom made his way down the corridors of Bancroft Hall. He wasn’t in the habit of seeking midshipmen out; his reputation meant he didn’t usually have to. But this felt different. He knew all too well what it was like to be a plebe who could never seem to catch a break; his Russian last name had made sure of that in his first semester.
He stopped outside Jacobs’ door, exhaling softly. The kid had probably heard by now that Bradshaw was in trouble, and he knew he needed to handle this carefully. plebes seemed to find him intimidating enough already, and Jacobs didn’t need any more reason to freeze up.
Knocking firmly, he waited for a response. The door cracked open a moment later, and Jacobs stared up at him, wide-eyed and pale. His salute came a beat late, nerves practically radiating off him.
“Sir!”
Tom smiled, keeping his tone steady, trying not to look intimidating. “At ease, Midshipman. I’d like to speak with you. May I come in?”
Jacobs hesitated but stepped aside without a word. Kazansky entered, taking in the sparse room as the kid fidgeted behind him. Tom turned, keeping his expression calm.
“Relax,” he said. “I’m here to talk, not chew you out.”
The kid nodded quickly, though his shoulders remained tense. He stood at attention, clearly unsure what else to do.
“Bradshaw told me something,” Tom began. “Said there was bullying in your platoon. I need to hear it from you.”
The midshipman froze, his gaze dropping to the floor. “Sir, I—” He stopped, his throat working like he was trying to swallow the words.
“Jacobs,” Kazansky said, his tone soft but firm. “You need to be honest with me. Not just for Bradshaw’s sake—for yours. If something happened, I need to know. No one’s going to retaliate for telling the truth. You have my word.”
Opposite him, the kid hesitated, his jaw tightening. Finally, his shoulders slumped, and he nodded. “It wasn’t discipline, sir. It wasn’t about making me better. They just...” He trailed off, swallowing hard. “They wouldn’t let up. They singled me out. Extra PT, names. Stuff that—” He paused, his voice tightening. “Stuff that didn’t feel right.”
Tom regarded him carefully. “Why didn’t you report it?”
Jacobs flushed, his hands clenching at his sides. “I didn’t think it would stop, sir. And I didn’t want to make things worse.”
“And Bradshaw stepped in.”
He nodded quickly. “He told them to stop. They didn’t. He… he punched them to get them off me.”
He let out a slow breath, nodding. It lined up with what Nick had said. He leaned slightly closer, catching Jacobs’ eye.
“Listen to me,” he said quietly. “I get why you didn’t want to report it. But ignoring it doesn’t solve the problem. If this happens again, you come to me, and you better believe I’ll make sure whoever’s involved doesn’t even think about doing it again. Understood?”
Jacobs hesitated, then gave a small nod. “Yes, sir.”
Tom straightened. “Good. Get some rest.”
Jacobs saluted again, and Kazansky waved him away before stepping back into the hallway. As he walked back to his office, his expression hardened. Bradshaw had acted impulsively, but he’d been right. Now he had to clean this up without letting it ruin a career that deserved better.
Nick Bradshaw perched on the edge of his desk, his legs swinging idly as if the motion might shake off the nervous energy coiled in his chest. Kazansky had dismissed him hours ago, and at first, he’d been sure everything would work out. Kazansky believed him—he’d said so outright. The kid and the platoon would back him up, too.
But as the hours dragged on and the silence of his room pressed heavier, doubt began to creep in. It whispered at the edges of his thoughts, turning over the possibilities he’d dismissed earlier. What if Kazansky was rethinking his position? What if the Commandant saw things differently? What if he’d misread the conviction in Kazansky’s voice entirely?
Nick huffed, his heels thudding against the desk in an uneven rhythm. The movement didn’t help—if anything, it only added to his restlessness.
Nick sighed, running a hand through his hair. He didn’t regret standing up for Jacobs—not for a second. But he knew Kazansky wasn’t wrong. His actions had caused more problems than they solved.
The knock on the door was sharp and efficient, jolting him out of his thoughts. He stood quickly, squaring his shoulders before opening it. The midshipman on the other side spoke quickly, as if he didn’t want to spend any longer talking to him than necessary, as if disgrace was catching.
“Kazansky wants you in his office. Now.”
Nick nodded, swallowing hard. The walk down the corridor stretched out, each step echoing too loudly in the quiet. His mind churned as he replayed Kazansky’s expression: firm, disappointed—but not without respect. If anything, the belief in Kazansky’s gaze had hit harder than his words. Kazansky believed in him, which meant this wasn’t just about punishment. It was about expectations, about proving he could be better.
When he reached the office, the door was ajar. He heard Kazansky’s voice through the gap, calm but firm.
“Come in.”
Nick stepped into the office, closing the door behind him with a soft click. Kazansky stood behind his desk, hands resting lightly on its edge. The report from earlier was still there, but it was closed now, as if he’d mad his mind up long before Nick had been summoned.
“Bradshaw,” Kazansky said evenly, “take a seat.”
Nick hesitated, then stiffly walked over to the chair, taking a seat. He sat bolt upright, resisting the urge to drum his fingers on his thighs.
Kazansky looked at him in silence for a long moment before speaking. “I looked into your story,” he said, tone carrying a seriousness that made Nick’s stomach twist, “I spoke to Jacobs, I spoke to members of your platoon.”
Nick’s hands clenched tighter against his thighs, but he forced himself to meet Kazansky’s eyes.
“The facts check out,” Kazansky said, his gaze sharp. “Your platoon sergeant and his buddy… well let’s just say they’re going to be answering to someone a lot less patient than me.”
Nick blinked, relief flickering in his chest, tension leaving his body, but Kazansky wasn’t done.
“You stood up for your fellow midshipman,” Kazansky continued, his tone softer now but no less firm. “That’s commendable. It shows leadership. Initiative. Effort. Things I didn’t see from you the last time we had this conversation.”
Nick flushed at the reminder, and Kazansky’s lips quirked faintly in what might have been the hint of a smile.
“But,” Kazansky went on, straightening, “it also shows a lack of control. Resorting to violence—no matter the reason—isn’t leadership, Bradshaw. It’s impulsiveness. And while you’ve made progress since our last… talk,” he said, his eyes narrowing meaningfully, “you still have a lot to learn.”
“Yes, Sir,” Nick said quietly.
Kazansky stepped around the desk, his movements deliberate as he came to stand in front of Nick. “You’ve earned some respect,” he said, his voice steady. “But respect doesn’t erase consequences. You stepped out of line, and you’re going to face discipline for it. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” Nick said again, though his throat tightened as he spoke.
Kazansky nodded, motioning for Nick to stand. “You know the drill.”
Nick rose slowly, his legs feeling heavier than they had earlier. He moved to the desk, his hands gripping the edge tightly. The air in the room seemed to shift, the only sound registering the sound of his own heartbeat thudding in his chest.
Kazansky’s voice softened, though it still carried that firm edge. “I’m proud of you Bradshaw, but this is about accountability. And about making sure that temper of yours doesn’t undo all the progress you’ve made.”
Nick swallowed hard, nodding slightly. “Yes, sir.”
There was a pause, and then Kazansky’s tone shifted—still firm, but with a wry edge that Nick hadn’t expected. “And for the record, Bradshaw, if you’re going to keep running around sticking your neck out for every Plebe in the company, you’re going to earn yourself a new nickname.”
Nick blinked, his grip on the desk tightening slightly as he tried to make sense of the comment.
“A mother goose,” Kazansky said, almost casually. “That’s what your Platoon Commander called you. Always clucking around, protecting the flock.”
Nick’s jaw dropped slightly, but before he could respond, Kazansky continued. “You never know, it might even stick, you’re aiming for flight school aren’t you?”
“Yes, sir,” Nick replied, resisting the urge to groan. Then again, he thought, it could be worse.”
“Hmm,” Kazansky said, “Then we better make sure we get that temper under control.”
Kazansky didn’t say anything else. The drawer opened, and the sound of the paddle being pulled free filled the room.
Nick gritted his teeth, gripping the edge of the desk tightly as Kazansky stepped behind him. The air felt heavier now, thick with expectation. The paddle tapped lightly against his back before the first swat landed, sharp and purposeful. Nick hissed through his teeth, the sting spreading quickly, but he kept still.
“This isn’t just about what you did wrong,” Kazansky said evenly, “but about what you’re capable of doing right. You’ve come a long way since our last talk, Bradshaw, but control isn’t optional.”
The next strike landed harder, low and deliberate. Nick’s knuckles whitened against the desk, the heat building with each swat. Kazansky wasn’t rushing, giving Nick enough time to process the sharp sting before the next one landing
“This isn’t just about what you did wrong,” Kazansky said, his voice calm but firm. “It’s about making sure you remember not to lose control again. Temper like yours can be an asset, Bradshaw, but not if it goes unchecked.”
Finally, Kazansky stepped back, setting the paddle down on the desk. “Stand up,” he ordered.
Nick pushed himself upright slowly, resisting the urge to reach back as he straightened. His breathing was uneven, but he squared his shoulders and met Kazansky’s gaze without flinching.
“You stepped up for Jacobs, and that’s commendable,” Kazansky said, his tone softer than earlier, “but you need to learn to do it without losing control. You’ve got potential Bradshaw.”
“Yes, sir,” Nick said, cursing mentally when his voice came out shaky, “thank you.”
Kazansky’s lips quirked faintly, a hint of dry humor creeping in. “I’m proud of you for stepping up in your platoon, but I think you might have to get used to the nickname, Goose.”
Nick flushed, his jaw tightening. “Yes, sir.”
“Dismissed,” Kazansky said, motioning toward the door.
Nick turned, his legs feeling heavy as he walked out. The ache lingered, sharp and unignorable, but it wasn’t the pain that stayed with him. It was Kazansky’s words—the belief, the expectations.
He’d live up to them. And, hell, maybe eventually, he’d live down the nickname.
Maverick looked over at Ice incredulously, for once half glad he hadn’t been able to go to the Academy. “You paddled him for stopping a bully?”
Ice rolled his eyes, “No Maverick, I paddled him for losing his temper and punching a member of his platoon.”
“Sounds the same to me,” Mav said grumpily, unwilling to admit defeat.
”Was it the same, Goose?” Ice asked, raising an eyebrow.
Flushing, Goose shook his head, “suppose I deserved it.”
“Correct,” Ice replied dryly, looking at the two of them fondly.
Goose rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry I made your job harder.”
“Doling out a couple of paddlings didn’t really cause me too much grief,” Ice said, a smirk forming on his lips, “if I had been Maverick under my command at that time, I probably would’ve torn a rotator cuff paddling his ass.”
“Probably would’ve broken that paddle across his ass too,” Goose laughed.
“Hey!” Maverick protested, but he didn’t really mind, too pleased to see the easy rhythm between the two men.
Ice’s smirk widened into a grin. “That thing was at least a decade old by the time I became brigade commander, but you’re right, if anyone could do it, it would be Mav.”
“You’d’ve never been able to get any work done with him always bent over your desk.”
“You doubt my skills, Bradshaw. One good paddling would have him acting right for at least a week, even then.”
“Sure sure,” Goose said, rolling his eyes good-naturedly.
“Alright, I’ve heard enough,” Mav grumbled, “I’m getting another beer.”
Ice handed him his empty bottle. “Grab us another round too, please?”
“Not after you both slandered my good name,” Mav said, but grabbed the empty bottles all the same. He needed to make a token protest, of course, but he loved hearing Ice and Goose banter like this.
In the years prior, Goose had been tense around Ice, seeing him as a superior and not a peer. But now, Goose seemed to be accepting him as family, and Ice was finally opening up and showing his softer side. He wasn’t quite sure how they’d all got here, but it felt like home.