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Maverick is trying to do right by Carole, it’s the least he could do. She deserves a night off, doing her own thing with some friends. A night off being a single parent, a night off being a widow. A night off being sick. All of which she carries with immense grace. Which comparatively makes Maverick look like an incompetent wimp.
You see, he isn’t doing a good job at anything lately. He’s not a good Naval officer, he’s not a good soldier, he’s not a good friend and he’s not good at grief. The one single thing he should– needs to be good at, is an Uncle. Once upon a time the job came so naturally. He remembers summer nights chasing Bradley along the foreshore as Goose and Carole walked hand in hand so lovingly.
But Maverick stopped that in its tracks. He stopped all of it in one afternoon.
“Mav!”
Bradley’s shriek rapidly pulls him back from the depths of his mind and he flies back into the kitchen to see the pan on fire.
Add bad cook to the list.
“Holy shit!”
“That’s a bad word!” Bradley, who’s young and no good in an emergency either, does not help Mav’s brain remember what to do. The fire alarm is beeping wildly and Jesus just needs a second to think. The small kitchen is filled with smoke, he grabs a tea towel and tries to beat the fire. He’s sure that’s what you’re meant to do.
“Bradley, go outside!” It’s far too smoky here for his little lungs.
The little boy darts out the room as Maverick continues his firefighting efforts.
Opening the door into the front yard, Bradley spies Maverick’s neighbour, an elderly woman, Mrs Maze, who’s tending to her garden by the shared fence. She once showed Bradley how to divine water in her back garden. He walks up to the fence to talk to her.
“My kitchen is on fire,” Bradley solemnly tells her.
“Where’s Pete?” She stands up, alarmed.
“He’s inside but I don’t think he knows what he’s doing.”
Mrs Maze drops her secateurs hurriedly on the ground and gestures for Bradley. “Come round to my garden Bradley, quickly. I think we need the fire brigade.”
—
The fire alarm rings, piercing the quiet of the fire station. Fire Captain Tom Kazansky jumps up from his desk and grabs the fax coming from HQ.
“House fire, let's go people!”
The crew move efficiently, rolling out the station doors in just over a minute. Tom jumps in the passenger seat of the cab and instantly announces their departure to fire-com. “Miramar Tanker 1 turning out to smoke reported at 28 Wharf Street, Miramar.”
“Miramar Tanker 1, smoke was reported on scene, called in by a neighbour, believes it's a kitchen fire.”
“Copy, fire-com.”
“Actual house fire?” Ron, his driver jokes. “Or burnt toast?”
Tom shrugs. “Too hard to tell, you know? It’s that time of night that it could be either.”
Either way, it's a turnout on the board for the station. Ever since Tom became Fire Captain seven months ago, he’s been determined to shrink turn out times, and increase the amount of times the station turns out. The previous Captain, Bill Coretell, Cougar as they called him, was a good man. But inevitably, he just lost his edge on the fire ground. He took up a role in the head office to spend more time with his young family.
Tom doesn’t have that. He’s still got everything to give to the station. His father was disappointed he hadn’t followed a more noble pursuit like doctor or lawyer. Being a fire fighter was blue collar, a trade. A commoner's role for the disposable members of the public. Ice saw it as a legacy left in him by his great-great grandfather on his mothers side. Back when it was a noble pursuit.
The reported incident is less than ten minutes away. An elderly woman meets them with a young boy by the front garden.
Tom rushes out of the truck, grabbing his BA gear from the back of the truck and goes to meet the woman.
“My neighbour, this is his boy, he said his kitchen was on fire,” she explains.
From where Tom stands he can see smoke darkening the windows. “Is there anyone inside?”
“My neighbour, he hasn’t come out.’
Tom jumps into action, shoving the apparatus onto his face. “Ron, with me! We have a threat to life.”
Ron nods and quickly fixes his own gear. He turns back to the truck. “One line, two lengths!”
Someone bowls two hoses towards him and he quickly connects the two lengths to form one line of house.
“Water on!” Someone shouts. Another firefighter replaces Ron at the end of the hose and he joins Tom.
“One male in the house,” Tom explains to his lieutenant. He finds the door unlocked and steps inside, expecting to be choked by black smoke.
Whilst the house is awfully smokey, it’s nowhere near as much as a full structure fire would be, nor the heat.
“Hello!” Tom calls into the house. The fire alarm is going off incessantly. Tom almost goes to turn down a hall way, but then;
“Shut up you fucking stupid fucking thing!”
Tom gives Ron a withering look, they both remove their gear.
“I’ll tell them to stand down on the water,” Ron sighs. “What me to give word back?”
“Gimme a minute to make sure.”’
He nods and they part ways. Tom follows the sound of the swearing and finds the kitchen. He watches a man waving a towel around a fire alarm.
“You know,” Tom says, announcing his presence. He drags a chair right below the alarm and climbs up to hit the off switch. “You can always hit the button to turn it off.”
“I was trying,” he snarks.
In all fairness, Tom would later admit. He even had to stretch to reach the ceiling and the man in front of him was definitely not as tall.
The man is wide eyed, clearly frazzled as he truly takes Tom’s presence in for the first time. He turns to look through the window which overlooks the front yard.
“Bradley rang 911?” He asks, horrified.
“No,” Tom steps down. “Your neighbour did.”
He glances around the small kitchen and sees the blackened pan on the stove top. Kraft Mac and Cheese on the counter. “Pan caught fire?”
The man shrugs shyly. Tom can see him fully now. He got on a faded blue hoodie with the trademark bold yellow font declaring NAVY on the front. There’s bags under his eyes, clearly tired. “My neighbour, this is his boy.”
Young dad, Tom’s brain supplies.
“Look, it’s fine. It’s not like you rang 911. Just maybe keep a closer eye on your stove?”
“Mav!” A young voice calls followed by a pattering of footsteps.
Shame disappears from the man’s face as he turns to pick up the young boy who comes hurtling into the kitchen. “The fire department is here.”
“Yeah bud, didn’t expect that to be honest. What’s your mom gonna say?”
“Mav?” Tom queries.
He shrugs. “Maverick. I’m a pilot, it’s my callsign.”
“Oh.”
The adrenaline suddenly drops and it’s just the three of them in that little kitchen, still vaguely smokey. Maverick suddenly looks uncomfortable, he shifts Bradley in his arms.
“Thanks for coming,” he says quietly.
“Of course. It’s our job.” Tom clears his throat and makes to leave. “Stay safe up there.”
“I’ll try.”
There’s something in the man’s tone that strikes Tom as odd. But he has a job to do, so he unzips his jacket and heads out of the house.
—
“Are you going to burn the house again?” Bradley asks as Maverick tucks him into the little trundle bed in the living room. Calling it a house is a bit of an overstatement. Bachelor pad is far closer to the truth. (Thanks for taking down enemy multiple aircraft in the first major dog fight since Vietnam, here’s a bachelor pad as a thank you. Sincerely, US NAVY.)
Mav huffs a tired laugh. “No. And I didn’t even burn it today. The pan just got a bit hot.”
Bradley yawns. “The fire fighter was nice.”
“Yeah, he helped us turn the fire alarm off which was good of him.”
“I want to be a fire fighter when I grow up.”
Maverick smiles a smile that is more relief than humour. Please, be anything you want, kid. Just never get in a plane. “Yeah? That would be pretty cool, huh? Well you can go to sleep and dream about fire trucks. Night kid, you know where I am if you need me.”
“Night, Mav.”
Before he goes to bed, Maverick gives Carole a call. She’ll come pick Bradley up tomorrow morning, provided she’s not totally hung over. Which is a real possibility from the way she sounds on the phone from the hotel room with her friends in the background.
“Room service, Maverick; It’s the best!”
She deserves it. Like hell she deserves it. They talk for a little bit until her friends are waving more wine under her nose, he chooses not to tell her about the fire brigade coming.
The fire captain’s kindness sticks in his mind as he closes his eyes. His good looks too. It’s been so long since Mav went clubbing or even on a date. It’s been such a whirlwind since Goose died and the Layton mission, Charlie and teaching and everything in between. Sex just didn’t even factor into his schedule for a while there.
His grief and guilt have been so all consuming that there was no room for pleasure. But the fire captain’s eyes stick in his brain, the mirthful smile as he switches the fire alarm on. The ease of which he carried a reel of hose over his shoulder…
—-
“What a waste of time,” Ron huffs as he steps down from the fire truck after parking it in its bay at the station.
Tom shrugs. “It’s our job. Besides, he didn’t even call it in, the old lady did.”
Ron hums a noncommittal tone. “Wonder where the mom is.”
“Don’t be such an old man, Kerner. She could be on night shift, you judgy fuck.”
Ron shoves him in response and Tom goes home that night to his own little apartment block. It’s nothing flash but he doesn’t need anything fancy. He’s not bringing anyone home, certainly no one he’s trying to impress.
Hiding his identity is wearing a little thin but what can he do? He thinks of the pilot and wonders what it’d be like to be hiding such a secret in the Navy. Being a gay fire fighter is hard, but at least he’s unlikely to lose his job in such a public and humiliating way if he was uncovered.
Still, the day ends and the next one starts like clockwork. Tom is at the station early, talking to the overnight crew and getting the low down on the night's antics. For some reason, the false alarm yesterday sticks in his mind. Why would a navy man be cooking for his young son alone?
Come to think of it, the house was hardly big enough to have a spare room. It was a true bachelor pad. The whole thing sticks with him far longer than he would have liked, right through to the end of the shift.
Just as the night shift is returning and trickling in, back packs slung over shoulders and fist bumps and energy drinks. Tom sees him, just out the corner of his eye, a slab of beer in his arms, blond little boy running around his legs.
“Hey Navy,” he calls and Mav’s head turns towards the call. A nervous smile on his lips. He walks up to Tom and holds out his arms.
“A friend says this is custom when you have a false alarm with the fire department,” he says sheepishly.
Tom smiles. “C’mon, let's bring it up to the mess room. We keep booze for after late night meetings.”
Maverick and the boy follow him up the stairs to the landing above the station floor.
“Good to know some traditions are interdisciplinary,” Maverick jokes.
“Drinking common in the Navy?”
Maverick laughs. “They tried to abolish it in 1970. It’s called Splicing the Main Brace, you do it after a really, really close call. Not common anymore, but I was a part of it once.”
Tom looks over his shoulder as they climb the steps. “Yeah? What happened?”
There’s a shit eating grin on Maverick’s face. “I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.”
“Bull-shit,” Tom stops and laughs at the top of the staircase.
But Maverick just shrugs. “Honest to God.”
“Honest about what?” Bradley asks, coming to stand by Maverick.
Tom crouches down in front of Bradley with a smile. “You’re dad’s trying to pull my leg.”
Except, the teasing doesn’t have the effect he thought it would. Both Bradley and Maverick go incredibly still. The little boy’s lips downturn slightly. Maverick shuffles the slab in his arms and clears his throat.
Awkwardly, Tom stands back up. “I’m sorry I–”
But Maverick just awkwardly offers the slab, Tom takes it from him.
“Thanks for uh, coming out yesterday,” he says quietly. He ruffles Bradley’s hair and leans down to take his hand. They turn towards the steps and are retreating for Tom even has a clue what just happened.
“What was that?” Beau Simpson, fifth lieutenant, walks up to Tom.
“A thankful citizen – ah, not really. Navy. We turned out to his house yesterday when a neighbour reported smoke.” Tom turns to shove the case of beer into Beau’s arms. “Here, these are for the kitchen.”
He leaves his confused fifth lieutenant behind and races down the stairs, belatedly filled with the need to find out what he did wrong. But by the time he made it down to the car park, there’s no unfamiliar vehicles in sight.
Tom drives home but instantly picks up the phone as soon as he’s inside his apartment. Guilt weighs heavily and he just needs to tell someone about his blunder.
“Kerner.” Ron’s voice crackles down the line.
“It’s me,” Tom says. “I just fucked up I think.”
So he tells Ron what happened, the way both Maverick and the kid went still and silent. Like the light had been drawn out of both of them in an instant.
“You’re over thinking it. Maybe he just felt awkward, or it’s not even his kid. I don’t know why you're caring so much about this guy, Tom.”
“I dunno, Ron. Something was just wrong as soon as I said it. I really messed up.”
It’s quiet as Ron mulls over Tom’s words. “Okay, fair enough. But they’ll move on, so will you.”
Tom lays awake that night, not moving on.
—-
“You’re dad’s trying to pull my leg.”
“You’re dad’s trying to pull my leg.”
“You’re dad’s trying to pull my leg.”
The sentence rattles around Maverick’s mind as he tries to sleep that night. It knocks around every part of his brain and bruised heart. Moreso because Bradley just looked so sad. Little boys aren’t made for sadness. Maverick remembers losing his dad, distantly. A vague memory around the same age as Bradley.
It was a catalyst for his mothers death and everything in his life shut off for years. He hopes to god Bradley doesn’t suffer the same fate.
He tosses and turns in the slightly too warm room. Eventually he gets up to open the window. Viper’s been grilling him about his reporting since he’s been back on shore. The three months teaching was three months too long. Another thing he’s not been very good at lately.
Charlie moved on too; Realising her PhD was better used somewhere else. Not long after, Maverick returned to active deployments. The tensions in the middle east keep rising and rising and he’s certain one day it’s going to pop like a geyser. Maybe that’s his next biggest fear; being away when Carole–
He mashes his head into the window frame, pushing the thought away. Shut up shut up shut up. It all creeps in late at night, the inadequacy, the loneliness, fear, longing. Goose was his rock, his comrade. In his wake, Maverick not only carries his own grief, but all those who grieve Goose now.
He stands up and feels the cool change coming in on the breeze before slumping back onto his bed and eventually, finding some sleep in amongst the dreams.
“Maverick,” Viper raps on the door to his office. Usually there's a few other Lieutenant Commanders sharing the space but today it’s empty save for Maverick and his mountain of reporting that feels harder and harder to face as his life outside the Navy demands more of his attention. “Got a minute?”
He stands tiredly. “Always, sir.”
His commander takes a seat at a nearby desk and holds his hands in his lap, looking thoughtful for a moment. “Work out what you’re going to get out of this shore tour? You washed out of teaching, training new squads is only getting you so far.”
Maverick sighs a deep, tired, unbecoming noise. “I don’t know, sir. Right now I can’t see beyond this paperwork. Goose’s wife is — well she’s sick.”
“That’s awful. That family has been through a lot,” Viper speaks sincerely, carefully. “Is she going to be alright?”
“I don’t know to be honest,” Maverick says quietly. “I hope so, but…hope doesn’t make miracles does it?”
Viper sighs. “No son, it does not.”
Somehow, more reports are finished, a training session is run with his squad, and before Maverick can really think too hard; The day is over. Although the weight of the world is heavy, routines form in spite of it all.
Since returning to shore, he’s picked up running again. The pounding of rubber soles against the pavement is rhythmic enough to keep the voices away. As soon as he’s unlocked the front door and got changed into jogging wear, Maverick is back out the front door again.
Walkmans are all the rage right now but he’s not seen the appeal yet. He likes his senses sharp, not obscured as he darts through crowds. The early evening hubbub of Miramar's night life makes it hard to run in a straight line as he traverses the crowds.
“Sorry!” He throws over his shoulder as he side steps a group of teenagers. But just as Maverick returns to his line, he collides with something solid enough that he bounces off to land in a heap on the ground. He winces feeling the reverb in his shoulders “Fuck.”
“Shit, sorry man. Didn’t see you there.”
Maverick takes the hand that’s in front of him. Whoever owns it easily pulls him to his feet so hard he nearly bounces. He looks at his obstacle.
“Tom?”
“Maverick, funny running into you here…” The fire captain tries to joke, clearly feeling guilty. “Sorry, I just didn’t see you coming.”
“No, no. I totally wasn’t looking where I was going.”
Tom pauses for a second, a half formed sentence on his mind. “Look, Maverick. I’m sorry I overstepped the other day. I just assumed…”
The bustle of the crowd disappears around them as it just becomes the two of them and those words over and over and over again.
“You’re dad’s trying to pull my leg.”
“It’s okay, Tom. Really. Bradley’s dad, he died almost two years ago.” He isn’t sure why he’s telling Tom this in the middle of a busy street, but the words are coming to him easier than they’ve ever come before. Maybe Tom just has that effect on people. “I’m Bradley’s godfather, I was looking after him that night as his mother was getting some time with her friends.”
Tom’s face falls in response to his words. “Shit Maverick, I’m so sorry. You guys must have been very close.”
“We were. Carole and I still are but…Anyway. Sorry, you really didn’t need my sob story in the middle of your run.”
But Tom shrugs with a smile. “It’s fine. I don’t know about you but I’ve been standing around too long.” He nods at the sleepy pool bar across the street. “Fancy a beer?”
So that's how Maverick and Tom wound up sitting on the balcony of the bar, with a beer each overlooking the sinking sun.
“How did you and Bradley’s parents meet?” Tom asks.
A soft smile floats across Mav’s face. “His dad, Goose, was my Radar Intercept Officer. He was my first one out of flight school and we just clicked. Everywhere I went, he went; Everywhere he went, I went. It was inevitable I met his wife, Carole. And before long Bradley was born.”
“It’s a nice story,” says Tom quietly. He hesitates though, an uncertain look flickering across his face. Maverick recognizes that expression.
“It’s okay,” he assures him. “You can ask how he died.”
Tom clears his throat awkwardly. “How did he die?”
“He died in a training accident. I was the pilot.” The words are rehearsed and blunt. It’s clearly not what Tom was expecting to hear. “We were at TOPGUN, right here. I got caught in the jetwash of another aircraft. My plane went into an unrecoverable flat spin. We ejected but the canopy got stuck and hit him.”
“Oh jeez, Maverick. That’s awful.”
“It is,” Mav agrees simply. “Still living with it every day.”
Quiet falls over them for a minute. The heaviness Mav was trying to out run creeps back in on him.
“Early in my career,” Tom says suddenly in a small voice. “Our brigade was on scene at a warehouse fire. A beam above me and my crew leader fell. I was too slow to respond and he ran to push me away. It fell on him and cost him his leg and caused burns to forty percent of his body as it was molten hot. It didn’t kill him, but I feel like I ruined his life forever.” He sighs. “I know I didn’t kill him, but I still feel guilty.”
Tom speaks so honestly that it takes Maverick by surprise. It’s funny how a little truth brings a lot of truth. The art of sharing secrets.
“I get it,” Mav tells him. “You can’t shake the ‘woulda-coulda-shoulda’. Shitty things happen and you can’t change it. You just learn to live with it.”
Tom steals a glance at him. “Figured out how to do that yet?” His voice is small.
Mav gives him a wry smile. “No. Not yet. Still trying to work that one out.”
—-
That night, Tom walks home with Maverick’s phone number burning a hole in his pocket. He started to hold it but his hands are sweating so badly it’s making the ink run on the paper napkin. In his chest his heart beats slightly too quickly.
Maybe it’s because he’s revealed a guilt he’s only ever shared with Ron. But maybe it’s the way Maverick smiled at him gently, eyes tired but lighting up with fondness as he recalled his fallen comrade.
Whatever it was, it makes Tom quicken his step as he returns home. Already he is thinking of proper reasons to call Maverick. None of them are that good, but perhaps a simple hello will do the trick.
Sharing secrets with Maverick felt so wrong but so right. Addictive. Above all else; Easy. So easy, a dangerous part of him wonders if he could even–
Tom shakes his head to physically brush those thoughts away as he steps inside his flat. It doesn’t work like that for people like him. Maverick isn’t like him.
The phone rings on the wall.
Abandoning the napkin on the kitchen table, Tom picks up the phone.
“Kazansky.”
“Tom?”
“Maverick!” He winces as he hears the elation in his voice. “How-how’s it going?”
“Just about the same as when I saw you an hour ago,” he teases.
Tom laughs. “You rang me.”
Silence. A nervous chuckle. “I did, huh. Just checking the number works.”
“I wouldn’t have given you a fake number,” Tom’s voice is low as he speaks. Maverick doesn’t respond straight away, but then;
“I was hoping you hadn’t.”
Not long later, Tom has showered and is in his car.
—-
Ron takes one look at Tom as he walks into the break room. “You dog,” he drawls.
Tom ducks his head. “Shut up Kerner.” He knows without a doubt a red glow is creeping up his neck.
“Who?”
“No one.”
Ron throws an apple core at his head, Tom dodges and it lands in the bin behind him.
“Ha.”
His lieutenant flips him the bird. “You ditch our plans last night and now you show up to work looking like the guy who in the last eight hours got his rocks off. Gonna share with the class?”
Tom shakes his head with a wry smile, stashing his back pack. “I’m not giving you any mental porn.”
“You wound me, Kazansky.”
“Good.”
Ron catches his shoulder before Tom can walk past. “Hey, you’re good though, yeah?”
Of everyone Tom has kept this secret from, it was never Ron. Not for a long time anyway. Guilt curdles in his chest, but he reminds himself that he is not the only player in this game. Being a fire fighter means working with conservative old croaks and those who consider themselves ‘old guard’. The secret Tom keeps is far greater for Maverick. There’s anti-discrimination laws that at least protect Tom to a degree. But in a strong Naval town, it is no secret of the weight that must be on Maverick’s shoulders.
Sneaking around doesn’t just mean hiding from the neighbours, it means hiding from his work, his superiors. It means hiding from his friends, his comrades.
Tom doesn’t have to hide like that from Ron. Not all the time.
“I’m good. Promise.”
He squeezes his shoulder, expression softening. “Okay. Okay.”
—-
There’s a knock at the door which sends a bolt of anxiety through Maverick’s mind. Is this a good idea? Should he be doing this?
Sex is one thing. A one night stand is one thing. But this time Tom is coming to his house. For dinner. For a date.
A dinner date. In his house. His house! With Tom. He’s going to be sick, or run away, or something.
Instead of doing any of those things, Maverick forces himself to answer the door. Every step he takes feels heavy, his own heartbeat echoing in his ears. But when he opens the door and Tom stands there, it all disappears. The sun is setting behind him, turning his blond tips almost white in the light.
“Hi,” Mav says.
Tom smiles, tanned face splitting open with white teeth and cheerful eyes. “Hey. Burn the house down yet?”
Maverick laughs, the nerves dissipating. “Yeah actually, the kitchen is on fire right now if you wanna go deal with that?”
Tom snorts and Mav lets him in. He passes so close that Maverick can smell the cologne on his skin. In the kitchen, he leans against the bench top as Mav finishes cooking and plates up the food. It’s not quite a candle lit dinner, but it’s not far from it with the red wine and table cloth.
“How’s work?” Asks Tom as he pours the wine.
Maverick can’t help but pull a face. “Like following a ghost.” He shakes his head, retracting his words. “No, it’s okay. It’s just…The Navy never stops. There’s always something. Miramar is the last place I saw Goose, so it’s hard not to see him around every corner.”
Tom hums sympathetically. “That’s gotta be hard. What’s got you so busy at the moment?”
Maverick tells him about the reports, the pressure to move up the ranks and forge a path.
“I’ve considered being a test pilot, but I’ll miss the boats. Although being close to land would be helpful.” Tom gives him a curious look and he explains the tragedy of Carole’s sickness.
A mournful look rests on Tom’s features, he says that’s awful and Maverick just agrees like it’s a fact. The same way the sky is blue and grass is green. In turn, he asks Tom about family and Tom does the same. Before he can stop himself, he’s telling Tom about how hard it is to forge a path of your own when you’ve got more than one ghost in the closet.
Together they share secrets and tragedies as they eat and drink and the radio plays softly in the background. Maverick learns that like him, Tom was a parentless child. Except instead of being an orphan, his parents were alive and well. After two children they didn’t want to parent a third.
The accident, Tom brands himself. “At least they were alive, I shouldn’t really complain.”
“No,” Maverick admonishes. “That still sucks. You can make up fake stories about your parents and put them on a pedestal when you’ve got nothing to go off; But you can’t rewrite the bad memories when they’re real.”
The radio keeps playing softly as the shells of two men slowly crack open.
Tom’s hands snake around his waist as Maverick washes the dishes, chin resting on his shoulder. The pilot melts into the touch. For the first time in a long time, time doesn’t drag but it does stand still. The voices in his brain silenced with the warmth of Tom’s body against his own, secure grip around his hips.
“You okay?” Tom checks when he’s realised Maverick’s hands stop moving in the soapy water.
He shushes him gently. “Let me have this,” he whispers, eyes half lidded. “Just let this be.”
“Okay,” Tom murmurs. His grip tightens ever so slightly, lips tracing Maverick ear. Smiling as he noses the black stud. “Rebel.”
Maverick leans back into the touch. “Hidden it for years,” he mutters. “Hidden a lot.”
Tom breathes deeply. “Yeah. I feel that.”
In his arms, Maverick turns around and laces his fingers around Tom’s neck. “I don’t want to hide from you.”
“You don’t have to. It’s just me, it’s always just me.”
—
Maverick is trying to do it right. He’s trying to be a good friend, a good godfather, a good pilot, a good boyfriend. He’s trying to be a good soldier, he’s trying to be good at grief. It’s not easy trying to be everything all at once.
It’s not easy holding Carol’s hand during chemotherapy. But Tom is down the street with Bradley at the arcade.
It’s not easy leaving for months to lead a squad of pilots he’s never met. But Tom is there in the dock when he returns, his jacket around Carole’s shoulders to fight off the winter chill.
It’s not easy trying to parent a kid that was never his to keep for more than a few hours at a time. But Tom is there, always.
It’s not easy watching Tom come home smelling of smoke with fever and a cough that rattles around after a long night fighting a warehouse fire in the middle of winter. But Tom takes leave for the first time in a long time and lets Maverick care for him.
None of it is easy. Some of it is really fucking hard. There are arguments and screaming matches that end in hoarse voices and tears and sex and sorry’s. Tom is a saint but even he has his limits.
“Are you even trying?”
“I’m trying all the fucking time! I’m fucking trying, Tom.”
But some, no…a lot of it is so good he can’t believe he got so lucky.
For the first time though, Maverick isn’t alone in any of it.
Not now, not ever again.