Chapter Text
The first person to discover that Jake Seresin was pregnant was Jake Seresin.
The second was Jet.
This was unfortunate, because the small black-and-white cat possessed neither tact nor any respect for classified information.
Jake sat on the closed toilet lid at five in the morning, elbows braced on his knees and three positive tests lined up on the edge of the sink. Dawn had not yet softened the dark window. The house was quiet except for the distant hum of the refrigerator and the rough little purr coming from between his ankles.
He stared at those six pink lines as if they were enemy aircraft on radar.
Positive.
Positive.
Positive.
There was no clever maneuver that could change them.
Jet rose onto his hind legs and planted his front paws against Jake’s shin. His tuxedo markings made him look absurdly formal for an intruder in a private crisis: white chest, white mittens, one white slash beside his nose. Maverick had brought him home from the shelter seven months earlier, claiming the cat had “Jake’s attitude and Ice’s judgmental stare.” Jake had denied being charmed for exactly four minutes.
“Don’t,” Jake whispered.
Jet meowed.
“I mean it. This is need-to-know.”
Jet hooked one tiny claw into Jake’s pajama pants and climbed.
“Traitor.”
Jake lifted him automatically. Instead of settling against his chest, Jet wriggled down into his lap, circled twice, and pressed his warm body against Jake’s lower stomach. The purr deepened at once.
Jake stopped breathing.
The omega inside him, usually disciplined beneath years of training and stubborn pride, reacted before the naval aviator could. Something in his chest loosened. His scent—cedar, clean wind, and the faint bite of citrus—softened around the edges.
Jet kneaded once, carefully, then curled into a tight protective comma.
“You can’t know,” Jake told him.
The cat closed his green eyes.
“You have a brain the size of a walnut.”
Jet purred harder.
Jake looked back at the tests. Terror and wonder tangled until he could no longer tell one from the other.
He had wanted this.
That was the part he was afraid to say aloud.
He and Maverick had talked about children in the unfinished, distant way people discussed a shore posting or a house with a larger yard. Someday. Maybe. After the next deployment. When things were calmer. Maverick had always smiled when Jake mentioned it, but there had been shadows beneath that smile: Goose, Bradley, all the people Maverick loved enough to fear losing.
And Jake had his own shadows.
He had spent his entire career proving that being an omega did not make him fragile, unreliable, or better suited to a desk. He had learned to swallow nausea during hard turns, to ignore every superior who asked whether his biology might become a “readiness concern,” and to fly so well that nobody could pretend not to see him.
Pregnancy would change everything, at least for a while. Flight status. Deployment. The way people looked at him.
Maybe the way Maverick looked at him.
The bedroom floor creaked.
Jet’s ears turned toward the door.
“Jake?” Maverick’s sleep-rough voice carried down the hall. “You okay?”
Panic snapped through him.
Jake swept the tests into their cardboard box, shoved it into the back of the cabinet beneath a stack of towels, and stood so quickly that Jet gave an offended chirp.
“Fine!”
The bathroom door opened a crack. Maverick appeared with silver-streaked hair pointing in six directions, an old Navy T-shirt hanging from one shoulder, and concern already sharpening his green eyes.
“You’ve been in here twenty minutes.”
“Have you been timing me?”
“No.” Maverick leaned against the frame. “Jet deserted me, and the bed got cold.”
The cat leaped from Jake’s arms and marched straight to Maverick. For one horrifying second, Jake imagined him leading Mav to the cabinet like some furry narc.
Instead, Jet head-butted Maverick’s ankle and returned to Jake, winding around his legs.
Maverick’s gaze followed him. Then it lifted to Jake’s face.
“You’re pale.”
“It’s five in the morning.”
“You smell different.”
Jake’s pulse stumbled. Alphas had heightened scent recognition, and Maverick knew his better than anyone. He knew when Jake was furious before Jake raised his voice, when nightmares had followed him out of sleep, when heat was approaching despite suppressants.
But apparently pregnancy was still too new, too subtle.
Maverick stepped closer and touched the back of two fingers to Jake’s forehead. The gesture was so gentle that Jake nearly broke on the spot.
“No fever,” Mav murmured. “Nauseous?”
“Just tired.” Jake caught his wrist and kissed the center of his palm, using affection as misdirection. “Go back to bed, old man.”
Maverick narrowed his eyes. “You’re hiding something.”
“Yeah. Your birthday present.”
“My birthday was three months ago.”
“That explains why shipping is taking so long.”
Maverick laughed, quiet and helpless, and Jake felt both reprieved and miserable.
“Come on,” Mav said. “One more hour.”
He took Jake’s hand. Jake let himself be led back to their room, while Jet trotted behind them like a guard assigned to a particularly incompetent dignitary.
Maverick climbed beneath the blankets and opened an arm. Jake settled against his side. He expected Jet to claim his normal place on Maverick’s chest.
The cat stepped over Mav without apology, crossed Jake’s ribs, and curled directly over his stomach.
Maverick blinked.
Jake stared at the ceiling.
“New favorite spot?” Mav asked.
“Apparently.”
Jet placed one white paw possessively on Jake’s shirt.
Maverick scratched beneath the cat’s chin. “You taking care of him for me, Lieutenant?”
Jet purred.
Jake closed his eyes and told himself he would confess that evening.
He did not.
⸻
For the next four days, Jake became a man hunted by a six-pound tuxedo cat.
Jet had always been affectionate, though selectively. He enjoyed Maverick’s lap during movies, Jake’s shoulder whenever Jake attempted to work on his laptop, and any clean uniform laid flat for longer than three seconds. Now his entire world revolved around Jake’s abdomen.
When Jake sat at the kitchen table, Jet jumped into his lap and curled over the slight warmth beneath his navel. When Jake stretched on the couch, Jet stationed himself on his stomach. When Jake rolled away at night, Jet climbed over him and resettled. Once, when Maverick reached across Jake to grab the alarm clock, Jet slapped his hand.
“Did my own cat just deny me access to my omega?” Maverick demanded.
Jake buried his face in the pillow to hide his expression. “Maybe he finally developed standards.”
Jet also began inspecting everything Jake consumed.
He sniffed Jake’s coffee on Monday morning, sneezed, and shoved his paw against the mug until it nearly tipped.
“Hey!”
Maverick caught it in time. “He’s right. That stuff could strip paint.”
“You made it.”
“Exactly. I know what’s in it.”
The smell turned Jake’s stomach before he could take a sip. He pushed the mug away and reached for dry toast.
Maverick’s teasing smile faded. “Still nauseous?”
“Bad batch of takeout.”
“We ate the same thing.”
“Stronger stomach.”
“You threw up after that carnival ride.”
“That machine was assembled by teenagers.”
“You fly experimental aircraft for fun.”
“They’re maintained by professionals.”
Jet climbed onto Jake’s lap and purred against him.
Maverick watched the cat. Then he watched Jake.
Jake took too large a bite of toast.
At work, hiding the secret was easier. He had reported his condition confidentially to the flight surgeon the morning after the tests, because fear did not make him reckless. The doctor confirmed the pregnancy, estimated him at nearly six weeks, and temporarily grounded him pending the formal medical plan.
Jake walked out of the office carrying a packet titled Pregnancy and Aviation Duty beneath his jacket and a small ultrasound photograph tucked into his wallet.
The image showed almost nothing—a tiny curve surrounded by gray static. Jake had stared at it in his truck until the lines blurred.
“That’s you,” he had whispered, pressing one thumb to the photograph. “You’re really in there.”
His commanding officer accepted “temporary medical restriction” without demanding details, but the Dagger squad was less respectful.
“You dying?” Rooster asked when Jake remained behind during the morning hop.
“Disappointed?”
“I need to know whether I can have your motorcycle.”
“You’d kill yourself before leaving the parking lot.”
Phoenix studied Jake across the ready room. Unlike Rooster, she did not joke. Her nose flared almost imperceptibly, beta instincts catching what ordinary senses might miss.
Jake gave her a warning look.
She raised both hands and said nothing.
Later, she cornered him beside the vending machines.
“Does Maverick know?”
Jake’s shoulders went rigid. “There’s nothing to know.”
“Right.” Phoenix folded her arms. “And Jet’s Instagram suddenly has six posts about nursery furniture because he developed an interest in interior design.”
Jake pulled out his phone.
Maverick managed Jet’s account, which had started as a joke and somehow attracted twenty thousand followers. The newest post showed Jet sitting inside a display crib at a department store. The caption read: Testing structural integrity. For tactical reasons.
Jake nearly dropped the phone.
“Why were they looking at cribs?”
“Maybe Mav knows,” Phoenix said.
Cold swept through him. “He would have said something.”
“Would he? You haven’t.”
The words landed harder than she intended. Her expression softened.
“Jake, you don’t have to tell me anything. But you look like you haven’t slept in a week.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re terrified.”
He looked toward the ready-room door, checking that they were alone.
“What if he doesn’t want this?” he asked at last.
Phoenix’s eyebrows rose. “Maverick? The man who tried to adopt a stray cat through the locked window of a restaurant?”
“A cat isn’t a baby.”
“No. A baby will probably be easier to reason with.”
Jake almost smiled.
Phoenix stepped closer. “He loves you.”
“That doesn’t mean he’s ready.”
“Are you?”
Jake’s hand moved toward his stomach before he stopped it. “No.”
The answer hurt. He tried again.
“Yes. Maybe. I don’t know.” His voice dropped. “I already love them. That’s the problem.”
Phoenix’s face gentled completely. “That isn’t a problem.”
“It gives me something to lose.”
“You already have plenty to lose, Bagman. So does everybody who loves anyone.” She squeezed his shoulder. “Go home and tell him before your cat rents a billboard.”
Jake promised he would.
He meant it.
But that night, Maverick came home carrying a cardboard box filled with Ice’s old photographs. He sat cross-legged on the living-room floor, smiling painfully as he showed Jake a picture of himself and Goose at twenty-four, young and invincible beside their jet.
“He would’ve liked you,” Mav said.
“Goose?”
“Yeah. He would’ve talked your ear off. Then Carole would’ve fed you until you surrendered.” Maverick traced the faded edge of the photograph. “Sometimes I think about how young they were when they had Bradley. How sure Goose was that he’d make it home.”
The old grief in his scent was unmistakable: leather, jet fuel, and a thread of winter rain.
Jake’s prepared confession died behind his teeth.
Instead, he sat beside Maverick and leaned against him. Jet climbed into Jake’s lap, as predictable as sunrise.
Maverick looked down.
The cat spread himself over Jake’s belly and glared at anyone who might challenge his claim.
“He’s being weird,” Mav said.
“He’s always weird.”
“This is a new weird.”
Jake picked up another photograph. “Is that Rooster wearing a saucepan?”
The distraction worked, but only for a moment.
Maverick’s gaze remained on Jet.
⸻
On Saturday morning, Jake woke alone.
Maverick’s side of the bed was cool, and the house smelled faintly of pancakes. Jet sat beside Jake’s pillow, waiting. The moment Jake opened his eyes, the cat meowed and walked toward his stomach.
“You’re obsessed.”
Jet carefully stepped onto him.
Jake winced.
The pressure was light, but a cramp had been bothering him since before dawn. The doctor had warned him that mild cramping could be normal. He knew that. Logic did not prevent fear from crawling up his throat.
Jet froze. His ears flattened.
“I’m okay.” Jake placed a hand beneath the cat. “We’re okay.”
Jet sniffed his fingers, then jumped off the bed and raced from the room.
“Snitch,” Jake muttered.
A minute later, hurried footsteps approached.
Maverick entered holding a spatula like a weapon, with Jet at his heels.
“What happened?”
“Nothing happened.”
“Jet screamed at me.”
“He meows.”
“That was not a meow. That was a general alarm.” Maverick set the spatula on the dresser and sat beside Jake. “Talk to me.”
“I slept wrong.”
Mav’s jaw tightened. “You’ve been sick all week. You barely touch coffee. You’re exhausted. You’re not flying, and every time I ask why, you turn it into a joke.”
Jake sat up too quickly. The room tilted.
Maverick caught him by the shoulders. A distressed alpha sound vibrated low in his chest before he could suppress it.
Jet leaped onto the bed and pressed against Jake’s hip.
“Easy,” Mav said. “Breathe.”
“I am breathing.”
“You’re shaking.”
“I’m fine.”
“Stop saying that!”
Maverick’s voice cracked like a canopy breaking loose.
Jake went still.
Mav immediately released him and leaned back, horrified by his own volume. “I’m sorry. Jake, I’m sorry. But I know something is wrong, and you won’t let me help.”
The pain in his expression cut through every defense Jake had built.
“Nothing is wrong,” Jake whispered.
“Then what is it?”
Jake opened his mouth.
Tell him.
His heart thundered. His palms were damp. He had faced missiles with steadier nerves.
Jet made the decision for him.
The cat stepped between them, turned in a circle, and settled firmly across Jake’s lower abdomen. Then he stretched one white paw toward Maverick and released a demanding chirp.
Mav stared.
Jet kneaded the blanket once and tucked his nose against Jake’s stomach.
Something changed in Maverick’s face.
His gaze moved from the cat to Jake’s untouched glass of wine on the nightstand, left there from the evening before. To the bottle of prenatal vitamins Jake had stupidly placed behind the lamp instead of returning to the bathroom cabinet. To Jake’s hand, curved unconsciously around Jet and the life beneath him.
Maverick inhaled slowly.
His pupils widened.
Jake knew the instant the pieces aligned.
“Jake,” he breathed.
Jake’s throat closed.
Maverick’s eyes dropped to his stomach. “Are you—”
Jet purred with the smugness of a detective presenting conclusive evidence.
“Pregnant?” Maverick finished.
There it was.
The secret existed outside Jake now, fragile and enormous between them.
Jake nodded once.
Maverick did not move.
The silence lasted perhaps three seconds. Jake experienced every one of them as a separate disaster.
He pulled his knees toward himself, dislodging Jet, and words spilled out before Mav could speak.
“It wasn’t planned—not right now, I mean. I’m six weeks, almost seven. I saw the flight surgeon, and everything looks fine. I’ve been grounded temporarily, but I can request reassignment, and I know this changes things. If you don’t want—”
“Stop.”
Jake’s breath caught.
Maverick’s face had gone pale. “Don’t finish that sentence.”
“Mav—”
“You think I don’t want our baby?”
Jake searched his expression. “I didn’t know.”
The hurt that crossed Maverick’s face was immediate, but he did not turn it into anger. He moved carefully, as if approaching a frightened animal, and knelt on the floor beside the bed so that Jake sat above him.
“May I touch you?” he asked.
Jake’s eyes burned. He nodded.
Maverick took both his hands. His thumbs moved over Jake’s knuckles, warm and steady.
“I want this,” Mav said. “I want you. I want this baby. I’m scared out of my mind, but that’s not the same as not wanting them.”
Jake looked down at their joined hands. “You never said.”
“Neither did you.”
There was no accusation in it, only truth.
Jake swallowed. “I didn’t want you to feel trapped.”
“Jake, I followed you across three states because you texted me a picture of a house and wrote, ‘The garage might fit your bike.’ I chose trapped.”
A wet laugh escaped Jake.
Maverick smiled shakily. “You should’ve seen me signing that mortgage. Happiest hostage in California.”
Jet inserted himself between their hands with a loud meow.
Maverick exhaled and scratched behind his ears. “And apparently we already hired security.”
Jake’s laugh fractured into a sob.
Maverick rose at once, but he did not crowd him. “Can I hold you?”
Jake answered by reaching for him.
Mav climbed onto the bed and gathered him close. Jake pressed his face against Maverick’s neck, breathing in the scent of home beneath soap and pancake batter. A deep, soothing alpha rumble filled Maverick’s chest. He rarely used it—Jake disliked instincts being used to manage him—but now it wrapped around Jake without command or pressure, only comfort.
“I’m sorry,” Jake whispered.
“No.” Maverick kissed his temple. “You were scared. I’m sorry you were scared alone.”
“I kept trying to tell you.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t. I was going to tell you Tuesday. Then Wednesday. Then last night.”
“What happened last night?”
“You showed me Goose.”
Maverick understood. Jake felt it in the way his arms tightened.
“Oh, sweetheart.”
The endearment undid him. Jake clutched the back of Mav’s shirt.
“You’ve lost so many people,” he said. “I thought maybe this would feel like one more person you had to be afraid for.”
“It does.” Maverick’s honesty made Jake lift his head. Mav brushed moisture from beneath his eyes. “I will be afraid for both of you. Probably every day. But fear doesn’t get to make my decisions anymore.”
Jake studied him.
“I learned that too late with Bradley,” Maverick continued. “I tried to protect him by controlling his future. I nearly lost him because of it. I won’t do that to you, and I won’t do it to our child.”
“What if I can’t fly?”
“For a while, or ever?”
Jake flinched. Maverick squeezed his hands.
“Those are different problems,” Mav said. “For a while, we make a plan. If there are complications, we make another plan. But nobody gets to decide you’re finished before you do—not the Navy, not me, and definitely not Cyclone.”
“He’ll have opinions.”
“He always does. Most of them improve when ignored.”
Jake gave him a watery smile.
Maverick’s gaze lowered, reverent now. “Is the baby okay? You were hurting.”
“Mild cramping. The doctor said it can be normal.”
“Can be?”
“Mav.”
“I’m calm.”
“Your eye is twitching.”
“That’s age.”
Jake snorted.
“Have you seen them?” Maverick asked. “The baby, I mean.”
Jake hesitated. Then he reached for his wallet on the nightstand and removed the folded ultrasound print.
Maverick accepted it with both hands.
His entire expression transformed.
“That’s our baby?”
“That smudge right there.”
“They’re tiny.”
“They’re six weeks old.”
“Still. Very tiny.” Maverick touched the edge of the image, careful not to cover it. His eyes glistened. “You carried this around by yourself?”
“I didn’t know where else to put it.”
“Next time, you put it in my hand.”
Jake’s breath shook.
“Next time,” he agreed.
Maverick looked at him. “There’s going to be a next time? Another appointment?”
“In two weeks.”
“I’m coming.”
“You have training.”
“I have leave.”
“You hate taking leave.”
“I’ve been saving it for something important.”
Jake’s omega instincts unfurled at the certainty in his voice. His scent filled the room, warmer now, cedar sweetened by orange blossoms. Maverick inhaled and visibly softened.
Jet crawled onto Jake’s lap again, apparently satisfied that the interrogation had ended. He pressed his ear to Jake’s belly.
Maverick frowned at him. “You knew.”
Jet blinked.
“For days.”
Another blink.
“And you didn’t tell me.”
“He tried,” Jake said. “Repeatedly.”
“The coffee. The stomach sleeping. The crib.”
Jake narrowed his eyes. “Yes, why were you looking at cribs?”
Maverick suddenly found the ultrasound fascinating. “We took a wrong turn in the store.”
“You posted six pictures.”
“Jet was evaluating the merchandise.”
“Pete.”
Maverick rubbed the back of his neck. “I may have suspected something.”
Jake stared at him. “Since when?”
“Thursday.”
“Thursday?”
“You cried at a dog-food commercial.”
“The dog found his way home.”
“You don’t like dogs.”
“That one had emotional depth.”
Maverick’s smile turned tender. “Your scent changed. Barely. I wasn’t sure, and I didn’t want to push you.”
“So you went crib shopping with the cat?”
“I panicked constructively.”
Jake laughed again, this time without tears.
Maverick placed the ultrasound safely on the nightstand and rested his palm near Jake’s stomach, but not on it.
“May I?”
Jake covered Mav’s hand with his own and guided it beneath Jet’s indignant tail.
There was no movement to feel, no outward sign of the life hidden inside him. Still, Maverick’s face filled with such naked wonder that Jake’s last fear finally cracked.
“Hi,” Mav whispered to the baby. “I’m your dad. One of them. The irresponsible one, according to your Uncle Bradley.”
“He’s not their uncle.”
“Tell him that. I dare you.”
Jake considered it. “Fair point.”
Maverick stroked his thumb once across Jake’s shirt. “You and your dad scared ten years off my life this week.”
Jake arched an eyebrow. “I’m Dad?”
“Unless you prefer something else.”
The simple assumption—that Jake would be there, that the baby would know him, that they were already a family—made his chest ache pleasantly.
“Dad is good,” he said.
Jet pushed his head beneath Maverick’s palm.
“And you,” Maverick told him, “are a shameless little informant.”
Jet licked his wrist.
⸻
The pancakes burned.
Maverick insisted they were salvageable. Jake insisted charcoal did not become food merely because it had once contained blueberries. They compromised by ordering breakfast and spending the waiting time on the couch beneath every blanket in the house.
Maverick brought Jake water, crackers, the prenatal vitamins, two pillows, and a bowl “in case of emergency.” Then he sat on the floor with his phone, making a list.
“Number one,” he said, “call the doctor about the cramps.”
“If they get worse.”
“Call now and ask whether waiting is appropriate.”
Jake sighed, but nodded.
“Number two, find out what you can eat.”
“Food.”
“That seems broad.”
“There’s a packet in my flight bag.”
Maverick fetched it at near-supersonic speed. He read every page, frowning at the list of foods to avoid.
“No raw fish?”
“Correct.”
“You love sushi.”
“I love the baby more.”
They both fell quiet.
The words had come easily this time.
Maverick moved from the floor to the couch and kissed Jake slowly. No urgency, no demand—just a promise pressed gently to his mouth.
“Me too,” Mav whispered.
Jet, trapped between them, voiced a loud complaint.
“And we love you,” Jake told him.
The cat climbed over Maverick and returned to his post on Jake’s stomach.
“We need boundaries,” Mav said.
“You brought him home.”
“I didn’t know I was recruiting a bodyguard.”
“A very good bodyguard.”
“He weighs six pounds.”
Jet narrowed his green eyes.
Maverick lowered his voice. “A terrifying six pounds.”
Jake leaned into him, letting Maverick’s arm settle around his shoulders. Outside, the California morning brightened the windows. Inside, the house felt subtly altered, as if the future had entered during the night and rearranged the furniture while they slept.
There would be difficult conversations. Forms. Medical appointments. Changes to their schedules and their careers. There would be fear, because love did not erase it.
But Jake no longer carried the fear alone.
Maverick rested his cheek against Jake’s hair. “What do you need from me?”
It was not What are we going to do? or How will this affect us? It was not even Why didn’t you tell me?
What do you need?
Jake thought about it.
“Don’t treat me like I’m made of glass.”
“Okay.”
“Don’t tell the squad yet.”
“Not until you’re ready.”
“Come to the appointment.”
“Nothing could stop me.”
Jake glanced down at Jet. “And maybe keep him from walking directly on my bladder for the next eight months.”
Maverick considered the cat, who stared back with the confidence of an admiral.
“I can try,” he said carefully.
“Coward.”
“I know when I’m outmatched.”
Jake smiled and closed his eyes.
Maverick’s palm settled over his stomach again, beside Jet’s white paws. One hand warm and broad, one tiny body vibrating with a purr. Jake laid his own hand over both.
For the first time since he had seen those pink lines, the future did not resemble an approaching storm.
It looked like this: Maverick beside him, Jet guarding the smallest member of their family, and a baby already loved beyond reason.
⸻
Two weeks later, Maverick cried at the ultrasound.
He attempted to deny it while wiping both cheeks.
“Allergies,” he said.
“In a medical examination room?” Jake asked.
“Very dusty.”
The technician smiled and tactfully turned back to the monitor.
The heartbeat filled the room, rapid and astonishing.
Jake’s fingers tightened around Maverick’s. Mav lifted their joined hands to his mouth and kissed Jake’s knuckles.
“That’s them?” he whispered.
“That’s your baby,” the technician confirmed.
Their baby.
On the drive home, Maverick stopped at a pet store and bought Jet a black collar printed with tiny gold stars. A round tag hung from the front.
Jake read the engraving and laughed until his eyes watered.
JET
GUARDIAN OF BABY SERESIN-MITCHELL
“That surname is going to start a war,” Jake warned.
“We can negotiate it.”
“And the title?”
“Nonnegotiable.”
At home, Jet accepted the collar as his due. Then he leaped onto the couch, waited for Jake to sit, and curled over the still-flat curve of his stomach.
Maverick lowered himself beside them and held up the newest ultrasound photograph.
“We should tell him the promotion comes with responsibilities.”
“He already wakes me at four, supervises every meal, and attacks anyone who touches me.” Jake stroked the cat’s silky back. “He’s overqualified.”
Jet opened one eye, satisfied.
Maverick bent to kiss Jake’s temple and then, with solemn care, the place where their child was growing.
“Good work, Lieutenant,” he told the cat.
Jet’s purr rumbled beneath his cheek.
Jake looked at them—his reckless alpha, his ridiculous tuxedo guardian, his unexpected and deeply wanted baby—and felt peace settle where fear had lived.
The secret was out.
The baby was safe.
And Jet was on watch.