Archive of Our Own

          Maverick's first thought when he wakes up in a grass field, chunks of the smoldering wreckage of the Darkstar a few meters away, is that Ice is going to kill him for real this time. The rest of the plane could be miles from here. Recovery of the classified equipment will take days, and who knows how long he's been out here already. Ah, hell. Iceman, nothing. Bradley is going to be pissed when he gets the phone call from the Navy declaring him MIA. That kid has a nose for his shenanigans. 

         "Worth it," Mav mutters, pushing himself up with a grunt of effort. 

          He cradles his ribs, heading for a lonely street light he sees out in the distance. The walk helps him assess his situation a little better. Seeing as his chest feels achy rather than pained with every breath, he determines he has about three bruised ribs. His shoulders and hips are sore from his parachute harness, but the damage is superficial. His head, while throbbing a bit, calms the longer he walks, so if he has a concussion, it's a mild one. He's thirsty. Definitely thirsty. 

          Suffice it to say, when he does manage to find some water and moisten his throat enough to call Ice, he's still breathless and achy as hell. 

          "Who is this? How did you get this number?"

          Ah. Ice's aide must be fielding his calls. He's a nice kid, but the fifth aide Ice has had since his favorite retired two years ago. Maura did a wonderful job for twelve years, a sterling record. This one's name is... Jerry? Jimmy? No, Jones! That's it. It's so hard to keep them all straight. Maybe he really is concussed. "Hey, Jones. It's Maverick. I need to talk to Ice." 

          "He needs to talk to you, too, sir."  

          Mav chuckles. Getting scolded by Jones has about the same potency as being scolded by a seven-year-old. "Throw me to the wolves, kid." 

          "Yes, sir."

          It takes a bit for the call to transfer to Ice's office, but Mav can tell the moment it does, because he hears the distinct sound of Ice's finger tapping on the desk while he radiates cold menace. Ice isn't mad at him for stealing the plane or making the decision he did, but Mav has no doubt in his mind that the admiral wants to skewer him for making him worry about his wingman and deal with Bradley's incessant worrying. 

          Bradley is just as bad or worse than Goose ever was. It's nice. 

          Mav waits patiently for the tapping to stop. It doesn't. Instead, it hikes Maverick's nerves up and makes him squirm in a way very few people are capable of. Fuck. Mav can't imagine the paperwork he just dumped on Ice. 

          First, there's the bit about the stolen equipment. Then, he'd have paperwork about the loss of a multimillion-dollar piece of Navy property. The second one isn't so bad. He's a test pilot. Planes get lost in tests all the time. The next problem would be Admiral Cain, which means forcing Ice to deal with a prick for his sake. Mav never asks him to. Ice just does it all on his own. It was never Maverick's intent to use his friend in such a way. 

          "I'm sorry." 

          The tapping stops. 

          "It's just.... Admiral Cain was going to scrap the project, but everybody there was counting on it for future contracts. They've been dreaming about this for years, and I couldn't let months of tests just go to waste like that just because some asshole wants their funds for drones-" 

          "Maverick."

          Mav shuts his mouth. 

          "Relax. Take a deep breath."

          Mav does so audibly to let Ice know he's doing what he's supposed to, but it comes out shakier than he intends. He just wanted to help. Every time Ice bails him out, that's all he's trying to do. "I'm not trying to make your life harder, Ice, I swear-" 

          "I know. For now, just tell me where you are. I'll call you a ride. Just know, mine isn't the only concern waiting for you when you get back."

          "Don't I know it." 

          "You've been MIA for sixteen hours. I think he has a right to be upset."

          He's been missing that long? "I'll be expecting his call." 

          Ice hums, sounding all too amused by Mav's resigned tone. "Oh, I think you'll be seeing him in person this time. He called me from the airport after the Navy called him, and he, apparently, has some very choice things to say to you. Quote, 'You tell that sorry asshole he'll wish he was MIA by the time I'm done with him,' unquote. I think he misses you."

          Mav rubs his face with a soft groan. Damn. The kid really is pissed this time. "Tell him I'm fine and that I'll text him when I grab my phone from the facility, would you?" 

          "Of course. Be safe, Maverick. Pick-up should be there in thirty, so just stay put."

          "Sure thing. Thanks, Ice." 

          "Anytime."

          They both hang up, and Mav politely requests another glass of water from the poor lady at the counter when he gives her phone back. "Thanks for letting me borrow your phone, ma'am. I appreciate it." 

          She laughs and flaps a hand. "Honestly, you walking in here like a man right out of a science fiction novel is the best entertainment I've had all morning, so I should be thanking you. It's not every day you look rough enough that a child accuses you of being an alien." 

          Mav chuckles. "I guess not. But, still. Thanks." 

          "No problem. You want some pie?" 

          "Oh, I couldn't possibly. I'm just waiting on my ride, now." Mav tugs at the collar of his suit and adjusts his helmet in his lap. He still stinks of fire and jet fuel, and he highly doubts it's going away anytime soon. He glances up when a plate clinks to the table in front of him, laden with pie. "Uh...." 

          "Have at it. You look exhausted." 

          A shocked and grateful smile forms on Mav's lips and he picks up the fork she gives him. His hand shakes a little, but not too bad. He can only imagine how shaky it would've been if he was closer to six hours post-crash than sixteen. His body adjusted well enough to adrenaline crash over the years, but any ejection puts him on edge for at least twenty-four hours. Even now, with his faculties about him, he can tell the rest of him is still a bit shell-shocked. 

          He went Mach 10! 

          His smile grows. Ejection or no, it feels pretty damn good to be the fastest man alive. 

          Mav takes it slow with the pie, both savoring it and giving his stomach time to process without stressing himself out. He would really hate to throw up good food—free food, at that. The transport arrives before he finishes the large slice, and two medics come in from the parking lot to collect him. 

          "I'll pay you back for the pie, ma'am-" 

          "Nonsense." She extends a finger to him and grins. "E.T. phone home." 

          A laugh barks from Maverick's throat and he follows the two medics out to the helicopter. On the ride, they confirm that, yes, he is a little concussed and definitely bruised. He didn't break anything, so there's a plus. 

          It occurs to him on the flight back to the Mojave that Ice said Bradley was at the airport when he called. What was Bradley doing at the airport? He's supposed to be deployed for another few weeks yet. 

          When he lands, Admiral Cain's ire turns to him in full force. Unsurprisingly, he's not happy about being disobeyed, and he's certainly not happy about losing out on military funding. The scolding is straightforward, and Mav's heart squeezes a little at the idea of this being the last time he flies for the Navy. What will he even do with himself if he can't fly? 

          "I want him on the road to North Island within the hour." 

          Oh, Ice. What did you do? "Sir?" 

          "The call came in with impeccable timing," Cain says, sounding both exasperated and annoyed that he can't personally staple Maverick's feet to the ground. "It galls me to say it, but for reasons known only to the Almighty and your guardian angel, you've been called back to Top Gun." 

          No, seriously, Ice. What did you do?  

          "Dismissed, Captain." 

          Mav walks with two officers back to his quarters and packs up his things, still a bit dazed by the revelation that, not only did Ice save him again, but he stationed him at Top Gun. What the hell is going on that Mav needs to go back to Top Gun? 

          As he settles on his bike, Mav tugs out his phone to text Bradley. I'm back safe. I'm told I'll see you in a couple hours.

          Bradley's typing bubble lights up, and then: Damn right, you will.

          I'll have to check in on base first for a room assignment. See you at the house.

          Don't take too long, or I'll come after you. We have rules for post-ejection, and if you don't follow them, I'll call Ice and make him make you.

          Mav shakes his head fondly at the message. I promise, I'll be a max of three hours. Relax, kid. I'm fine.

          I'll believe it when I see it.

          With a roll of his eyes, Mav pockets his phone and pulls out of the now-empty Darkstar hangar for the last time. At least, he's not saying goodbye to everyone. Hondo will come with him. After donning his stars and leaving the cockpit for good, Ice assigned the stringent WRO to Maverick to keep an eye on Mav where he no longer could. A wingman's wingman, as it were. 

          They've become good friends over the years, and it's nice to have a little consistency when pissing off an admiral and getting restationed is a fairly common occurrence. 

          For the sake of Bradley's sanity, Mav makes the drive to North Island as short as possible without getting himself pulled over. Walking in the door of Top Gun after so many years fills Mav with a sense of nostalgia and almost... homecoming. It's not the same as going home and finding Bradley asleep in his recliner and curled under a familiar leather bomber, but it's a rekindling of a sort. Maverick breathes in the crisp scent of the entry, his thoughts falling to Goose automatically. Nick may have died here, but he left Maverick with three of the most important people in the world—yes, Ice counts. Goose introduced them, after all. 

          Maybe he should go talk to Goose before heading home. The cemetery isn't far, and it has been too long since his last visit. It'd be nice to see Carole, too. On second thought, Mav will wait until Bradley is with him. 

          The kid would like that. 

          Maverick tosses his go-bag into the room the Navy assigns him to and hightails it for home. It was a lengthy trip to North Island, even at his slightly-above-average road speeds, and he's pushing a little closer to the three-hour mark than he'd like. He made Bradley a promise, and he intends to keep it. The kid has a little separation anxiety leftover from both Goose and Carole's deaths. Mav doesn't plan to aggravate it. 

          He swings his bike into the hangar with two minutes to spare, waking Bradley where he lays on the futon. His curls look mussed, either from being windblown in the Bronco or running his hands through them. 

          "Hey, kiddo." 

          Bradley snaps off the couch like a taught rubber band and tugs Mav's shirt up without even asking him first. "That's a lot of bruising. Did you get looked at while you were on base?" 

          "They checked me over on the ride back. I'm fine." 

          The words don't comfort Bradley. He fusses, pulling Mav over to the futon and making him sit while he patches up his cuts and scrapes. A quick sniff at Mav's hair makes his nose wrinkle. "You smell like you were on fire." 

          "Not me so much as the plane. I'm just a bit singed. Nothing to worry about." 

          Bradley snorts under his breath, carding his fingers through Mav's hair in search of bumps. "I think I'll be the judge of that, thanks." 

          "I'm only mildly concussed." 

          A soft hum leaves Bradley as his fingers run over the tender spot. Mav winces when Bradley prods it despite his best efforts, earning himself a pointed look from his kid. He doesn't mind, really. It was his accident that got Bradley wound up, after all. The boy may as well take out his anxieties on caretaking. He's a lot like Goose that way. 

          After Bradley checks his pupil response and everything else he can think of, Mav takes one of his hands and presses a kiss to his palm. "I'm okay, kiddo. Just like I promised." 

          "You scared the shit out of me with that stunt, Mav." 

          "I know. I'm sorry." 

          Bradley sighs, resting his free hand on top of Maverick's hair before crouching down to hug him. "I thought we agreed you weren't supposed to scare me like that more than twice a year. You're at three and it's only May." 

          Mav leans his head against Bradley's in comfort. "The first time was an accident." 

          "It's always an accident." 

          "Eh, this time was technically Admiral Cain's fault. He's the one who tried to pull the funding from my tech team." Mav shrugs as well as possible with his arms wrapped around Bradley's shoulders. "They worked too hard to lose all their funding at this stage in the program, especially when this whole thing was the touchstone for future contracts for a lot of them." 

          Bradley exhales a long breath and pulls away. "Admiral Cain, huh?" 

          "The man's an ass." 

          "Trust me. I've heard. Ice has been complaining about him for two years since he took over the drone programs, and you didn't stop complaining from the second you met him. I'm just glad you're out of his purview so you don't have a target on your back anymore." 

          Mav shrugs with a slight smile. "I can still poke at him from a distance." 

          A weary mutter leaves Bradley's mouth and he helps Mav to his feet. 

          "You know, speaking of distance," Mav ventures, arching a brow at Bradley and leaning against the wing of the P-51. "Aren't you supposed to be deployed for another couple weeks or so? What're you doing here?" 

          "New orders. I'm getting called back to Top Gun for a special detachment. Until I got the call about you, I was thinking about heading down to the Hard Deck to see who all was coming. Maybe ruffle a few feathers." 

          Mav rolls his eyes at the bird joke, his chest squeezing as he realizes something deeper must be going on if Ice put them both on base. He prays they aren't there for the same reason. "Well, I was only planning to stick around here long enough to welcome you home, then hit the Hard Deck myself. After today, I'm in need of a calmer atmosphere, you know?" 

          Bradley nods. "You still need to be awake for a few more hours yet, even with as minor as your concussion is, so that's probably an okay plan. As long as you don't drink." 

          "Wasn't planning to, kiddo. I know you think I'm a disaster, but I'm not an idiot." 

          "We'll pretend I believe that. I've gotta stay here for a bit and unpack a few things. I spent the whole time pacing, so it kinda slipped my mind. You sure you'll be okay on your own until I get there?" 

          Yeah, Mav figured he wasn't really asleep on the futon. "I'll be fine, Roo. Call if you need anything." 

          Bradley pulls him in for another quick hug. "I shouldn't be too far behind you, but even so, be safe." 

          "Safe as I ever am." 

          "That's not funny, old man." 

          Mav pats his back with a hearty chuckle and pulls away. "All right, fine. I'll be careful. Try not to burn the house and hangar down before you leave. I'll see you soon." 

          With a quick check of his fuel gauge, Mav seats himself on the newer Ninja instead of the the old one and pulls out of the hangar. His baby is good for shorter distances, and, while it was nice enough the first time, the newer one gets better mileage on a trip like the one to Miramar. 

          The Hard Deck looks a little different than he remembers it, which serves to bring back a few good memories of the O Club before it shut down. Must have a new owner. Mav certainly doesn't mind. Even from outside, the ambience of the whole place seems nicer than before. He makes a mental note to give props to the interior decorator, whomever that may be. 

          It's fairly quiet when he steps inside, and he glances around at the new environment with a faint smile twisting his lips. The bar itself looks good, notched and dinged in a couple places but well-cared for in a way some just aren't. It's a little smaller than the old one, Mav thinks, which opens the space nicely for the pool table, piano, and dartboard areas. Of course, it has a piano. Mav shakes his head just imagining seeing Bradley playing it tonight. That boy never did see a set of keys he wouldn't fiddle with at least once. A goodly-sized sitting area hangs off the left-hand side of the door, stationed with just enough chairs to not feel cramped. 

          Mav settles at the bar with a sigh of appreciation. Whoever chose the stools was thinking with their accessibility brain, because he doesn't have to scrunch his shoulders up to his ears to lean on the bar. It's a nice change of pace compared to the old ones. 

          A pair of Lieutenants stand over by the dartboard, one making a bet to the other and promptly losing when he lands three bullseyes. A third, blond with glasses, watches them from the nearby support pillar with a curious expression. Yeah. Mav remembers the days of bets and losses. Mostly Ice's losses. He huffs to himself and snags his phone from his pocket, hovering over Iceman's contact and debating sending him a message. A notification from Hondo says he has his orders and will see him in two days. 

          "You have got to be kidding me. Pete?" 

          Mav straightens, swiveling his head toward a familiar voice. His mouth falls open in delighted surprise. "Penny?" 

          The last time he saw her, another admiral sent him packing for a new station. Bradley stayed up with him on the phone while Mav ate his way through a pint of ice cream and tried to convince himself that a long-distance relationship just wouldn't work between them. Bradley gave him the same look Goose always used to—the one that says he's an idiot, that is. Mav never was very good with long-term relationships, especially since the whole Charlie debacle. It was a fling, and he should've known better than to get attached to someone he knew would leave the moment her promotion came through. Not leaving without saying goodbye is still leaving. 

          It hurt him more than her, Mav thinks. He supposes they were just too similar in the end. She saw something she wanted and went for it. It wasn't him, that's for sure, but he doesn't blame her.

          "How long have you been here?" Mav asks.  

          She looks happy. He likes that.  

          "I bought this place about three years ago. Fixed it up, got used to the new bar, and really hit it off with the Naval population. I gotta say, this is the last place I ever expected to see you again." 

          Mav chuckles. "Got restationed. Orders are orders, but, uh, I think this is it." 

          "Oh, come on, Pete. You've been saying that as long as I've known you." 

          "I think they're serious this time." 

          Penny wipes down the bar around his phone with a smile twisting her lips. "You always say that, then Iceman makes a call, and you're back in the air. But, just out of curiosity, who did you piss off?" 

          That knowing look does something funny to Mav's insides. He doesn't understand how she always manages to wrap him up in her presence so fully. "Another admiral." 

          "Why am I not surprised? The last time I saw you, you were getting shipped off to the desert. Before that, it was you getting in trouble for bringing me along on a joyride in an F-18. You went all the way to Bosnia." She pours a drink for a soul at the edge of the bar. "And the time before that was Iraq. Twice." She says the last word with a slight huff and Mav realizes she might've been as upset as he was when he was moved the last time.

          "Are you mad at me?" 

          The look she shoots him waffles between exasperation, fondness, and self-reproach. "Oh, Pete. I could never stay mad at you. That's the problem." 

          "That so?" 

          Guilt swirls up in Maverick's chest. He didn't want to leave her any of those times she mentioned. What happened then is what happens to him every time; he tries to help someone, either breaking orders or government equipment, and pays the price for it in shitty postings and abandoned love. 

          Penny leans down on the bar in front of him, peering into his eyes with the same scrutinizing intensity as always. "You were about to ask me when I get off work, weren't you?" she muses, arching a speculative brow before tipping her head with a sigh. "Things never work out between us, Pete. I don't want to get involved only to see you walk out of my life again, so let's not start this time." 

          He smiles up at her, hoping to convey an apology of some kind, but as always, gets distracted. It's nice to be here with her again, to see her. She always seems so wizened, despite being as young as he was the very first time they hooked up. "You look good." 

          Fond annoyance lights her expression and she backs up while shaking her head at him. She rings a bell hanging above her beer taps with a grin. She looks way too pleased with herself. 

          The bar occupants cheer and raise their glasses to him. He glances around, unsure of when so many patrons entered the space. He really does just get sucked into the bubble of her aura, doesn't he? Bradley was right. He's fucking hopeless.  

          "What am I missing?" 

          Penny smirks and points to a wooden sign stationed between two spigots. 

          Mav reads the sign and lifts his phone immediately. It's too late for him and they both know it, but he'll save himself future embarrassment by discouraging such behavior in himself. If literally anyone else was working the bar, Mav would've clocked that sign in a heartbeat and saved himself some time and money. 

          "You're lucky it's early," Penny teases, sashaying toward the other side of the bar to serve some customers with smug satisfaction in every step. 

          How is it that he's always the butt of her jokes despite knowing how cunning she is? 

          His phone buzzes in his pocket and he tugs it out, careful not hold it over the bar just in case Penny is feeling particularly petty tonight. On it, a message from Rooster glows up at him. I'm here. I saw your bike, so unless you managed to wander off already, I assume you haven't done anything too stupid. Yet.

          Depends on your definition, I think. Penny is here.

          Oh, boy. She pour a drink on your head?

          No, but I accidentally broke a rule and have to pay for a round for the bar.

          Damn. Guess I better get inside before you close out your tab for the night, huh? I shouldn't miss a chance to remind you not to break the rules. Ice would scold me for the missed opportunity, you know.

          Mav sighs and shakes his head at his kid. He learned that faux-righteous schtick from Ice in the first place. Get in here and stop pretending you're doing this for mine or Ice's sake.

          Fun wrecker.

          Soon enough, Mav hears a loud voice call out, "Bradshaw!" 

          Mav glances over his shoulder, sharing a quick look with Rooster as he traverses toward the woman calling his name—Phoenix. Mav smiles. She's as tenacious as she is clever, and if he was going to have a daughter, it'd be her. Bradley loves her like a sister already, but after his most recent deployment, life got a little too full to communicate all the time like they were before. 

          Said lack of communication explains why she nails him with the pool cue. Mav chuckles and leans on the bar, watching them out of the corner of his eye. 

          Another familiar face draws closer from the dartboard. Mav heard all about Jake Seresin when Bradley was in Top Gun the first time. He might've dug into the kid's file a bit, but he dug through all the files of the candidates Bradley mentioned back then. Mav was confused by Hangman's, because he could've sworn his own was staring back at him from the pages—no parents, shuffled through foster care repeatedly, joined the Navy as soon as he was eligible. His academy teaching set them apart, but that wasn't a big thing compared to everything else. 

          It scared Mav a little—scares.

          If Jake's current attitude reflects his behavior in the air, it seems he hasn't yet learned the same lessons Mav was forced to at a much younger age. He doesn't want another pilot to have to go through what he did just to figure out self-sufficiency isn't always the answer. 

          Slow Ride starts playing on the jukebox and Mav scrubs a hand down his face. Rooster and Hangman's rivalry looks a whole lot like Ice and Mav's early relationship—which is to say: full of posturing and poking one another's buttons. If the Navy knew they had another Iceman and Maverick in the works, they'd be very afraid of the terrifyingly competent wingmen they could become. 

          If they could stop insulting each other, that is. 

          "That's not what we should be asking," Mav hears Phoenix say, and he sees her eyes catch on Rooster and Hangman's two idiot selves. "Everyone here is the best of the best. Who are they gonna get to teach us?" 

          Oh, shit. 

          Ice, you didn't!

          Mav should've known better than to think both he and Rooster ending up at Top Gun together was anything but a coincidence. 

          "Penny, my dear!" Jake calls. "I'll have four more on the old timer." He glances Mav's way with a smug curl of his lips. "Thanks, Pops." 

          Maybe they're not entirely similar. Mav doesn't remember being that much of a smarmy asshole, though, that could've been Goose's influence. He smiles and acknowledges the kid with a nod. Let him have his fun for now. If Ice did what Mav thinks he did, he'll be able to knock some sense into him soon. 

          "Hey, Pen? Why don't you close me out before the evening rush?" 

          She trails over and picks up his card, seemingly debating leaving him hanging before wandering off to the register. Mav sighs to himself. If she was really mad, she'd have made him wait. 

          A grin grows on his face when he hears the jukebox cut out. Apparently, Rooster has had enough. The plinking of piano keys fills the room while Bradley gets a feel for its sensitivity and Mav watches Phoenix, Payback, Fanboy, and Bob all gather around. Hangman and Coyote hang back, confused. Mav might take just a tiny bit of pleasure in Jake's affronted expression. 

          "It's declined." 

          Mav's gaze snaps to Penny and he glances down at his card. "You're kidding me." When she shakes her head, he pulls out his wallet. While on the one hand, this feels like just his luck, on the other, there's something very upsetting about stiffing her on a bar tab when he only just arrived. "How about-" 

          She hands him the receipt with a coy smile. "That's not gonna cover it." 

          The amount on the receipt seems a little too high for the number of people in here, but he accepts it willingly. "I'll pay you back-" 

          "Sorry, Pete," Penny says, backing toward the bell again. "But I'm afraid rules are rules." 

          Go figure, the first ones to answer Penny's summons to throw him overboard are Hangman and Coyote. Mav glances up at the third person carrying him with a helpless smile. This is going to be murder on his bruised ribs, but if it makes Penny feel better to throw him out on his ass for once instead of the other way around, he'll let her. 

          He dusts himself off with a sigh and starts walking toward his bike when he hears the opening notes of Great Balls of Fire. Hearing it lifts his spirits and he wanders over to the porch windows to watch for a minute. 

          Bathed in the warm lights of the bar and surrounded by friends, Bradley looks so happy and alive. Mav closes his eyes and leans against the porch rail, listening with a slight smile on his face. He remembers the last time Goose ever played this song, little Bradley Bradshaw himself sitting on top of the piano. He's grown so much. Pride wells in Mav's chest as he opens his eyes and finds Bradley throwing him a look over the ridge of his aviators and beaming at him. 

          Mav gives him a short wave and taps his watch, reminding Bradley not to stay out forever. He snorts when the kid sticks his tongue out at him between verses and keeps banging away at the keys. 

          Goose would love seeing him like this. It took a long time for the ache of Goose's absence to fade, but with a little time, love, therapy, and support from Bradley, it doesn't hurt so much to think of Nick anymore. It's still hard sometimes, because it almost feels like Mav stole the life Goose was supposed to have. Bradley calls him 'dad.' Maverick and Carole raised him when it should've been Goose and Carole. Mav attended his graduation, his Father's Days at school, and his field trips. Mav stood beside him when he graduated college and applied to the Naval Academy a second time. This first time was rough because of Mav's promise to Carole to pull his papers, but they turned out okay.  

          In the end, Bradley was and is loved and cared for. That's what Goose would care about. 

          When he finally brings himself to leave, Mav hops on his bike and takes his time on the ride to base. The night air whips past him, warm and humid despite the late hour. 

          He parks on the base and heads to his assigned quarters, making sure he has his IDs all together and clothing sorted. His phone buzzes in his pocket and he tugs it out. Bradley's name pops up on the screen again. 

          I know it's late, but stay up another two hours, would you?

          I'm not that concussed, kiddo.

          Promise me?

          Mav tips his head back. He must've really scared Bradley today, and it's hard to deny him anything when he's worried like this. I promise. Be safe.

          Always.

          After staying up another two hours, Mav conks out for the night, rousing in the morning to the noise of jets flying and orders being barked in a way he nearly forgot about while living in the Mojave. He reports in to the meeting room specified in his email and draws up short at the edge of the table. Two people sit at the other end, one he recognizes and one he doesn't. 

          "Captain Pete "Maverick" Mitchell," Admiral Simpson says, peering up at him dubiously. "Your reputation precedes you." 

          "Thank you, sir." 

          Admiral Simpson twists his pen impatiently. "Wasn't a compliment." 

          Well. He's fucked. Mav hasn't even been here ten minutes and the guy already seems predisposed to disliking Maverick. He waits for the admiral to continue, because Mav sure as hell isn't apologizing. 

          "I'm Admiral Simpson, the air boss here on base, and I believe you already know Rear Admiral Bates." 

          Mav meets Warlock's eye with an appreciative nod. No matter what the air boss thinks of Maverick, at least Warlock is good people. "Warlock. I'll be honest, sir. I wasn't expecting an invitation back." 

          Warlock already looks like he's trying not to laugh. "They're called orders, Maverick." 

          Tension fills the room and Admiral Simpson is less than entertained by Maverick's attempt to lighten the mood with a joke about managing expectations. He makes no secret of his distaste for Mav's presence, even with Iceman's endorsement, but at the very least, he looks mildly impressed when Mav lays out a plan only a few seconds after seeing the target, terrain, and defenses in place. So, there's that. Yay. 

          "Someone's not coming back from this," Mav murmurs, staring at the final climb. The SAMs after the ridge look fairly dense—dense enough for a standard load of flares to run out before escape, even with four potential targets. 

          And, to Maverick's horror, not only does Cyclone want him to teach the mission, but he wants him to teach it to his own son. If Mav and Ice didn't keep the nature of their close relationships with Rooster on the down-low, Cyclone would boot him out of here on conflict of interest alone. Of course, Ice put Maverick here. He had to have known what this mission looked like, and if anyone was going to be able to do it with minimum casualties, it would be Mav. The knowledge doesn't change the fear in Mav's gut. 

          "Is there a problem, Captain?" 

          "You know there is, sir." 

          "Yeah." The air boss pulls up Rooster's picture on its own and sighs. "Bradley Bradshaw. I understand you used to fly with his old man. What was his callsign?" 

          It's a slight to Goose. Cyclone would know as well as any admiral what Nick's callsign was. Mav tells him anyway, invoking his name with both fond remembrance and a dull pang of regret. The air boss tries to rile him up, to accuse and blame him for Goose's death, but Mav has always been slow to true anger. A small part of him still feels responsible, will always feel responsible, but the memory of Goose's life and Bradley's well-being come first. 

          That's not to say the accusation doesn't hurt. 

          Mav carries a copy of the mission file, the candidate files, and a couple of notebooks with him to the ready room and spends the next several hours piecing together a plan for each segment of the mission.  

          The clearest and only available route looks like the canyon. Every other way Mav considers involves pitting planes against SAM-sites far too early. They can't waste resources early on when they're guaranteed to need them at coffin corner. 

          That's not to mention the superior aircraft in the area. Their window of safety from the fifth-gens is small, small enough to be worrying. Imagery confirms the presence of two patrols covering the skies on either side of the base at any time, both equipped with enhanced radar. Based on their range from the base, patrol schedule, and flight capabilities, Mav estimates a response time of three minutes, meaning they need to be in and out of there a bare minimum of fifteen seconds sooner, thirty on the safe side. To cover that distance, they'll have to be going... 660 knots on the slow end—preferably closer to 700—to avoid being caught on the way out. 

          Said way out requires a steep climb. At that angle and with the swiftest lock-on possible, nine G's will be the low side. Mav highly doubts lock-on will be that fast, but if he presents anything higher to the students, they'll think he's even crazier than he already is. With a 7.5 acceptable strain limit on the F-18s, they'll have enough doubts, but if any one plane can handle the sheer amount of overstress, the F-18 is it. 

          Mav rubs his face. Every one of those students is going to be fighting to go on this mission, Bradley most of all. The kid has the skill. He may fly under the radar to catch people off-guard, but damn, does the kid have the skill. Mav and Ice taught him, after all. 

          Everyone else.... Mav tugs out the stack of personnel files. 

          They're alphabetical, so first on the stack is one Billy "Fritz" Avalone. He reads Halo's next and skips Bradley's. Mav knows that one by heart. He pores over the files one by one, finally ending with Omaha. Excepting Bradley, all these kids are in their late twenties, but they're all still so young. These pilots will die if he doesn't prepare them. 

          A knock on the door makes Mav look up, and he realizes that in all of his planning and fretting, the day slipped away from him. The light flicks on and Bradley steps inside. Mav smiles at him despite the impending mission on his mind. 

          "Hey, Mav." 

          "Hey, kiddo. How was your day?" 

          Bradley shrugs, watching Mav pack up his papers and files before sitting down in the chair next to him. "I saw your bike out in the lot and figured I'd track you down before I headed back to barracks. You here for a visit, or...?" 

          What is Mav supposed to tell him? That the Navy is sending him and five other pilots to their deaths? "Actually, this is my new posting." 

          A curious look adorns Bradley's face. "Why didn't you tell me that yesterday?" 

          "Honestly? I didn't know what Ice was up to, yet." 

          "Uncle Ice put you here?" 

          Mav huffs. "Oh, yeah. Pretty much right before Admiral Cain was going to bring down the axe on my head. He looked about ready to turn me to stone on the spot." 

          "Can you tell me what you're doing here, or is that classified?" 

          "Very classified, kiddo." Totally. Definitely not seeing the kid bright and early tomorrow morning. Definitely not sending anybody on a suicide run. 

          Bradley smirks. "If you tell me, you have to kill me, huh?" 

          "Exactly." Mav leans back in his chair with a light hum. Having Bradley close after all his worrying over the mission calms him down, even knowing what waits for them. "What about you, Roo? What were you doing today?" 

          "Eh, not a whole lot. Mostly organization, gear inspection, and requisitions while everyone got settled in for tomorrow. Hangman was being an ass about his room assignment, and Phoenix was gushing about her new WSO. They've got twelve of us here for a special training detachment, but the details are pretty vague." 

          Mav hums and nods, pretending he knows nothing. 

          Rooster slumps back in his seat and tips his head over the back. "Must be something pretty important to pull all of us off our deployments, but it's nice that Uncle Ice got you stationed here, too. Guess he thinks we could both use the moral support, huh?" 

          Right. Moral support. "Yeah. I met the new air boss. He's... nice." 

          "What did he do?" 

          "Nothin', kiddo. Don't worry about it." 

          Bradley sits up again and tilts his head to get a better look at Mav's face. "It doesn't sound like nothing. You seem pretty distracted." 

          Mav shakes his head. "Just another admiral who thinks your dad's death was my fault." 

          "That's bullshit," Bradley hisses. 

          "I know that, Roo, but that's his opinion and it's not like I can stop him from having it." Mav shrugs. "Although, I can say for certain we're doing a good enough job keeping our reputations away from you, since he thought you'd blame me, too." 

          Affront etches itself into Bradley's brow, but he says nothing. 

          Maverick's phone buzzes and he finds Ice's name staring up at him this time. It seems Mav worked long enough for Cyclone to send a grievance to Ice. That didn't go well.

          "What didn't go well?" 

          Mav glances at Bradley. "My guess is that Cyclone already lodged a complaint against me." 

          "Asshole." 

          "Not saying I don't agree with you, but be careful who you say that kind of thing to, please?" He squeezes Bradley's shoulder. "I don't want you in the line of fire when it comes to being on the admiral's chopping block." 

          Bradley caves with a displeased grumble and wraps his arm around Mav, leaning his head against his shoulder. Mav kisses his forehead, and rests there a little longer than he maybe should to convince Rooster he's fine. Worry swirls in his gut. He's going to have to send Bradley on this mission. Out of all the candidates, he possesses the most consistency in the air and a level head Ice would be proud of. Mav desperately wants to protect him, to shield this new detachment with his own wings, but he can't. All he can do is prepare them. 

          Mav's phone beeps again. Come see me.

          Is now really the best time?

          I wasn't asking. Sarah cooked dinner, so bring Bradley.

          "Come on, kiddo. Looks like we're headed to Ice's." Mav pats Bradley's knee and stands, offering him a hand up as he shoulders his bag. "Apparently, they made us a little homecoming dinner." 

          Bradley follows him toward his quarters and glances around once they're inside. "Two beds? You rooming with someone?" 

          "Hondo." 

          "Is Hondo coming to dinner? It's been a while since we've swapped stories about your shenanigans." 

          Mav stows his bag under the bed and grabs his keys. "Yeah, I'm sure you two have just been dying without your little club meetings. Hondo won't be here until tomorrow morning. He had a couple things left to wrap up at the test facility, so he scheduled a late flight." 

          Bradley huffs. "I still can't believe you blew up the damn plane." 

          "I didn't blow it up. It exploded. There's a big difference there, kid," Mav points out, adjusting his jacket while he checks the inside pocket for his wallet. "Besides that, it was a test project. Those are meant to explode." 

          "No, they're not." 

          Mav holds the door for Bradley. "Yes, they are." 

          "No, they're really not. Not when you've already tested it several hundred times over the last three months and it didn't explode." 

          "The point of the whole thing was to make it to Mach 10, but how are they supposed to know where the problems start if you don't give it a little push? Past Mach 10, those techs can now tell exactly what went wrong with the turbines with their recordings of the diagnostic shutdown. They'll know which parts of the plane need reinforcement, stabilization, and adjustments based on the surviving pieces of the wreckage." 

          Bradley scowls. "Helping find flaws with the project does not mean it was meant to happen." 

          A noise of exasperation leaves Mav's throat. "Then, where do we draw the line?" 

          "Preferably, dad? Before it fucking explodes!" 

          Maverick pauses at the door leading outside and rests his hand on Bradley's arm, moving it to his face when he sees the angry and fearful gleam in his eyes. "Hey, hey. Listen to me, all right? I'm sorry I scared you, but I wouldn't endanger myself just for the hell of it. You know that, don't you?" 

          Bradley nods, leaning into Mav's touch and letting the tension bleed out of his shoulders. "Yeah. I know. M' sorry for yelling." 

          "I forgive you. Now, let's go to dinner, okay? We'll both feel better with some food in our stomachs, and you can tell Sarah, Ice, and I all about your last deployment." 

          "Okay." 

          Ice waits for them on the porch, a blue scarf around his neck and a disapproving brow arched as he taps his watch. "It's 2000 hours," he rasps. "What took you two?" 

          Bradley hops off the bike and shucks his helmet, brushing a hand through his curls. "There was a line at the gas station. Thankfully, Mav didn't get into a fight with a blue-haired old lady this time." 

          "Oh, ha ha. Laugh it up." 

          "I will, thank you very much. I'll never forget the look on your face when you said 'Ma'am, don't use that, it's broken,' and she just started screaming at you." Bradley slings an arm around Mav's shoulders and leads him up the walk. "Seasoned aviator, scared shitless by a woman twice his age." 

          Mav pinches Bradley's ribs, earning himself a startled yelp from his son. "I'll have you know that she was armed!" 

          "With a cane and a scented candle, maybe," Ice intones, clearing his throat a little as he follows them inside. "If she could reach her arms above her head, she could've bludgeoned you." 

          "She threatened to beat me to death with the broken hose nozzle. That she still tried to use!" 

          Bradley cackles. 

          "There was even a sign!" 

          When they reach the kitchen, Sarah greets them both with a hug and a wide smile, motioning them to the dinner table. "It's so good to see you both. Please, have a seat. I kept dinner warm for you." 

          "Pete." 

          Mav turns to Ice, squeezing Bradley's shoulder and following his wingman when he motions toward his office. Bradley's childish declaration of 'somebody's in trouble' chases him down the hall. Sometimes, Mav swears the kid isn't a day over fifteen. 

          Ice leans against his desk, arms crossed. 

          "How's my wingman?" Mav asks, closing the door behind himself and resting against it. 

          "Your wingman is annoyed that you blew yourself up, but other than that, he's fine." 

          Mav sighs, ignoring the defensive urge to hike his shoulders up. "Why do you both keep saying that? I didn't blow up anything. The plane exploded. I'm fine, the Darkstar project gets to live out its life, and Admiral Cain was denied his funding. All in all, I'd call that a win. I wasn't trying to-" 

          "Relax," Ice soothes, tipping his head knowingly. "We both know you're not wound up over the Darkstar project anymore." 

          While Admiral Cain always rubs Mav the wrong way, Ice isn't exactly wrong. Mav hangs his head and settles into the chair beside the door. He rubs his forehead. A heavy-laden sigh falls from his mouth, because he's been trying not to think about this whole thing since he left base. "This mission, Ice.... It's risky." 

          "Every mission has its risks." 

          "Not like this. I've seen the parameters, and I know you have, too. That's why you built this team." Mav softens his voice on the off chance it carries. "That's why you brought Bradley here." 

          Ice nods. "Then, you understand why it has to be you who teaches it." 

          Mav shakes his head, tears welling up against his wishes. After everything he saw about the mission today, he's already stressed out and he hasn't even started. "I'm not a teacher, Ice. Even if I was, those kids I saw last night? Most of them aren't going to want to listen to a word I say. They aren't ready for this. Bradley isn't-" He breaks off, biting his lips and squeezing his eyes closed until he's certain he can control his voice. "I can't lose him. What if I can't prepare him for this? What if I send him and he never comes home? Whose fault is that? Why won't you send me?" Mav looks up at Ice, his words wobbling. "Please, send me." 

          "No," Ice says, stalwart and patient as the day is long. "You have to let go. He'll only resent you if you hold him back now." 

          "I know," Mav breathes, swiping at his face. "Damn it, I know." 

          Ice pushes off the desk and steps closer, resting his hand on Maverick's shoulder. His voice rasps out with a catch of emotion. "The Navy needs you to teach those kids, whether they like it or not. You're the only one who can prepare them, prepare Bradley. He's your son, and he needs you. We all do. That's why I fought for you." 

          Mav takes the hand Ice offers him and leans into his embrace. "Thank you, Ice." 

          "Of course. Oh, and one other thing?" 

          "Anything." 

          "Who's the better pilot?" 

          Mav pulls back and shoots Ice a good-natured glower. "This is a nice moment. Let's not ruin it. I'd rather not spend all of dinner watching Bradley watch us have a verbal tennis match." 

          Ice chuckles and reaches for the door handle. "What would Sarah be doing?" 

          "Cheering us on?" 

          The stoic pilot gives Mav a light shove out the door. Maverick stumbles into the hall, ducking a swat from Ice and scurrying back to the kitchen table with a laugh in his throat. Trust Ice to make him feel better after nearly bringing him to tears. 

          Bradley shoots him a sideways glance when they seat themselves, taking in Mav's ruffled appearance and looking at Ice. Ice remains inscrutable, as always. Sensing he won't find any answers there, he returns his attention to Mav. "Everything okay?" 

          "Everything's fine, kiddo." 

          Thankfully, Sarah, Ice, and Bradley do a grand job keeping him distracted from how very not-fine things are about to be.  

          It's when he lays down in bed, pondering this whole mess, that he really gets in trouble. His mind runs away with him a little, as it always does where Bradley and potential danger are involved. Goose told him it was a parental instinct, that such thoughts would occupy his days whenever Carole had to leave Bradley with his aunt or a sitter. Leaving him with Mav, Goose said he never felt afraid Bradley would be in danger. 

          As a lonely kid with no one else in the world, Goose's endorsement on Mav's childcare may as well have been solid gold. It's funny. Mav remembers being terrified of the kid the first time he held him. Bradley was so small, so fragile.  

          For weeks, he was afraid he would drop him or hurt him somehow just by being in his proximity, but whenever Goose and Mav would have shore leave, Goose would always place Bradley in his arms for at least an hour. It's good practice, he'd say. Mav never wanted to read into what it was good practice for. He especially thought it was crazy after Goose's death that Cougar stopped by more than once and let Mav hold his daughter. Then, when Ice had his first kid with Sarah, after some very manly crying, he handed his son to Maverick, too. Mav didn't understand why they trusted him with something so precious to them when he tended to break everything else he touched. 

          Mav drifts off with the memory of a tiny Bradley in his arms, innocent to the world and staring at him with big brown eyes. No manner of crying, wailing, or tantrum would ever make Mav forget how easily that child stole his heart. His child. 

          All too soon, morning comes and steals away his focus and time. Mav dresses in his flight suit and laces up his boots with practiced ease, opening his bag of files and mission specs and tugging out the F-18 NATOPS. Rooster or no Rooster in the room, if he's going to get these kids' attention, he'll need to make a memorable first impression. 

          For some of them, it might be more memorable for other reasons, such as embarrassment. 

          Mav heads for the hangar, striding in the back just as another officer calls the students to attention. It can't hurt to steal a page out of Charlie's book, so Maverick waits beside an F-18. When Warlock starts waxing poetic about his exploits, Mav takes his cue and walks toward the gap between the desks. 

          "I give you Captain Pete Mitchell. Callsign: Maverick," Warlock finishes, stepping away from the podium. 

          He doesn't look any of the kids in the eye on the way by, but he sees Coyote flinch, and Hangman freezes the minute he sees him and hides his face in his hand, mortified. Phoenix does a double take. She's probably pretty sure she saw him somewhere before—Rooster's phone background, more specifically, but it's so hard to tell from that, considering Carole took it of the two of them on the couch when Bradley was passed out on Mav's chest after a long baseball game. Half of Mav's face was buried in Bradley's curls. He was also at Bradley's graduation from the academy, so it could be that. 

          As he climbs the stairs to the podium, he peers out over his twelve students with a smile. "Good morning." 

          Hangman's smile looks more like a grimace. Payback is trying and failing to act casual, and Coyote gives him a nervous wave. Bradley stares at him, his mouth half-open. He shoots a half-hearted glower at Mav for lying to him last night before settling in to listen to him talk. 

          "All right, let's get started," Mav says, patting the NATOPS manual in front of him. "The F-18 NATOPS contains everything the Navy wants you to know about your aircraft." Mav holds it up in one hand, almost smiling. This is his favorite part—also the part he's sure was at least partially responsible for getting him booted from teaching the first time. "Now, I'd assume you all know this book inside and out." 

          He gets scattered agreements, even a 'you got it' from Rooster, because Mav drilled him on this book over and over and over and over again. It wasn't like he forced the kid. Bradley asked him to do it, and when Mav would tell him no after the third consecutive time, he'd ask Ice to do it. 

          Ice would also tell him no and order him to sleep, but that's neither here nor there. 

          Mav smirks and proceeds to toss all five pounds of the book into the trash. "So does your enemy, but what they don't know is you, and your limits. I intend to find them, test them, and push beyond." The split between dubious faces and excited ones is about half and half, Mav thinks. "Today, we'll start with what you only think you know. You show me what you're made of." 

          At the very least, Bradley looks amused. 

          While the kids head off to the changing rooms to suit up, Mav hops down off the podium to greet Hondo. "Good to see you, Hondo." 

          "Good to be here, Mav. Sorry I missed dinner." 

          "It was great. Ice made a pot roast the size of Bradley's head, and the gravy Sarah made for it was perfect." 

          "Wish I could've been there." Hondo follows Mav to the instructors' locker room, doing his pre-flight checks along the way so he has a little time to talk to Bradley before they all take off. Mav waves him over to his jet when he spots his son trailing behind the group already—waiting for him, Mav supposes. 

          "Bradley!" Mav calls, his voice getting lost in the whine of a jet engine. "Bradley!" He really hates barking orders at his kid, but his voice doesn't carry well over noise otherwise. "Lieutenant Bradshaw!" 

          Bradley turns, aviators perched on his nose. "Sir." 

          Mav closes the distance between them so he doesn't have to yell. "Hey. I'm sorry I didn't tell you about this, all right?" 

          "This is gonna be intense, isn't it?" 

          Of course, Bradley goes for the hard question first. "Yeah, kiddo, but it's gonna be okay. That's why I'm here, all right? I'm gonna make sure you're ready." 

          His son arches a brow at him behind his shades. "You won't wash me out to protect me?" 

          "I know better than that." 

          Bradley's mustache twitches as he holds back a smile. "Yeah?" 

          Mav wants to reach out to him, to touch in some way, but professionalism and Bradley's own place here mean he can't. He settles for a nod. "I'm going to push you, and I want you to fight for it, but be careful, all right? If you get singled out for favoritism and people find out how close we are, they might force you out." 

          "Yes, sir." 

          "Good. Try to have a little fun today. You're dismissed." 

          "Yes, sir." 

          Bradley heads for his own jet and Mav turns to his, Hondo waiting beside it patiently. The two of them run through the list of pre-flight checks for the F-18. Mav takes a moment to appreciate the paint job before hopping inside, rattling off his clearances and getting airborne. Payback and Fanboy, and Rooster are his first contestants. Mav keeps low and patches into the comms frequency. 

          "Good morning, aviators. This is your captain speaking," Mav says. When Bradley was a teenager and Mav made captain, he would always groan and rolls his eyes, telling him he sounded like a pirate—to which Mav would respond with shiver-me-timbers. "Welcome to Basic Fighter Maneuvers. As briefed, today's exercise is dogfighting. Guns only, no missiles. We do not go below the hard deck of 5,000 feet." Unless one's name is Maverick, in which case, he may or may not be rocking a solid 200 right now. "Working as a team, you have to shoot me down, or else." 

          Payback sounds a bit too smug when he answers with, "Or else what, sir?"

          Mav smirks. "Or else I shoot back." He can practically see Bradley rolling his eyes right now. That's fine. He'll make sure the kid takes him seriously here in a minute. "If I shoot either one of you down, you both lose." 

          "So, what say we put some skin in the game?"

          Oh, this is gonna be good. "What did you have in mind?" 

          "First one to get shot down has to do two-hundred push-ups." 

          "Guys-"

          "That's a lot of push-ups," Mav interrupts, halting Bradley's warning before it can leave his mouth. He loves the kid, but no way is Mav letting him ruin his fun so early in the game. 

          Fanboy laughs. "They don't call it an exercise for nothing, sir."

          "You've got yourself a deal, gentlemen," Mav agrees, pulling his visor down. These kids are going to be doing so many push-ups. He almost feels bad, but they brought this on themselves. "Fight's on! Let's turn and burn!" 

          Maybe he takes a little too much delight in the shrieks of his new students. 

          Just maybe. 

          And if Mav makes Bradley do push-ups for calling him an old man, is that really anyone else's business but theirs? He definitely doesn't make Harvard, Yale, and Fritz do push-ups for mocking his son. That would be petty. 

          Phoenix and Bob's, he feels a little bad about. It's not their fault Hangman is.... Well. Hangman. If anyone needs a kick in the ass, it's him. Mav still sees far too much of himself in that kid. 

          Ice would be so proud of him for recognizing when that's a bad thing. 

          In the evening, when the sun is going down and Mav can still see Halo, Omaha, and Coyote doing their push-ups, Mav calls it a day. He walks past the rec room, hearing several students moaning, groaning, and massaging their arms as they claim they can't feel them anymore. Good for them. 

          When Mav reaches his room and opens the door, he finds Rooster sitting inside. "Hey." 

          "Hey. I'm sorry I called you old." 

          "No, you're not." Mav smirks, ruffling his hair and sitting across from him on Hondo's bed. "The last of your classmates are out on the tarmac, so I don't think you have to worry about any more selfies." 

          Bradley huffs a laugh. "That's why you knocked out Harvard and Yale out so fast?" 

          Mav shrugs, a smile tugging his mouth at the corners. "I have no idea what you're talking about." 

          "Sure, you don't." 

          "Naturally," Mav says, sobering. "Again, sorry I didn't tell you I was the one teaching you guys. I didn't want to make you nervous, and I really only figured out that's what Ice had in mind yesterday morning." 

          Bradley nods. "It's fine." 

          "You looked good out there today, though." Mav perches a foot on the bedframe and rests his elbow on his knee. "That Hangman kid. He's...." 

          "An asshole?" 

          Mav clicks his tongue. "That, but also a lot like me." 

          A scandalized look blooms on Bradley's features. "Come on, Mav. It's not even a contest. You might've been cocky, but you were never on that level of dickery." 

          Laughter rises in Mav's throat. "Not with Goose, Carole, and you around, no, but before then, I was pretty rough around the edges, kiddo. I was just too closed-off at the time to really show that. I've read Jake's file. You have no idea how many similarities there are." 

          "You gonna kick his ass until he learns his lesson?" 

          "That's the plan." 

          Bradley smiles. "Well, if anyone can, you can. What'd you think about Phoenix?" 

          "I'll say she lived up to the sheer number of compliments you give her whenever she comes up. I thought for a second that she recognized me in the briefing this morning, though." 

          "I've been wanting to introduce her to you guys. She's nosy, and I slipped up once and told her I was calling my dad when I was calling you, so she knows you exist but not who you are. Maybe after this whole thing is over, we can tell her?" 

          Mav hums. "I trust her to be discrete. Besides, she's been your best friend for years. I don't think Ice would mind. Pretty sure he vetted her anyway." 

          Bradley rolls his eyes. "Of course, he did." 

          "Oh, don't pretend you didn't expect that. We wouldn't entrust our baby goose to just anyone. I do remember that one night when you called me while high as a kite on cold medicine because you refused to take sick leave, so Phoenix forced you to take it. You kept saying you loved me, and that Phoenix was being mean." 

          "I don't remember that." 

          Mav grins. "You generally don't, kiddo." He stands up and offers Bradley a hand. "Speaking of Phoenix, you should probably get back to her and your friends before they start getting suspicious. Tell the other kids that if they have anything they need to talk about, I'll be in the ready room for a few hours yet." 

          "You should be resting. Your ribs-" 

          "Are fine. The bruising is already starting to fade, kiddo. Now, go on." 

          Bradley takes Mav's hand and readily accepts the hug he offers. "All right. Just text me if you need anything, all right?" 

          "Sure thing. I'll see you in the morning." 

          Maverick grabs a couple files from his bag and shoos Bradley out the door. No one disturbs him for the first hour of his work, which means he has time to make a few adjustments to the plan. It's nothing major. Today, they weren't taking him seriously. Tomorrow, he wants to see what they come up with, and by then, he'll have some idea of who has what it takes to fly this mission. 

          A knock at the door pulls Mav from his thoughts. "Enter." 

          Payback steps inside. "Good evening, sir." 

          "Payback. What can I do for you, Lieutenant?" 

          "I was wondering if you could teach me a couple of the maneuvers you flew today. I hadn't seen them in action before." 

          Maverick chuckles. "I'd be glad to do it on paper, but unless given a good reason, try to save putting them into practice for a period when we can afford to waste a little time. And, you know, don't let anyone with control over your career see you do them. I won't tell if you won't." 

          Payback's eyes widen, but then he grins. "Yes, sir." 

          "Then, let's get started." 

          Phoenix knocks right when Mav is about to begin and he meets her eye with a fond smile. "Phoenix. Right on time. Class is in session." 

          She, Bob, and Rooster filter in and settle in their chairs. Mav tilts his head at Bob, but the kid already looks fascinated, so he lets the WSO be. If he wants to learn, who is Mav to stop him? Goose would be proud. 

          With another reminder not to try these moves until a later date, preferably when no one can see them, Mav rolls out the whiteboard and titles it 'Slightly Illegal Pilot Shit 101.' "Ready?" 

          Mav spends the next two hours explaining maneuvers the Navy probably wouldn't like. 

          Come morning, Mav feels a little better. He doesn't feel any better about the mission, but he definitely feels better about his chances of teaching these pilots. If some of them will listen to him, their chances of survival just went up. 

          Day two of dogfighting ends with many more push-ups Mav doesn't have to do. In fact, he took them all out faster today, sans Phoenix and Rooster, than yesterday, because they all panicked the moment he showed up. He worries for Rooster. After his death-defying stunt, pulled casually with no end of taunting, Mav thinks his son isn't taking this quite as seriously as he should be. None of them are. Hell, Hangman just stood by and watched—didn't even bother to back Rooster up. 

          Mav lectured him for it, but Hangman didn't seem like he heard a word. 

          Tomorrow, Maverick has to tell them about their mission parameters. Then, they'll see. As much as he doesn't want to scare them, he thinks if he doesn't, many of them simply won't understand that what he teaches them out there is life or death. 

          He sees Phoenix talking to Bradley on the tarmac from where he stands at the hangar bay doors. Hondo came and got him a few minutes ago and told him the kid was frustrated. Bradley stares at the ground, looking impossibly small and guilty. She must be scolding him, Mav realizes. 

          Mav doesn't know what to think about it, but Bradley clearly knows exactly what he did to earn her ire. Considering the way he wipes his eyes when she walks away, Mav thinks maybe he could use a little cheering up. One scolding is enough for the day. He certainly didn't enjoy his from Cyclone. 

          He approaches quietly, ensuring no one sees them. "Hey, kiddo." 

          Bradley scrubs at his eyes. "Hey." 

          "You look like you've been through the wringer. I've gotta go to the Hard Deck this afternoon and pay off my tab. You want to come?" 

          The younger aviator looks up at him, confusion in his teary eyes. "You're... not mad at me?" 

          "I'm not mad," Mav answers, offering Bradley a hand up and leading him inside. "I'm upset that you risked your life with that stunt today, but I'm not mad. I know I told you to have fun, and that might've been a mistake on my part, but I also need you to keep in mind that this is all preparing you for something real, something dangerous. Okay?" 

          Bradley nods, swiping a hand down his face and walking in silence until they reach the locker rooms. Mav waits for him to shower and get changed, humming a soft tune until Bradley joins him again. His son still seems too quiet. Phoenix must've given him a pretty thorough verbal lashing. 

          When they arrive at the Hard Deck, Mav tugs him down and presses a kiss to his forehead. "It's okay, Roo. All right? One rough day isn't the end of the pancakes." 

          A faint smile spreads on Bradley's face. Carole used to say that when he'd come home from school, stressed out of his mind. "Right." 

          "That's better. Let's head in." Mav leads the way inside, pausing when he sees a familiar white dog. "Theo. You got big." 

          Bradley crouches down to pet him, grinning when Theo's tail starts wagging like crazy. "Hey, good boy. How've you been, huh?" He yanks his face away from the dog's tongue. "Ugh, missed you, too, buddy." 

          "Hey, Mav." 

          Mav looks away from the two on the floor, his eyes widening when they land on a familiar but not familiar face at the bar. "Amelia?" 

          She smiles. "I know. I got big." 

          "Yes," Mav says, a laugh in his voice. The last time Maverick saw Amelia, she barely came up to his ribs—which, yes, Bradley, he's aware that doesn't say much as a short person. "Where's your dad?" 

          "With his wife. In Hawaii," Amelia deadpans, a note of bitterness in the tone, but also resignation that sounds out of place in a girl her age. Definitely not an open subject to talk about then. 

          Oops. 

          "You here for a drink, or...?" 

          Mav shakes his head. "Actually, I'm here to pay off my tab-" 

          "Mom!" 

          Bradley stands up with a wince and rubs a finger in one ear. "Geez, kid. Do you need to be so loud? Gonna start breaking the glasses hanging above your head if you don't lower the volume." 

          Amelia sticks her tongue out at Bradley. "Shut up." 

          "Pretty sure I just said that." 

          "Big baby." 

          Before Bradley can shoot an insult back, Penny walks in from the storeroom. "Pete. Oh, and Bradley. What are you two doing here?" 

          Mav tugs out a slip of bills and offers it to her. "Just here to pay you back." 

          Penny sighs. "Pete, you don't have to-" 

          "Please. I insist." 

          Bradley eyes the wad of bills. "Damn, Mav. I know you said you had to pay for a round at the bar, but what the hell happened? Did Penny put a flat of whiskey on your tab?" 

          "It was tempting," Penny answers, tossing Mav a look over her shoulder. "But I resisted." 

          "Magnanimous of you," he teases back. 

          Penny slips behind the bar to put Mav's money in the till. "I try to be, Captain." 

          Amelia shoots him a look. "You're seriously still a captain?" 

          "A highly decorated captain." Mav tosses a smirk Penny's way. "And I appreciate your generosity-" 

          Bradley makes a gagging sound in his throat and hops onto the chair next to Amelia. "Could you two stop undressing each other with your eyes in front of me?" 

          Penny's eyes go wide and flick to Amelia. "Bradley!" 

          "Oh, please. She's, what, fourteen? If you haven't given her The Talk by now-" 

          Mav gives Bradley's curls a light tug of warning, earning himself a squawk and a swift apology. When Bradley lets out a pitiful whimper and rubs at his head, Mav leans down to press kiss to the spot. He definitely didn't pull that hard. Bradley just likes to complain. "Just because she's probably heard it by now does not mean you get to turn off your filter. She's still a teenager, and until she's eighteen, that's a no-fly zone, all right?" 

          "Yes, sir." 

          "Good. You can apologize to Amelia now for putting that image in her head." 

          Bradley looks grumpy about it, but he skirts his eyes over to her and mutters, "Sorry, Amelia." 

          "Why, thank you, Bradley," Amelia chirps, looking far too pleased with herself for being present to get him in trouble. Mav would wonder where she got such conniving impulses, but the answer is standing behind the bar watching them with a half-hidden smile of her own. 

          Penny glances down at her watch and her clicks her tongue. "Well, Amelia and I have to get going. We need to take our boat down to the marina." 

          Amelia's smile fades. "I can't." 

          "What? Why not?" 

          "I have homework, and I didn't know it was going to be due until tonight." 

          Penny leans down on the bar. "I can't sail her alone." 

          "Just use the engine." 

          The look Penny offers Amelia is a humoring one. "Why are we taking her down to the marina?" 

          "To fix the engine." 

          It's Bradley's turn to look smug and entertained. He may not know what to do with small children, but he may as well be Amelia's big brother. Mav feels a sting of guilt. If he hadn't gotten himself shipped halfway across the world, he might've been. 

          The thought brings words unthinkingly to his lips. "I could help." 

          Amelia looks up at Penny. "Hear that? He could help." 

          "Are you sure you'll be okay here alone while you finish your homework? Jim won't be in until six when the bar opens." 

          "Bradley can stay with her. Make sure she doesn't run into any trouble on the way home." 

          Bradley's gaze snaps to Mav. "What the fuc-" 

          Mav stealthily pinches him in the side. He left Penny hanging so many times already. The least he can do is help her out with this and make sure her daughter makes it home safe. Amelia shouldn't have to walk home alone anyway. 

          A sudden cough leaves Bradley's throat and he pinches Maverick back while talking to Penny through his teeth. "Right. I'll, uh, I'll keep an eye on her." 

          "Uh huh," Penny hums. She doesn't sound convinced, but Mav sees the beginnings of a smile twisting her lips. "I suppose that's fine with me as long as Amelia is okay with it." 

          Amelia glances at Bradley. 

          Bradley looks distinctly uncomfortable. 

          A wicked little smile grows on Amelia's lips and she beams up at her mother. "Sure, mom. That'd be great." 

          "Okay." Penny squeezes Amelia's shoulder. "We'll be home in a few hours. If I take too long, you can make yourself a pizza, but otherwise, I should be back in time to make dinner." 

          "Sounds good. Have fun on the water." 

          "Will do. Pete, I'll meet you outside in the boatshed." 

          Pete agrees, turning to follow her. Quick bootsteps chase after him and he turns to meet Bradley's eyes. He looks both irritated and frantic. "What's wrong?" 

          Bradley huffs. "What's wrong?!" He glances at Amelia, then back to Mav, his voice a scant whisper. "You just dumped a fourteen-year-old kid on me! I don't know what the hell to do with a kid, Mav! What do I even do while she's doing her homework or whatever? Do I have to help her or talk to her?" 

          "Bradley, hey. Relax. She's a teenager, not a child. She'll mostly take care of herself. You can hang out and scroll your phone if you want until she's ready to go home." 

          "Okay, just...." Bradley grumbles under his breath. "Don't take too long." 

          Mav chuckles. "I won't, kiddo. Don't worry. I'm sorry for shoving you into this, but Penny needs the help and I have the time. Besides, if Amelia finishes her homework and wants to talk eventually, it wouldn't kill you to get to know her a little. You've known her since she was three." 

          "That's the problem. I don't know what the hell to do with her now. All I had to do back then was give her paper to color on until she fell asleep." 

          "Well, definitely don't treat her like she's still three." 

          Bradley glowers. "I know that." 

          "She's a young adult, Bradley." Mav rubs Bradley's arm. "At worst, she'll want nothing to do with you and ignore you the whole time. At best," Mav glances over his shoulder to make sure Penny isn't around before turning back to Bradley. "You can play poker with her after she's done. Just don't bet anything you want to keep." 

          "Fine." 

          Mav smiles. "You'll be okay, Bradley. I trust you, and if Penny didn't, she wouldn't let you stay." 

          The words relax Bradley a little and he sighs. "All right." He glances out the windows. "You'll be careful on the water?" 

          "I'll be careful. See you soon, kiddo." 

          Mav pulls him into a quick hug and heads out to help Penny with the boat. Suffice it to say, he's not exactly a great help with it, seeing as he's an aviator, not a sailor. Well, aside from his Naval definition as a sailor. How amusing. Thirty years in the Navy and it's a compliment from Penny that makes him feel accomplished. 

          Bradley skips down the front steps when Mav arrives at her house, greeting and leaving her with a passing hug. "Everything's good, Penny." 

          "I expected as much. Did you two eat?" 

          "No, ma'am." 

          "All right. I'll get started on dinner, then. You two drive safe. Oh, and Pete?" Penny calls over her shoulder. "You know I hate it when you give me that look!" 

          Mav grins like a loon as Bradley approaches. "What look?" 

          Penny doesn't so much as turn around before declaring, "That one!" 

          Bradley stands beside the bike, glancing between the two of them with narrowed eyes as they say their goodnights. As soon as the door is closed, he smacks Mav on the back of the head. "Stop flirting! Stop it! It's gross." 

          Mav rolls his eyes. "Quit complaining and get on." 

          The kid settles onto the back of the bike with a groan and he rubs his shoulder. 

          "Are you okay?" 

          "I'm fine," Bradley answers. "Amelia finished her homework early, so we played a game of poker like you said. I figured it'd be safe to bet something easy like push-ups, but she won right off the bat and insisted on sitting on my back when I did them. It was only ten, but it hurt like a motherfucker." 

          That startles a laugh out of Mav and he casts a look over his shoulder. "All those push-ups today and you thought it'd be fun to do more?" 

          "I didn't think she'd win," Bradley grumbles.  

          When the kid wraps his arms around Mav and tips loosely against his back, Mav puts the bike in gear and pulls away from the curb. "I even warned you about her, but did you listen to me? Of course, not. Did you at least have a good time otherwise?" 

          Bradley hums. "Yeah." After a minute, he lifts his head. "Hey, Mav?" 

          "Yeah, kiddo?" 

          "I know I said to stop flirting, but.... You both looked happy." 

          Mav pulls to a stop at a corner and checks both ways. It's late, and there shouldn't be any drivers, but he won't risk Bradley on that assumption. "Bradley.... It's complicated." 

          "It's really not. I can tell you still love her." 

          "She said she doesn't want to start again, kid. I'll respect that. I've hurt her enough." 

          Bradley hooks his chin over Mav's shoulder. "Who says you'll do it again?" 

          Mav heaves a breath. "You know what my life is like. This is the first time you and I have been stationed in the same place in a few years. I see her even less, and every time I piss someone off, I get moved around and the cycle starts over." 

          "You know," Bradley begins, cautious. "You could retire." 

          If Mav wasn't still feeling his last ejection under Bradley's grip, he might've shut him down—like the last five times. "I don't know, Brad. What would I even do with myself?" 

          "Find some hobbies. Work things out with Penny. Get yourself a little stability." 

          "I've never done well on the ground." 

          Bradley holds him a little tighter. "You did just fine with me." He nestles closer to him when they pick up a little speed, hiding from the wind chill. "It's not like you'll never be able to fly again. You still have the P-51." 

          Mav can't put off retirement forever, but now isn't the time to be thinking about endings. He can't have that on his mind. "I'll think about it." 

          No answer comes, so Mav figures Bradley considered the answer good enough for now. They arrive back at base shortly after, cloaked in the dark of evening. Mav sends Bradley off first, careful to avoid potential onlookers even this late at night. The gate guard certainly won't care about the goings-on between them, so he gets a pass, but after Bradley's performance today, his classmates wouldn't let it fly without some questions. 

          Speaking of flying without questions.... 

          The morning dawns with a class of disbelieving faces when he tells them about their mission parameters. "Your airspeed will be 660 knots. Minimum. This is to avoid the patrols of fifth-generation fighters in the area. In a head-to-head with these planes in your F-18s, you are dead. So, you need to get in, hit your target, and be gone before they ever know you were there. The only way in is this canyon, because the area is covered by surface-to-air missiles. These SAMs.... They're lethal, but they're meant to guard the skies above, not the valley below." 

          "Let me guess. We'll be the only ones insane enough to fly below them." 

          Mav doesn't like the casual nature of Bradley's tone. He casts his son a look. Even knowing that Maverick is here because the situation is dire, Bradley still doesn't grasp the severity. Mav prays something drastic doesn't need to happen to change that. "Yes. That's exactly what I'm going to teach you to do. The day of, your altitude will be one-hundred feet. Maximum." 

          Unsurprisingly, everyone thinks he's nuts. Bradley's musing expression fades into concern in a hurry.

          No one makes it through on the first day. Or the second. Mav can tell they're getting frustrated with him for being so stringent, so specific. Not only that, but Hangman does his level best to drive Mav up the wall. His predisposition toward self-sufficiency got his wingman "killed," and ultimately him, too. Mav never thought he'd want to go back in time and wring his own skinny little neck, but seeing Jake act just like he used to in the air shakes him up. No matter if he's a good pilot, they can't afford to lose anyone along the way. They have to protect each other at coffin corner, and Hangman can't be trusted to do that. 

          On the third day, Bradley makes it through. It's a clean run, truly, but he's too cautious at the tighter turns. He can't be choosy. If he cleans that up, he'll be golden. "You were still late. Enemy aircraft intercepted you on your way out. Then, what?" 

          "Then, it's a dogfight." 

          "Against fifth-generation fighters in your F-18?" Mav says, encouraging the boy he raised to understand, to be realistic, because this is real, and it could cost Bradley his life to keep treating the course like some kind of test. 

          "It's not the plane, sir. It's the pilot." 

          Of course, that's what he fires back. It's what Maverick taught him growing up. It's what Maverick told all of them on day one, but right now, the pilot in front of him refuses to see the danger right in front of his nose because the man who raised him is here and that always meant he was safe. Maverick can't keep him safe from this. "It is, but right now, that pilot isn't you." 

          Bradley swallows hard and clenches his jaw, dropping his eyes to his lap. Mav didn't mean to hurt him, but here, in front of these students, he can't even tell Bradley why he had to. 

          "You're not flying fast enough," Hangman asserts, and while it's true, Mav doesn't like his tone. However, Hangman plows right through when he tries to interrupt. "You're going into combat, son. On a level no living pilot has ever seen, not even him." A smirk grows on Hangman's face when he spots the stricken look on Maverick's. "Look, I don't mean to criticize. You're conservative, that's all, but we can't afford that up there. This is no time to be thinking about the past." 

          Bradley looks up, fire kindling in his eyes. "And what's that supposed to mean?" 

          "Rooster." 

          "I can't be the only one around here who knows that Rooster's old man burned in during an accident thirty years ago," Hangman says, his tone smug when he sees Bradley coiled to spring. "Or that Maverick here was flying-" 

          Bradley flies out of his chair in the space of a blink, held back only by his classmates. "You son of a bitch! Don't you say that! Don't you fucking blame him!" 

          The pleased look on Hangman's face fades when he hears the words, replaced by confusion. 

          "That's enough!" Mav barks, shoving his way in between despite being smaller than either of them. 

          When the possibility of hitting Maverick by mistake comes into play, Bradley lets himself be held back, still glaring daggers at Jake and breathing hard. Rarely ever has Mav seen him so furious, but when he does fly off the handle, the explosion tends to be big. It was something he unfortunately inherited from Maverick. 

          "He's not cut out for this mission," Hangman says finally, still confused but obstinately holding his ground. 

          "That's enough, Lieutenant!" Maverick snaps. 

          For the first time since they met, Jake straightens at Maverick's order. His jaw clenches and he falls silent, waiting. Maverick dismisses everyone else. He paces the length of the podium beside him twice, prowling, really. 

          "Sir-" 

          "Not another word." Mav comes to a stop, taking a breath and easing it out. He looks up at Jake, sees his own youth and naivety, and scrubs a hand through his hair. "What am I supposed to do with you, Jake?" 

          The younger aviator frowns at the familiar address, but he doesn't argue. 

          "No matter how many times I try to impress upon you not to leave your wingman, you ignore me. You put your team in danger," Mav says, echoing both Bradley a mere day before and Iceman so many years ago. He never dreamed he'd be on this side of the conversation. "You also put yourself in danger. Up there, your team is supposed to be able to trust you, to depend on you, because if they can't, they're dead." 

          Hangman stares straight ahead, stubborn. 

          "Look at me, Lieutenant." 

          Blue eyes, cold and irritated from a second scolding, land on Maverick. Maverick doesn't flinch. On a scale of one to Iceman, Jake's glare ranks a four at most. 

          "If your team is dead because you leave them behind, there is no mission. If you die because no one is left to cover you, there is no one to blame but yourself. There are bodies in the smoldering wreckage of planes that are there because of you. Kids whose parents are going to get a call to be told they have no body to bury. I ask you why you're dead when the mission fails. Why?" 

          "You tell me, sir." 

          Anger lights in Maverick's chest, but he contains it before it can catch into a larger flame. Yelling at this kid won't work. It certainly never worked on Maverick. Having read the files and experienced this pain himself, he knows where to hit to make it hurt—to make it sink into a skull as this as his own. "Because someone has to explain it to those families. Right?" 

          "Yes, sir." 

          "Are you going to tell Javy's mother that he's dead because he couldn't keep up?" 

          Cold gives way to shock. Jake utters a much softer, "No, sir." 

          "That's what I thought, Lieutenant," Mav answers, sighing and shaking his head. Hangman will only get mad if Maverick pushes now. Better to let him mull it over and see if it affects his performance. "You're dismissed." 

          Hangman leaves without another word. 

          Maverick stands alone in the ready room with his head bowed. He doubts one talk will change Jake's behavior, but it might get him on the right track. Now, he just needs to accomplish the same thing with everyone else. They all need to be able to work as a team, to think of one another as much as themselves. 

          A game. They need to level out and shake off a little stress. That's how the Top Gun class of '86 decompressed, so maybe it'd be good to put it into practice again. 

          In the spirit of that notion, bright and early the next morning, he lets his kids out to learn dogfight football. 

          Maverick very much enjoys playing with them. Bradley helps him up from a particularly rough fall, subtly checking his ribs with a downward glance. It's not forgiveness for yesterday's words, but that Bradley keeps an eye on him even now means he hasn't hurt him irreparably. His bruises have all but faded anyway, and the new ones won't show up until tomorrow. By the time Maverick scores some points and calls it a day for himself, he knows he's going to feel them in the morning. Looking at the kids now, all laughing and happy and cheering for Bob while he sits on Bradley's shoulders, Maverick sees a team for the first time. 

          No matter how this mission turns out, he's going to miss them when it's over. 

          When the sun sets, Maverick gives each of them a hug and takes Penny home. She goes inside without turning around or closing her door, leaving him an opportunity to follow if he so chooses. He stares after her for a long minute.  

          If he does this, there's no going back. He can't abandon her again, but.... The thought of living a life here on the ground terrifies him; his heart belongs in the sky. When Goose died, he was almost too afraid to get into the cockpit. After so many years, maybe what he's really afraid of is getting back out. He lived there for so long, he doesn't know what to do otherwise. 

          How did normal life become scary? 

          Or, more accurately, when did he get so scared of normal life? 

          That open door, hopeful and coaxing, is as good as a dare coming from admiral's daughter Penny Benjamin. You coming?

          Maverick has always been good with dares. So, after a wonderful evening of catching up with her, sharing their stories, and talking about his concerns about Bradley and the rest of the team, he crouches in Penny's window like a damn teenager and promises not to leave her again. 

          He rides high on the content feeling in his chest the entire way back to base.  

          The morning brings news that sends it crashing down into the sea. The uranium enrichment facility will be operational sooner than expected, which forces them to move on to the second segment of the mission. Mav hates time crunches. They're already struggling, and he fights for composure every day when their spirits lower with each failure. That's why he took them out to play in the first place. 

          Mav once again sees doubt and incredulity on the faces of his students when he presents them with a plan involving not one, but two miracles. At least, Rooster's comments seem to have tapered off. After the other day, Mav can't help but wonder if he took what was said to heart. 

          He keeps a stark eye on the WSOs, because despite the high-G climb, this mission relies heavily on the back-seaters to run the lasers. After the first laser failure, Bob makes it his personal mission to figure out how to fight against the speed and vibration throwing them off. He's closer every time. The only one as close to hitting the target as him is Fanboy. That narrows this list of candidates for this mission considerably.  

          As far as single-seater pilots are concerned, Mav notices the same consistency in Bradley that he wanted to see the entirety of last week. The pilot Mav and Ice trained peeks through the cracks. No out of hand recklessness, no trying to outsmart the course—Mav feels like he can breathe again.  

          Hangman could conceivably do it. It's a close thing on day two of the second segment, but Mav still thinks the team's survival depends on the unity of its parts. Fritz's blind targeting skills on day three cross him off the list. They can't afford to be off the mark, laser or no laser. 

          And day four? 

          On day four, Maverick stares with dread in his heart as Coyote's plane turns over in a graceful and terrible arc in the sky. "He's in G-LOC. I'm going after him. Come on, Coyote." He yells until his voice turns hoarse, compounding the noise in Javy's cockpit with pulse pounding and desperation climbing. Coyote pulls up in the nick of time. "Coyote! You all right? Are you all right?!" 

          "I'm okay. I'm good." Coyote breathes, sounding seconds away from tears. 

          Maverick whooshes out a sigh of relief. "Good. That's enough for you today."  

          Realistically, it might be longer than just today depending on how long it takes Javy to feel comfortable in the cockpit again. Although horrifying, this experience crosses him off the list. All the pilots need to be able to take high G's. He'll have time to wind down and breathe, and maybe even find himself a therapist after his near-death experience. 

          A thump on the glass startles Maverick and sends his gut to the soles of his feet. "Bird strike, bird strike!" 

          "Left engine is out! Climbing!"

          Phoenix does everything right. 

          She does everything right, follows procedure, remains calm and collected, and the world still spirals out of control. Mav tries to tell her about the other engine when it catches, but his warning comes too late. He hears Goose behind his own voice, screaming that they can't shake it and have to eject. Maverick's heart races in his chest when he sees their chutes. Chutes don't always mean everyone is okay, but it does mean they both made it out. They weren't in flat spin. They weren't, and it's not an F-14, and that means the chances of Bob or Phoenix hitting the canopy- 

          Maverick's lungs tighten and he forces himself to heave a shaking breath so he can make it back to base. He lands on the ground shortly after Coyote and staggers over to the younger aviator's plane. He can't do anything about Phoenix and Bob until the rescue team returns them to base, but he can check on Coyote. 

          "Coyote!" Mav leaps onto the ladder as soon as the canopy lifts, finding Coyote pulling his hands off the stick and throttle with visible tremors. "Are you okay?" 

          Coyote whimpers and shakes his head. "Phoenix and Bob, sir. Are they-" 

          "I saw two chutes," Maverick says. To a pilot who hasn't lost a wingman, the statement is a comfort. "Two chutes. They'll be fine." 

          "O-Okay," Coyote sniffles. "Help me?" 

          Maverick reaches into the cockpit and unbuckles Coyote's harness, easing the straps over his shoulders. "Nice and slow. Take deep breaths while we move you, otherwise you're gonna get lightheaded, all right? It's okay, Javy." 

          The younger aviator manages a shaky nod and heaves a breath before trying to leverage himself up. He fumbles, arms and legs buckling at the first sign of strain. Mav lifts him until he sits on the edge of the plane. This kid weighs a damn ton, but Mav doesn't let go. Hondo and a couple crew members stand by to catch him if he falls, but Mav eases him down the steps of the ladder one at a time. Each rung must feel like a mountain climb to Javy, and the last hop to the ground takes him thirty whole seconds. Mav wouldn't want to jump from any height in his state either. 

          Maverick takes Javy's weight once they're both grounded and lowers him to the tarmac. It's not gentle or in any way graceful. He shucks off Javy's helmet and wraps him in a hug, cradling his head when his soft whimpers turn into sobs. The younger aviator clings to him, trembling in every limb. It takes a long time for him to calm, and Mav knows it'll take even longer for the shakes to stop. 

          "It's okay, Javy. Everything's okay." 

          "Thank you, sir," the younger pilot whines. 

          Cordial and careful, a pair of medics join them a few minutes later and carry him off to the base hospital. Mav trails after them with Hondo at his side. He drags breaths in through his nose and out through his mouth, just like Ice taught him years ago. The WRO pulls him into a quick but comforting hug before they go in. 

          They wait forever once inside, but according to the clock, it only takes thirty minutes for the rescue team to bring back Phoenix and Bob.  

          Thirty minutes of agony.  

          Hangman joins them in the waiting area. Tension lines his shoulders and he can't seem to stop glancing at his watch. Maverick doesn't have to guess why, and when Javy himself walks unsteadily out of a hall nearby, he isn't surprised when Jake wraps the other pilot in a firm embrace. Javy chooses to sit while he waits for the verdict on Bob and Phoenix, his knee bouncing in an endless rhythm. 

          As soon as the nurses settle the other pilot and WSO into a room and explain that visitors are allowed, Maverick darts inside with them. They both stare at him like he grew two heads because of how harried he looks, but Maverick doesn't care. Phoenix and Bob are okay. 

          Phoenix regains her composure first. "Maverick?" 

          "What is it? What do you need?" 

          A wan smile flickers onto her features. "Could I ask you for a favor, sir?" 

          "Anything you want." 

          "Can I have a hug?" 

          Maverick slips up to the bed and curls her into his arms like a precious package. "Are you okay, sweetheart? Do you need me to find you something to eat? Or if you want a drink, I'm sure I can slip something past-" 

          A tearful but amused laugh leaves Phoenix's mouth. "No, sir. I've ejected before. Had to get the name Phoenix from somewhere. The hug is fine. Thank you." 

          "Anytime." 

          When she finally loosens her hold and Mav pulls back, she looks as fierce and proud as ever, even disheveled in a hospital bed. He never looked that good in a hospital bed in all his life. Mav helps her pin her hair back up when she asks. Her hands shake a little, but Mav would guess that's more from adrenaline than anything else. Bob, on the other hand.... 

          Mav turns toward the bed on his other side. "What about you?" 

          Bob sniffles. 

          A hug feels warranted here, so Mav wraps Bob up in an embrace. He sits with him like so for several minutes, quietly reassuring him he's okay and that he did exactly what he was supposed to. He only releases the WSO when the remainder of the team slips into the room. Hugs go to the occupants of the beds in succession, and Mav watches each of the aviators, even Jake, express their relief that they're okay. The room is crowded, but why does Mav still feel like someone is missing? 

          Where is Rooster? 

          Maverick's fading adrenaline climbs again as he excuses himself to search for his kid. The waiting room sits empty. So does the entry. Worry churns in Mav's gut. Bradley just listened to his best friend's crash, helpless in the rec room as Mav was in the air. Mav can only imagine what must be going through his head right now. 

          Where would Rooster go on base if not straight to the hospital to see Phoenix and Bob? He wouldn't stay in the rec room. Chances are, he was too upset to make it back to barracks.  

          Eventually, after a long search, Mav finds him in the ready room. It's a close, dark, low-pressure environment provided no one else is in there. Mav isn't surprised. Bradley sits in one of the chairs, bent over his knees with his hands folded in front of him. His expression looks worryingly blank. Did he shut down entirely? Mav takes a step closer before deciding touching his potentially-volatile son might not be the best idea. 

          "Phoenix and Bob are gonna be okay." 

          Bradley lifts his head and meets Mav's eyes, tear tracks down his cheeks and his sun-kissed skin paler than it should be. "Yeah?" 

          Maverick tips his head. "Yeah. They're gonna hold them overnight for observation, but they'll be back tomorrow. What about you? Are you all right?" 

          "No." 

          That's all the invitation Mav needs to sit down beside him.  

          Bradley twists on his seat and leans into him. He lets Maverick stroke his hair while he cries, finally sinking against him when he exhausts himself. "I've never lost a wingman," he croaks. 

          "You're lucky, kiddo. If you fly long enough, it'll happen, but you didn't lose Phoenix today. Okay?" 

          "But I still might. She-.... This was only training. When we're out there, it's going to be real, and we won't be able to just send search and rescue into enemy territory. No one has finished the course or hit the target, and I'm-" Bradley muffles a sob in Maverick's neck. "I'm scared, dad." 

          Mav rubs his back. "I know. I am, too." 

          The statement gets Bradley's attention and he pushes himself up, wiping the tears from his eyes. "What do you mean?" 

          "Just what I said." 

          "But...." Bradley shakes his head and stands, drying his sweaty hands while he paces. "But if you're scared, then what are the chances we can do this? You said you'd train us to do it, but if you're scared, then just how high are the chances that we won't?!" 

          Mav raises an appeasing hand. "Bradley-" 

          The younger aviator turns in a tight circle. "It's fucking suicide, isn't it? We look at your plan and think it's fucking crazy, but in reality, it's the only damn way we can survive this, isn't it?!" 

          "Yes." 

          "That's why you're pushing us so hard. Of fucking course!" 

          Maverick nods wordlessly, rising to his feet and stepping into Bradley's line of sight. "It's the only way I can protect you. I can't go on this mission and do it, so trust me when I say that you have to get this." Maverick's voice catches, and sudden frustration over Bradley's recent behavior catches him off guard. "You have to go! And I'm going to be the one that sends you! If they die? If you die? That's on me, because it's up to me to prepare you! You have to learn this because your team needs you, and you have to be able to promise me you'll come home!" 

          "My father always promised to come home and look where he is!" 

          Silence falls between them. Maverick stares at his son, shocked, heartbroken, and unsure if he'll be able to speak without breaking down in tears. 

          Bradley has no such reservations. He grabs Maverick and drags him bodily into a hug, terrified gasps puffing out against Maverick's scalp. "I-I want to come home from this, but I'm so fucking scared that we won't." 

          The curl of dread in Mav's heart unwinds. 

          "What if we can't do this?" 

          "You can. I know you can. You'll all come home, I promise." Because Maverick won't be able to bear it if they don't.

          The door opens before Bradley speaks again, and Warlock doesn't so much as blink at the sight of the two of them curled so closely to one another. "Maverick." 

          Mav doesn't like that tone. "Warlock, sir?" 

          "It's Iceman. He was in an accident." 

          Bradley freezes against Mav, then the two of them spring apart and follow the rear admiral out the door. "He's okay, right?" 

          Warlock glances over his shoulder as he leads them outside. Apparently, he recognized neither of them should drive right now, because his car waits for them at the curb. "They didn't give me details on his condition, but from what I've heard, he'll pull through. Mrs. Kazansky is already with him at the local hospital and I'm sure she can give you the rundown." 

          "Do you know what happened?" Mav asks, his heart in his throat. He'd ask if this damn day can get any worse, but he's not about to tempt the sick irony of life like that. 

          "He was driving home from a two-day conference and was T-boned in an intersection when the other driver blew the stop sign while texting on their phone. The man was also admitted to the ER, but I don't know if he had anything too serious. Mrs. Kazansky said the police came to the hospital for him, so I'd assume not." 

          Bradley shifts anxiously in the backseat. 

          The ride to the hospital is tense. Mav nearly crawls over the console and joins Bradley in the back more than once. Warlock wouldn't care. He knows Bradley and Mav are close, but being caught once in an unprofessional setting was enough. 

          Sarah meets them in the entry to the hospital. She doesn't look devastated, so that's good. 

          The bad news is that Tom is in rough shape from the crash. Between the physical trauma of a broken arm, fractured ribs, and minor head injury, coupled with his age, he probably won't wake up for a couple days. The good news is that it's all survivable and easy enough to recover from with time and rest. Bradley holds Maverick close while they stand in the hospital room at Ice's bedside. 

          Hours later, when they return to base, wrung out and exhausted from the emotional day, Bradley hangs on to Maverick's coat sleeve and allows himself to be led. Mav directs him to Phoenix and Bob's hospital room. 

          "Rooster?" Phoenix asks, pushing herself up in the bed and staring at her friend. Mav can't blame her. He looks dead on his feet with his head hanging like it is. "Are you okay?" 

          When Bradley doesn't answer, Mav gives him a small nudge toward her. "Go on, kiddo." 

          Bradley lets go of Mav's sleeve and wraps Phoenix in a hug. She arches a brow at Mav over his shoulder for the term of endearment. Mav doesn't bother answering her unspoken question, simply watching over the two of them for a little while as he leans against Bob's bed. The WSO sleeps soundly on his side, his glasses askew. Mav gives them a gentle tug and folds them on the stand between the beds. 

          The kid looks so tired, his expression bunched even in sleep. Mav extends a hand to Bob's shoulder, smoothing it up and down the kid's arm. It soothes the younger aviator. Mav softens on him a little. 

          "Don't you even fucking think about it," Bradley grumbles. 

          "Bradley, all I did was take his glasses off." 

          "I have eyes. You were about to do that hair stroke thing. I like being an only-child, so don't even fucking think about it." 

          Mav rolls his eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about, but even if I did, Pheonix is practically your sister already anyway. Hell, it was you who brought up adoption when you found out about her parents. If you didn't want siblings, you wouldn't bring it up." 

          Bradley jerks upright. "That was a secret!" 

          Phoenix still holds her arms out to her sides in stunned consideration. "Okayyy.... Something just happened here. Could someone explain this to me before my brain short-circuits?" 

          "Oh." Bradley winces at glances back at Phoenix. "Shit." 

          Mav sighs, smiling for the first time since the series of unfortunate events. "Yeah, kiddo. 'Oh, shit.'" 

          "Um...." 

          Phoenix glowers, crossing her arms. When Bradley doesn't answer, she glances between the two of them and almost immediately smacks him, lightly, on the head. Repeatedly. "I knew he was familiar! I even asked you if you thought he looked familiar, you asshole! Why didn't you tell me?!" 

          "Mav and—ow! —Uncle Ice always told me not to! Hey!" Bradley raises his arms in defense, but it doesn't exactly stop her. "Phoe- Phoenix! Please! Ow!" 

          Maverick watches on with a smirk twisting his lips. This revelation is going down about as well as he figured it would. He glances down at Bob beside him, finding sleepy blue eyes watching the event in bleary confusion. 

          "Uncle Ice?!" Phoenix demands. "As in "Iceman" Ice?!" 

          Bradley ducks her next slap and flees to Maverick's side. "Yes, Uncle Ice." He raises a defensive hand when she starts to get up. "No. You're on bed rest. That means you stay in bed." 

          She doesn't look discouraged by that at all. 

          "Fuck! Dad, save me!" 

          "Lieutenant." Mav shoots her a look. "Back in the bed. Please, stop hitting my kid." 

          Phoenix settles, grumpy and put-out even as she glares at Rooster. "You and me? We're gonna have a talk about honesty when I get out of this bed. Preferably on the mats in the gym where I can beat the shit out of you and it's allowed." 

          Bradley sticks his tongue out at her. 

          "Children, the both of you," Maverick mumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

          The lively energy in the room wanes after that point, seeing as two grown adults do so hate being reminded that they're acting like children. Mav swears Bob and Phoenix to secrecy in the lull. The end of visiting hours forces them to leave for the night soon after. Mav sends Bradley back to his quarters, laying within the confines of his own and chatting softly with Hondo about how poorly things are going with the mission prep. 

          The WRO cheers him up with a cup of cocoa that Mav would bet real money was stolen from Warlock's stash. 

          Mav spends all afternoon teaching indoors the next day, giving the students a chance to ground themselves again before going back up. Bradley and Mav head off base and across town to see Ice in the afternoon. He's still asleep, but looking better. It's an easy day. Warlock and Hondo both approve. 

          Cyclone does not. 

          When the sun rises the following morning, Mav sends Rooster and up with Payback and Fanboy; they get closer than ever before. Regardless, the air boss steps in to take the team away from him. Maverick thinks maybe he should've seen this coming—that the minute Ice's back was turned Cyclone would try to get rid of him. It's underhanded and disrespectful in the worst possible ways—a 'fuck you' to Ice's opinions despite supposedly admiring the man. 

          Is nothing ever easy? 

          And how dare Cyclone jeopardize the lives of his pilots by stealing them away from him just when his lessons would've sunk in. Whatever it is Cyclone wants to teach them instead, they will die out there, and rather than give them a fighting chance, the air boss will throw them to the wolves. Mav understands. Cyclone has a duty. For the sake of the many, the Navy is more than willing to sacrifice a few pilots. Mav is not. This mission must be completed, yes, but it doesn't have to be completed at the cost of these kids' lives—his son's life. 

          Mav can't stand the idea of it, but what is he supposed to do? Ice is unconscious. He can't protect Maverick right now if he does something he shouldn't. Or, rather, does something he should but is against the rules. 

          He skulks off the base and takes his bike out for a ride. Out of habit, he finds a familiar solace in Penny. And Penny, conniving and rebellious Penny who knows just as well as he does that he can't let go so easily, gives him an idea. Really, Cyclone should've known better than to leave Maverick to his devices. 

          Come morning, Mav texts Bradley. Trust me.

          Even unknowing of what he needs to trust Maverick for, Bradley answers almost immediately. Always.

          With the mission only days away and no success in sight, Maverick does the only thing he can do. He flagrantly abuses the blanket permissions on the F-18s Ice gave him years ago to bypass security and get airborne without express orders to do so. He'll still face Cyclone for disobeying orders in the end. Mav checks the time. Cyclone will be starting class in a minute. Perfect. 

          While he flies to the contact point, Mav considers just how hard he can push. At the very least, he needs to prove the mission can be flown. On top of that, proving the existence of a margin of error would help immeasurably, which means taking as little time as possible. 

          Maverick knows his limits. It's time to make them believe in theirs. 

          "Maverick to range control, entering point alpha. Confirm green range." 

          "Uh, Maverick, range control. Green range is... confirmed? I don't see an event scheduled for you, sir."

          He can't laugh. If he laughs, Cyclone will think Maverick thinks this is all a big joke. But, for the record, he wants to laugh. "Well. I'm going anyway," he responds, making a couple minor adjustments and getting in position. "Setting time to target: two minutes, fifteen seconds." Taking a steadying breath, Mav clips his mask on and settles in. "Final attack point. Maverick's inbound." 

          Mav enters the canyon simulation, already going far faster than the minimum speed he presented his students with. Rather than fighting the G's, Maverick uses them to pull himself into and out of the twists in the course. He doesn't turn so much as drifts. 

          Every adjustment Maverick makes, he accompanies with a heaved breath between the shifts in G's. They drag at his face, a constant reminder of the strain his body is under. Air flows around him in cones of vapor, a display of the force fighting against him with each movement. Anticipation thrums in his veins as he exits the canyon and he adjusts his grip on the stick. 

          "Popping in three, two, one." At the crest of the simulation, Mav inverts and turns over to lock onto the target. No WSO means no laser, but Maverick's steady hand guides the shot home. "Bombs away." 

          Then, he climbs up to the clear blue sky. It yawns before him as the world turns black at the edges and each breath huffs out with more difficulty than the last. The gauge reading his G's climbs with him. He feels the protest of his aircraft in its slight tremor just as his missiles impact the target. Gulping air now, he finishes the arc at a read of 10 G's of strain. 

          Hollywood would've swooned on the spot if he could've seen this. 

          He'll just have to owe Mav fifty bucks later. 

          As it turns out, Maverick got lucky with the timing of his run, because after he lands, the sky darkens and commences with a downpour the likes of which the base rarely ever sees. He stands at attention in the ready room for three hours at Cyclone's order, waiting. 

          If this is the end of Maverick's career, so be it. He gave those pilots belief. 

          Cyclone enters, pausing beside Maverick before stalking over to the windows. To Maverick's curiosity, he doesn't look like the stoic air boss who kicked Maverick out of the building yesterday. His expression contains a strange softness and uncertainty, both welcome changes to the hard-ass who would've ripped away Maverick's child, his wings, and career all in one go. Warlock stands beside Maverick, resolute and faithful. His stance speaks to readiness, an eagerness to fight should Cyclone stray. 

          "You have put me in a difficult position, Captain. I have everything I need to court martial you and ground you for good. But.... You've also proven that this mission can be flown." He turns away from the window and Maverick sees a glimmer of hope in the air boss. "Perhaps the only way it can be survived, even if you did so by potentially ruining a multi-million-dollar aircraft. So, what do I do?" 

          Obviously, it's unwise to talk right now unless Maverick really wants to get himself written up for insubordination, which is already covered several thousand times is his file. He doesn't need another one of those. 

          "Do I risk the success of this mission," Cyclone intones, sighing and shaking his head. "Or risk my career by appointing you mission leader?" 

          To spare one of those kids? 

          Maverick would do anything.  

          "Sir-" 

          Warlock steadies him, eases him back from the staggered step he took forward in his desperation and eagerness. "I believe the admiral was asking a rhetorical question, Captain." 

          Cyclone pins Maverick with a determined stare—Mav gives it a three on his Iceman scale. "Just know that if this mission fails in any way, shape, or form due to your actions, you're done. No more second chances, no Iceman to save you. You will face court martial for not only that, but today's actions and all those I've compiled in the last two weeks. Is that clear?" 

          "Yes, sir. But I would also like to make a request." 

          Suspicion curls into Cyclone's expression, but he narrows his eyes and ventures, "What kind of request might that be, Captain?" 

          "Post-mission completion at coffin corner, sir," Maverick says. "Once we're out of range of the SAMs, there's no turning back." 

          Cyclone arches a brow, seeming confused but humoring him all the same. It's a small request to make, after all. "Understood. We'll be expecting you back on the ship with the fastest possible ETA." 

          "Yes, sir." 

          "Then, that'll be all, Captain. You're dismissed." 

          Mav leaves with relief burgeoning in his chest, dizzying him and steadying him all at once. The paradox of such a clash amuses him enough to walk down the halls to the rec room where his students wait. He steps inside and finds several beaming faces swarming him and demanding his attention. Only two stay back: Hangman and Rooster. Jake meets Maverick's eye with newfound respect and appreciation. Bradley just looks nervous. 

          "Sir?" 

          Mav orders the group to quiet down so he can hear. "Rooster?" 

          "Did you get discharged, sir?" 

          Phoenix's expression falls. "Oh. I guess you did technically steal a plane. Shit. I completely forgot about that." 

          Clearly, Rooster didn't. In fact, he probably hasn't stopped thinking about it since Maverick's text this morning. With the way he wound himself up over the Darkstar incident two weeks ago, Mav isn't shocked. Probably not Mav's most shining moment to text 'trust me' and then do something that looks so very incredibly illegal on the surface. 

          "I didn't steal it." Mav shrugs. "By Cyclone's standard of scheduled events, it was stolen, but by my blanket launch authority from Ice, it's definitely not stolen. The only thing I can get nailed for today is insubordination." He smiles when Bradley's nervousness fades. "Which didn't happen. So, no, I didn't get discharged." 

          The team grows loud with cheers again and Mav smiles. 

          "I know this is all very exciting, but we do need to stay on point. We still have some hops left to do tomorrow to perfect all this, and then the morning after, it'll be time to ship out. If you have any questions, now is the time to ask them. All right?" 

          "You taking us out somewhere special before we ship out, Pops?" Jake asks. 

          "What, you want ice cream or something?" 

          Jake's isn't the only eager face among the group at the mention of ice cream. 

          Maverick rolls his eyes and heaves a sigh. "I suppose, it won't hurt you kids to have a little sugar on such a dreary day. We're walking to the ice cream place, so I hope you all brought your umbrellas." 

          Bradley fully embraces the opportunity to hang out with him in a public setting, sharing his umbrella with Maverick and looping an arm over his shoulders. Mav leans into him, glancing back at the other clusters of students huddling under four colorful canopies. Hangman takes great displeasure in the fact that he's sheltering underneath plaid rubber ducks provided by Fanboy, of all people. The other three umbrellas might've been stolen, but Bob would neither confirm nor deny it.

          The group makes it safely to the shop, and Mav spends far too much on ice cream. He stands back from the tables and tugs out his phone. "Everybody, smile." 

          Yale nearly chokes and hurries to clean off his face. 

          Grinning, Mav snaps a photo and settles back into the booth beside Bradley. 

          "You gonna put us on your fridge, sir?" Payback chuckles.  

          "I can if you want, but I was actually planning to send this to Ice." 

          Several horrified exclamations sound off. Mav ignores every call for a redo, because he's definitely keeping the first picture just the way it is. Fanboy has chocolate ice cream on his nose and Halo has her face covered in banana split. And, as an added benefit, it's not every day he finds proof that Jake is just as big of a dork as everyone else as he wears an empty waffle-cone on his head. 

          Mav sends the photo, grinning ear to ear when he sees Ice's typing bubble pop up within seconds. These are the people defending our country?

          Presently, they're the people spending my money.

          Mav nudges Bradley. "Ice is awake." 

          "That's great. How's he doing?" 

          "I'll ask him quick-" 

          I heard you stole a plane.

          Of course, Ice already heard about that. "Nevermind. He's fine. Already badgering me about committing crimes." Maverick's shenanigans were probably the first thing he asked his aide about when he woke up. It's not stolen if I have your permission.

          Semantics. A pause. Be careful up there.

          With Bradley looking over his shoulder now, it's impossible to miss the wide-eyed expression on his face. Mav gives a minute shake of his head, mouthing 'later' to him before texting Ice back and promising to be careful. Bradley relaxes against his side and tunes in to Phoenix, Bob, and Fanboy's excited conversation. Mav sits back and listens to them talk with a slight smile on his face, savoring his remaining time with the squadron. When Fritz starts a lively debate over pizza versus pasta, Mav figures he should catch up with Ice a little more. It's good being able to talk to him again.

          How's the hospital?

          I convinced them to let Sarah take me home.

          So, he hated it just as much as Pete does and weaseled his way out of it. Hypocrite. How come you get to leave the hospital early, but the last time I was there, you handcuffed me to the bedrail?

          The last time you were there, you had pneumonia.

          So?

          Pete. Pneumonia means you need rest and antibiotics. Besides, I don't see why you're still complaining about this. It's not like the damn handcuffs stopped you.

          You made Bradley drag me back. They doped me up to make me stay put.

          Whiner.

          There's never any winning this argument with you.

          That makes me the better pilot if you can't win a tiny verbal dogfight, don't you think?

          In your dreams. And I never think.

          That's the general consensus. Enjoy your ice cream, Pete.

          I'll bring you some rocky road.

          Mav puts his phone away, lifting his eyes to the group with a fond smile tracing his lips. A hand reaches across the table while most everyone else chatters away. The hand belongs to none other than Javy. 

          "Sir?" 

          "What's up, kid?" 

          Javy's expression warms at the casual address. "I just wanted to thank you, officially, for saving my life the other day. You didn't have to risk your plane like you did to chase me down." 

          "Yeah, I did, but you're welcome. If you need to talk about it, you know where to find me." 

          Gratitude crosses Javy's face before he turns back to a quiet conversation with Jake. Jake nibbles at the edge of his empty waffle-cone all the while, slowly going around and around and around until he reaches the bottom, strips the paper off, and crunches down the rest. Halo's banana split melted at the edges, and Mav's lips tip up when she starts pouting about it to Omaha. Fritz has a sugar high going. Phoenix and Bob share the last of their hot fudge sundae. 

          Mav smiles a bittersweet little smile because he knows this can't last forever. 

          All too soon, their deployment looms on the horizon. 

          Mav steps into the Hard Deck in his dress whites and tells Penny about his active status on the mission. He promised not to leave her, and now he may not have a choice. It's unfair. He hates that more than anything. Mav already spent too many years being unfair to her. After the way Amelia told him not to break her heart again, this feels like a betrayal of that promise. 

          Penny stays beside him. She doesn't get angry or accuse him of anything, instead wrapping her arms around him and sharing what might be their last moments together. 

          As he stands on deck the following day, breathing in the scent of saltwater, he imagines being back on the beach with her. When this is over, he'll take her up in the P-51 for a little fun. She can try, and probably fail, to teach him boat racing and laugh at him when he gets tangled up in something he shouldn't. Boats are really not his thing. 

          But it'll still be nice. 

          Mav shakes himself and forces those thoughts away during the mission briefing. He picks his teams, sees their fears written plainly on their faces but has no time to assuage them all. 

          The closer the mission gets, the faster time slips away from him. His mind lands on Bradley with each ticking minute. While ultimately feeling safer with Maverick in the air with him, the kid still looks anxious. Mav takes him to an empty corridor and holds him for several long minutes, eking out precious motes of the time they have left to comfort him. Bradley nuzzles closer. Maverick lets him. 

          "You've got this, kiddo. Just like we practiced yesterday. You, Payback, and Phoenix were flawless." 

          Bradley lowers his head and buries his face in the neck of Mav's flight suit. "M' still scared." 

          "That's a good thing. Means you're sane." 

          "What if-" 

          Mav hushes Bradley and pulls back, resting their foreheads together. "You can't play that game, Bradley. I know it's scary, but you can't be thinking like that. That's the wrong kind of scared." 

          Bradley places one of his hands on top of Mav's at the side of his face. "Right." 

          "I'll be right there if you need me." 

          "All right." 

          Both of them come to attention when they hear the call for inspections and part ways on the deck. Mav fears for Bradley yet again. While their most recent training hops yesterday were perfect, Javy's G-LOC incident and the bird strike weigh heavily on his mind. Those are two factors Mav can't control out there, but he trusts them to do this. 

          To come home. 

          Maverick leads them head-long into danger in the mid-afternoon. He folds away his worries, feels the steady rock and twist of his aircraft, and entrusts himself to its sure hold. Phoenix and Bob fall in behind him, then Rooster, and lastly, Payback and Fanboy. 

          "Dagger attack." 

          No more redoes.

          Maverick keeps his eye on Phoenix as he swings through the canyon, growing more anxious with every second. More than once, he hears Payback and Fanboy calling out to Rooster to accelerate. Anyone would be shaken seeing SAMs so close for the first time. Unfortunately, with a sudden patrol of bandits in the air, they can't afford to be late. 

          Bradley's frightened voice crosses over comms. "Talk to me, dad."

          "Come on, kid. You can do it. Don't think, just do." 

          Even with hardly a moment to breathe, Maverick praises Bradley when he does as he's told. Phoenix's accident spooked him pretty badly, but they've done this before. They did it just yesterday in training. 

          Mav puffs out a nervous sound, almost a laugh, when he sees a bridge in his way and flies between the columns. "Look out, Phoenix." 

          "Right behind you, Mav. No worries."

          "Roger that." 

          "Team two, be ready for a bridge in your near future."

          Rooster confirms just as Maverick and Phoenix pop for their inverted strike. Bob sets him up perfectly for the shot. Miracle number one strikes true. 

          Miracle number two makes Maverick unbearably proud, but he can't focus on anything but survival while the four of them dodge and weave in and out of one another's paths. Maverick counts down the number of second chances they have with each declaration of defense. Their formation changes in all the commotion, two-seaters forced to one side of their escape route and single-seaters on the other. Payback and Phoenix out-range the SAMs first. 

          Rooster isn't so lucky. 

          Mav shields the boy he raised with his own wings, his heart twisting when he hears Bradley scream for him right before his comms cut out. Impact should've been it for Mav, considering how long it took him to pop his chute. He knew if the kids saw it, they might try to come back. That said, the crash, to his pleasant surprise, doesn't kill him.

          The helicopter sure as hell might. 

          But, no. Bradley Peter Stubborn Bradshaw can't leave well enough alone, and while Mav would normally be grateful, right now, after watching him get hit by a SAM and running half a mile through the snow to find him again, all he feels is terror and anger. 

          "What are you doing here?!" 

          "I wasn't going to leave you! You could show a little fucking gratitude!" 

          "Gratitude? Are you serious?! You think I took that missile so you could be down here with me? You were supposed to go home!" 

          Bradley isn't cowed. If anything, that pisses him off more. And Mav thought he was upset after the whole Darkstar thing. "Oh, I am so sorry that someone taught me to never abandon my fucking wingman! Hellooo!" Bradley waves his hands in the air. "What the hell did you think was gonna happen?!" 

          "I didn't think you were going to get yourself shot down in enemy territory, that's for damn sure! Did that seem like a good idea to you? Seriously! What the fuck, Bradley?! What the hell were you even thinking?!" 

          "You taught me not to think! 'Don't think, just do!' Remember?! 'If you think, you're dead!' Thirty damn years, that's what you taught me, and here we both are, alive! You're fucking welcome!" 

          Fucking. Damn it. 

          Maverick heaves an exhausted breath and rests his hands on his knees for a second. His body hurts, he's frustrated, and he just doesn't have the energy to argue with his brave/stupid son. 

          Bradley grumbles under his breath. 

          "What was that?" 

          "I said 'Can we just go home now?'" 

          Mav stares at the kid. If it weren't for the veiled worry in Bradley's expression, Mav would think he was treating their situation like a poorly planned vacation. It kind of was, but apparently, the only poor planning here was Mav not taking proper account of his kid once he quit overthinking about how scared he was. 

          It's funny. Mav spent a week and a half trying to knock 'yes, you should be scared' into his skull, then proceeded to forget that not thinking kind of counteracts being scared. 

          See, this kind of shit is what happens when Mav tries to teach both his and Ice's methods at the same time. 

          Maverick sighs. "Yeah, kid. Let's go home." 

          A hop, skip, and a jump later, they find themselves a comfy F-14 to fly home in. 

          "This is a piece of shit." 

          "You watch your mouth and get over here, young man." Mav motions him over to the huffer. "All right, so you're gonna hold this switch, and once the dial reaches 120 and the first engine fires, you press this button. Then, you gotta pull the pins and disconnect everything. Got it?" 

          Bradley nods. 

          Mav pats his arm. "Good. We've got this, kiddo." 

          With the two of them at it, it doesn't take long to pull the F-14 out of the hutch. It feels a little like coming home to be sitting in one with a Bradshaw in the back. Mav isn't sure he likes it, but it's not like he has time to worry about it. 

          "Both runways are cratered. How are we gonna get this museum piece into the air?" 

          Mav runs his hand over the console as he considers their options, breathing an absent "He didn't mean it. Be good to me, sweetheart" when he realizes there's only one. He keeps the brake down, opening the wings and throttling up the afterburners the same way they always do on a carrier. 

          "Mav?" Bradley asks, and Mav sees his helmet thump against the window in the mirror. "Why are the wings coming out, Mav?" 

          "One of life's mysteries, kid." 

          As Maverick rockets them straight toward a building, he hears Bradley shouting at him in the back—something about family road trips being the worst. Oh, ye of little faith. Mav smiles when he hears Bradley giggling like a five-year-old that they lived. 

          There's nothing like a near-death experience to get the blood pumping. Or several, really. 

          To be completely honest, when Bradley hollers at him to 'do some of that pilot shit,' it cheers Mav up, even in the midst of a dogfight with a plane that can definitely kill them. Bradley may bitch and moan, but he trusts Mav to keep him safe the same way Goose did all those years ago. 

          It crushes Mav to know his child's trust put him in the backseat of an F-14 with faulty ejection handles. "I'm sorry, baby. I'm so sorry." 

          "Don't be," Bradley squeaks, his voice tight with terror. "I love you." 

          Mav's heart clenches when the tone of an enemy lock-on fills the cockpit and he braces for impact—one that never comes. Hangman's voice, cheerful in the face of their near-miss, crosses the comms. Bradley laughs, the breathless quality of it a bit helpless. The stone in Mav's gut lightens at the sound. He's certain there are tears on his face, but he doesn't try to wipe them away. He can't laugh or talk for several minutes because of the choking relief. Only when he calls for a landing does he scratch out their need for the net. 

          "Captain Mitchell!" 

          Safely on deck, Maverick turns to the voice calling his name, finding Bradley's teary face standing a short distance away. 

          "Sir," he croaks, clinging to the last shred of professionalism. 

          Maverick no longer cares about how it looks to the brass. "Don't you 'sir' me, you reckless little shit. Come here, son." 

          Bradley sobs into Mav's neck, trembling as the build-up of unbridled terror in his body gives way to an adrenaline crash of epic proportions. Mav cradles him, ignoring his aches and pains to reassure his kid of their safety. 

          "I know I didn't seem grateful before, kiddo, but thank you for saving me." 

          "You promised we'd all come home," Bradley murmurs, sniffling. "I wasn't about to let you break that promise." 

          Mav presses a kiss into his son's sweaty hair, lifting his eyes to the tower above them and finding Warlock and Cyclone gazing down upon them. Warlock grins, pumping his fist in victorious excitement. Cyclone inclines his head with respect. Finally, he understands why Ice chose Maverick for this mission, even if Bradley did throw a wrench into it by turning around against orders. He's sure the air boss will be willing to let that go, seeing as the Navy quite literally wanted to send them to die. 

          "Dad, you're bleeding!" 

          The words draw Mav's attention back to Bradley and he finds his son pulling away while he wipes a smear of blood off his chin. "Oh. Yeah, I kinda forgot about those." 

          "Medic!" 

          "Bradley, relax-" 

          Bradley does not relax. 

          Mav ends up in the infirmary within minutes, staring down Bradley Bradshaw perched on the cot across from him while the medical personnel clean up all manner of cuts scrapes and bruises. Between the two of them, they paint quite the picture of injuries—Mav more so than Bradley, thank goodness. 

          The minute both of them receive news of their ability to leave med-bay, even conditionally, Mav tries to escape. Someone steps into the hallway with them just as Bradley's arms wrap around his stomach and lift his feet off the floor. 

          "Damn it, kid! Let go!" 

          "Not a chance. You got shot! Twice! You're gonna lay down in that cot and be happy about it." 

          Mav pries at Bradley's arms to no avail. "They were grazes. I'm fine." 

          "Maverick, so help me, I will call Iceman." 

          Squirming and twisting do no good. Maverick internally curses Bradley's height genes while he struggles to get his feet back on the ground. "He's on bedrest. Don't you dare bother him-" 

          A throat clears. "Captain Mitchell." 

          Mav lifts his head, finding Warlock with a brow arched and his arms crossed. He snakes an arm behind himself to pinch Bradley's side, sighing when the kid holds firm despite the squeaky giggle in his throat. "Warlock, sir." 

          At the mention of Warlock's name, Bradley shifts to see around Mav. "I'd salute, sir, but I have my hands full." 

          "I see that. Unfortunately, you'll have to let him go. Cyclone ordered me to retrieve you both as soon as you were out of the infirmary. Any enforced bedrest will need to be run by the air boss seeing as the medics already cleared you." 

          Mav straightens his flight suit when Bradley puts him down. "Why would you give him ideas-" 

          "Thank you, sir. I'll be sure to do that," Bradley interrupts, wrapping his arm around Mav's shoulders and leading him away when Warlock dismisses them. 

          Unlike Mav expected, Cyclone doesn't immediately jump on Bradley for disobeying orders when they get to his office. Instead, he scrutinizes the two of them carefully. Mav and Bradley stand so closely together that their shoulders touch, neither one willing to go far from the other. 

          "Captain Mitchell." 

          Maverick keeps his face carefully blank. "Sir." 

          "I would like to offer you my sincerest apologies for how I handled your presence both during your time at Top Gun and for any insinuations about the time before. The infractions I compiled will be discarded," Cyclone says, and Maverick can hardly believe his ears. Looking deeply aggrieved, he adds, "As an apology for failing to adhere to Admiral Kazansky's orders, there is also a standing invitation waiting for you for permanent posting at Top Gun, courtesy of myself and Admiral Bates. You and your team are to be given three months of leave for rest and recovery." 

          What?

          Bradley cheerfully nudges Mav's boot with his own. 

          "Thank you, sir," Maverick answers, still shell-shocked by the knowledge that not only will he have a break, but he'll be staying in one place for the rest of his career if he so chooses. 

          "You'll be commended for bravery, although, it's my understanding this won't be anything new to you." Cyclone rests his hand on top of a thick binder on his desk. "In fact, according to this you've been due for promotion several dozen times, but seem to acquire just the right number of reprimands to avoid the obligation." 

          Maverick holds back a smile. "I'm sure I have no idea what you're referring to, sir." 

          "I thought as much." Cyclone turns his gaze to Bradley and Maverick tenses protectively. "As for you, Lieutenant Bradshaw, I'm uncertain what to address first. The most obvious, I suppose, would be concealing a potential conflict of interest. I could also mention crashing a multi-million-dollar plane, or insubordination. You disobeyed a direct order to return to the ship." 

          "You ordered me to leave my wingman, sir," Bradley replies, unrepentant. 

          "I was given orders to do so." 

          Bradley's expression twists with disbelief and confusion. "Respectfully, sir, who would've asked you to do that?" 

          Cyclone arches a brow, blue eyes flicking meaningfully to Maverick and back to Bradley. He waits for realization to dawn, ignoring how his subordinate's parade rest sinks away as Rooster levels accusing eyes on Maverick. Mav winces, but he doesn't apologize. 

          "That said," Cyclone begins, nodding appreciatively when Bradley gathers himself again to stand at attention. "While there will be a reprimand noted, I see no reason to punish you for saving a life. The probability of failure of this mission, coupled with high amounts of stress, and the fact that you did perform admirably and save your wingman, means I am willing to absolve you of today's transgressions if-" Cyclone raises his pen and glowers at the two of them. "-both of you manage not to get yourselves written up for any reason for the remaining duration of our time on this ship. If I am given any undue paperwork in the next twenty-four hours, you will face demotion. Is that understood?" 

          "Yes, sir," Rooster and Mav respond. 

          "Good. You're dismissed." 

          This is usually the part where Mav would make a break for it, but if Bradley's career depends on him being good, then that's the last thing he should do. He and his son step out into the hall. Mav doesn't argue when Bradley leads him straight to his bunk. Instead, he scoots as far onto it as he can and opens an arm to Bradley. Bradley accepts, putting his back to Maverick and curling up under his arm. 

          The rest of the Dagger squadron finds them curled up together hours later. They settle in, cramming as many people onto the other bunks as possible. When Hondo comes in and finds his bed occupied by Fanboy and Payback, he simply crosses his arms and cocks a brow at Mav. 

          "I hope this won't be a theme when I take over the guest room in your house, seeing as we're staying in North Island, now." 

          Bradley shifts in his sleep, murmuring under his breath. Mav rubs his shoulder and smiles up at Hondo. "Well, Bradley will be in his room, and unless some of these other kids follow me home, the guest room should be free." 

          Phoenix leans over from the top bunk and smiles down at Mav. "Can I come? Bradley always said he came back to California whenever he went home on leave, but I was never invited." 

          "Sure thing, Phoe. We'd love to have you." 

          "Cool. I'll take the couch." She disappears over the edge of the bunk and curls up with Bob again. 

          Hondo glowers up at Hangman where the kid lounges lazily on a bunk all by himself. "You, out. Go sleep on Mav and Rooster. I ain't sharing with any of you kids." 

          Jake meets Mav's eyes, expressionless yet nervous in the way that only the emotionally inept seem to be. Mav would know. When he first met Goose, he would say that it was Maverick's default expression. Jake may be an asshole, but he has a good heart under all that ego. Mav smiles and motions him over with a subtle jerk of his chin. 

          Hondo climbs into the top bunk on the opposite side of the room with a weary grumble. 

          When the room fills with soft snores of its numerous occupants, Mav puffs a full breath. Jake's weight on his hip isn't bad, and Bradley's warmth comforts him immensely. 

          "Hey, dad?" 

          Mav hums, dropping his head and burying his nose in Bradley's hair. 

          "If you ever try to order anyone to make me leave you behind again, I'll make you cosplay as Mighty Mouse and send the picture to Ice." 

          "You wouldn't dare." 

          Bradley chuckles warmly and nuzzles closer. "You want to bet on that?" 

          No. 

          No, he does not. 

          Maverick presses a tender kiss into Bradley's curls and heaves a contented sigh. "I love you, kiddo. More than anything. You know that, don't you?" 

          "Always."