Chapter Text
The impressive figure standing on the observation deck needed no observation or introduction. Even from his position on the deck inside of his F-18, Jake “Hangman” Seresin recognized him immediately. Admiral Kazansky, who was supposed to be on bedrest, had dragged himself out to a Naval carrier in the middle of enemy territory to oversee the clusterfuck that was this mission.
“Once again, Dagger Spare requesting to fly air cover,” he tried to keep his voice level and professional but the brass were being obstinate. Are they deaf? Maverick and Bradley were in a museum piece fighting against far superior aircraft. The fact that they hadn’t been shot out of the sky yet was a miracle. He flicked on the switches. If permission was granted, he’d need to waste no time. The request was denied. This from Cyclone. He turned off his intercom, smacking the edge of his canopy and cursing.
He felt every fiber of his being on fire and continued with the pre-flight gear-up. Phoenix was still on the tarmac, glaring at him as if to say go, what the hell are you doing ? Coyote and Bob coming to stand beside her, similar expressions plastered onto their faces. His thumb hovered over the intercom. They were wondering why the hell Bagman was doing what he always did. Left people out to dry.
“Admiral Kazansky sir?” he sounded hesitant and now was not the time. The com was silent. No response. Not surprisingly considering the state of his voice. If he could help it, Iceman rarely spoke, but he had a glare that could get any subordinate to do what he liked. C’mon Pops give the glare, let’s go , Jake thought. He couldn’t see the Admiral’s face, but could picture its pensive pinched expression. One that looked so much like a mask except to those who knew it well. And Jake Seresin knew it well.
He fastened his facemask over and lowered the eye shield. For his whole naval career, he fought tooth and nail to keep it a secret. His accomplishments and his flying were all due to him and no one else. His heart leaped, threatening to escape from within his chest. It hadn't been beaten so fast since the day he saw Bradley sitting in the first row on the first day of Top Gun years ago. For a man pushing his mid-twenties he looked remarkably the same at seventeen. Bradley knew the truth. Phoenix knew the truth and Javy knew the truth.To hell with it. It was his trump card and it might just save his CO and Bradley.
“Hey Dad,” He forced the parental title around the rock lodged in his throat. The address is insubordination. They can yell at him later. Fanboy and Payback who are still listening to their coms snap their heads towards him. He ignored their stares, “can you clear me for take off so I can save your wingman? I think you still owe him for the Persian Gulf,”
The response is immediate. The ground crew are preparing for his take off and he saluted the tower before putting it into position. Hondo, who must be the only brass capable of speaking, sprouted off coordinates and he hightailed off the carrier. I’m coming, he thought, I’m coming , just hang on .
***
1994
“Out with it, Iceman,” Pete Mitchell muttered, squinting into the midday sun. Not that Kazansky knew it but he had a very important baseball tournament to attend to. And he was late already. The cryptic voice message on his phone was the only reason he lingered behind letting the Bradshaws go off without him.
His wingman was dressed in civvies. His hands stuffed so far down his jean pockets one would think he was trying to tear them. Pete started. He’d seen this man shoot down enemy aircraft, land F-14’s without an engine,and even pull a fly-by. His call sign defined him and yet here looking out of place on the suburban street he was nervous. That immediately piqued his interests more.
“I have a kid,” Iceman mumbled, chomping down on a piece of gum. The obnoxious habit he had at the beginning of Top Gun.
Pete frowned, “yes, I’m aware. I’ve met Rachel and Val. You made me the uh uh sandek? At the bree?”
Ice winced. Pete knew he was butchering the pronunciation of the words but the ceremony had been over three years ago. The Mitchells didn’t do religion. When Duke was still alive, they went to church. He had vague memories of pastors and stained glass windows. His mom never brought them again after the funeral. Pete had gone to Goose’s wedding in a church and a few funerals, they never bought him the peace that flying did.
“A bris,” his wingman corrected and then shook himself out of it. His eyes rolled upward and then they slammed shut, “I mean I-I have another kid other than Rach and Val,”
Was he confessing to adultery? Pete caught those glacial eyes. He would never suspect Ice of doing that but there was guilt in that strained expression. His fleeting glances to the car made sense now. The kid was still sitting in the car. A cursory glance revealed that it was a child and not an infant sitting in there.
The explanation came in haste, “he’s seven. I-I…it was before I met Sarah. When Slider and I were stationed in Corpus Christi,” Ice looked away, “his mom died a few years ago. He was in the system until his Aunt found him and uh she found me and Mav…he’s a little scary,”
Maverick sauntered over to the car, lowering himself to catch a glimpse of the blond child sitting in the backseat. The kid jerked his head in Mav’s direction, fierce green eyes peeking out from beneath fringes of too long blond hair. The expression is stony and filled with far too much anger for a child of that size, and one could see the boy is trying to be intimidating. The effect is completely lost considering he couldn’t weigh more than forty-five pounds soaking wet. This was what scared the giant aviator?
“Why is he still in the car?”
“He uh didn’t wanna come out,” Ice explained, “started to shriek so I just left him in there,”
“Hmm,” Pete lowered himself, making eye contact. The kid still stared, “Come on out,”
This was met by absolute silence. As if in a western the aviator and child were engaged in a staredown. Who was going to fire the pistol first? Ice opened his mouth to comment but Pete was already leaning into the car, undoing the seat belt, and pulling the kid out of the car. The quick movements shocked the tiny terror into silence.
Pete lowered himself so that the blond boy’s face was above his own. The fierce green eyes looked more hesitant now that he was not in the safety of the car. He offered his hand which was stared at wearily and told the boy, “I’m Maverick,”
Ice was edging his way forward clearly expecting hostile interactions but none came.
“That’s not a real name,”
Mitchell laughed good-naturedly, “you’re right hotshot. My first name’s Pete and you are?”
“Jake,” Mav took his right hand, taking a moment to explain the fineries of a handshake. The tiny hand gripped the larger one, letting his bony arm be shaken.The low rumble of a minivan temporarily interrupted the peace. The boy glared at it and Ice found that both he and Maverick were moving closer. Could they both sense that the boy was prone to elopement? Bradley emerged first, clutching a trophy that gleamed silver in the light. A baseball bag slung over his shoulder and dirt stains on his pants. He marched up to them undeterred, the game ball clutched in his hand.
“Mav!” he called out, coming to a stop just before them, “Uncle Tom!” His nose scrunched up then in perfect imitation of the former RIO. His eyes were on Jake, who despite the marked height and weight difference, was glaring up at him with an expression that screamed I’m not afraid of you . Behind the boys, Mav caught sight of Carole who was resting a cooler on her hip and giving him an apprising glare. Bradley looked up at the aviators, “is this Val ?”
Val Kazansky was a little over three years old. Tall for his age yes, but still smaller than Jake was and not quite so blonde. Beside him, Ice barked out a humorless laugh. Jake’s eyes had fallen on the trophy, staring at it wistfully.
“This is Jake,” Maverick intercepted, clasping the kid’s shoulder, “why don’t the two of you go and toss the ball around?”
He gave Bradley a pointed glare. “Okay. He can use my old glove,”
Jake’s eyes flared up to Maverick, who gave an encouraging nod. The younger boy trailed dutifully behind Bradley. They disappeared into the garage in search of the glove as Carole ushered them inside. She set out the leftover cookies and juice boxes from the game. Their vantage point in the breakfast nook gave them a nice view of the boys attempting to play catch. It was evident that no one had taught Jake to play as Bradley patiently readjusted his grip. As they sat, Ice filled in the back story a bit more. Each sad statistic is like a knife in the gut. No wonder the kid was so angry.
“Can we-,” he began, unable to let the sad mood get any sadder. Carole looked to be on the verge of tears. She was staring at the younger boy as if she wanted to smother him with blankets and not let go. Probably the opposite of what the kid wanted and expected, “appreciate that it is Ice and not me with an illegitimate love child?”
Carole fixed him a glare, “would you like a gold sticker?” she dug into her bag, extracting one and smacking it onto his t-shirt. The damn thing had sparkles that glitter underneath the sunlight basking into the room.
Above her head, Ice met his glare, “I wouldn’t count yourself out Maverick,” To Carole he added, “thank you for your hospitality,”
“Anytime Tom,” she clasped a hand over his, “you and little Jake are welcome anytime. He’s cute,”
Cute hadn’t been the way his biological father had just described him. Pete could read outside the lines, sometimes . Jake, was his last name Kazansky? Probably not but Iceman’s newfound son had been described as a feral child who did not get along with others, impulsive and angry. All words that had been said or written of him. And maybe he was but a seven-year-old didn’t deserve to be condemned to it. Especially a kid who lost a mother, bounced around the system, found by an Aunt and now carted to a father. That was a hell of a lot of change. Who wouldn’t be angry? He was angry with him.
“What do you plan to do with him?” The question was blunt. He was blunt. His honesty and bravado tended to put people off. But at this moment, he could ignore Carole’s kick to the shins. Ice needed this question posed to him. Did he intend to be this kid’s father? To love and care for him, like he did for Rachel and Val? Not out of guilt and obligation, but out of love? If so, that needed to be addressed. If not, what was this whole charade for?
“Shit,” his fellow aviator said, leaping out of his seat. The chair clamored onto the linoleum floor. Maverick shifted seeing the impending doom.Bradley had thrown a ball high in the air. Its trajectory was blinded by the San Diego sun. Jake’s mitt was up above his head, waiting for a ball that was going to hit him squarely in the face. His stool toppled in his haste to reach the kid. The ball collided with his eye with a loud crack. The force of it sent the second grader to the ground. The little body stayed there, flat on his back, winded and hurt. He and Carole both rose, sprinting outside. Bradley stared at them, mouth gaping open and horror encapsulated on his face.
“Hey! Hey! Hey! You okay?” There was no sound of crying, but the stillness of the little boy in front of him was not comforting. Both of the little hands had come up to cup his eye blocking the damage. Pete let Ice lean in closer watching as paternal instinct took over. Perhaps he had misjudged Ice’s weariness. Suddenly gaining an elementary student as a kid had to be hard. Behind them, little Goose is apologizing. His mother mumbled something soothing that Pete didn’t quite catch since he was listening to the exchange in front of him, “can you let Dad see?”
The angry and impulsive little boy let his hand be pried from his face. The delicate skin around the left eye was already red, foretelling how bad of a shiner it was going to be. Impressively, the kid still maintained a stony expression. No tears were brimming in his eyes though the injury must hurt like hell.
“How many hands am I holding up?” Mav is holding up all five fingers behind his wingman’s head.
The little eyes followed the wiggling fingers, “five,”
“Uh-oh Iceman, head damage for sure,”
Carole hit him on the shoulder, “Pete! Bradley, can you go into the house and get some ice for him? Yes I know you didn’t do it on purpose, just go,”
Jake pushed himself up on his elbows, blinking at the assembled adults before him. The expression is not as guarded as it is one of shock. As if adults fretting over him was a rare occasion. He begrudgingly lets Carole gently turn his chin and gingerly examine his eye. His facade of not feeling the pain, shattered, under her ministrations and tears brimmed in his eyes. He turned his head, trying to hide them by wiping at them with his sleeve, but he only flinched when his sleeve touched his left eye.
“Hey there little bud,” Carole whispered, “it’s okay to cry, getting a shiner hurts. Your Uncle Pete can tell you all about them,”
“Uncle Pete?” he mumbled, and the first hesitant smile graced his face. Did the kid have dimples? Mav wished he had a camera at that moment. Bradley returned with a bag of peas and cold steak, apparently unable to decide which would be more effective in helping the swelling go down. The peas were pressed to the injury while Carole returned the steak and fetched more cookies. And that was the day he gained another honorary nephew.
2017
*Days Before the Uranium Mission*
There had been something gnawing at him since the Captain had been unceremoniously dumped on his ass outside of “The Hard Deck”. The blond aviator, Seresin, paused staring at him for a moment longer than the others had. Recognition fluttering across his features. And here was the answer staring at him back from the files. The ones he pulled after their first day of combat training; Jake Matthew Seresin, born October 31st, 1989, Iceman’s son.
Tangibly, he knew that Val Kazansky’s decision to join the Air Force had been quite the talk of the town. Admirals and other servicemen alike speculated it. If it bothered his wingman, Kazansky never let it show. Of course, he’d heard vague talk of a naval aviator with the first air-to-air kill since his own but Seresin never meant anything to him. Jake had always been Jake, Ice’s son and later known by a nickname given by Slider.
“Sir?” Jake’s voice drew him back to the present.
He needed the upper-hand for this conversation. The kid had been nearly fourteen the last time Mav saw him. Still scrawny and small, people mistook him for a seventh grader and made his life hell for it. He’d grown a lot since then but there were still vestiges of the kid he knew. He gestured to the seat in front of the desk of the empty ceremonial room.
“You flew well today recklessly but well,”
“Very kind of you sir,”
He had only spent eight years in Texas. The other years had been in California and yet the accent still remained strong, Mav mused. The jaw tightened. A sure sign that despite the outward devil may care attitude, the kid was nervous. Of him? Or his status as a senior Naval Aviator? He posed a few questions about the flying, about the F-18’s, and about past experience.
“However in the future,” he leaned over the desk, hands folded over the files, “you will not leave your wingman. Yes, I know I used to but I ceased that practice a long time ago. Ask your dad,”
The color drained out of the younger Aviator's face. Was it because he was caught? Or because of Ice? Thinking of whom, why hasn't he mentioned his son was on this mission? An acknowledged suicide mission? Ice might not be mentioned in the kid’s files, but there was no way the Admiral was not keeping a tab on him.
“You know Uncle Pete,” despite everyone else Bradley, Ice, Slider, everyone calling him Maverick, Jake always used Uncle Pete. Hmm, and it stuck, “you’re a lot quicker on the uptake than Brad Brad,”
Maverick raised an eyebrow imploring him to go on.
“Took dear Brad a year in our tenure at Top Gun to realize who I was,” he shook his head sadly. A hand went over his heart, “heart breaking ain’t it?”
“I’m sure you tormented him and didn’t make it easy,” Maverick mumbled.
Hangman rolled his eyes but didn’t give an answer. He rubbed his hands on his pants leg. A sure fire sign that he wanted to ask something.
“Out with it,”
Jake turned away. His profile was so strikingly like his father’s, all sharp edges. Was the tightening of the jaw genetic or from nurture?
“Are you…,” he licked his lips, “is this, who I am, going to be a problem?”
“You tell me,” Maverick said opening up the file, “because according to this file, you’re Jacob Matthew Seresin son of the late Anna Seresin. No father mentioned,”
The eyes went towards the ceiling. One, two, three and…
“Look sir. I just wanted to prove to myself that I was the best. And I am. I am very good,” he said, though something in his words weren’t right, “our esteemed Fleet Commander isn’t on my original birth certificate and I never changed my name. I think you, son of Duke Mitchell would understand,”
There was some veracity to that statement, but something told him, it was not the whole truth. He nodded that he heard him, glance silently assuring that Maverick would not be the one to out him as the Fleet Commander’s son. No, that was his decision. One that Bradley must have come to the conclusion too. And their shared animosity to each other was making more sense now.
“Am I dismissed now? Or are you going to continue to be a hypocrite and tell me not to do what you used to do?”
He really had not changed. Sure, he was taller and stronger and flew Fighter pilots, but he was still the same. But now he was talking to a superior officer. He could ream him out for it, but his mind was still trying to reconcile this cocky young adult with the child he knew.
“Sure thing,” he said. He waited until the aviator was about to open the door before he happily called out, “see you at 0800 hours, Slushie,”
The shoulders rose to his ears which were turning red. The nickname had come courtesy of Slider, who had been very pleased with himself at the time. He had dubbed Rachel and Val, Snowflake and Snowman, respectively. Slushie had become Jake’s nickname. He hated it from the moment it was bestowed. Of course that only made Maverick and his fellow Top Gun graduates want to use it more.
“Do not call me that, Captain,”
“Dismissed Lieutenant,” The door slammed shut. He fished his phone out of his pocket sending a message to Iceman, why the hell did you not tell me your son was also on this suicide misson ?