#Mav just destroys a Jet

[nyree2712]

Top Gun - Incorrect Quotes 18

Iceman:Recent Naval report say that YOU are responsible of 50% of Aviation accidents... I can't tell if I want to kick the shit out of you for being so reckless or kiss you for being alive

Maverick: *Chuckles* I'd take that kiss... please

[the-authoress-writes]

The Comfort of Your Arms

Tom “Iceman” Kazansky x ER Nurse Wife!reader

(Not my art)

Synopsis: When a bad day at the ER leaves Mrs. Kazansky a wreck, she goes to the only place she knows she’s safe.

Warnings: Child death, mention of drunk driver, blood, vague descriptions of medical procedures, some cursing, reader is in state of emotional distress, non-sexual nudity, and just a whole lot of fluffy hurt/comfort.

Author’s Note: Huge disclaimer here—this is barely proofread, I just wanted to get this out as soon as possible, since this is a gift for @callsign-skydancer, who was having a bad few days a couple of days ago.

I thought this would ease her need for some soft Tom Kazansky thoughts.

I hope you like this, Sky!!

“Just get home.

Just get home.

Just get home,” played on loop in her head as she drove down the thankfully familiar roads, because she was honestly operating on autopilot.

Her heart rate was about thirty or forty BPM too high, she could just tell from the pounding all over her body.

She knew her body couldn’t sustain that for long, and she had to get home.

House after house passed her by, and finally, she pulled up to the curb of her house.

She coached herself through the motions of turning off the engine, getting her bag and lunch bag in her hand, and stepping out of the car.

The few steps to the door never felt so far as they did at that moment, her knees trembling just as much as her hands were, but she considered it a miracle that she was able to get the key into the lock, and the sound of the deadbolt turning echoed in her head.

As the door opened, the scent of home washed over her, and she stepped inside, almost in a daze.

“Hey, you’re home early!” The sound of her husband’s voice came from what sounded like the kitchen, and her breath shuddered in her chest, as she clapped her hand to her mouth to stifle the sob that was building in her chest.

Footsteps began to follow the sound of his voice as he walked to the door. “I was making my Mom’s piroshkis and beef stew—” Tom cut himself off as he caught sight of her.

She knew she looked like shit in her rumpled clothes, her hair was a mess, there was probably still some blood on her arms, and she was wide eyed.

The silence was heavy as gray eyes swept over her, immediately cataloguing each thing she thought of, and probably more, and he cautiously said, “Milaya, are you alright?”

At the sound of his voice, so soft and gentle, the sob that she’d been holding back burst forth, and the tears sprang from her eyes as she felt her legs give out beneath her.

She had barely made any contact with the floor, when she felt strong arms come around her, and the faint, lingering scent of jet fuel hit her nose, but then, the blackness which had been threatening ever since she heard the tone of flatline, consumed her.

Tom Kazansky would argue that it had been a great day for him; he and Mav had absolutely destroyed the current class of TOPGUN students, displaying yet again, the Kazansky-Mitchell dominance in the air (it’s alphabetical, Mav, your name can’t come first, and I’m older), he finished his paperwork early, and thusly had gotten home about half an hour early.

He knew his wife was working a long shift at the hospital, so after a quick change into more comfortable clothes, he wanted to surprise her with her favorite food from his family recipes.

He’d just gotten the piroshkis in the oven, and the stew was simmering on the stove, when he heard the keys jingle in the lock, and the door open. “Hey, you’re home early!” he called out, hanging the dish towel on the oven before moving to greet her. “I was making my Mom’s piroshkis and beef stew—” Tom cut himself off as he caught sight of her.

She looked beautiful as ever, but her hand was over her mouth, and the look in her eyes was painfully familiar; he’d seen it too many times in the eyes of fellow fighter pilots—hell, he’d seen it in his own eyes, especially after… well, Hop 31.

Her eyes were haunted, glassy with tears, her breathing much too fast.

And most frightening, there were a few stains of dried blood on her arms.

But he knew her well enough to know that if it were hers, there was no way she’d be here, instead of at the hospital, getting treated.

So it must have gotten on her while she was working.

Carefully, he ventured, “Milaya, are you alright?” keeping his voice soft and gentle, speaking as he would to a spooked animal.

He was startled, but not surprised as a sob burst from her mouth, and tears spilled from her eyes.

He lunged to catch her as her legs gave out beneath her and she passed out.

He called her name, gently shaking her, trying to rouse her.

Seeing that it was in vain, he carried her upstairs to the bedroom, laying her down on her side, all while continuing to stroke her hair and talk softly to her, calling for her to wake up.

After ten minutes had passed, and she hadn’t woken up yet, Tom went for the well-stocked first aid kit, grabbing an ammonia snap, rushing back to her side, breaking it under her nose.

She immediately gasped, and sat upright in bed, panicked.

“Milaya, milaya,” he called, wrapping an arm around her, as she tried to scramble out of bed, struggling vainly against his strong but careful grip.

He could see the panic in her eyes, and he got up onto the bed behind her, holding her against him, repeatedly murmuring “It’s okay, you’re alright, you’re here with me,” in the Russian he knew would calm her faster, even though she wouldn’t understand it, all because he knew it would reassure her she was really with him.

He felt when awareness came back to her, the heaving gasps turning into slight shudders. “Tom?”

It broke his heart to hear the tremble in her voice. “I’m here, lyubimaya moya, you’re safe.”

“I’m home?”

“Yeah, you’re home.”

“I made it—I made it home.”

He wasn’t sure why she was asking these questions, but he answered them regardless. “Yes, you did.”

She turned red-rimmed eyes to him. “I made it home,” and suddenly, she shifted her grip to hold him tightly and let out the most heartbreaking sobs he’d ever heard.

He held her through her sobs, unceasingly reassuring her of his presence, carding his hand through her hair.

When she calmed again, he gently said, “I’ll run you a bath, solnishko, how does that sound?

Make it warm, the way you like it, with all the oils and stuff.”

(It was actually closer to boiling, in his opinion, but she loved it, so he didn’t question it.)

She didn’t reply verbally, just nodded, and if she needed to be quiet for a while, that was fine, he could talk for the both of them.

Tom led her to the bathroom, starting the water in the shower/tub, turning the handle all the way to the left.

She was sitting on the closed lid of the toilet, staring blankly at the wall.

He reached for her hands, taking them in both of his.

Her hands were freezing, and he rubbed them between his, to warm them up. “Okay, how about we get you undressed?

That okay?”

Again, a nod.

“Alright.”

He started with her shoes, putting them off to the side so neither of them would trip on them, then her socks, patterned with little hearts, he noted.

“Okay, milaya, let’s get your jeans off.”

He pulled her to her feet, directing her to stand on his socked feet so she wouldn’t touch the cold tile of the floor, unbuttoning her jeans with one hand to help keep her balanced on his feet, and tugged them along with her underwear halfway down.

“Okay, you can sit down again, lyubimaya moya.”

Next was her sweatshirt, then her bra.

Normally, this sort of procedure had a very different outcome, and the sight of his naked wife was more than enough for a very different reaction, but at the moment, he couldn’t care less about a “usual male reaction”, wanting nothing more than to care for the love of his life.

By this time, he could feel the steam from the shower behind him, so he plugged the drain and pulled the spigot on the tub faucet, causing the water to flow from it instead of the shower head.

While waiting for the tub to fill, he dropped several drops of her lavender oil into the water, the air filling with its scent immediately, before shutting the faucet once the tub filled.

He helped her into the steaming tub, easing her down into the water, the tension in his heart he didn’t even know he had easing when she breathed a little sigh of relief.

“Okay, zhizn moya,” he said, kneeling beside her, “I just need to remove the piroshkis from the oven and shut the stove, okay?

I’ll be—”

Her hand flew to his wrist, gripping so tightly he winced slightly.

“No—please don’t leave me,” she whispered.

“I’ll be so fast, milaya.

I’ll be back soon.”

“No,” she shook her head.

“Please, solnishko.

The house could burn down if I don’t.”

She saw the reason in this, but Tom could see that it was wrenching something in her to be parted from him, even for so short a time.

So he offered a compromise. “How about this: I’ll sing the whole time, you’ll be able to hear me, so you don’t feel so alone.”

He knew she loved to hear him sing, for some reason, even though he thought he had a horrible voice—he was much better at the piano, in his opinion.

She bit her lip, considering. “Okay—but you have to promise me you’ll come back soon.”

“I swear it on my wings, milaya.”

“Okay,” she let go of his wrist.

He began softly singing “Are You Lonesome Tonight?”, the song they had danced to for the first time when they were dating, backing out of the bathroom, increasing the volume of his voice the further he got.

He ran downstairs, shutting the stove with a flick of the wrist, before grabbing the piroshkis from the oven—luckily, he could see they were still edible, just slightly too brown at the edges.

With his mission completed, he dashed up the stairs, entering the bathroom just in time to finish the second refrain. “See?

I told you I’d be fast,” he grinned.

She plaintively reached for him. “Join me please—I… I need to feel you.”

How could he deny her?

He quickly undressed, sitting in the spot she made for him behind her, bracketing her legs with his, pulling her against him, and she shifted to rest her ear over his heart.

The water had cooled slightly, thank God, so he wasn’t cooking in the water like he would have been earlier.

Tom let the silence sit for a while before venturing, “What happened today, lyubimaya moya?”

At first, he wondered if she had fallen asleep, but then, she spoke. “I knew it would be bad when the paramedics encoded into the hospital; pediatric patient, hit by a drunk driver in the middle of the damn day.” Her breath hitched, and he felt moisture not from the bath fall on his chest. “He was so little, Tom, and there was so much—I tried to save him—I did compressions for forever; his little ribs—but—” her voice broke, and she silently sobbed against him.

At this full understanding of what happened to her today, his heart shattered for her. “Oh, milaya.

I’m so sorry.”

She choked, “Why?

He was seven.

Still basically a baby.

Why?”

“I don’t have the answers for you, solnishko, but wherever he is, I’m sure he’s so grateful you tried to save him.”

“It’s not enough.

I should—who the fuck gets drunk in the middle of the fucking day?”

“The asshole who killed that poor kid,” he thought, but he knew it was a rhetorical question, and that she didn’t really want that answer.

More moisture fell against his chest and he held her tighter.

By the time the water had gone cold, her tears had long since stopped, so with gentle motions, he lifted her up, wrapping a towel around her and another around his waist, unplugging the drain and grabbing fresh clothes for the both of them, quickly throwing on his, then repeated the process he’d done for her earlier in reverse.

Dressed, she curled up on her side of the bed.

“Do you think you can eat a little something?” he asked.

“I don’t want to.”

“You have to.”

She sniffled, “You—you’d have to leave me again.”

Tom offered, “I’ll sing again for you; I promise I won’t make you eat a lot—just a little, for me, please?”

“…Okay.”

He ran downstairs, reprising his “Are You Lonesome Tonight?” while ladling out a small bowl of stew, sticking it in the microwave for a minute, and putting a piroshki on a saucer, returning upstairs to see a soft, barely-there smile on her lips. “You should sing more,” she murmured.

“I don’t know why you think my voice is anything fantastic, I’m much better at the piano,” he smiled back.

“It’s more beautiful than you think.”

He sighed, “I’ll take your word for it.

Now here you go, your favorites; the piroshkis are a little bit too crispy, but it’s still good.

You want me to feed you or are you good?”

When she hesitated, he smiled, “Just sit up for me, okay, I don’t want you to choke.”

It took a while, but he got her to finish the whole bowl of stew, and half the piroshki, tossing the other half in his own mouth, placing the dishes on the nightstand for tomorrow, not wanting to leave her again—his OCD could go screw itself for a few hours.

He got into his side of the bed, pulling the covers over both of them, and enfolding her into his arms, purposely shifted her ear over his heart. “Get some rest, milaya.

I’m here, I won’t leave you.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

She had endured hell today, she knew that, but her husband’s gentle care eased the pain in her heart, and the way he took care of her tonight was something she would not—could not—forget.

She would be forever grateful she’d given him a chance three years ago at The O Club, seeing something in him beyond the cocky facade he liked to present to the world.

“I’m sorry I wrecked your dinner plans,” she whispered.

“You didn’t wreck them,” he murmured back.

“But—”

“But nothing.

You were hurting, and I wanted to take care of you.

There’ll be other nights.”

“I don’t deserve you, Tom,” she shook her head.”

He sighed, “I’m the one who doesn’t deserve you, okay?

And I’m not taking any arguments.”

She could hear the smile in his voice.

“I’m so glad I gave you a chance at The O,” she said, repeating her earlier thoughts.

He chuckled, “So am I.”

Silence fell over them again, and she was just about to fall asleep, but she was suddenly seized by a desire to tell him something. “Thank you for catching me,” she breathed, meaning more than when she passed out downstairs.

Thankfully, he understood. “I’ll always be here to piece you back together, milaya.

I love you.”

She smiled, her heart full of love for this man. “I love you too.

And I promise to do the same for you.”

And with that, she allowed herself to drift off to sleep.

Val has indeed sung “Are You Lonesome Tonight?” although with some, ahem, amendments to the lyrics, in the film soundtrack of Top Secret!

Russian Glossary

Disclaimer: endearments and translations taken from Google—please don’t hesitate to correct me if I’m wrong, which, odds are, I am.

Milaya: dear, darling (there are other translations of this word, however)

Lyubimaya moya: my darling/my one and only sweetheart

Solnishko: little sun

Zhizn moya: my life

Taglist

@valmare

@callsign-skydancer

@permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88

@tadomikiku

@malindacath

@aviatorobsessed

@lynnevanss

@djs8891

If you’d like to join my taglist, just send me an ask!

[missathlete31]

Dead On Your Feet- Chapter 9

Previous Chapters can be found on my Masterlist Here

Chapter Summary: Maverick is on his way to try and save Rooster and Hangman, but will the fastest pilot on the planet make it in time?

Warnings: this chapter really puts Maverick through the angst. It might be my favorite thing I ever wrote but I’m not quite sure what that says about me as a person 🤔🤷‍♀️ anyway: enjoy!

Maverick flies with a recklessness that precedes even his reputation. He bends the frame of his plane as he streaks through the rapidly approaching night sky, his eyes straight and focused while his heart aches as he listens to his comms.

While he was taking off, unauthorized and with an angry Cyclone's blistering calls to turn around screaming in his ear, one of the technicians in command had said two Fifth Gen fighters had pulled up next to the lowly F-14. Maverick's hands clenched on the stick as he was informed that one was shot down (more than likely Hangman's second air-to-air kill), before a dog fight erupted in the sky. Simpson's orders changed at that moment, calling for two more F-18's to be brought up and Fritz and Coyote to prep.

As for Mitchell, Beau keeps his crew relaying updates, narrating the deadly dance in the sky to Pete as best they can, while the pilot rockets towards his students as fast as he can.

It still too slow though. Painfully slow.

Despite the sheer force of stubborn will he puts into it, Maverick can't defy the laws of physics and he can't cross this ocean any faster. The integrity of his jet is already in question at the speed he is maintaining and while Pete could not care any less about his own safety, he does Rooster and Hangman no favors if his plane burns in before he even gets to him.

"A plane's gone down-" a voice announces over the radio from the command room aboard the carrier. Whoever says it sounds steady, too steady, as though they haven't just delivered news that could destroy Maverick's entire life. The older pilot takes a breath when nothing further comes from Command. "Which plane" he grits out, annoyed he even has to ask.

"We're checking Mitchell" Cyclone sounds less Cyborg but still cruel in his lack of answers. Pete closes his eyes, still heading forward because if it's anyone beside Rooster and Hangman still in the sky, God help them with the wrath he is about to ignite upon them.

Hondo's voice clips in, breathless in the way he gets when he is excited or at his wit's end (the latter being the way he usually is when dealing with Maverick), "Rooster's E-Sat is still showing. It wasn't them-" and then because Bernie knows his friend better than anyone else on the entire carrier and now with Ice's passing, perhaps better than anyone still living, the bespectacled man repeats the news to make sure Pete really gets it. "They are still alive Captain" he shares, "heading your way home as we speak."

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure Mav."

Relief is sweet but still unsatisfying. No, Pete won't be satisfied until Bradley is in front of him, alive and breathing and present. He doesn't care if the kid hates him still, he doesn't care if he gets punched in the face for his efforts, but Maverick is never letting the youngest Bradshaw out of his sight again. Hangman is about to join that list too, Pete willing to do anything to see that cocky smirking pilot again as well.

"Intercept with them and guide them home Mitchell” Admiral Simpson orders and for once Pete is more than willing to listen. He can’t help but push his plane just a bit faster at the prospect following the purple hues of color over the water as he heads towards the small blip on his radar.

But suddenly there is another blip.

Before Maverick can even comprehend what he is seeing, someone else is calling out. "Sir, there's another Fifth Gen heading towards them fast." Though Captain Mitchell is not the ‘Sir’ being addressed, he can’t help yelling out his own responses. “Where the hell did they come from?” he demands, “how did we not see them?”

“Watch your tone Captain” Cyclone warns, never one to let anyone disrespect his command technicians, “He must have taken off from a runway we didn’t know about-“

“How could you not have known?” Pete all but screams; his frustration over not being able to help Rooster and Hangman bubbling over and scalding anyone he can hit. It’s not the radar technicians’ faults, they can only see what they can, but Maverick needs a target for his anger and he’s got Command on tone, “Where was the recon? You send them on a suicide mission and didn’t even do your homework!”

“I said watch your tone Mitchell! God damn it! They came out of nowhere!”

“I don’t give a sh-“

“Sir they are gaining ground quick” the same woman from before announces and suddenly the fight is forgotten as Maverick focuses back to the task at hand. Simpson as well seems to ignore the fact that Pete was about a second away from cursing him out and starts calling for more information, “how soon until they intercept?”

“A minute, maybe less Sir.”

“Mitchell what’s your status?”

“I’m still five minutes out Sir.”

There is a heavy sigh over the comms, fatigued and weighed down with the burden of being in charge. Maverick can picture Cyclone’s face in the dark room, pinched and displeased but also worried; the man has never been heartless no matter how much of a stickler he is for the rules. “Sir” the captain prompts when the lines of communication stay silent for a moment too long.

"Hurry up Mitchell" is all he gets. It's not nearly enough information but it spurs Maverick even faster.

He arrives upon the scene and tries to read the situation as quickly as he can. A Fifth Gen is on the tail of the F-14, an unfair fight on a good day but damn near criminal after everything the two American pilots inside have already been through.

Maverick is still not close enough to intervene. Only close enough to watch this sick chase like a spectator on the bleachers of a football game. He can see the F-14 gaining altitude, the tell-tale last ditch effort before a bailing. Something in Maverick's gut reels, the memories of the last time he witnessed a Bradshaw ejection petrifying him into his seat. But it's their only chance, Pete knows, as he’s still too damn far to be of any help. It’s their only way of survival.

Except they don't eject.

The F-14 levels off, escaping a barrage of bullets as its pursuer toys with them. Maverick isn’t sure why Rooster and Hangman haven’t bailed but he reaches new levels of terror as he watches the plane struggle to escape the unrelenting spray of ammunition.

Pete uses this extra time to get closer, right on the cusp of making a difference and turning the tide of this battle when the Fifth Gen switches back to missiles. The enemy fires with absolutely no preamble and no matter who is behind the stick; there is nothing they can do before the entire left engine explodes in flames. Maverick is conscious that he is screaming, but of what and to whom, he doesn't know and he doesn't care as he watches the jet teeter on fire in the now night sky.

There is an old adage of seeing your life flash before your eyes right before you are about to die. Maverick has never experienced it, not even during his own close calls, but right now, as he watches the plane carrying the closest thing he has ever had to a son fall to the dark and cold ocean below, Pete does see something- he sees Bradley.

Bradley, the tiniest human being Pete has ever seen but with the biggest brown eyes, just a few hours old and being thrust into Maverick's scared arms as Goose laughs merrily.

The fury within Maverick, tightening around his heart like a python, aims for the Fifth Gen fighter that is watching it's kill flounder back to Earth and blasts the bastard from the sky without a second's remorse. The jet erupts completely; a direct hit, its debris falling like a marionette with its strings cut.

Bradley, four years old and clutching to Maverick's dress whites, asking why Uncle Pete is crying while his father's casket is being lowered into the ground.

The F-14 holding Rooster and Hangman is still on fire, the flames too much to extinguish, and they are going down. It's not a direct decent, like the adversary Pete has just killed; Seresin is clearly trying to slow them, shifting their good wing and their bad back and forth to make enough friction with the air to disrupt their fall.

Bradley at six, giddy with excitement for the bike that Maverick brings him, mistakenly refers to the man as 'Dad'. Everyone tries to wave it off, Mav included, but Pete has to hide in the house for twenty minutes after cake is served as he cries over the guilt in his heart because of how much he loved hearing that word out of Bradley's mouth directed at him.

The two Americans aren't flying as much anymore as they are falling with purpose; the jet making long circles to try to lower its speed. Maverick can see the end game; can see Hangman trying to land this bleeding bird on the water without the speed and angle killing them on impact. It's asking for another miracle on this day of so many.

Bradley, eleven years old and already so tall, hitting a home run with his little league team and only looking for Maverick in the stands. A bright smile on his face when he finds the older man, Pete's own pride radiating back at him.

The fire is spreading, Maverick can see from his own jet, as the orange flames lick closer and closer to the cockpit and their fuselage. While it's only been seconds (though it feels like hours), if the plane doesn't hit some water soon it might not matter how fast they hit the ocean, the two men will burn up to a crisp before they even feel the blow.

Bradley at fourteen, standing in the kitchen and announcing he wants to follow in the footsteps of his Uncle and not his father. He wants to be a pilot not a RIO. Carole spends the night crying in fear. Pete spends the night at Goose's grave, crying in guilt.

Vaguely, Maverick can hear Command on the radio demanding a sit-rep. He knows he is speaking but not to them, a sort of gibberish laced grief pouring straight from his heart and out of his mouth as he all but begs for the survival of the souls on board that F-14. Nothing else matters to Pete now.

Bradley, seventeen, and at another funeral. He clutches on to Pete just like the last time but now the young man knows why everyone is crying, and he cries too. Maverick can't, his heart weighted down too much with the knowledge of what he has to do now, what he has promised Carole Bradshaw before she took her last breath on this Earth.

The nose of the plane descends and Maverick gasps at the implication. Hangman has chosen to make one more sacrifice for his wingman, he is going to take the brunt of the impact.

Bradley at eighteen, getting ready to slam a door in Maverick's face as he storms out thinking his dreams are ruined because of the man he trusted the most. Right before he leaves, Bradley says the words that kill Maverick more than a bullet or a plane crash ever could: You were never my father and you never will be. You aren’t even family. You are nothing to me.

The canopy shatters but not from an ejection. Someone has popped it and smoke billows from the cockpit. A gloved hand from the backseat reaches for the pilot. Maverick is so close now, right at the fallen plane's wing, that he can see the helmets of Hangman and Rooster. He wonders selfishly if this is the penance for the life he has lived, the lives he has taken, that God has decided to give him a front row seat to the death of his godson, his real son in everything but blood. "Please" he whispers out loud, uncaring who the hell else can hear it as long as God can, "Please don't take him. I can't lose him too. Please-"

Bradley, thirty-four years old, older than his father ever got, but looking healthy and alive and so much like Goose it hurts. Pete watching from the windows outside the Hard Deck as Bradley, now Rooster, transforms at the piano just like his old man. His real father. Any trace of Maverick gone as quick as the door slam 16 years prior.

The F-14 hits the water with an almighty splash. Debris flies everywhere; wing parts, glass, who knows what and Maverick's heart is in his throat as he looks for anything that could be deemed Rooster or Hangman in that mix. He doesn't see them, but that isn't exactly promising as the water slowly sprinkles back down and recedes, exposing what is left of the broken machine as it bobs in the waves.

Bradley on the carrier, wanting to speak, wanting to say something before this suicide mission that could take his life, and Maverick shushing him and telling him later.

Maverick skims low, lower than he should for his own jet's integrity but also because of the mist it kicks up on the crash site. He has no other choice though, the need to see his two pilots too strong to ignore. As he circles, he can see their helmets, neither moving, which is a horrible sign, and enough to get a strangled cry from his lips. “My God” he whimpers.

"CAPTAIN MITCHELL REPORT GOD DAMN IT!"

It's Cyclone, as usual, but this time the annoyed and worried tone of his CO snaps Maverick back to his duty and Pete swallows hard. "Rescue!" he all but screams, as he looks at his navigation system to try to get his locale. "We need rescue, coordinates 59.928 degrees latitude, 176.393 degrees longitude we have a crash landing. Do you copy?"

“Copy Captain” Beau sounds more strained than usual, clearly at the end of his patience, “now tell me what the hell happened out there!”

“We can debrief later” Maverick continues his low circles, still seeing no movement from the two pilots below but the water is beginning to swallow up the down plane, “they need help-“

“Rescue is being sent. Is the Fifth Gen neutralized?”

Pete nods before he realizes that they can’t see him, “Yes” he gulps though not from guilt from his actions, “I shot him down.”

“I want radar watching every single corner for any others, no more surprises” Simpson orders and Maverick can hear the affirmatives from the team.

“Are they moving down there?” Warlock’s deep voice questions, and just as Mav is about to say no, he sees motion in the backseat. Rooster, the red of his helmet visible, starts to stand, wobbling with the motion of the waves. The relief at the sight rips a sob from Pete, “Thank God” he whispers.

“Maverick” Cyclone’s own voice cracks over the Captain’s call sign, “what is it?”

“Rooster’s moving, he’s-“ Pete circles again, wishing he could stall his plane like a helicopter to see better. “He’s trying to get Hangman out” the man narrators as he watches his Godson struggle to pull the blonde pilot from his seat.

“Is Hangman moving on his own?”

Pete shakes his head, “Not that I can see.”

Down on the water, Bradley finally seems to get his wingman free but the weight is too much and both men go falling into the waves. The splash obscures Pete’s vision and for the longest twenty two seconds of the sixty year olds life, he thinks that he has just witnessed both men drown. Instead Rooster appears back at the surface of the water, clearly struggling, as he tries to keep an arm around his partner.

There’s a piece of the shattered wing floating and Bradley just manages to grab a hold of it. He tries to bring Hangman on to it and then himself, but like a reenactment of the movie Titanic, it’s too much for the piece of metal to hold and they both fall back into the water.

The entire scene is excruciating for Mitchell and he finds himself looking towards his ejection cable. Bradley needs help and Pete will be damned if he is just going to sit up in the air and twiddle his thumbs while watching it. A million dollar aircraft means nothing to the lives of the two men down below. "Are there any other bogeys in the area?” Mav asks, finding a calmness wash over himself now that he has a plan to actually do something.

"Negative Captain” Solomon replies, “but we are keeping watch. Fritz and Coyote are inbound to your location for backup in case."

"Their eta?"

"11 minutes and closing Sir" Javy's voice calls over the radio with the same amount of determination that Maverick himself felt when he was racing over. Pete takes a moment to check his straps before he hits his comms, "Make it faster Lieutenants” he advises.

"Maverick-" Cyclone warns but both Fritz and Machado are announcing their understanding and Pete turns back to the figures in the water. "They need help down there" he tells all those listening while watching Rooster continue to struggle to stay afloat with a limp Hangman in his arm. The sky is continuing to darken and Maverick is beginning to fear he might lose them in the blackness. The aged pilot makes sure to reach for a few glowsticks and shoves them into his flight suit pockets. "It's getting dark-" he cautions.

"And the helicopter is on its way-" Hondo now, always in tuned for when Maverick is about to do something stupid, "Searchlights are on as well Mav" he informs.

"Good” Pete places his left hand on the ejection cord but doesn’t pull just yet, “I want you to tell them they will need to pick up three people from the water now.”

"What?" Warlock wonders loudly before Simpson is overpowering the sound as he all but yells into his comms, “Mitchell don’t you dare-“ he objects but it's too late.

Maverick doesn't even hesitate to rocket himself into the twilight, the dark abyss below beckoning him like an old friend welcoming him home.

[crinkled-emotions]

So glad you're back!! Could I request "you look pale", "infection" and "waiting room" from the whumpril list please? How would you feel about writing Cyclone looking out for and trying to take care of Bradley? I think he probably has a bit of a soft spot for him at this stage and knows a little about his past trauma and tendencies to push it when he gets a cold or whatever sickness. (Maybe a few cameos from the other Daggers and Mav at the end, ready to chew Cyclone out, only to find he's the only person who tried to stop Rooster from destroying his system once again lol)

Hey anon!! Thanks for the warm words 🥰.

I've never really considered writing Cyclone, but I'm down for this! Here's to getting his character slightly aligned with how he is in the movie 😂 expect a lot of cranky older man with Rooster's sass but also his respect for authority lmaooooo.

Also, from the movie I kind of remember photos of what looked like his kids on his desk, so I'm saying Cyclone has kids and that's that. Maybe even... grandkids??

Warnings: Rooster's PTSD diagnosis which isn't just related to his active duty, it's also his childhood and the amount of time he spent in hospitals.

-

The rip in his flight suit was an indication of what could have happened had he not been as experienced as he was. Rooster was a decorated Naval Aviator, when they instructed younger pilots they showed his flights and asked him to come in and talk when the older instructors couldn't get through to their mid-20's audience.

Do it like Rooster does it, the instructors said when questioned as to why the younger aviators were instructed to hold on.

That didn't mean he was exempt from making mistakes. Rooster had physical and emotional scars, but when younger pilots asked him for an explanation he was completely honest with them.

All of this put Rooster, despite destroying at least one jet on the Dagger mission, in Cyclone and Warlock's good books. It put the rest of the Daggers in good standing too, deployed as a separate squadron. Rooster had chosen to stay behind for the first one, instead coming on as an instructor at TOPGUN.

-

"Admiral Simpson, sir!"

Cyclone looked up from his paperwork, frowning at the LTJG hesitating by his office door. His secretary looked like she was ready to hand in her resignation but Cyclone waved her off, turning to the young man in front of him.

"Does Bradshaw know you're here?" He asked, crossing his arms as he leaned back in his seat. The young man nodded frantically.

"There's been an accident, sir. Hondo sent me to find you, said Captain Mitchell is out for the week."

"What do you mean accident?"

Cyclone's stomach tightened, already thinking worst case scenario. Then he frowned.

"What does Captain Mitchell have to do with it?"

"It was Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw, sir," the LTJG in front of him said. Cyclone reached for his jacket.

"Let's go. Have you called for the infirmary?"

"Yes sir."

Lieutenant Junior Grade Dawson led the way through base, navigating out to the tarmac. Cyclone could see the class crowded around one of the jets, Bradley Bradshaw "Rooster" painted across the side. He picked up into a jog, gently pushing through the crowd.

"Ah, hell, Rooster? Can you hear me?"

Rooster didn't look bad, but he didn't look good either. Something was definitely up. Cyclone knelt, doing a quick visual check over. Rooster was out cold, but he was breathing. The tear in his flight suit told Cyclone he'd caught his side on something, and with Hondo's help they got the suit down to his waist.

"Go and get me some towels," Cyclone said to the team still crowded around. When they all took off in various directions, he turned back to Rooster and ran his hand down his side, trying to find any cuts or broken ribs. Sure enough, his hand came back with blood and Hondo whistled.

"Medics are on their way. I didn't see the whole thing, but I did see him hit his side when he fell from the wing of his jet."

"Why did he fall? That's not like him."

Where Maverick was borderline chaotic and worked on pure instinct, Rooster was careful and every move he made was highly calculated even if it did look a little like something his godfather would do.

"Not sure. He was fine beforehand."

The medics arrived on the tarmac, wheeling over to where Hondo waved at them. They got out of the ambulance, coming around to assess the situation.

"Bradley Bradshaw, he passed out after his hop and fell from the wing of his jet. There's a pretty major cut on his side, it's bleeding but not enough to soak his flight suit," Hondo filled them in. The medics glanced at Cyclone and their eyebrows raised.

"Sir," they said instinctively. He waved them off.

"You've got his PTSD diagnosis in your file; if he knocks you out because you overwhelmed him, I didn't see anything."

Initially, Cyclone's first instinct with Rooster's diagnosis had been a medical discharge and full pension with a thanks for your service letter in the mail, but Maverick and Warlock had talked him out of it. Maverick had begged and pleaded for him not to, insisted it was mostly regarding hospitals. The psych assessment reports had confirmed that, so Rooster was allowed to stay.

For now, at least.

"Bradshaw, can you hear me? Can you feel this?"

One of the medics firmly rubbed along his chest, the other having a better look at the cut on his side.

"You look pale, sir," Hondo said quietly to Cyclone. Cyclone turned to him.

"Do you want to be the one to tell Captain Mitchell his godson broke on my watch?"

"Uh. No, sir."

Rooster startled awake, thrashing around, and Cyclone narrowly dodged the punch thrown at the medics. He moved, coming to Rooster's side instead of kneeling at his feet.

"Rooster! Rooster, you need to calm down. Bradshaw, it's alright. Settle down, it's Cyclone and Hondo. Do you know where you are?"

Rooster's chest moved rapidly as he took in his surroundings, frowning into the bright sun. Finally, he looked to Cyclone.

"Oh, I'm screwed," he huffed, letting his head lean back against the tarmac. Cyclone frowned.

"What makes you say that?"

"You're here, sir."

Despite himself, Cyclone snorted. Bradley Bradshaw really was Maverick's, even if it wasn't by blood.

"Can you tell us what hurts, Bradshaw?" One of the medics asked. Rooster swallowed, frowning as he shook his head.

"Please tell me you haven't called Mav," he groaned. Hondo cleared his throat.

"Well, I mean, I may have... texted him..."

"Fuck."

"He's on his way, but he's out in the desert so you've got a couple hours."

"Lieutenant Trace is also aware and she'll be back early from detachment."

Rooster's head shot up.

"You called Phoenix back from deployment because I passed out? Oh hell, she's gonna kill me. This has been a great exercise in her patience, you would have been better calling Seresin. At least then I know my death will be swift and mostly painless."

"Maverick said Seresin would cry if he knew you were hurt, Trace was on your paperwork," Hondo replied. Rooster winced, glaring at the medic who was looking at his side.

"Can you cut that shit out? It fuckin' hurts."

"You're brave, Bradshaw. Look, we're going to have to stitch it, it's a pretty deep slice. Let's get you into the ambulance."

The other medic wandered over with the gurney and Cyclone reached for Rooster's shoulder.

"Let's get you up, kid."

"Only Mav can call me that- sir."

Rooster promptly shut his mouth, letting the medic and Cyclone get him up and on to the gurney.

-

"Admiral Simpson? How is he?"

Cyclone glanced up from where he'd been sitting in the waiting room, arms crossed over his chest and if anyone asked he'd deny the powernap he'd been having. Maverick was striding toward him, looking exactly as he'd expected; panicked and very fatherly. Dad-mode was on high and Cyclone scrubbed at his face.

"He was alright for a while, but then they closed the exam room door and he had a panic attack because he couldn't see the hallway. They had to sedate him, so he's sleeping now, but he should be a little better now that you're here."

Maverick frowned, taking a seat beside him.

"How did it happen?" He asked. Cyclone cleared his throat.

"I wasn't present, but to my knowledge Rooster has been sick for a couple of days, and when he went to get out of his jet after a hop he lost consciousness and hit his side on the wing as he fell. He's lucky he didn't snap his neck."

"Sick? What kind of sick?"

"No one knows, the other Daggers are on deployment. Lieutenant Trace is coming home, when she was called she insisted. I got her on the first transport back to dry land."

"She's gonna kill him," Maverick chuckled. Cyclone snorted.

"She was worried. Is there something I need to know about?"

"Oh, no way, sir. Hangman says they've been inseparable since day one but it's always been platonic."

"Hm."

Cyclone wasn't completely convinced, but they were the same rank and honestly? He couldn't deal with the Dagger Drama (or DD as Warlock liked to call it) on a good day, let alone when one of them was laid up in hospital.

A doctor walked down the hallway and paused in front of them, chart in hand.

"Family of Bradley Bradshaw?"

"That's me," Maverick replied. The doctor smiled.

"Alright, you can go and see him now."

Maverick ducked into the room, calling to Rooster even though he was still sedated. The doctor looked to Cyclone, crossing her arms.

"You're not going in too?"

"Bradshaw needs his godfather right now, not an Admiral," he replied. The doctor hummed, nodding slowly.

"Okay then."

-

Rooster stirred, glancing over at the person beside him, and immediately groaned. Maverick smiled at him, squeezing his arm.

"How are you feeling?"

"Tired... my side hurts."

"You were cut pretty bad, the mechanics are still working on your jet to find the sharp piece that might have hurt you. You don't feel nauseous or anything? You look pale."

"Is Phoenix here yet?"

Maverick glanced at the door and the way she was leaning in the doorframe, eyes harsh despite the concern. She made her way over, gently flicking Rooster's forehead.

"You got stuck with Cyclone to get you to the infirmary? What the fuck, how did you survive?"

"Wait- Cyclone? I only remember Hondo," Rooster yawned, scratching at his nose. Maverick glanced at Phoenix, the pair having a silent conversation before Phoenix squeezed Rooster's hand.

"Cyclone rode with you in the ambulance, gave your diagnosis to the staff when they couldn't figure out why you were so wound up."

"Oh, no shit- ow, fuck."

Rooster went to sit up but the pain in his side stopped him, clearing his throat.

"Cyclone helped me? He wasn't mad?"

"No, kid, he was worried about you. When you first came in they were wondering if you had some kind of infection because your blood work showed something, but whatever it was has cleared now. You've just got some new scars to show off."

"Oh. Uh, is he still here?"

"Hondo said he was, but I didn't check. Probably signing paperwork or gossiping with Warlock," Phoenix snorted. Maverick hummed, unable to tear his eyes from his godson.

"Roos, you sure you're okay?" He finally insisted. Rooster glanced over, a lazy smile crossing his face.

"Mav, I'm high as a fuckin' kite right now, I'm good."

-

Outside the hospital room, Cyclone backed away from the open door and reached into his pocket, flicking through his contacts for a moment before he found who he was looking for.

"Hey, buddy. What time is it where you are? 5am? Oh, I'm sorry... no, it's not important. Just checking in. What's college like?"

He leaned against the wall, listening to the voice on the other end of the phone, and couldn't help the grin on his face.

-

[actuallyitsstar]

Maverick + 2, 21, and 22?

✨ send me a number and a character! ✨

2. favorite canon thing about this character?

i think that hands down i have to say that i actually really respect the writers/tc/whoever making the active choice to humanize maverick. in a lot of big Straight Man Macho Action Flex Movies (tm) i feel like this is hardcore frowned upon. but i gotta hand it to tc, because i feel like it's a through line for his films- my poor traumatized meow meow ethan hunt comes to mind- that his action hero characters are like. PEOPLE. with emotions. who behave in a way you can empathize with and unpack.

like even in the original movie, though they are obviously not explicit in discussing it, they do address the way a scare can shake you up, the way there's no shame in it. viper even says as much to maverick when he's thinking of quitting. there's no shame in it. that spin was hell, it would've shook me up. there's no shame in cougar quitting either- he still is a good man, as mav helpfully reminds the others. he disobeys orders to help cougar, (i'd like to get on my 'parallels to jake launching against orders to save mav and bradley' high horse here but its not relevant rn so i'm gonna refrain), and he defends cougar's honor to the others multiple times. of course there's the surprising (for an 80s movie full of cheese and needless romance subplots and sweaty men) amount of emotional intelligence in goose and mav's conversation at the housing, when mav apologizes for showboating and makes the ~promise~ to goose and goose gets to display his immense working knowledge of What Makes Mav Tick. for all of that famous ego we've seen in action, mav is perfectly capable of listening to what goose has to say and understanding his point and conceding without making it about himself. that right there is some surprising emotional intelligence (which never coping with losing goose will promptly destroy but i digress)

and then there's the post goose's death universe- they let it haunt him. as they should, but i feel a lot of films in a similar genre and style wouldn't be willing to dwell on it so. he gets to cry. a lot. he's literally in the jet in top gun '86 with just. tears running down his face. then there's tgm- there's the scene outside the hard deck and there's the scene with ice and there's the funeral and there's the fight with bradley on base and there's but you are here and the hug on the carrier. he gets to be genuinely emotional and heartfelt. he gets to express actual in the moment feelings that are not just anger and are not just with a ~love interest~. HE GETS TO BE HUMAN !!! HE GETS TO BE SOFT !!! THATS SO IMPORTANT TO ME. probably wouldn't be my number one blorbo man if it weren't for that.

21. If you're a fic writer and have written for this character, what's your favorite thing to do when you're writing for this character? What's something you don't like?

aaaaaaa i think my favorite (evil) thing about writing mav is the unreliable narration. it's rly great (read: painful) to sit down and just say the craziest shit that is not true as if it is fact and then know he that he really thinks like that. hes just like 'of course he can't expect the most basic human decency known to man from his closest friends and family because it is unreasonable to imagine someone as horrible as himself could ever deserve it' and he's just talking about like. needing somebody to pick him up from the airport. and you're just like wow. this little guy is fucked up huh

least favorite tho....... it's a two sided coin. it can't be too on the nose and it can't be too over-the-top. mav is great at being/seeming functional, on a surface level. it's only when you get inside of the one bedroom apartment with a bedroom he is not allowed to use bc that's for just in case his long lost son ever comes home or whatever that you realize something is wrong. his pov can't be too down or too depressed. it's mostly objective, with just a direct little splash here and there, just enough so the reader can be like 'okay. yeah. makes sense. alright. still making sense. and....wildest most untrue thing you could possibly say about yourself. alright yeah he needs therapy' <3

22. If you're a fic reader, what's something you like in fics when it comes to this character? Something you don't like?

aaaaaa so many amazing authors in this fandom do so much that i adore i don't even know where to start, but i guess one of my favorite things has to be when he's just very *shrugs* about the flyboys and they've already decided that he's one of them now. it's really great to know we just all agreed somehow that this is a found family group of aviators who barely have any screen time with each other, and that we all just agreed that mav probably doesn't understand the invitation to be as direct as they mean it because he is frankly unused to receiving such direct invitations period. there is nothing like watching an idiot who needs loved get roped into a found family. like !! yeah !!! get loved !! do it !!! it can't be stopped !!

and hmm something i don't like. very much the reverse again, in a way, but i think one of my least favorite things has got to be either over-infantalizing him into like, way too much of the "baby brother" in the group (i am not denying that this is objectively probably his role, just that this does not mean he is going to be acting like he is 5). he knows how to do the basics. he's an adult man who is technically capable of taking care of himself (though whether he feels he deserves the effort is a different story). you have to be hella fucking smart to graduate with the kinds of degrees and experience you need to do what mav does. he's a fully capable adult. he's just also a little dumb about the self care sometimes. they're not mutually exclusive.

[uss-kittyhawk]

V.2 of my "Top Gun" Fun fact/Info ramble

(@vivwritesfics here's more, apologies for the tag, just tell me if you don't want to be tagged in any other fact posts I might make)

prev post:

TOPGUN is a nickname for what began as the United States Navy Fighter Weapons School and is now known as the United States Navy Strike Fighter Tactics Instructor Program. Formerly located at Marine Corps Air Station Miramar in California, TOPGUN is now located at Naval Air Station Fallon, Nevada. A media account of a TOPGUN class formed the basis of the movie 

A radar intercept officer (RIO) is a naval flight officer who occupies the rear seat of such aircraft as the F-4 Phantom II and the F-14 Tomcat. The modern-day equivalent of the RIO is the weapon systems officer (WSO), who is the back seater in the U.S. Marine Corps' F/A-18D Hornet and the U.S. Navy's F/A-18F Super Hornet. WSOs are depicted in Top Gun: Maverick.

Mav's Dad's name was Duke

It is thought that Duke is a reference to former U.S. congressman Randy "Duke" Cunningham, who is a former TOPGUN instructor and the only U.S. Navy pilot ace in the Vietnam War.

One of the unused callsigns 'Tombstone' can be seen on a black fighter pilot helmet with three red arrows in promotional photos featuring Jerry Bruckheimer and Don Simpson.

In several locker scenes, one of the lockers is labeled as belonging to "TEX". This is the callsign for one of the top gun instructors and MiG pilots that worked on the film, Lt. "Tex" William Spence.

The callsign 'Ghostrider' that Maverick uses for his plane was the name of a real F-14 squadron (VF-142), and a model of a Tomcat from that squadron can be seen behind Sundown in the shot where Maverick tells Slider he stinks.

In early drafts of the film, the character (Tim Robbins) whose call sign is 'Merlin' actually had the last name of Merlin, and his call sign was 'Wizard'.

Other real names of the pilots/RIOs were that are not otherwise mentioned in the movie, but only by their callsigns are: Hollywood: LT Rick Neven; Wolfman: LTJG Leonard Wolfe; Slider: LTJG Ron Kerner; Cougar: LT Bill Cortell; Merlin: LTJG Sam Wells.

James Tolkan's character is referred to as "Stinger" in the credits, but is never addressed by anything other than "Sir" throughout the film.

The call sign 'Sundown' is actually a reference to a squadron of F-14s called the sundowners that have the same sundown graphic on their tail fins as on Sundown's helmet.

Anthony Edwards is the only actor who didn't vomit while in the fighter jets.

When Maverick receives his orders to the carrier following the graduation ceremony, there is a pilot standing behind him, with a mustache and wearing sunglasses. The pilot is "Heater" C.J. Heatley, a real-life former F-14 air show demonstration pilot and TOPGUN instructor.

Tom Cruise actually had to wear lifts in his scenes with Kelly McGillis. Cruise is 5'7" while McGillis is 5'10".

The piano scene and the final bar/jukebox scene were shot in a San Diego restaurant called Kansas City BBQ, at the corner of Kettner Blvd and W. Harbor Drive. The restaurant housed many props and memorabilia from the film, including the jukebox and Maverick's flight helmet sits behind the bar in a locked display case. However, on June 26, 2008 Kansas City BBQ suffered a grease fire that destroyed much of the interior of the establishment. The restaurant has since been repaired to its original state, but all of the original Top Gun memorabilia on display was lost. (which SUCKS)

The scene where Maverick follows Charlie into the bathroom was filmed at the Headquarters Building at Recruit Training Command, San Diego. The Naval Training Center installation was later demolished in the late 1990's to make way for more Navy housing. Before the headquarters building could be inspected for demolition, the bathroom counter that "Maverick" leans on and "stress tests" was stolen (wonder who has it and have they "used" it??)

Riding on the back of this film's success, the US Navy set up recruiting booths in the major cinemas to try and catch some of the adrenaline charged guys leaving the screenings. They had the highest applications rate for years as a result.

^^it was later figured out that the volleyball scene was the most memorable....(the navy has the largest gay population of the U.S. Military)

The love scene between Tom Cruise and Kelly McGillis was filmed after initial test screenings. Moviegoers complained that there was no love scene, so the company obliged. McGillis, however, had already dyed her hair darker for her next film. This is why the scene is tinted blue.

The motorcycle ridden by Tom Cruise in the movie is a Kawasaki Ninja 900 / GPz900R, then the fastest production motorcycle in the world.

The film was originally going to have a scene near the end where Maverick visited Goose's grave. A filmed version of this scene was never released, however still screen shots from what such a scene would have looked like are available on the special edition DVD.

^^and i'm pretty sure that's the one I have, but Idk how to get the footage off of the dvd, my laptop doesnt have a dvd slot

Filming and clapperboard of Top Gun on July 5, 1985.

In July 1985, Kansas City Barbeque served as a filming location for two scenes. The first scene features Goose and Maverick singing "Great Balls of Fire" while seated at the piano. The final scene, where "You've Lost That Lovin' Feelin'" can be heard on the restaurant's jukebox, was also filmed at the restaurant. Both scenes were filmed consecutively. After release of the movie, the restaurant went on to collect a significant amount of memorabilia from the motion picture until a kitchen fire on June 26, 2008, destroyed much of the restaurant. Some memorabilia and props, including the original piano used in the film, survived the fire, and the restaurant re-opened in November 2008.

And that is all i have for now (July 4th, 2024) If you have any facts you'd like to share, my inbox is open. You are also free just to chat there too. Thirsting over Characters/Actors is also welcome.

[pollyna]

They have been together for maybe five years, and Bradley has lived on and off with them for the last two, when Mav presents both of them with presents on a random day of a random week. The paper is full of mini jets, and Bradley giggles all the way to the living room because uncle uncle, uncle Mav have a present for us! Mav explains to both of them, while Bradley destroys the package and Ice is metodically opening it, that they deserve to have a leather jacket too, like his, and maybe they (Ice) could put on all the patches from the squadron they work with or just go around all wearing it? Bradley smiles with all his teeth, except for two in the front row, before hugging Mav, yes yes we're going to wear it together! It's going to be fun, Uncle Mav! Then Ice's arms are hugging both of them, kissing his head, and yeah, can't promise I'm going to wear it every day like someone I know, but it's beautiful, thank you, babe.

(A year later, and this time on Mav's birthday, Bradley gives him two presents. The second one is a patch with a pretty colourful design and the code BKM-03 embroidered under it. Because Bradshaw-Kazansky-Mitchell! So you can take us with you when you're not around. We made it! Uncle Ice said the most important part of it was all the love we put into making it. We used all the love we have for you so you won't feel alone ever, ever, again! And Mav had found himself hugging Baby Goose and Ice as strongly as he could to hide the tears because that's the most beautiful present someone could give me.)

((After the mission, when Bradley sits in front of the two people who raised him, he can't help but notice that the patch he and Ice made a lifetime ago is still there. This time he's the one who hugs his dads and stays there, between them, trying not to cry and not letting them go.))

[tngrace]

Letting Go Ch. 2The In-between Time

It’s a little shorter, but I have a lot more planned. I hope yall enjoy and leave me some thoughts. 

Read on A03; Letting Go Masterlist

After dinner with his aunt, uncle and their grandchildren, Bradley returns to the house he grew up in. He couldn’t bear to sell it after his mom died, and even though it sits empty more than he’s there, he still can’t bear to part with it. He pays one of the neighbors to check on it for him, and he knows from said neighbor that Mav has a tendency to stop in when he’s in town. He’s tried not to think about Mav being here. A part of him is ok with it because it was his home too, but another part, the part that is still angry with Mav, is so angry that Maverick just walks back into this place like it’s still his.

Bradley takes his time going room to room, letting the feeling of home wash over him. He knows he’s only going to have a couple of days here before the rest of the pilots land, and they have to report to Top Gun. Ice was sending out the recall orders as soon as Bradley left, but Bradley wasn’t sure any amount of time he had beforehand would be enough to prepare for seeing Mav once more.

He still remembers the day he learned his papers had been pulled. He still remembers the angry words said to his uncle’s face. He still remembers everything Mav had said, and everything he hadn’t. Bradley wanted to be just like his dad, to be just like Mav, and the fact that Mav thought he couldn’t - Bradley still thought that was bullshit, but Mav wouldn't tell him any different- hurt more than Bradley wanted to admit. So he hid it behind anger because it was easier.

As he walked through the house, with all the pictures of his childhood, pictures of him and Mav and him and his mom, he felt that anger returning tenfold. He stares at a picture of Mav holding him on his shoulders standing on the tarmac with Ice. Bradley is transported back to that day, his six year old self thinking it was the greatest day ever because he was getting to watch jets take off. Carole had caught Ice and Mav mid-laugh, and Bradley had the biggest smile on his face. He wishes times were still that simple and easy.

He growls and throws his fist toward the frame, but just barely stops before he shatters it. He wasn’t lying when he told Ice he wasn’t sure he could ever trust Mav again. He’d destroyed everything they had, and Bradley still didn’t understand why.

The next day, he wakes to a text from Ice telling him all the orders have been received, and the pilots will be landing tomorrow; Mav was included in that, but Bradley knew his uncle was still in California based on something one of the kids said at dinner the night before. Bradley lets out a deep breath before sending back an affirmative. Ice tells him what time they’ll be reporting to Top Gun the day after and wishes him well. It’s the last line Bradley reads a few times; Don’t hesitate to reach out if you need something. It’s the familiarity he’s missed and it brings his emotions to the surface, but he pushes them down. He’s going to have to be strong in his resolve if he’s going to get through this assignment.  

He takes the day and goes to visit his parents. He tries to go at least once any time he’s in the area. He wishes more than anything that they were still there. He truly believes if they were both still there, he wouldn’t be alone in this world; wouldn’t struggle with making connections with people. He blames Maverick for his lone wolf routine; it’s how Mav was his whole life, but he also destroyed Bradley’s ability to trust people.  He spends several hours there, catching them up on things and asking his dad for advice. He doesn’t expect an answer, but the gentle breeze makes him smile.

The next day Bradley spends at the beach. He’s known how to surf ever since he was a little kid, and surfing gives him the same high as flying. He feels like he needs that high, that grounding, before tackling the hardest mission he’s ever had to face. Once he stretches out on the beach to dry off, Bradley knows that everyone has landed based on the times Ice had texted him yesterday, but he hasn’t reached out. He knows they’ll all be at the Hard Deck that night seeing who all drags in, but he’s not sure he wants to go.

He’s avoided the place a lot when he’s in town. He knows Aunt Penny owns it now; he knows she doesn’t know what happened between him and Mav, and he wants to keep it that way if he’s honest. It’s not just Aunt Penny he avoids by going there. It’s the barely there memories that tickle at the back of his mind of times when he was really little. When his dad was still alive, when his dad and Mav put on a show around the piano. He ends up waiting til the last minute, throwing on a Hawaiian shirt he wears any time on leave because it makes him feel close to his dad. He grabs his aviators and his keys to the bronco, making the decision to face his memories head on now. At least he’ll have the alcohol to hide behind here.

He knows the minute he walks in that Mav is there. He saw the bike, but he can also sense it even though he refuses to look around the bar to find him. Luckily there’s plenty of people here, plenty of so-called friends, so he doesn't even have to face his aunt at the bar for drinks as the others keep getting rounds for everybody. The night rocks on, beers keep getting placed in his hand, and before he knows it, he’s loose enough that he unplugs the jukebox and sits at the piano. It’s close to the bar, close enough he can hear Penny telling Mav goodbye to chats of “overboard.” He’s not drunk enough for that, he thinks so even though he turns his head a bit, he doesn’t even look back. He steels himself and starts playing. He doesn’t see his uncle standing outside watching; he doesn’t see Aunt Penny looking between the two of them when she notices Mav outside seemingly lost. He gets lost in the music, in the feeling of putting on a show and making people happy and he feels happy for a change.

At last call, Penny finally manages to nail him down. He wasn’t intentionally avoiding her now that Mav is gone, but he’s also afraid she’ll ask questions he doesn’t want to answer. He’s not sure where she and Mav stand right now, and he doesn’t want to get in the middle of their drama or add to it with his own shit. But Penny isn’t one easily deterred, and she pulls him across the bar into a hug, echoing Aunt Sarah in the sentiment it’d been too long since he’d been seen. He gives her a sad smile with an apology. She cradles his check; “Don’t worry, I understand,” she says so softly Bradley thinks he might cry. He doesn’t know if she actually understands everything or not, but she doesn’t bring up Maverick and he’s forever grateful. He helps her close down once everyone is gone, and then he goes home to crash. The next morning he takes his time getting out of bed, hoping his resolve to be indifferent to his uncle will stay in place, and then he’s headed to Top Gun before he knows it.

[bellygunnr]

Train Run, Train Fast

A Commission for the ever-lovely @allonsymituna!

The two bounty hunters were a pair-- brothers, as far as human customs go; built together, activated together, they had never been separated before. It was only fitting that as they broke into this massive facility, they'd die together, too. Such were the tapestries. They only saw the possible riches this defunct factory could net them. They did not see the warning signs as the final lock in place lit up green and the doors slid down, down, down, permitting them access into their final resting place.

The room itself-- a laboratory of sorts-- was completely metal, unrusted but untouched. Pods lined the walls, most of them empty. The ones that were full contained a bright, glowing fluid, yet as the two brothers walked among them, they only saw skeletons inside.

Half-projects. Abandoned ideas.

“Look at this one,” a brother suddenly said. His name was Bruce. “It looks like a kid.”

“Human, do you think?” said the other, and his name is Miles. “Doesn’t look very human…”

“No, it has the triangle. A reploid kid…”

“Who makes a kid nowadays? Pretty sure that’s illegal, isn’t it?” Miles said with a frown. He taps the edge of the glass.

The kid inside does nothing. Completely inert.

“Must be why the facility’s abandoned. Man, we’re not getting anything out of here, are we?”

“Could save the kid, I mean--”

“Kids aren’t money, and that’s gonna raise a lot of questions. I doubt camp would be thrilled if we brought home a reploid kid. They’d send him to scrap!”

Silence falls between them. It’s true, but you didn’t need to say it out loud.

“Maybe we should just go,” Bruce says soberly. “I don’t…”

Just then, the building shakes. The wall across from them cracks. A single red eye can be seen through the shattered steel and brick before it all falls away.

“Mavericks? Here?”

“No, those aren’t ordinary Mavs. We must have tripped an alarm-- we have to run!”

Yet as they charged for the door they came out of, more mavericks appeared, their eyes crimson and indifferent. Guns whined and lit up the dark space. Their shots were too close to go astray-- Miles and Bruce, brothers and buildmates, were obliterated to shattered broken hulls within seconds of being discovered.

And the pod they had found began to leak.

Its glass cracked.

Others cracked with it-- a couple shattered. The steel floor became slick fast, covered rapidly with water or whatever protective fluid was in the pods. The mavericks stormed it indifferently.

“Look what you’ve done-- you’ve gone and broke the whole place,” a voice complained. A tall figure floated themselves down into the broken lab. “We were supposed to keep it intact… Jeez.”

“Don’t be so hard on them, Prometheus,” a second voice said. Their voice was slightly higher, smoother-- lilting. “Oh? That must be our target. Grey.”

The one called Prometheus settled themselves onto the ground and approached said target, still dripping from his time inside the pod. A shiver shoots down his spine at the look he is given.

“Pandora? We may have some issues. How troublesome!”

“I can feel it too…”

Grey. Grey is the only thing he could remember, even as he recounts his tale to Butch, the camp medical chief. He tells him about where he had woken up at, the strange… Reploids… he had met, and what they had called him.

“Grey,” he says flatly. “Greye,” he repeats, this time with inflection.

“Grey...e?” Butch replies.

“You get it,” Greye says, and he seems happy.

“Well, Greye… You’re welcome to stay here. You’ve had quite the journey for your first day.”

Butch leaves the sentence hanging. First day as a hunter, a kid, alive, of all things. That must be why there’s something off about him, he thinks to himself. Still getting adjusted to everything.

Greye smiles. “Thanks! Uh… I feel like there’s something I’m forgetting…” “Could it be the gun in your hand? Maybe holster that?” Butch says immediately.

A beat of silence.

“...Shit, probably. It’s out of ammo anyway.”

And he drops it on the floor.

Butch groans.

The camp gives Greye a few days to learn the area and meet everyone before asking if he’d like to work. Most folks, they say, are licensed by the Legion to perform special duties and missions. They’re offering the same benefits to Greye.

He naturally accepts the offer.

And starts that day.

“Help escort this package to the Legion itself, at the center of the city. It leaves from the train this evening so don’t be late!”

Greye frowns at this. That was awfully soon-- and awfully chipper.

“What’s in the package?”

“It’s a tool called a Biometal,” and the line goes dead.

Well then.

From there, Greye meets several other people-- even another reploid kid, though they’re younger than himself. This makes him frown, but he resolves not to mention it. They could be illegal builds together! Right?

Right.

“Once I get back, kid, we can play some games or something. I’ve got some sick tricks.”

Just then, the kid’s caretaker came back, scooping her high into the air and setting her on his massive shoulders. He smiled down at Greye with kind eyes and a rumbling laugh. “You’re the new friend, right? Grey, was it?”

“No… It’s Greye!” Greye corrected, puffing.

“Ah, forgive me. Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

Greye scowled and ran off-- he was going to be late for that train mission! What a pain.

+

“...This is the worst train ride ever. What the hell.”

Greye had been tasked with protecting the secret package as it made its commute between one mysterious pair of hands to another. That sounded simple enough by itself, but the folks had loaded him on an open-faced trailer, the wind howling and lashing at him. He clung to the box-- the only strapped down thing-- desperately.

“They’re trying to kill me,” he mutters. “What the hell…”

Each bump and shudder the train took shot up Greye’s spine. He grits his teeth against the unrelenting vibrations, fingers digging into the metal crate, threatening to dent it.

Let up on the box before you hurt yourself!

“Wh-- what was that?”

Oh, dear....

Oh, this was awful. First he was put on some kind of death trial mission and now he’s hearing voices! As if he didn’t have enough to deal with already!

My name is A. You’re not supposed to hear me!

The box shook violently.

Light burst from within it.

Greye, in a fit of self-preservation, tries to flee to the other end of the cart before he catches a face full of shrapnel. As the box breaks, nothing goes flying-- it peels back as if shorn. A single item floats up from inside.

Wow! It’s bright out here!

“Whhh- hey, A? You said you’re name was A? What the fuck was that?”

We don’t have time for that! Also, watch your mouth.

“What do you mean we don’t have time?” Greye demands, bristling. Then he hears it.

A Maverick drone dives down onto the open-faced cart, its bomb load thankfully released earlier, now armed with simple claws and a small blaster. Greye screams as he dives out of the way-- and screams again as A, whatever it is, dives onto him instead.

Just trust me! Megamerge with me!

Light flares again.

Biometal and Reploid merge.

+

Greye has little time to become accustomed to his new body as more Mavericks begin to swarm the train. He’s equipped now with not one but two pistols, and he wields both furiously, flinching back as debris falls apart around him. A urges him to climb onto the next train car.

What else can he do but listen?

I don’t really know what’s happening, but staying alive sounds pretty okay!

“A- Agreed,” Greye hisses, boots slipping as he hops onto the covered car. He crawls across it until finding the hatch that leads inside it, hastily dropping down.

It looks clearer here.

“Does this mean the train is under attack?” Greye asks out loud.

I guess it does! We should keep going before something bad catches up with us!

“Or we catch up to something bad… What are you, anyway?”

The two of them begin to pass through train cars, Greye fumbling around each time they met an enemy. Only with A’s sharp coaching and brittle humor did he figure out the trigger from the barrel-- these pistols were much different than the one he had handled before.

I’m a Biometal. My name is A. And I don’t know much else!

Now, the car they were inside looked fairly important, filled with gadgets and shining lights that Greye couldn’t hope to understand. As he begins to walk toward the front end, the roof suddenly peels back, and a massive machine drops down.

Flame jets out from the horns on its head.

“What the fuck?”

That doesn’t look very friendly....

With a wild scream, the new machine lunges at Greye, spitting words in a broken, slanted English.

“Defects must be destroyed or captured! Master wills it!”

Greye yelps, scrambling out of the way of the mad charge.

“D- defects? I’m not the crazy one here, buckaroo!”

The big machine stops and turns, arms crossing together. Three flaming bolts are fed to life-- and Greye cannot escape. He feels his armor and skin char from the centermost arrow.

That hurt! Who does this guy think he is?!

Greye, pull the hammers on our pistols. That should shut this guy up!

Through the pain and stinging, Greye almost doesn’t hear what Model A says. His hands shake as he tries to move his thumbs from the grip to the hammers, flicking back on each. Nothing happens for a long, silent moment.

“Master wills that you must be captured for the Great Game!”

Another series of bolts are charged.

Greye lurches forward, his energy tanks suddenly empty.

The world is plunged into a deep, whirling violet, and all that Greye and A thought they knew goes very dark. Beyond them, the violet dimension they summoned seizes upon the violent deer, ripping his armour to shreds. Flame spits out wildly and unchecked from the destroyed horns upon his head. Each breath leaks fuel and smoke from his chest cavity.

A is the first to wake up when the violet world is gone.

Buckfire is still very much at large.

Hhhey, big guy! Can you hear me?

Thankfully, broken as he is, the machine snorts smoke and looks around for the voice.

Good… This kid is pretty out of it, so let’s have a little chat. Who are you? What’s going on?

“My name is…. Buckfire. Pseudoroid in service of the Master. Must destroy or capture the defect.”

Pseudoroid, huh… Well, nice to meet you. We’re not the defects you’re looking for!

Greye’s eyes pop open.

Buckfire is screaming, charging at him from where he’s lying prone on the floor. Greye screams back.

They’re both screaming.

A shouts for Greye to just start shooting, aim for the chest, do you see that core-- wow, that’s a big core--!

He shoots at the core with both pistols. The rapid barrage quickly razes what little is left of Buckfire’s chest cavity. The big beast halts--

Run, Greye! Run!

Greye has nowhere to run, so he jumps, clawing his way out of a puncture in the ceiling. He jumps again onto the next cart, then the next, body thrumming wildly and clinging to the very last vestiges of energy and strength. A has latched on much more tightly.

Staying alive is a team effort.

The back end of the train explodes behind him.

And neither of them expects what happens next.

Standing guard in front of a huge castle, head inclining to the arrival of another of your kind-- the twins, Argoyle and Ugoyle. They give you high fives to the best of each of your abilities, laughing between themselves. They’re admitted to the Master’s chambers shortly thereafter.

Even though your gaze is straight ahead, you can’t help but peek at what the twins bring out with them a few hours later. A huge pod, supported on wheels, pushed along by both on their motorized peds.

You’re transported elsewhere. All you see is dancing green light awash in water. A single silhouette of a hand fills your vision.

“Dear son, when all is said and done, you shall be the King.”

Greye comes up gasping. His energy tanks are even lower than before and his head is pounding.

“A? What was that?”

I don’t know… I really don’t know!

Greye never makes it to the Legion that day. Instead, he scurries home as soon as he finds the means to, practically running on fumes. Butch saves him from having to send his mission report in, insisting that he sleeps and recharges, promising to run him through the repairs.

He doesn’t ask about the floating rock.

Greye is good with that. He’ll tell him more the next day.

[pollyna]

Hot takes that aren't that hot anymore but just general considerations because I finally saw Top Gun (1986) for the second time.

- the whole Charlie/Mav thing? Why. Like seriously I get they should be love at first sight of some shit but Maverick can't take no for an answer? And Charlie says no a lot, expecially at the beginning. Let's not talk about the bathroom scene bc it was so cringe I could have cried;

- the first person to call Maverick Mav is Goose during the inverted manouver 'nd honestly Slider being the second to call him that? Tell me Goosie all the secrets you and the other tall RIO exchange over hot chocolate and one too many complains about your pilots;

- Wolf's hard on that's repeated at the end? I mean bro, you can't actually have sex with a plane or any science related to that. But Hollywood is there;

- My brain reading Dick instead that Rick and deciding that Jester's name is Dick from now on>>>>;

- Iceman was a concentrate of repressed feeling, being an asshole and not knowing if he wanted to punch or kiss Maverick;

- matching helmets??? Between every RIO-pilot I'm living for this details;

- Cougar and I have wife and kid but yeah dude get that but since in my canon you destroyed Ice I have to ask: which thing was more terrifying?;

- Goose going around moving!! people!! where!! he!! needs!! them!! so they can talk>>>>;

-Carole and Goose? Honestly broke my heart but I decided to ignore the part where Carole says it's in love with you bc seriously? Nope.;

- Viper and his 477373 daughters, I get why teaching at top gun sounded like a funny why to spend the time;

- I'm not going to leave Iceman;

- Ice buzzing the tower with Mav even when their jet is a bullet target of his own kind? If it's not trust I don't know what it could be;

- Goose you pussy! and knowing Mav should have stayed for another match broke a new one in me :);

- Slider constantly being grabby hands around Ice and introducing him with Mr. Iceman? HE'S THE PROUD PROTECTOR OF HIS FRIEND-CRUSH;

- the Annapolis ring. Now someone has to write a 747473k about what the fuck they were all doing in Annapolis bc, a part from Mav and a couple of others, they all have the ring. So c'mon where the juice detailssss;

- every ridiculous icemav scene 🌈 I love them your honor it was embarrassing all the little sounds I made;

- even Mav's CO not believing he's going to last as teacher made me laugh;

- I totally forgot the mav/charlie reunion bc icemav flying away together is more important.

Oh, and one last thing, they should legally change the title from Top Gun to Top Gay because they really were the 1% of the 1%.

[crinkled-emotions]

"Removing/applying bandages" for Rooster please. Something like he gets a cut, only does a sloppy patch up job, and doesn't see to it so it gets infected and he gets super ill.

Of course!! I have to admit, this isn't usually my vibe, but I thought I'd give it a go considering I have that longer angsty fic sitting in my drafts as well as the fic where Rooster gets a lot of chest infections/colds.

Now, contrary to popular belief (and my lack of research), it's actually really difficult to get super sick from a cut UNLESS it is a rusty object and you haven't had a tetanus shot recently... which, btw, get them, they can literally save your life. So, we're gonna say Rooster missed his last one (he thought they still gave them in the asscheek, surprise dude they haven’t done that in a while) and has been pretty injury-free since up until now.

Listen- Miles as Al Ruddy did things to me and my psyche. I’m fINE-

-

Rooster had one eye on the cut on his thigh and the other on the bathroom door, willing it to stay firmly shut. He pulled his undershirt off and shoved it between his lips, keeping his teeth firmly on the fabric so he didn’t focus on the pain of the sharp cut on his thigh. He knew he hadn’t hit an artery, looking at it and it wasn’t spurting, but it hurt like hell. He fumbled his belt with one hand, finally getting it undone and gasping when he could get his pants down to his knees. The shirt was getting a workout from his teeth, grasped tightly as he gasped and growled. He wouldn’t be surprised if he tore it, it fucking hurt.

“Hey! Rooster, dude, you in here?”

The hot flush of panic rushed through Rooster’s body and he spat his shirt on to the sink, throwing his belt at the bathroom door.

“Give me a minute, Payback. I’m coming.”

“Was that your belt? What’s going on?”

“I’m in the middle of something.”

Rooster winced, white-knuckling the counter and waiting for Payback to barge in.

“Alright, fine, I’ll tell Mav you’re destroying the bathroom.”

Rooster listened to him walk away and leaned down, resting his head on his shaky arms. The pain in his thigh was excruciating, but he didn’t really want to go back to the team and make any of them panic. His hands, trembling from the pain in his thigh, managed to get the gauze open and he pressed it to the cut, gasping as he hissed and swore under his breath. One hand remained on the gauze while reaching for the bandage to wrap the wound. Carefully he wrapped the bandage around his thigh and secured it with a couple pieces of tape, reaching for his t-shirt to put back between his teeth. He pulled his pants back up and buttoned them, then glanced around to locate his belt. It was exactly where he’d thrown it, sitting on the floor by the exit.

-

“Hey, did you find Rooster?”

“Yeah, he’s destroying the bathroom.”

Phoenix grimaced, frowning.

“What? Is he alright?”

“Yeah, I’m sure he’s fine, just didn’t want me coming in.”

Payback grabbed a bottle of water, shaking his head.

“He’s lucky. That could have ended really badly.”

“I’m not sure Maverick feels the same,” Fanboy said quietly, glancing toward their instructor who was sitting on the only armchair in the ready room, head in his hands. Hangman cleared his throat, refusing to look at his team.

“Hey, Mav, you want a ride home?”

Maverick lifted his head, clearing his throat.

“No, uh, I’m good, thanks Hangman. Why don’t you all go home, get some rest. We can debrief tomorrow when Rooster’s had some sleep.”

“You got it, sir,” Bob replied, standing from the couch. He offered a hand up to Phoenix who took it, squeezing his shoulder before she approached Coyote.

“You haven’t said much, you doing okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks, Tash.”

“We’re all here if you want to talk, man,” she said before glancing over at Hangman, a glare crossing her features at his physical and emotional detachment from the rest of the team.

“Except for him.”

“That was mean, Tasha,” Hangman huffed but he stayed glued to the window seat, green eyes focused on the jets outside.

“You’re not great with feelings, Hangman, it’s not an insult-”

Jake’s head whipped around and everyone’s eyebrows shot up at the tears threatening to spill over.

“It’s my fault,” he hissed, “it’s my fault Bradley went down. I was too cocky.”

“That’s not true Jake, I would have done the exact same thing,” Maverick reassured, lifting his head from his hands.

“Maverick’s right. It’s not your fault, Jake.”

Rooster was standing in the doorway to the ready room, hands on his hips. The team exchanged glances.

“Medical clear you?” Phoenix asked, brows furrowing as she glanced over him; more specifically, the way he refused to put pressure on his right leg and the way his t-shirt had what looked to be a damp patch in the middle, avoiding any patches of sweat.

“Yeah, they said I got lucky,” Rooster shrugged. Maverick approached him, putting a hand to his cheek.

“You doing okay, kid?”

“Yeah, Mav, we both know it’s not my first time ejecting. I’m fine.”

“What about your leg, Roos?”

Of course Phoenix would catch on to the way he’d winced as he stepped into the room, the way he was making an effort to put a majority of his weight on his left side.

“It’s fine, I pulled some muscles landing. The parachute got caught in a tree, I landed on my knees when I cut myself out.”

His eyes settled on Hangman and Coyote.

“I’m serious. It’s no one’s fault. Shit happens, I’m fine.”

“The way your jet exploded, dude...” Phoenix began but Rooster held her shoulder.

“I’m good. The medics said so.”

-

3 Days Later

The knock on his bedroom door was enough to startle Rooster from where he’d been trying to struggle into his khaki pants, sucking in to get them up but he knew his abdomen wasn’t the problem; his leg had swollen and there was a visible difference when looking at his thighs.

“Bradley, can you come here a sec?” Maverick asked softly.

“Comin’,” Rooster replied, gasping when his pants brushed the bandaged cut. He hadn’t been game to change the gauze more than once since the accident as it bled every time he peeled the non-stick dressing away and it made him yell in pain- bad for when he was trying to keep the injury a secret considering it would a) freak Maverick out and b) only make Jake and Javy feel even more guilty about the accident. They’d been surprisingly subdued since they’d returned to classes, no jokes from Jake and no back up comments from Javy.

Finally he managed to get his pants on and buttoned but the pressure against his wound made him wish he could wear basketball shorts to work- something that wouldn’t make tears spring to his eyes every time he moved his leg. He reached for the Tylenol on his dresser, downing it dry and making his way out of his room.

“What’s up, Mav- uh, hey, guys...”

Rooster paused at the bottom of the stairs when he realised his entire team were in the living room, Maverick standing in front of them.

“I’m going to ask you again, Bradley. Were you cleared by medical after you ejected?” Maverick asked, arms crossed against his chest. Rooster swallowed, glancing to his team but they all remained silent and stony-faced.

“I-”

“-it’s a simple fucking question, Bradshaw! Did you see a doctor when you ejected?” Jake snapped suddenly, leaping out of his seat. Bob caught him before he could get up in Bradley’s face, tugging on his belt to keep him by the couches.

“Ah, I... I mean-”

“-Bradley, look at me, kid.”

Maverick held his wrist, chasing his godson’s eyes. When Rooster couldn’t make eye contact, he sighed.

“Bradley...”

“No, Mav, I’m fine!”

“Then why does one of your legs look like a branch and the other a fucking tree trunk?”

“It’s bruising, I- I bruised and swelled,” Rooster replied easily to Phoenix who he could tell didn’t believe him for a second. She sighed.

“Tell us the truth, man. We can tell something’s wrong and it’s not bruises, or swelling, or whatever else you want to call it,” Bob insisted. It was the way he said it, resigned and frustrated at the same time, that made Rooster frown.

“Why?”

“Because we’re worried about you.”

Phoenix was blunt and Rooster expected nothing less from her. Swallowing, he kept his eyes trained on the floor.

“I- I cut my leg. On- on something... on my way down.”

“Where?” Hangman demanded but Bob’s grip on his belt stopped him again. Maverick put his hand on Rooster’s shoulder.

“Let’s have a look, kid, c’mon,” he said softly, hand moving to his back as he guided him into the bathroom.

“I don’t want you to see it,” Rooster confessed. Maverick stared for a moment.

“Then I want you to go to medical, or- or get someone else to look at it, because I’m worried about you.”

“Bob. I would prefer if Bob checked it out. He can keep his cool, and he has medical knowledge.”

“I know how to stitch a wound, Rooster, I don’t know a ton,” Bob replied. He let go of Hangman’s belt and followed Rooster into the bathroom anyway. As soon as the door closed, he sat on the toilet seat.

“Show me.”

-

“Why wouldn’t he want to show me?” Maverick frowned, sitting on the couch. The others exchanged glances, Phoenix finally burying her head in her hands.

“Because he’s an idiot and he may be the injured one but he’s also trying to protect everyone. That’s why.”

The team all lifted their heads when Bob appeared from the bathroom, a little more wide-eyed than usual.

“I think we need to get him to the infirmary. There’s a foreign body, maybe a stick or something, stuck in the wound and it’s infected. There’s a reason he was puking on the tarmac yesterday and it wasn’t adrenaline rush.”

“I’ll go get my truck started,” Hangman said as he reached for his keys. No one argued with him and Maverick followed Bob into the bathroom. Rooster was still there, back to the bathroom mirror, pants to his knees to expose the wound. Maverick winced.

“That’s a bad spot, Roos.”

“You’re not kidding. Getting my underwear on this morning was agony.”

“Yeah, I can imagine. Alright, I’m going to go and grab you some sweats.”

“Could I have shorts instead?”

Maverick softened.

“Yeah, B, good idea. I’ll grab you shorts and a sweatshirt.”

“Thanks, Mav. I’m... I’m sorry I kept it from you.”

“We will talk about that later.”

Maverick sent his godson a look, before reaching up to kiss his temple.

“You gotta tell us this shit, kiddo, and every time you hop you know it’s mandatory to have medical clear you. If you ever pull this again, I will report you to Cyclone. You are my kid, Bradley, but I swear to god, your health and safety will always come first over anyone else’s feelings. Do you understand?”

“Yeah, Mav-”

“-don’t you dare yeah, Mav me. I’m serious, Bradley.”

Rooster’s gaze sobered and he nodded.

“I know, Mav, and I’m sorry, I just- I didn’t think it was that bad, I thought I could handle it.”

“Yeah, well, you couldn’t, so let’s go. Jake’s got his truck going.”

Maverick left the bathroom and headed upstairs to grab the shorts and a sweatshirt, knowing hospitals sometimes ran cold.

-