Chapter Text
As they shut the bedroom door behind them, finally quieting the raucous cheers from their friends downstairs, Maverick let the bone-deep sadness creep past his elation.
Ice, as always, knew something was off. “Pete, hey, look at me,” he said cradling Mav’s face in his hands as the first tears started to fall. “Pete, what’s wrong?”
“He should be here,” Mav managed to choke out. He didn’t need to specify who. Not when the fully-prepared bedroom down the hall had never been used. Not when they still carved out a part of their home - their lives - for someone who had stormed out over a decade prior. Not when Ice still kept tabs on the kid, his way of looking out for the boy they’d raised together. “Bradley should be here,” he sobbed.
Ice held him tighter. “I know.” he kissed Mav’s hair. “I know, sweetheart.”
Mav could only cry harder. It was their wedding day - their goddamn wedding day , a day almost thirty years in the making - and their son wasn’t there to see it. “It isn’t right,” he cried. “The best fucking day of my life - and I am happy, Ice. You have to know I’m so goddamn happy to have married you, I'd have done it way back in ‘88 if we could have, I love you so fucking much-” Mav rambled on, desperate for Ice to know that he didn’t regret a second of the day.
“But our family isn’t full without Bradley,” Ice said, interrupting Mav’s spiral. “I know you love me, Mav. I’ve known that for decades. The sun rises in the east, the grass is green, and you love me; these are facts of my universe. I love you too. I love the family we made for ourselves - us, the boys… and our kid.” Mav felt Ice’s chest shudder with his next inhale. “We did what we could. We sent the invitation. We gave him space all these years, but if he wasn’t there then…” he didn’t want to come. Ice didn’t say that last bit. He didn’t need to. They both knew it, at this point.
After pulling Bradley’s papers, after fulfilling Carole’s dying wish, after the fight that shook their home and ripped away a third of their hearts… they’d done as he asked. Mav and Ice had sent birthday and Christmas letters and accepted the silence they got in return. They stood in the last row at Bradley’s graduation from UVA, from flight school. They watched a stranger pin Bradley’s wings to his uniform - an act Bradley and Ice used to practice in the kitchen on lazy Saturdays. (Bradley wore the cap of Mav’s dress blues and stood on one of their dining room chairs as Ice, dressed in his neatly-pressed whites, pinned origami wings to Bradley’s t-shirt. Mav had to hold his partner tight to keep him from crumbling as the woman stepped forward with Bradley’s golden wings.) They didn’t interfere with Bradley’s career. When he was called up to Top Gun, they celebrated with the class of ‘86 but received no invitation to his graduation. Ice had to overhear Cyclone’s conversation to know that Bradley had won Top Gun. Bradley had asked them to leave him alone and they had.
But Bradley had always sworn to be there when they got married. As a kid, he “officiated” more fake-trimonies than either of them could count, until he had the entire thing memorized. As a teenager, he wrote best man speeches every few months. They found the box of pages under his bed when they moved out of that house, two years after Bradley had stormed out. The box moved with them, not a page out of place. Every iteration had one line in common:
“I’ve been rooting for these two since there was something to root for. I’d never dream of missing out on the chance to wish my
uncles
dads a long and happy life together - remember, you chose this insane flyboy as your husband!”
So they sent out the invitation. “Please come,” Mav had written. “Even if it’s the last time we ever get to see you, please come to our wedding.” They had waited with bated breath.
Nothing.
The day came. They got ready, went to the courthouse, and met up with the rest of the wedding party. Slider, Wolfman, Hollywood, Chipper, Sundown… but no Bradley. No Baby Goose.
They put smiles on their faces, said “I do,” kissed like the world was ending - their world was starting , thank you very much, Maverick - and took the party back home to cut their cake. No Bradley.
Slider made his speech, as Ice’s best-man-if-they-had-best-men. He spoke for both of them, claiming to carry words spoken to him by Goose, all those years ago. No one mentioned that he was filling two spots, that a Bradshaw - any Bradshaw (was better than no Bradshaw) - should be speaking on Mav’s behalf. Still no Bradley.
They danced and drank and sang and reminisced and laughed until they cried and cried until they laughed. Still no Bradley.
Then Ice and Mav made their way upstairs (to loud jeers and wolf-whistles) and Mav made it all of three steps towards their bed before breaking down. Ice made it all of three seconds before joining his husband on the floor. Eleven years. No Bradley. Seventeen years. No Carole. Twenty-five years. No Goose.
Maverick Mitchell had gotten married.
No Bradshaws.