Chapter 1: Arguments and Friends
Chapter Text
“You’re just going to pretend I don’t exist?” Rooster snaps, glaring at Iceman’s back when the Admiral passes without even a returned salute.
Tom stops in his tracks, turning only partially, but it’s enough to shoot a true to name glare to the boy. “Lieutenant Bradshaw.” His voice holds no warmth. “You don’t get to have it both ways. You wished for me to go no contact with you. I did. You don’t get to suddenly decide that I should interact with you again.” He turns fully. “You are not a child anymore. These decisions are your own. But it has been fifteen years. I’ve moved on Bradley.” Tom shakes his head. “I am not willing to spend the rest of my life trying to make up for what we did, or spend it beating myself up for it. It happened. We tried to make amends and you didn’t want it. Which is fine .” He stresses. “You get to make that call. Just as I get to make the call and let go.”
His gaze softens a little. “You are always welcome to come back. No matter how much time has passed. We both still love you. But I’m done tolerating your behavior. Maverick and I have been nothing less than respectful this entire time. We have not pried or pushed. You, however, have taken every single moment possible to show how angry you still are, and you seem to think I will allow it to be directed at my husband any longer.” Ice seems to be considering his words. “Grow up, or get off my base. The military is no place for children.” With that, he turns on his heel and carries on his path.
Rooster can’t help but scoff, trying to keep together the little pride he has left. “Better be careful, believing in him. My dad did. I wouldn’t make the same mistake.”
You could hear a pen drop in the hall. Ice turns back to him, rage coming off in clear waves. This time the raspiness is not from the cancer. “Your father would be disappointed in you, Bradshaw.” Iceman says lowly. “Your father was a goodman; Maverick’s best friend. I saw him get into a fight more than once over Pete. He’d hit you upside the head for saying something like that.”
“My father is dead because of him.” He jets his chin out proudly. “At least my father had people to mourn him. No one will care if Maverick burns in.”
A voice clears his throat before Ice can respond, and Rooster turns over his shoulder just to be met with a punch to the jaw.
“What the fuck?!” Rooster exclaims, readying himself to swing back.
Slider glares at him. “Actions and words have consequences. Your free pass for being a dick has ended.”
“Enough.” Tom silences before it can escalate any further. Before he can escalate it. He wants to strangle the kid. Teach him to leave his husband's name out his mouth. “Enough. Come on Slider, Maverick’s waiting on us.”
Ron grunts, and neatly steps around Rooster. “How is he?”
Ice sighs tiredly. “He’s got a few broken ribs from an eject at Mach 10 last week. The doctors think that today’s training might have caused him to puncture a lung.”
“Shit.” Slider hisses in sympathy. “He won’t be able to fly if he has.”
“Maverick’s hurt?” Rooster butts in, hand cradling his jaw.
“It’s classified.” Slider shuts down. “You’re dismissed, Lieutenant.”
Bradley sets his jaw. “ Sir. ” He says, voice tight before leaving.
Slider waits to hear the door to the hallway shut before speaking again. “Doesn’t seem like these last fifteen years has helped.”
Tom sighs, staring at the spot Rooster had stood. “Not at all.” He agrees. “I half regret putting Maverick on this assignment. The kid has had it out for him this entire time. I’m tired of it.”
“Honesty?” Ron sighs. “I gave up on him when he didn’t come to the wedding. Or when Mav tried letting him know about the cancer.”
Iceman sighs. He can’t argue the point. “I think I knew when Pete got shot down in Bosnia and we weren’t sure if he was going to make it.”
Slider winces in recollection. “I remember. You broke your phone when he said he wasn’t coming.”
He’s not proud of that fact. But he had needed some sort of release at the time. His husband had been shot out of the air and crashed in his jet. He was rescued, but had been in the hospital for months. In the beginning, he hadn’t taken to the antibiotics and they had been told to prepare themselves. Pete had been dying and Bradley hadn’t cared.
How does he forgive that?
Ron nudges him. “C’mon. Let’s go see what trouble Maverick has caused this time.”
Ice can’t help but chuckle and pushes open the doors to the infirmary.
He can't help but pause when he sees his husband, shirt off, bandages on display for everyone, looking over a file with Warlock and Cyclone. “Gentlemen.” He rasps, stepping closer, Slider follows beside him.
“Admiral Kazansky.” Cyclone greets him, looking up when the door latches shut. “We weren’t expecting you.”
He simply points to Maverick.
“Ah. Right.”
“I’m alright, Ice.” Pete reassures him, however, does not look up from the file on the desk. “Didn’t puncture a lung.”
“Captain Mitchell did break another rib.” Warlock doesn’t allow him to gloss over that bit.
“Another Mav?” Slider raises a brow. “Do you got that disease for weak bones?”
“Osteoporosis.” Mav corrects. “And no. I don’t.”
“Honestly just surprised you know the name.”
Ice steps forward to view what's on the desk. Had to be important if his husband was ignoring him for it. All of it looks pretty standard. Typography maps, images of the location. What doesn’t look standard is his husband's name glaring up at him from the pilot list. “What is this?”
Cyclone shares a hesitant glance with Warlock and Maverick. For a mercy, Maverick is the one to answer.
“...It has been decided that the mission stands it’s best chance of success if I am team leader.”
Slider coughs as Iceman straightens. “Oh shit.”
Tom is silent as he looks over the documents. “Who is your team?”
Cyclone takes this one. “Payback, Fanboy, Bob, Phoenix and Rooster have been selected as the Dagger squadron. The others will remain on the carrier as standbys.”
Iceman sets his jaw at that, his fingers ghost over the locations of the SAMS. “No.” He looks up to Maverick. “You want on this mission, then choose a different wingman.”
Pete tilts his head, confused. Tom had been the one this entire time trying to get him to let go. “Coyote can’t handle the climb out. Hangman is reckless.”
“Hangman believes in you. You’ve taught him well.” He jabs a finger at a picture of Rooster on the table. “Bradshaw will get you killed. He’s too slow, and thinks too much. He will cost you your life.”
“It’s non-negotiable.” Tom cuts off when he sees Pete start to argue. “I agree you are best suited as team leader. I think with you there everyone will make it home. But I will not see you killed because a pilot you feel responsible for isn’t good enough for this mission.”
Maverick straightens, his own jaw clenched.
Great. Now they’re both upset. Slider gestures with his head to the door, and mercifully, Warlock and Cyclone notice and follow him out.
The shutting door echoes in the silent room. “What is this about, Tom? This entire time you’ve been wanting me to get along with Rooster. If I don’t put him on this mission he will never forgive me.”
“And I will never forgive him if he gets you killed.” Tom looks at him from the other side of the table. “And I no longer think getting along with him is possible.”
Maverick’s brow furrows. “What?”
He sighs. “I think I was wrong to put you two together. I know you’ve been trying, but Rooster fights everything you say. It’s dangerous. I don’t want you in the skies with him.” I don’t want you out there at all . He thinks. Not on this suicide mission. Tom rounds the table. “You are my wingman. But I can’t be up in the skies with you anymore. I don’t trust any of them with you. But I trust Hangman’s skills the most. Please, Pete.” His voice softens, and he lays a hand on his forearm. “If you are going to go out there, take Hangman. Take anyone but Rooster.”
Maverick is quiet for a long moment. His eyes flicker, as if seeing something in Ice. “Alright.” He agrees. “Alright. I’ll take Hangman.”
“Thank you.” He says in relief. He glances back over to the mission layout. “I never meant for you to go on this mission.” He admits. I don’t want you out there.” But Pete would never forgive him for pulling him off the mission. Especially if one of the Squadron got hurt.
A hand lays itself on the small of his back, and Pete looks over the papers too. “I know.” He comforts. “But I will do everything I can to come back home, Tom.”
“Will you?” He can’t help but challenge. “I know you don’t want to hear it, but I’m due for retirement soon. I won’t be able to keep you in the air forever.”
Can you see a life, here, on the ground with me?
Maverick doesn’t respond to the challenge, and Ice can’t help the festering guilt when he sees the warring emotions on his husband’s face. Guilt and loss is the plainest to see.
“I don’t know who I am without these jets.” Pete finally whispers, and the tears in his eyes are obvious. “I am a Naval Aviator. It’s not what I am. It’s who I am. How do I turn myself into something else?”
The question is flat; lost. A question Tom hadn’t prepared himself for. And the only thing he can say is: “It’s time to let go, Pete.”
It’s the wrong thing to say.
Maverick shuts down at that, and pulls away. “I’ll see you at home.” Is all he gets as a parting goodbye before Maverick leaves him in the empty room.
Ice can’t help his sigh as Slider refills their drinks. “Thought he would be home by now.”
“What did you say to him?”
“That maybe it was time to let go of flying.”
Slider can’t fully hide his wince at that. “Oh.”
“I know.” He agrees. He swirls his whiskey. “But he can’t do this forever. It’s already taking a toll on his body, and I’m retiring in the next couple years. There won’t be anyone to bail him out anymore.” Tom takes a sip. “I don’t…I don’t want him to be blindsided by it.”
Carefully, Ron considers his words. “I don’t know if he can live without it.” He answers honestly. “It’s still a thrill for him; he loves it. As much as he loves you.”
Being grounded would ruin Maverick. They both knew it. They both also know that there is little they will be able to do about it.
“Maybe buy him another plane.” Slider suggests in the silence.
Could that be enough to get Maverick to stay? To be reduced to planes that can’t even hit Mach 1? When he’s a daredevil who’s used to going upwards of Mach 7?
A flightless bird is a dead bird, after all.
“I know it’s not what you want to hear.” Chances Hollywood. He’s nervous enough that he doesn’t even look up from his drink. “But…maybe it’s better like this- if he gets to go out in flaming glory.”
Ice’s- no Tom’s heart drops to his feet as Hollywood continues.
“He gets to be the hero. He doesn’t have to be grounded like us. Flying jets- it was the shit. But it’s always been more than that for Maverick. It’s like it’s all he is.”
He can’t breathe. How dare Hollywood echo his own thoughts? His own fears? Is this the truth? That it’s better if he loses his husband than to spend the rest of their lives together?
Chipper shoves Wood. Glaring at him. “What the fuck man?”
“We’re all thinking it.” Wood defends softly. “I don’t like it anymore than y’all. But answer me honestly- can any of you imagine Maverick not in the sky somewhere?”
He’s heard enough. Tom rises, knocking back the rest of his drink. He’s too sober for this. At that same moment, the front door opens, and the only person it could be is his husband.
Cougar is the first to actually see him. “Hey Mav, ho- what the fuck happened to you?”
That causes him to near, and the others all shut up, brows furrowed in concern and confusion as the light brings to life the blossoming bruise sprawled across Pete’s cheek. It’s not the first time Pete’s been punched- far from it honestly. But these days, with Pete being a Captain, no one really has the balls to do so. Honestly, if he thinks about it, the people who work under Maverick rarely have a problem with it. Maverick can be an absolute dick when it comes to his superiors. Captain Mitchell though? Or just Mav, or Pete? He’s so damn kind . He knows everyone's names. He says hi, and makes genuine conversation. He works hard, and accepts responsibility.
He wants to ask who, why, and how dare they, but he’s not given the chance. Maverick answers all those questions at once.
“You’re gonna have to save the kids ass.”
Iceman blinks. The hand resting on the couch turns into a grip. “Bradley punched you?”
Maverick grunts, and steals Slider’s drink. He downs it as he eases himself on to the couch. Cougar is kind enough to offer his as the next sacrifice. Mav cheers it in thanks. “Yeah. Don’t really care about that part. But Simpson and Warlock were unfortunate enough to have seen him do it.”
I care about that part. Tom thinks. “They had him arrested?”
Maverick hums around a sip. “Not sure how far they’re going to take it though.”
Tom sighs. “I’ll make a call.” Bradley is lucky he loves his husband because he is not in the habit of calling out favors for anyone other than his husband or the rest of their Top Gun class. “Someone grab an ice pack for him. And food.”
“Sir, yes, sir.” Slider mocks. Laughter arises at that and flows steadily into his office.
It’s late, he thinks, glancing at the clock on his desk. Simpson is probably awake regardless. He feels sure enough to dial Cyclone’s personal number.
“Admiral Kazansky.” He greets. “Good evening.”
Iceman hums. “Had been until Maverick got socked in the jaw.”
“Hadn’t expected it either.” He admits. “I’ve got him in the brig right now. I was just going to let him out in an hour or so; whenever he cools off.”
Oh. Well that’s convenient. No favors even had to be used. On the other hand…”Perhaps he’s feeling like he wants to stay the night.” Let him simmer for a bit.
It’s silent for a long moment. “It is late. Could hardly be blamed for losing the paperwork.” Sure, if you want.
Good man. “It is late, isn’t it? I think we should both head to bed. That’s an order.” You can blame me if need be. He says it lightly. One couldn’t be blamed for assuming they were talking about the weather.
“I do always follow orders.” Oh, I will. “ Goodnight, Admiral.”
“Goodnight Cyclone.” Thank you .
He hangs up the phone and joins the group again. There’s a bag of frozen peas pressed to his husband’s jaw. He’s not even sure where they came from. Maverick hates peas. And they are both more likely to order in than to cook. It seems like their friends combined what drinks were left and gave it to Mav. “Simpson agreed to let him out in the morning. Would budge any further than that.”
Maverick pauses in his bite of pizza. “Better than nothing. Thank you.”
Tom hums. “It’s getting late. We should head to bed, not all of us are retired.”
Cougar snorts. “Certainly old enough to be.”
“ Your older than us.” Maverick defends.
“You’re just jealous you only made it to a one star.” Wood tells Cougar, who snorts in response.
Maverick chuckles tiredly to himself as their friends start to bicker and quietly takes his leave with Tom to their room. He hears his husband shut and lock the door behind them. Then he feels Tom’s hand wrap themselves around his waist, and soft kisses being pressed to his neck.
Could this be enough? Maverick wonders. If he’s grounded would every day be like this?
“Why’d he punch you?” Ice whispers into the crook of his neck.
His shoulders slump. “I announced the team. Didn’t take it well.”
Took it like a child
. Iceman thinks.
“I’m proud of you.”
Maverick blinks at that, unexpected. “Uh. Why?”
“You’ve grown a lot.” He takes the frozen vegetables from Pete. “You would have gotten into a full out brawl back when you were his age.”
Pete chuckles; he sounds so weary and tired. “Gettin’ a bit old for that, Ice.” It seems to inspire a new train of thought. He lets Tom take his jacket. “I am getting old.” He says like it’s the first time he’s thought of it. Hell. It might be.
Where are you going with this?
Maverick eases himself to sit on the edge of their bed, and pats the spot beside him. Obediently Tom sits beside him and takes his hand between his. He waits, but the words never seem to come for his husband.
Then finally: “We deploy in two nights.” He says softly.
Tom’s heart leaps to his throat. “Do you feel ready?”
Maverick looks down to their hands; their wedding bands gleam proudly up at them. “I don’t know if I’m ready to never fly again.” He admits.
Ice can see the strain, and the truth in his words. But fuck if those words don’t terrify him. Maybe Cougar was right.
Then his husband continues. “But I think-I think I could try.”
Tom looks up at that. He, too, considers his words carefully. “I think…your career should end however you decide.” The words burn. He wants to get on his knees and beg for forgiveness. He’s not even sure if holy water could heal it.
Pete meets his gaze, and Tom can see the decision had already been made. Long before this talk. Iceman doesn’t argue. Doesn’t plead or beg. Instead: “Tomorrow we’ll spend the day with our friends, and then- then just spend the day with me.”
Maverick squeezes his hand. “Anything for you.”
Chapter 2: Day 2
Summary:
Everyone tries to come to terms with the mission.
Notes:
Okay so instead of ice dying it's viper and thats why the 86 crew is around.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Tom is the first one up in the morning, typical honestly. Untypical is the fact that he doesn’t immediately climb out of bed. Instead he lays there, absorbing the feeling of his husband's arm across his chest, the foot that’s tangled between his legs. The warmth of his husband's breath against his neck. The sun is shining in, illuminating Maverick in a warm, beautiful light. His hair sticks up in every which way.
He’s perfect.
Tom reaches out in a daze and combs his fingers through Mav’s hair. It’s never gotten old; waking up to him. It feels like a blessing every morning. Pete snuggles closer with a content, sleepy hum.
He presses his lips to his head. “I love you.” He murmurs. “Always.”
Pete doesn’t respond, but that’s okay. Tom knows Pete loves him too. He looks over to the alarm clock. Five minutes before his alarm is meant to go off. He reaches out and turns it off. Work could wait. He only has the next two days with Pete before he’s deployed and Tom might lose him forever. He has enough leave days to call in sick for a couple days.
It doesn’t take much to content him with holding his husband till he wakes. There’s nothing he’d rather do. He can hear the rest of their friends already start milling around the house -a consequence of a lifetime in the service.
It’s 0800 when Pete starts to wake with a yawn that morphs into a groan. He watches, amused, as his husband blindly searches the bed for his phone. Mav’s eyes finally flutter open, and peer up at him with a cute little furrow of his brow. “Tom?”
“Good morning.” He greets softly.
Pete sits up a bit and looks over to Ice’s alarm clock. “Shit. I made you late.” He starts to peel himself off Tom. “Fuck -my bad. I forgot to make sure I turned it on. Just, uh, tell them I fucked up something that you had to fix.”
I love you Ice thinks fondly. “You didn’t do anything.” Tom reassures and pulls him back down. “I called in.”
He resists the pull, the confusion settling into concern. “Are you feeling alright? Is it your throat?”
He can’t help his soft chuckle. “Dear, I’m perfectly fine.” He reaches up to cup his cheek, mindful to not agitate the bruise. “I simply wanted to spend time with you.”
“Oh.” Mav says simply, and leans into the touch. “Sap.”
“Only for you.” He laughs and leans up to kiss him. “Coffee?”
Mav hums into the kiss. “Later. I want you.”
“You always have me.” Ice promises even as he rolls them over so he’s above Mav and kisses him again.
Will I always have you? He can’t help but wonder even as his lips are claimed by a soft, self-assured kiss.
They join the others after a slow shower. Tom is dressed in his favorite blue peacoat and scarf, tan pants. Maverick is in his white shirt, bomber jacket and jeans. His style hasn’t changed an ilk over these last 30 years. Hell, some days it seems like he’s barely aged.
“Finally.” Grouses Slider, who slides over two coffee mugs. “Cougar had breakfast delivered.”
Ah. That explains the styrofoam containers that line the kitchen countertops.
Mav takes the darker coffee of the two. Leaving the sweeter one for Ice. “Thank you. Where are the others?”
“Cougar’s asleep again.” Unsurprising. “The others went to visit friends they haven't seen in a while.” Slider answers. He leans back against the kitchen island and he sips his own coffee. “They’ll be back in time for us all to go out tonight, though.”
“We’re going out tonight?” Maverick asks. He pulls out two plates and loads them both with eggs, bacon, potatoes and sausage. While one microwaves he pulls out a toaster from under the counter and puts a few slices of bread in.
“I thought we would.” Ice answers, fetching the butter and the apricot jam that Pete loves. “Rare that all of us are together. Even if it is for Viper’s funeral.”
Maverick puts the other plate in the microwave. “Where are y’all thinking?”
“Haven’t picked yet.” Ron answers. There’s some shuffling as Slider moves so Ice can get to the coffee machine “We could go to that burger joint, the one that's just north of the base.”
Ice hums, placing a to-go cup under the coffee machine. “Either that or the hard deck.”
Maverick shrugs and hands Tom his plate. “Either is fine with me. Just let me know when and where and I’ll be there.”
“Do you have to go in today?” Slider asks, absently stealing a strip of bacon from Tom’s plate as it’s passed in front of him.
Pete nods. “Today will be the last test flight we do. Tomorrow will be for packing, studying papers and getting rest before deploying.”
“Assuming you can’t say where to?”
He shakes his head. “Highly classified. Can’t even say what type of planes we’re using.”
Ron sighs. “This is what I get for retiring.”
Ice scoffs good naturedly. “You wouldn’t have clearance either way.”
“And I’m the cocky one.” Maverick teases around a mouthful of toast.
“You are.” Ron and Tom respond in sync.
“Yeah yeah.” He glances at the clock on the microwave. “I got to head in.” He says with a sigh. Plates clatter as he adds his to the pile in the sink. Pete kisses Tom’s cheek. “I’ll see you at dinner.”
“Don’t forget your coffee.” Tom tells him after he swallows, and points over to the togo cup on the counter. “Fly safe.”
Maverick’s answering laugh echoes even after he’s gone.
“The only ones flying today will be the active squadron and spare.” Maverick tells the pilots who sit at their desks. “We will be the Dagger Squadron. I am Dagger One.” He points to Hangman. “Dagger two.” Then at Phoenix and Bob. “Dagger three. Dagger Four is Fanboy and Payback.” He looks over the group. All serious faces return the look. All except Rooster who looks like he wants to punch him again. “Coyote, you will be Dagger Spare.”
“Yes sir.” Coyote nods.
“Today I want to practice firing blind.” Maverick gestures to the photo of the target behind him. “Deadeyes can happen in the field. I want to be prepared. Following that, we will go through several run-throughs of the plan. I want to try and squeeze in some dogfighting too.” He leans against the podium. “Today might be the most exhausting day yet. We don’t have time for bets or anything other than training. Midday we will land to gas the jets and to grab some food; or a nap if you’re lucky. Any questions before we go up there?”
“What happens if one of us misses?” Bob asks.
Hangman and Maverick share a look. “If one of us misses, it becomes a decision of mission success or survival. Both is unlikely.” It’s true. “However, due to the importance of this mission, if a miss happens, I will circle my jet around and take the shot.”
“Won’t you get shot down?” Phoenix asks, brow furrowed and leaning forward.
“Yes.” It’s inevitable, if that was to happen. “That’s why we need both miracles to make miracle three possible.”
“Anything else?” No one asks anything. “Alright. Wheels up in thirty. I need to meet with Cyclone to get a few things cleared. Those of you not participating today- you don’t get a free day. You’ve trained just as much as the rest of us. I need you to overlook the mission plans, and understand the timing down to nanoseconds. There’s always a chance that you could be called in, instead of someone else if something happens in the next day.”
“Yes sir.” They answer.
“Dismissed.”
They all shuffle as Pete excuses himself to meet with the Admiral’s. Dagger Squadron goes to change into their flight suits.
“Hangman.” Hondo calls. “Hang back a sec.”
He obeys even though the confusion is clear on his face. “Yes sir?”
“Someone wants to speak with you.” Hondo explains. “One sec’ I’ll grab him.” Hondo closes the door behind him and heads down the hall. “He’s waiting for you, Ice.”
“Thank you.” Tom nods. He takes a deep breath before stepping into the room. He reaches behind and locks the door. “You must be Hangman.”
The man and question straightens and offers a salute, “Admiral Kazansky.”
“As you were.” Tom folds his hands behind his back. “I won’t take up too much of your time Lieutenant. I know you’re wheels up soon.”
“What can I do for you, sir?” Jake asks him.
“I chose you for the mission.” Tom starts with. “I believe you to be the most skilled out of your class.”
The boy practically peacocks at that, and smirks. “Thank you.”
“I chose you, because I think you have the best shot of bringing Maverick home safely.” Iceman looks him in the eye. “But I also know your reputation, and how you got your callsign.” His voice is cold. “The first lesson you learn at Top Gun is to never leave your wingman. Don’t you dare leave mine.”
Hangman swallows nervously. “Yes sir. I understand.”
“Good.” He eases his tone. “I have faith in you. I look forward to being proved right.” With that he turns and heads to the door. Then he stops at Hangman’s voice.
“Uh, sir. If I may. Who is Captain Mitchell to you?”
He turns his head partially. A whole list of things he could answer that with. Just a friend. A pain in my ass. My wingman. Years of hiding and fearing what could happen if someone found out about them. But his love, and pride of Maverick beats all those suffocating tendencies. So he answers with the truth. “My husband of course.” He steps out and leaves the boy with that.
Maverick raps on the door, files tucked securely under his arm..
“Enter.” Simpson calls. The man looks up as Maverick steps in.
“Captain.” He greets, hands folded in front of his stomach. “What can I do for you?”
He inclines his head. “How many 5th gen fighters do we have on the base?”
Cyclone’s eyes narrow. Suspicious already. “A handful. Why?”
“We’re going through our final training today. I’d like to use the 5th gens to allow us to practice maneuvers and dog fighting with what we will realistically experience.” Maverick answers, he hands over the proposition file over.
Simpson takes it with a grunt. “I understand your reasoning, however you have already lost one jet during this training. 5th gens are far more expensive, and number far fewer. I don’t have jets that I can risk needlessly.”
“I believe there is a great need.” Maverick argues back. “I am trying to make sure these kids come home, and that means they need to experience this.”
“It’s not just our decision, Maverick.” Warlock tells him calmly. “The use of those jets require approval from higher ups and Admiral Kazansky is out of office. There is no way for us to get the approval you need in this short amount of time.”
Pete has to resist a laugh. He certainly has a way. He digs in his pockets for his phone. Ice is the first contact in it. He dials him.
“What are you doing?” Simpson asks, exasperating oozing from every word.
“Hey Ice.” Pete greets when Tom answers on the first ring. Delighting in the way Warlock uses his hand to cover his small smile and the way Cyclone’s eyes widen. “Yeah, I’m good. Are you still on base? I need you to sign off on this form for me. Simpson says he can’t authorize it.”
The room is quiet for a moment before Pete hums. “We’re in his office. See you in a few.”
“What the fuck?” Cyclone mutters. “Iceman is on base?” He probes with raised brows. “Shit. Warlock call the flag crew. His flag isn’t up.”
“He won’t be here for long.” Maverick reassures, god this is so much fun. Especially when Cyclone starts to straighten out his uniform and move things around on his desk. “He was actually on his way out. Caught him when he was heading for the car.”
A knock on the door interrupts the conversation. “Enter.” Cyclone calls after clearing his throat. Both Cyclone and Warlock rise.
“Gentlemen.” Tom greets. “I was told there’s a form I need to sign off on.”
Maverick gestures to the folder on Cyclone’s desk. That same file is held out in an offering by Cyclone at the mention of it. “I want to use three 5th gen fighters for our training run today.”
Tom can’t help but raise a brow. “I’m assuming to simulate the obstacle you all will face should there be bandits?”
“Correct sir.” Maverick confirms. Oh, he is so getting his way today.
“Very well.” Tom gives a good natured sigh. He pulls out a black pen -one that Mav got him for their anniversary actually. It’s a montblanc. It’s engraved with ‘Iceman.’- and he signs the form. “There you are.”
“Thanks Tom.” Maverick takes it and hands it back to an almost shell-shocked Cyclone. “Here is the approval of the use of 3 5th gens starting today at 1430 up till 2330.”
“Anything else?” Ice asks him. Maverick knows Ice has to get a kick out of this too. It’s too much for him not to. Afterall, they’ve spent decades hiding each other away. Shelling out money to an empty one bedroom flat just to keep up appearances. Only having dates at home, just in case someone was following them when they’re out. He doesn’t want to hide it away anymore. They don’t have to. They are legally married and filled out the forms required by the Navy.
Pete shakes his head. “That’s i- oh, did you pick where we’re having dinner?”
Ice hums. “Not yet. But I’ll send a car at 2000 sharp.”
“I'll be late.” Maverick promises.
Tom laughs as he leaves. “I know.”
“What,” Simpsons voice is strained. “Was that?”
Maverick grins. “Didn’t you know I’m married, Admiral?”
Hop 12 (blind fire)
“Hangman slow down. You need to be 20-25 seconds behind Dagger three. My missiles need to strike before yours.” Maverick orders.
“Copy Dagger one. Reducing speed. Dagger four be aware -decreasing speed by .5 knots.” Jake dutifully relays in the comms in between grunts.
Maverick’s strike is good. He inverts and fires blind. He’s three yards off.
Hop 16 (blind fire)
Maverick’s strike is good.
His strike is good.
Fanboy turns out of the climb a second too early.
Hop 19
“Alright. Dagger’s form welded wing.” Maverick calls out over comms. “This time I want to run it straight forward. However, 10 seconds before the first climb to invert, I want both of you; Dagger three and four to reset your laser and verify code. The idea being that we can avoid a deadeye.”
“Copy Mav.”
“You got it boss.”
It goes perfectly.
They land for refueling and the pilots barely make it to the lounge. Maverick makes it to his office, and immediately slumps on the small couch in the office. His body hurts . Even for someone who avoids the medics as much as possible, he can’t deny that he should be on recovery leave. Give his aching body time to rest and heal.
But that’s not in the cards for now. He just needs to make it a few more days, and then he’ll either be dead or have the rest of his life to heal.
His conversation with Ice last night haunts him. How does he let go of the racing of his heart when the jet takes off? Or the grin that settles on his face when he buzzes the tower? Or how in control he feels when he’s in the air? The jet isn’t an entity. It’s a part of him. He knows every inch like the back of his hand. He’s spent this lifetime becoming one with it.
A soft knock on his door has his eyes fluttering open and peering at the door. “Bob.” He sits up a bit when he realizes all of them; Bob, Phoenix, Hangman, Fanboy, Payback and Coyote are there. “Is everything alright?”
“Yeah we’re good.” Hangman answers, moving through the others to sit in Maverick’s desk chair. “You didn’t get food so we brought some.”
Warmth floods him. He knows what this is; an olive branch. “C’mon then. Y’all can nap and eat in here while we wait on the jets.”
It doesn’t take long before the squad each has settled in their own spot in his office. They seem too tired to talk beyond small conversation. Hangman is still in his chair with Coyote sitting on the desk. Bob is sitting against the file cabinet. Payback and Fanboy are sitting just in front of his couch, using it to support their backs. Phoenix elected to steal a chair from next door and sits in it near the door.
Huh. He thinks to himself as he looks over them. This is nice.
No one notices Rooster looking in at them through the office window.
They run 13 more hops against the fifth generation fighter jets.
Maverick is the only one to survive each of the hops. Followed by Dagger three, two and four.
When they fully act as a team, though, they all survive.
Dinner is great. It’s loud, and happy. Their friends get drunk and sing off key to songs that should have been left in the 80’s. The food is delicious, and yes he makes Ice order food to go. He gets not one, but two burgers, and steals half of Ice’s fries. What can he say, flying is exhausting.
It goes well in to the night and ends with him being drunk, and Ice having only a couple drinks -someone had to drive home after all-. Their friends had all gotten hotels for the night, knowing that Ice and Mav would want to spend the day before deployment alone.
Pete leans into his husband, their arms are woven together and he keeps his hand close even when he stumbles. The thought of falling never even crosses his mind -Tom would never let him fall.
He sees Tom shake his head, but he’s smiling so he must be amused. That’s good. He likes it when Ice is happy. He deserves to be happy after everything. He’s worked so hard for it.
Tom looks at him with a raised brow. “So have you.”
Oh. “Did I just speak?”
He chuckles. “Yes dear, you did. And I like it when you are happy too.”
Ice starts to lead him to his room, but Maverick tugs him in a different direction; their living room. “Dance with me.” He demands and pats down his pockets trying to find his phone for music.
Pete can hear Tom sigh. “Very well.” His husband must have a song in mind for in a mere minute their sound system -that yes was very necessary thank you Tom- springs to life with the sound of a piano.
Once Tom is in range, he wraps his arms around his waist and leans into him. Ice returns the gesture and leaves his hands on Maverick’s hips.
“I love you, Pete.” He says as they sway.
Maverick hums, not bothering to move his head from Tom’s shoulder. “I love you too.”
They don’t really dance, just stay in the dimly lit room, with love songs playing and sway to the beat of their hearts.
“Tom?” Pete whispers against his neck.
It almost startles him, with how quiet Maverick has been this entire time. “Yes dear?”
Pete stays quiet. Ice half wonders if he didn’t hear him, but then Maverick is speaking. Voice so soft as if he was confessing to a horrible thing. His soul is laid bare in his words. “Teach me.” Pete asks of him. “Teach me how to love the ground.”
“Okay.” He promises, and a spark of hope ignites amidst the lingering fear that he’s going to lose his husband.
Maybe Mav really will try to come home.
Notes:
Okay taking votes: should Mav live or die?
Chapter 3: How to love the man I'm scared I'm becoming?
Summary:
Change is always hard, especially for a man who fights it every step of the way. Learning to accept it is a struggle.
Notes:
Okay this one is sappy. Like sappy as fuck. It's the day before Mav deploys so they're emotional both over the mission, and what it means if mav never flies again. Also the song they danced to last chapter was Nervous by john legend.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
He wakes alone. Tom sits up, hand outstretched reaching out for his missing husband. Blindly, he reaches for his glasses on the nightstand, then throws the blankets off his legs. “Pete?” He calls out, voice hoarse. He can count on one hand the amount of times Maverick has been awake before him.
Ice slips on his house shoes (they’re jack frost themed. Maverick had bought them as a joke when the rise of the guardians came out) that rest on the ground beside the bed and slips out the bedroom door.
The house is silent, and there’s no sign of his husband. “Pete?” He calls again. Still nothing. Tom chews his lip as anxiety festers, but then he notices his office door is partially open. Odd. He always closes it. He doesn’t like it to get as cold as the rest of the house. Shit he should have brought his pistol. What if someone had his husband and hurt him?
Thankfully, that’s not the case. He peers in to see Pete, still in his pajamas, looking over his bookshelf. Odd again, Pete rarely had any interest in the books he kept. “I don’t know how to do this, Goose.” Tom freezes from where he had started to push the door open. “How do I live on the ground, when all I know is the sky? I don’t want this to end.” His voice is thick, like he’s fighting tears. “And Tom, god Goose, he’s so scared of losing me. Scared that he isn’t enough for me. And he is , I swear it. He’s enough for me. More than enough; especially after all we’ve had to do to get here. I just… I’m not enough for me without the sky. I dream of it. When I eat I think about new maneuvers to try. There’s so much I still want to do. And I’m out of time.”
His heart breaks into a hundred pieces in his chest. Maverick was never meant to sound so lost and hopeless. Tom has spent his entire career fighting for Maverick to never have to loose his wings. But now, they’re just simply out of time, and the military would never agree to him buying his husband a jet, though how he wishes he could.
He pushes the door open to see Mav has moved from the bookshelf to sitting at the desk with his head in his hands. “Pete.” He whispers, kneeling in front of him. “Pete, baby, look at me.”
Maverick doesn’t even start at his voice. He barely even looks at him. But it’s enough for Ice to see that they’re puffy, bloodshot really. “Maverick. You are so much more than a pilot.” He stresses. “I know you love it. I do. But you can still fly -and I know it’s not a jet, but you can still taste the sky; the freedom. But here. On the ground. There is so much you haven’t had the chance to see or do.” Tom reaches out to cup his cheek. “Pilot or not, you will always be enough for me, and I hope that one day you’ll be enough for yourself, too.”
“What if you get bored of having me around all the time?” Maverick argues, stubborn to the last. “This will be permanent. It’s not just a few weeks leave.”
Tom can’t help but chuckle. Bored ? With Maverick ? Those two words are completely opposite. “Pete. Love. Nothing could ever be boring with you. You manage to make the mundane an adventure. When we go to a coffee shop, you manage to have an hour long story over a five minute trip. When you go out for a ride, you always come back with a new story, or something cool you saw that we just have to see together.” He uses his other hand and lays it on his thigh. “Life can be boring, Pete. It’s just how it is. And god, Mav, I can not wait to experience every boring thing with you. I want to be there when you accidentally mix a red shirt with white ones. To be there when you come home and call me to help with groceries, only to realize you forgot to buy something on the list. I want to be there for everything .” He squeezes his thigh. “Life can be boring.” He repeats. “But every boring, routine moment with you, is what marriage is. I want our kisses to be routine. That it’s so ingrained in us to love each other. I want you, Pete. In every way, shape or form, boring or exciting, so long as it’s you.”
“Fuck.” Maverick gasps, voice tight; strangled. “How- why ?”
“You lead with your heart.” Tom tells him. “You’re kind, to everyone around you. Other than your superiors, of course. You want to help people, and be a good person. You insist on pine cones that smell like cinnamon the moment it turns September first. Your favorite thing to do in December is curl into my side, on the couch and watch the polar express with a hot cocoa that’s been spiked with brandy.” He smiles. “Those memories, ones that you might think of being boring, they’re some of my favorites.”
He lets the words simmer for a moment, before starting to continue, but Pete cuts him off.
“I don’t think it’s boring.” Maverick tells him softly. “They feel…they feel like home. Warm. Happy.” He lets a hand fall from his face to rest on Tom’s hand. “That’s what it could always feel like?”
“Yes.” Tom answers. “Life…life is just what you make of it Pete. We could do weekly movie nights, or find hobbies to do together. When the seasons change you and I could change out all of the decor. We can get candles that smell like the Pinecones so the house can always smell like that.”
“And you’d be happy?” Maverick presses, looking him in the eyes. “Could you be happy with the mundane?”
Tom doesn’t look away. “With you? Always.” He swears. “It’s alright to be afraid.” He says gently. “But you don’t have to be afraid alone. Let me be afraid with you.”
A wet chuckle escapes Pete. “Okay.”
They don’t go back to sleep. Maverick rents a movie on Amazon (and honestly they should buy the damn thing for how many times they’ve seen it) and Tom makes two cups of apple cider with brandy and cinnamon. They draw the curtains, light a candle, and plug in the giant heated blanket. Pete tucks himself fully into Tom’s side and sips his cider.
It’s warm, mundane, and Tom loves it. He wants every night to be like this. He wants a lifetime of this.
Between the brandy and the exhausting day he’s had, Pete makes it barely half an hour into the movie. By that time the sun has already started to rise, and Tom knows there’s no hope of sleep for him. Carefully, he takes Mav’s cup from him and sits it on the table before it has the chance to spill. With Maverick tucked into his side, a belly full of cider and his favorite book in front of him, Tom can scarcely imagine a better morning.
Well. It would be a better morning if he didn’t know it’s the last one he’ll get with Pete before he leaves. He still hasn’t decided what to do. Does he get on the ship and monitor from the control room? Or does he stay on land where he doesn’t have to hear his husband's screams if he does get killed?
He’s his wingman. How does he leave him to this?
What if Maverick really can’t adjust to civilian life? What if Cougar is right, and that Mav was born for the skies? Could he spend the rest of his life watching Maverick hate his? Live his life knowing his partner feels trapped and helpless? Would he spend these next decades with Maverick, who isn’t really Maverick anymore?
It would destroy him, he knows. To watch Maverick suffer like that, and he knows Maverick would try. Would try so hard to hide it, and make it seem like enough, but would never be able to hide the fact that his heart belongs to the sky before anything or any one .
He doesn’t think he spent that long contemplating that, but before long it’s eleven in the morning and Pete is stretching out like a cat, hands and feet going every which direction and it’s so damn cute .
Pete peers up at him with a lazy smile. “Hi.”
His lips quirk up. “Hi. Sleep well.”
Mav hums sleepily. “You’re comfy.”
“You’ve been saying that for decades.” Tom chuckles.
“Still true.” He says, then presses a kiss to the closest part of Tom he can reach; his stomach.
His smile grows. “Are you hungry? I can make breakfast. Or we can have it delivered.”
“French toast sticks.” Mav says into his stomach. “From Sonic.”
Tom shakes his head fondly. “Very well.”
Pete does somehow always get what he wants.
They spend most of the day like that, bodies tangled together, breaths mixing together; as little separation as possible. There’s kisses and swats. Laughs and eye rolls.
It’s perfectly lovely.
They have every meal delivered, neither willing to sacrifice anytime away.
“I will come home, Tom.” Maverick says in a lull in the conversation. He’s looking at him, over the top of his phone, fully serious. “I know you think I won’t. But I promise. I am going to do everything I can to come home.”
“I believe you.” Tom says, because he does. Maverick doesn’t make promises he doesn’t keep.
It’s 1734 when Mav pulls out his seabag and starts to pack. Workout gear, jeans, his preferred undersuit for under the flight suit (because damn it gets hot in there). His ring comes off and joins his dog tags on his chain, then tucked beneath his shirt.
Tom steps out at the point, fighting and losing to the tears the worm their way to the surface. He’s sent Pete out on missions before. Ones that were dangerous. But nothing like this. And if something happens to Pete, he’s directly responsible for it. He’s the one who put Maverick on this assignment.
If Pete dies, it’ll be his fault.
“Hey babe.” Pete calls from their room. “Have you seen my portable chargers?”
He clears his throat in an effort to sound steady. “I’ll get them.”
There’ll be time for tears later, when Maverick isn’t around to worry.
Night falls and greets Tom and Pete on a walk at the beach.
“Y’know.” Pete starts. “All those years ago, when you and I became us , I never thought it would last this long.”
“Me either.” Tom agrees, holding his hand close. “I remember the day I did know, though.”
Maverick looks up to him at that, “Oh?”
Ice hums. “December 21st, 1994.” He tells him. “You had Bradley with you, and it was my birthday. I got delayed coming home a few times, I think it was around midnight when I finally made it home. I open the door and see that the kitchen is an absolute disaster . Flour and dishes everywhere. But on the table there was a poorly iced vanilla cake.” His smile grows. “The two of you were passed out on the couch -also a mess mind you- and I remember so vividly standing there and thinking ‘yeah. I can do this forever. ’”
Maverick blushes a deep red. “I knew the day I got in that motorcycle accident.” A few years earlier than Ice. “I woke up to you having weaseled yourself in, and refusing to leave my side. You had turned down a promotion because taking it would have meant you were needed somewhere else. And I knew that promotion meant the world to you. Yet you stayed.”
He remembers too. The fear of that phone call. Hurrying to the hospital with Bradley, and telling them that he had power of attorney. “The promotion didn’t mean the world to me, Pete.” He loves promotions, very true. “You did.” he turns to cup Pete’s cheek. “Still do .”
Maverick stands on his tippy toes to kiss him. His finger bunch in Tom’s shirt and pulls him down to deepen the kiss.
This is what home feels like.
Notes:
Just about all of you have voted live: so next poll, which dagger get's shot down? And does Ice join them on the carrier?
Chapter 4: The mission
Summary:
Uh oh
Notes:
Okay so most of you voted for Ice to be in the control room- which i get cause it's great, but i have already written that once for a different fic, so I elected that Ice stays behind this time. If you want to read the fic it's here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/41727774 if yall really want i can adjust that section where Ice is in the control room for this fic and add it as an AU chapter
This chapter was a bit hard to write cause it's hard to describe everything everyone is doing and how jets work cause idfk but either way: enjoy
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The alarm goes off at 0445, they’re both already awake. They go about their routine in silence. Mav puts his seabag in the back of the Escalade. Tom makes them both a to-go cup of coffee. One black coffee for Mav. One with three sugars and cream for himself.
He sees Pete rummage through their pantry and pull out a box of protein bars (s'mores flavored. So much better than the MRE’s they get.) It would be a long flight in the C-130. “Don’t forget to bring some heat packs.” Tom reminds as he packs away his laptop. “And painkillers.”
“I can’t take painkillers before I fly.”
“You can for the flight there. You’ll be on the carrier for a day anyways.” He disagrees. “It’ll be out of your system by the time you need to be wheels up.”
Mav seems to accept this, for he does take a couple painkillers and throws the bottle in his backpack. “Ready?” He asks softly.
No . Tom thinks. He’s not. How could he ever be ready for this? “Yeah.”
The car ride is quiet. Tom drives with one hand on the steering wheel, the other holds Maverick’s hand close. No music, no talking, it’s silent. Both absorbed in their own thoughts.
The drive is both too short and torturously long. The base guards let them in with no problem. Iceman’s flag has already been raised, and Maverick can’t seem to tear his eyes away from it. “Will you let me say goodbye?” Pete asks softly.
He wants to say no. He doesn’t want to hear a goodbye. They’ve never done goodbyes. “Yes.” He answers regardless. He sees Mav nod but his husband doesn’t say anything else.
Maverick hoists his bag onto his back once they park. Tom carries his coffee for him. It’s only once they make it inside does Pete speak.
“I love you, Tom.” He begins. “And I’ve loved every second of being by your side. Even when we had to hide who we were, it was always worth it, because at the end of the day, you were mine and I was yours.”
Tom has to bite his lip to try and keep it together. There’s a reason they never do goodbyes, after all. They fucking suck.
Pete reaches out and lays a hand on his arm. “And just in case I don’t come back-”
“ You will .” Tom croaks hopelessly.
“-I want you to know that I would trade any of it. And that I hope you will find a way to be happy even if I die.”
Ice covers his mouth, scared if he doesn’t he might lose to the despair inside him. “I’d never move on.” He protests honestly. “You’re it for me, Maverick. In life or-” His voice cracks. “Or death.”
The look on Pete’s face is heartbreaking. A mix of pity and guilt. He starts to respond but an announcement through the speakers interrupt.
“Dagger squadron report to runway C for loading.”
“I have to go.” Maverick says softly.
“I know.” Tom leans down to kiss him. Damn anyone who sees. Maverick’s lips are soft, and taste like too bitter coffee.
Maverick’s hands slide up his chest and rest on his shoulders. It’s far too soon when he pulls away. His lips are still touching his as he whispers: “I’ll see you in a few days, and then we’ll take a trip somewhere. Anywhere you want.”
“I’ll hold you to that.” He whispers back.
Pete smiles sadly, but fully pulls away, and takes the coffee from Tom. “Goodbye Tom.”
He watches Pete walk away, further and further from his protection. “Goodbye Pete.”
Their jets are already stenciled with their names. Maverick lets his hand linger on the side of his. Today is quite possibly the last day he will ever fly a jet.
“I don’t like that look, Mav.” Hondo says beside him.
Mav can’t help the small, fond smile it inspires. “Only one I got.” He says back after a moment. “Hondo. If I don’t come back from this: thank you. For everything.”
Hondo doesn’t shy away from his gaze, even as he tries to piece together his sentence. “It was a pleasure, Captain.” He settles on finally.
Maverick pulls his hand inside the cockpit. “Look after Ice for me.”
“I will.” He promises, even though he seems to want to argue.
He nods, and pushes the button to close the cockpit. He knows below Hondo is stowing away the latter and pulling the pins on his missiles. “This is Dagger one. Comm check.”
“This is control Dagger one. Clear comms.”
“Dagger one. Comanche. Loud and clear, sir.”
His daggers confirm comms and ready for launch.
“Support asset airborne.” The comms officer informs them. “Strike package ready. Standing by for launch decision.”
“Send them.” He hears Cyclone order and Maverick can imagine the grip on his arms.
Maverick sends his jet forward, pulling up at six knots. “Dagger one away.”
“Dagger two away.”
“Dagger three away.”
“Dagger four away.”
“Dagger spare on standby.”
Once each of them are in formation in the sky, Mav radios in: “Comanche, Dagger One. Standby check in.”
“Comanche 11, set. Picture clean. Recommend Dagger continue.”
“Copy. Daggers descending below radar.” He pushes forward, lowering his jet further and further, until he is less than 50 feet above the sea.
“Daggers now below radar. Switching to E-2 picture.”
“Feet dry in 60 seconds.” Maverick relays. “Comanche, Dagger one. Picture.
“Comanche. Picture clean. Decision is yours.”
“Copy.” Mav answers. He takes a steading breath. This was it. Go time: “Dagger attack.” Then it begins. It’s only a handful of seconds before they can see the tomahawks shoot over their heads.
He can see land in front of him. “Daggers. Assume attack formation.” Once they’re aligned, he radios to the carrier. “Daggers set. Proceeding to target. Two minutes thirty seconds in three, two, one, mark.” He jabs the button.
“Two mark.” Hangman responds, the others answer the same.
“Looks like we’re clear on radar Mav.” Phoenix says.
That can change in a heartbeat, kid. “Let’s not take it for granted.”
“Two minutes from target.” Bob calls out.
“Copy that.” Hangman responds. “We are on schedule Mav.”
Thank god . He can’t help but think. “Let’s keep it that way.”
“Thirty seconds to Tomahawk impact on enemy airstrip.” Base informs them, then Comanche calls in. “Dagger. Comanche. We’re picking up two bandits. Single group, two contacts.”
“Fuck.” Hangman grunts. “Comanche. What’s their heading?”
“Bullseye. 090, 50, tacked southwest.”
“They’re heading away.” Phoenix says over comms. “They don’t know we’re here.”
Not for long. The second those Tomahawks hit the air base, those bandits are gonna move to defend the target. We need to get there before they do.” Maverick tells them. Those jets will be on their asses, and for the first time he is so damn grateful that Ice made him take Hangman. Jake has no problem with speed. Rooster would hesitate, and that hesitation could get them all killed. “Increase speed.”
“We got you, Mav. Don’t wait for me.”
“You’re too nice to me, Maverick.” Hangman calls over comms. “I do love to put on a show.”
“Tomahawk impact in three, two…” Carrier cuts them off. “Impact. Enemy runway is destroyed.”
“Bandits are switching course to defend target.” Comanche cuts in.
“Time call.”
“Dagger two. On schedule. Minute thirteen.”
Mav wants to sigh in relief, but they haven't even made it to the hard part. “Heads up, Phoenix. Bridge ahead.”
“Bandits are two minutes from target.” Comanche calls in.
“Copy. Dagger one 40 seconds out.” He can see the first climb ahead 15 seconds out. “Bob mark one. Laser check. Phoenix prepare for pop-up strike.”
“Dagger three in position.”
He nods to himself. “Popping in three, two, one.” Fuck this hurts. He thinks as gravity compresses on his already broken ribs.
“Laser is up!” Bob calls out.
“Get me eyes on that target, Bob!”
“Dagger three! Standby-”
C’mon bob. C’mon!
“Laser code verified! 1668! Captured!”
Thank fuck . “Target acquired. Bomb’s away.” Immediately he pulls back on the stick, soaring up into the second hit. He almost doesn’t hear Bob’s call of:
“We’ve got impact! Check! Direct hit! Direct hit!”
“Dagger two status!” Maverick grunts, fighting the nauseating pain that seems to be coming from everywhere.
“Popping now!” Hangman calls back. “Fanboy. Mark one. Laser check.”
“Dagger four, laser is good! Code 1986! Fire at will!” Is the answering call only a few seconds later.
“Copy Dagger four. Dagger two firing!”
He’s almost out of the climb when Hangman calls in “Bullseye! Bullseye! Target acquired.”
“Good fucking job kid.” Damn kid. Maverick can’t help but think. “But, we’re not- out of this- yet.” Maverick reminds them all, even he can hear the strain in his voice. The moment he’s turning out of the climb, all hell breaks loose. The jet sings a song of death as it beeps confirming missile lock. “Here it comes! Radar warning! Smoke in the air. Phoenix break right!” He jerks his left to split the missiles.
“Emergency jettison. Dagger three defending!”
He winces at that. God help them if those bandits come around. She won’t have any missiles.
“Here comes another one!” Bob warns.
The missiles on him are getting closer. “Dagger one defending!” He slams his fist against the red button. Flares deploy immediately. He sees the missiles collide with his flares. “Hangman status!”
“We’re out of the climb! Dagger two defending! Sam on your six Payback!”
“Copy Dagger four defending!”
“Shit another!” Hangman calls. “Negative contact!”
“Get low!” Maverick orders in the midst of all the overlapping calls. “We need to get out of range of these SAMS.”
“There’s two many trees, Mav.” Phoenix calls back. “We can’t get low enough!”
Fuck . She’s right. But… “Diverge course to our entrance. We can get low enough and get out of range of these fucking SAMS.”
“Copy! Dagger three diverging.”
“Dagger four on your tail! Deploying countermeasures!”
“Break left Maverick!” Hangman orders.
Pete doesn’t even think about it before jerking his plane to the side. “Negative contact.” He watches his altitude drop until they’re back under 300. They didn’t practice the same route back. He just has to pray to whatever god is around that no one crashes.
“Holy shit.” He hears Hangman say, voice tinged with relief once they’re out of range.. “I can’t believe we just did that.”
“Be amazed when we get back to base.” Maverick tells them, he knows all too well all quickly situations can change.
“Copy Mav.” Dagger four says.
“Dagger one. Comanche. Bandit’s are on route to your position.” jesus fucking christ can’t he catch a break.
“Copy Comanche. Daggers increase to full speed. Dagger three and four take the lead. I’m right behind you, Dagger two.” Maverick orders and watches the jets ahead take off for the open water. “Control. This is Dagger one. ETA to base.”
“Dagger one. Control. ETA of minute 50. Bandits have ETA of one minute.”
Shit . He thinks. There’s not enough time, and these kids don’t stand a real chance against these bandits. “Control. Dagger one breaking away.”
It’s Cyclone’s voice that answers him. “What are you doing Maverick?”
“I’m the best pilot up here.” Maverick tells him, checking over his missile and ammo counts. “We are going to be intercepted by those bandits and we do not have capacity to handle 5th gen fighters. I will handle the bandits. Dagger two. Control is yours. Get them home.”
“Maverick.” Hangman says, voice oh so serious. “Let us stay and help.”
“No.” He shuts down immediately, even as the others protest.. “I am the most experienced pilot here. I will handle this. RTB that’s an order.” And with that order he decreases speed and turns his jet around. “Comanche. Picture.”
“Dagger one. Comanche. Two bandits on route. ETA 30 seconds.”
“Copy. Lowering below radar.” Ice is going to kill him for this, he thinks. Shit, this might kill him. The probability isn’t great for him at the moment.
“Maverick.” Cyclone says after a long pause. “Good luck.”
What I wouldn’t give to have Ice with him up here. Shit. If Ice was here this could feel even fun .
“Hardly need luck, Admiral.” He says. He knows his bravado is false. Hell, they probably do too. “I’m a damn good pilot.”
Maverick looks to the picture of Tom taped to his cockpit. With one hand he reaches out and lets his fingers ghost over the photo. “I’m sorry, Ice.” He whispers to himself. Then he looks above, at the pair of jets above. He can already see his flight plan forming as he jerks his jet up towards the sky, already firing his missile as he arches upwards and - “Splash one!” He calls over comms, immediately heading back to the route he had just escaped. He knows this path like the back of his hand. He knows how to survive this. The other jet will not be so lucky. But first he needs to get this guy off his ass .
He pops his wings and lets the other Jet soar past and he immediately gets tone and fires.
The jet deploys flares and his last missile explodes uselessly. “Dagger one out of missiles.”
He’s in a fucking dog fight without any fucking weapons. What a joke .
The jet ahead does some fucking crazy ass maneuver (that he is certainly going to steal if he gets out of this) and Maverick is left ahead and with missile lock tone. Instinctively he slams down on the flares button as he barrel rolls to the side. There’s enough flares that it saves his ass from the missile, but only barely. He can hear the empty clicks.
Shit.
He’s out of flares too.
“Talk to me, Goose.” He whispers. Desperate for an idea.
He gets one. The SAMs up ahead. If they fire at him he can maneuver the other jet in the way. Provided of course, that he doesn’t get shot down too.
Mav waits for the other jet to be in close enough distance before popping up above radar level. Immediately the SAMs fire. He dodges one by flipping. The second, he waits till the last second before diving downwards and swooping in front of the other jet once more.
The missile strikes true. The jet can’t escape it. It explodes behind him. “Splash two!” Damn he’s so fucking good at this.
“Control this is Dagger One. Returning to base.”
“Copy Dagger one. Glad to hear it.”
Maverick stays low, and increases his speed towards the base. He lived. He freaking lived. Tom won’t have to bury him. It’ll be alright.
Then his jet beeps at him. Where the hell? There. On his nose.
“Dagger one. Comanche. Bandit hot. 500 feet.”
“I’m out of ammo.” Is all he can think to say, here, at the open sea. No amount of maneuvering can get a jet to crash out here or get off his tail. He’s fucked.
“Dagger two is on route Maverick.” Cyclone tells him. “Seconds out. Something’s wrong with Hangman's comms.”
The jet already has tone. There’s a missile on radar. He’s about to die. Even if he ejected, the blast would be large enough to kill him. This is it. How the great Maverick goes out. “Hey Cyclone. Name something after me.” Now that would be fun .
He hears an explosion behind him, and for a second sees Hangman’s jet. But then his jet is crashing. His body slams into the cockpit, and holy shit there’s something sticking out of his gut. There’s so many warning sounds screaming at him he doesn’t know what to do.
Oddly, he doesn’t feel the need to do anything. The seconds it takes for him to crash into the sea feel like an eternity.
It’s cliché. But he thinks of his husband.
How he always makes them both coffee every morning. How he solves the crossword every morning, but does it on a separate piece of paper so that Mav can do it when he eats breakfast.
He remembers “What are we?” Maverick had asked in the middle of the 90’s.
“I don’t know.” Ice had admitted. “Wingmen.”
or;
A hand shakes him awake. “Pete. Pete wake up.”
He had groaned and swatted at the hand. Didn’t even have time to wake up before Ice was pointing at the TV. Headlines proudly displaying a message that doesn’t even seem real. ‘DADT Repealed under President Obama.’
He blinks. Then blinks again. Then turns to look at Ice. “More than wingmen?”
Ice had laughed and kissed him. “More than wingmen.”
and;
He had called Tom. It was 1300 in Bosnia. But for Tom it had been barely 0400. “Marry me.” He had demanded.
“What?” Tom asked, sleep still claiming his voice.
“Marry me.” He repeated. “They just legalized it.”
“Bullshit.” The sleep is gone from his voice. There’s some shuffling “Holy shit.”
He tapped his foot impatiently. “Marry me, Ice.”
It was quiet for a moment. “Ask me again. In person.”
So Pete had called in leave that same day and flew to Miramar. All he had was a cheap ring he saw at the gas station on his way in.
He had intended to surprise Tom, but when he got home there had been dinner already set out, music playing and Tom leaning against the island with a smile. “Welcome home, Pete.”
He had stood there. Flabbergasted. “How…?”
Ice had chuckled and moved closer. “You applied for leave to start the same day as requested. I had to approve it, dear.”
“Oh.” That made sense. Why didn’t he think of that? Maverick reaches into his pocket. “Everything was closed by the time I landed. This was all I could get.”
Tom’s smile had only grown. He held out a small velvet box to him. “Try it with this one.”
Maverick took it with a roll of his eyes. “If you interrupt me again, I’m not proposing.”
He had laughed, but obeyed, and watched Pete get down on one knee.
“Thomas Kazansky.” He had begun with. “Iceman. I have flown jets, got into firefights, been shot down and jumped out of planes. But none of those things have ever made my heart race like you can with just my name. You’re always there. Even when we’re in an argument. You never fail to be my rock; my wingman.” He cleared his throat. He’s not good at this. He cant even be sure that sounded romantic. But, at the very least, Tom looks teary-eyed. “We’ve waited 25 years to just hold hands in public. I don’t want to go a minute more without calling you my husband. Tom, will you marry me?”
Tom had smiled and knelt in front of him. He reached out and cupped his cheek. “Nothing would make me happier than marrying you, Pete Mitchell.”
He’s 200 feet away from the sea.
“I love you, Pete.” Tom laughs.
100 feet.
A snowball hits him in his face. “Hey!” He protests, wiping away the snow to see Tom and Bradley high fiving.
50 feet.
I want to live.
25 feet.
I’m going to die.
10 feet.
I can live on the ground.
5 feet.
I’m sorry, Tom.
Notes:
Well. There's the mission. More will make sense in the next couple chapters. But for now, votes: how badly does Ice take the news? And who has to tell him about the crash?
Chapter 5: The Call
Summary:
Someone has to relay the news.
Chapter Text
They all watch in horror as Maverick’s tracker disappears. They all know that that means. The only thing it could mean.
Warlock wastes no time in ordering: “Deploy search and rescue.” Cyclone can see his hands gripping the seat in front of him. It creaks under the strain. Warlock had always liked Maverick more than Cyclone thought he should. Had always stuck around after Mitchell was done and ask him if he was sure that this was the path he wanted to go down.
He had said yes at the time, of course. Mitchell was reckless, and shouldn’t even be a pilot anymore. All he did was disregard orders and endanger himself and others. Always bailed out by Iceman for some reason.
He had seen the photo of Admiral Kazansky and Maverick shaking hands. But hadn’t at the time thought that that one battle could inspire such a devoted friendship.
He had been right at the time, in a way. It wasn’t just a friendship. The two shits were fucking married. Hadn’t been on his bingo card, honestly.
The day they found out Warlock had laughed once the door shut, with a small: “ I’ll be damned.”
Cyclone nods in agreement. There were no bandits in the air. But who knows how long that would last. They need to start moving further into the sea. Further out of range of enemies. “Tell Dagger Two to get his ass back on this ship. He’s a sitting duck out there without being able to relay back.”
“Dagger two. Control. Search and rescue is being deployed. You are to RTB immediately.”
Hangman’s tracker stays in place. Cyclone grits his teeth and frustration. He jabs the comms button himself. “Hangman. We are coming for Maverick. But there is nothing you can do hovering in your jet.”
That seems to work if him heading back to the carrier is any indication. “ETA of search and rescue?”
“15 minutes, sir.” Someone answers.
Unacceptable.
Along the same train of thought, Warlock shakes his head. “Too slow. Get them there faster. Tell the runway to prepare for Dagger Two’s landing.”
Cyclone moves out of the control room and towards the bridge. Nothing left to control. They need to get Hangman back on deck and find out what the absolute fuck happened up there. The bandit had been shot down. How the hell was Maverick downed? “I want every medic we have on standby. I do not want to be the one to tell Admiral Kazansky that we got Maverick killed.”
Warlock winces at the idea. Iceman had spent over thirty years protecting his wingman. What would he do when they failed to protect him? “Should we inform the Admiral that Maverick has been shot down?”
“I don’t think we have a choice.” Simpson answers. “If he finds out we didn’t tell him, he might strip us of our stars.”
Warlock doesn’t think Iceman would go quite that far. But grief and fear were a powerful, dangerous combination. “Would you like me to make the call?” He offers.
It’s tempting, he can’t help the fact that he considers it, but he shakes his head with a heavy sigh. “No. This was my mission. I will handle the Admiral.” Tell him that age old; he went out a hero. His country values his sacrifice. I’m sorry for your loss. “Once Hangman lands we need a debrief immediately. I want to know how the hell Maverick went down.”
“Yes sir.” Warlock nods and continues his way up the bridge. Cyclone turns and walks further into the carrier. He pushes the door open to the temporary office he set aside for this trip.
It’s too small to really be called an office. More like a storage room with a desk in chair. Cyclone might miss a lot of things from his younger days, but he certainly does not miss having to live in cramped quarters. At least back home he had an office at work and at home, and there was no one who would dare bother him. Well, other than Warlock who is welcome to, and Maverick who just loves to piss him off.
Well.
Loved to, anyways. He won’t delude himself with false hope. Maverick crashed into the sea from 1000ft. He was more than likely dead.
Name something after you, eh? He wonders. Maybe a Chihuahua. His nose wrinkles of it’s own accord. He really fucking hates those dogs. His shoulders slump, and his head falls into his hands. He considers Maverick’s request seriously. What could be named after him?
A hanger maybe. Or a wing of the building.
None of those things seem grand enough however. He may not have liked, or honestly, respected the man. But he can respect that the man had been a damn good pilot. Perhaps the best he’s ever seen. If only he had followed the rules.
A maneuver, then. Or an award. Something as batshit crazy as the man was. He had been second in his class at Top Gun. Maybe whoever comes in second from here on out could be called a ‘Maverick.’
Hell, he has no idea. Maybe he’ll let Warlock choose.
He’s stalling. Cyclone knows it.
He’s made countless of these calls before. It’s easily one of the worst parts of his job. To hear the person on the other end of the call break down in tears, hear their voice crack as they beg, and claim he’s a liar. God, he wishes he was a liar. That his responsibilities actually made it home every time.
This easily feels like the worst call he’ll ever have to make. He had not lied when he had told Mitchell that Iceman was a man he deeply admired. How to tell the man that his mission got him killed? He may be dooming himself from ever getting another promotion.
Cyclone logs into the computer and waits impatiently through the obnoxiously long start up routine. After entering his password 5 separate times, he finally pulls up Maverick’s file. He has to enter it a sixth time to be able to view the emergency contact numbers name.
Just as suspected, Maverick has Admiral Thomas Kazansky listed as his next of kin.
Goddammit. He can’t help but think, even as he dials the number. He half hopes he doesn’t answer the phone. He doesn’t want to deliver this news. He should have taken Warlock up on the offer to call.
His empty hope is squashed when it doesn’t even make it a full ring before the call is answered. “Admiral Kazansky.” Iceman says on the other end of the line.
“Sir. It’s Admiral Simpson.” Cyclone can hear the man take a deep breath.
“What can I do for you, Cyclone?” His voice is taut, strained even. He has to know what this is about.
He steels himself for what's coming. “It is with profound regret that I must notify you that as of 7 minutes, Captain Pete Mitchell, call sign: Maverick was shot down. He has been marked MIA, however there are no signs of life. A search and rescue team has been sent out, but it is not looking good, sir.”
There is no crying, or begging. Only silence. “I see.” He finally answers. “How did it happen?”
You shouldn’t have to hear this. “They completed the mission with no losses, but on their return two fifth gen fighter jets had spotted them and changed course for them. Their ETA to the carrier was a minute 50, but the bandits were only a minute away. Knowing this Captain Mitchell gave command of the Daggers to Dagger Two and broke off to stall the bandits.” He pauses for a moment. It doesn’t even seem real that Maverick is dead. The man seemed unkillable. “Maverick took out both bandits, but when he made to return to base a third appeared. By that time he was out of missiles. Dagger Two had already begun to circle back after escorting Daggers three and four to carrier. Dagger Two was able to take out the bandit, but Maverick’s jet still went down. We are unsure at the moment as to why. We are waiting on Hangman’s debrief and the results of the search and rescue.”
He can’t imagine what Iceman is feeling. To lose your wingman after thirty years? Not even just a wingman. Maverick had been his partner. “I’m sorry for your loss, sir.”
“I-” He hears Iceman clear his throat. “Have you told Bradshaw?”
Shit. “No sir.”
“Good. Don’t tell him anything until you have the reports back from search and rescue. If Pete is alive I want a medical evac
immediately
back to shore.”
How is this man still planning? Even in the face of this news? “Understood sir. I’ll call with any further updates.”
Iceman doesn’t bother with the call any longer. It drops immediately.
Fuck .
The words stare up at him. Mocking him. Haunting him. Dagger one is down. Maverick is gone, Ice. Hondo had sent him. He hadn’t seen it before the call. He had taken the call in private. No one else knows. The others are milling around him still, still moving even though his world has stopped. Likely to never move again. How can they still be talking? There’s nothing to talk about. Maverick is dead.
“Ice?” Someone calls out, he doesn’t know who. Doesn’t care who. Maverick is dead. Nothing else matters.
There’s a hand on his shoulder, and his glass falls from his hand. He watches it in slow motion. It bounces once, but on the second it shatters in a million tiny pieces. The chatter and killing around stops. He knows all eyes are on him. “Shit- Tom. What is it?” He can tell it’s Slider this time.
“Pete.” He croaks, finally. “Pete is dead.”
“Tom..” someone begins in the brittle silence. His voice is carefully soft. “I’m so sorry.”
“Flaming glory.” He gasps out; hysteric. “He got what wanted.” The bastard. He said that he would come home.
How could he have let him go alone? He should have been there. Should have gone to the carrier, been by his side, gave him a pep talk, sent him off. He should have been in the control room issuing orders, revising the plan however needed to get his husband home .
But he didn’t.
Pete is dead and it’s directly his fault.
Fuck.
Pete . His heart aches. He was just here, not two days ago. Napping in his arms, joking and pressing kisses everywhere he could reach.
How can that be gone? How is he expected to spend the rest of his life without him? It seems impossible.
It has to be impossible.
He’ll have to plan the funeral. He’ll have to go to his husband's funeral, be handed his flag, and put his wings in his coffin. He will stand there as the rifles go off. Stand there as the jets soar overhead.
He’s going to be sick.
Tom rises on shaky feet. He leans bodily into the couch for balance, inching forward.
“...Tom come sit down, man.” Wood tries to guide him to a seat.
Iceman yanks his arm out of his grip, anger seizing him in a mere second. “Leave me alone .” He warns icily.
“Let him have a min, Wood.” He hears Wolfe murmur.
He doesn’t stay any longer and retreats to thei- his bedroom now. He barely shuts the door before he drops to his knees in grief.
He’s a widow. He’s alone.
His husband decided to be the hero. He knew he would. It’s who his husband is. He would make the sacrifice play so no one else would have to.
But Pete sacrificing something, means Tom is sacrificing everything .
Did he even try to come home? To fulfill his promise? Or did he not want to make it home?
He cries quiet, just a little, when he remembers he can find out. He’s an Admiral. He outranks everyone. He can view the files and communication logs. He can see what happened. But he could also hear his husbands death.
He’ll just pause before it gets to that point. Tom reaches up, fingers curling around the door knob as he pulls himself up with a grunt. He unlocks the door as quietly as possible and steps out, immediately heading for his office.
His house is so quiet. It’s never this quiet when the team was over. But then, Pete had never been dead before.
Just at the thought, his heart constricts. No more loud mornings with smoke alarms going off declaring to the world that Pete is an absolute shit cook. No more mumbled curses as Pete bandages whatever new wound he got from working on his death trap of a motorcycle. There wouldn’t be anymore offkey singing when his husband takes a shower.
There was no more anything, really. What mattered outside of Pete and the life they built?
Tom shuffles towards his office, hands dug firmly into his jacket pockets. He pushes the door open. Funny how just two days ago he had been here with Pete, doing his best to reassure his husband. Now, two days later Pete is more than likely dead.
Tears burn his eyes at the sight of Pete’s chair that’s kept beside the desk. He always kept it to the side that way Tom could work on classified documents even with Pete in the same room. Pete had always made an effort to be with him.
Could you have tried this time? He can’t help but think bitterly. Was a life on the ground with me truly that bad?
He finds the file easily. It had been edited recently. He doesn’t hesitate to open it. There’s a nagging voice inside him suggesting that maybe it’s best if he doesn’t know what his husbands last moments were like.
He forces it down and opens the communications file. Most of it seems to be rather standard; just info relays and marks. He’s more than halfway through the file, and then it turns for the worse.
“Dagger one. Comanche. Bandit’s are on route to your position.”
“Copy Comanche. Daggers increase to full speed. Dagger three and four take the lead. I’m right behind you, Dagger two. Control. This is Dagger one. ETA to base.”
“Dagger one. Control. ETA of minute 50. Bandits have ETA of one minute.”
He clasps his hands together to try from picking at his hands. This is how it begins.
“Control. Dagger one breaking away.”
Always the hero, huh Pete?
Cyclone questions. “What are you doing, Maverick?”
“I’m the best pilot up here.” That was true. He can’t help but agree. He was a damn good pilot. “We are going to be intercepted by those bandits and we do not have capacity to handle 5th gen fighters. I will handle the bandits. Dagger two. Control is yours. Get them home.”
“You were supposed to come home too, Pete.” He whispers, voice protesting every second. “You promised you would.”
There’s a few movement calls tossed around, none that really catch his attention until a soft, “ I’m sorry, Ice.” His husband whispers, and Tom can’t keep it together anymore. Nothing else on the log really matters, just that. Just Pete apologizing for not coming home. Which means Pete had wanted to come home . To live a life on the ground with him. He hadn’t wanted to break his promise. He had tried.
It doesn’t make it better. Not even close. The only thing that would make any of this better would be his husband being beside him. And that’ll never happen again.
The end of the log is approaching rapidly.
“I’m out of ammo.” Pete says; it sounds like he’s in a daze. As if it’s unexpected.
Hell, with the amount of miracles Pete has managed to pull out of his ass, it is unexpected.
Then he hears Pete tell Cyclone to name something after him, then, before he can hear a response, there’s an explosion and a “ Fuc-” and then nothing. He hears control call out for Maverick. For Dagger one. There never would be again.
Pete is dead.
Pete wanted to come home.
Pete will never come home again.
I’m sorry, Ice. The words haunt him. Echo in his brain. He doubts he’ll ever forget them.
I’m sorry, Ice. What had he felt in his last moments? Fear? Acceptance? Pain?
Tears finally spill over Tom’s cheeks, and his gasp is far more like a sob. He’s trembling and sobbing and he wants his husband. His face slides down to hide in his hands. As if he could shelter himself for the hell his life has become. But there is no escape.
Pete is dead.
Tom thinks he might be too.
Maverick’s favorite color is blue.
The blue of the sky, when he’s in a jet and as free as the birds.
The blue of the ocean when he flies low enough that if he opened the cockpit he could touch the sea.
Blue is the color of Ice’s eyes. Stunning and capturing. How they light up when Maverick tells a joke or steals a kiss. How they darken when he’s pissed, either about Maverick or because of Maverick.
Blue is his favorite color. There’s so many blue things in their house. The curtains, some of the walls. Their sheets are a deep blue.
If he could get away with it being blue, it was blue.
But right now, he’d give anything for any color other than the blue of the sky, or the blue of the sea. There’s so much blue . And he can’t stand it. His body is screaming at him to move . But he can’t. All he can do is sit there, gasping in air and wait for death to take his due.
His vision is spotty. He can’t make sense of anything. It’s all too loud, too bright.
Something in him screams to open his eyes, to fight. But the screams too fade into the haze that surrounds him. Fight what? He wonders lazily, eyes drooping closed. There’s nothing to fight anymore.
He’s tired of fighting.
Pete Mitchell never got to hear the sound of a rescue helicopter flying above him.
Notes:
Well, what did yall think?
Chapter 6: How to forgive what you cant forget
Summary:
The news spreads and simmers
Notes:
imma be honest guys, genuinely no idea how im popping out chapter after chapter lmao. I've written 20k in the last five days. I'm knocking out one or two chapters a day for this thing jfc
also, imagine the song in the stars by benson boone and that's how ice is feelin rn
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The moment Hangman touches the deck, he’s ushered to the control room.
The door is pushes open and reveals both Admiral Simpson and Bates. There’s still a team operating behind them, god willing the ones directing the search and rescue team.
“Sirs.” He greets, coming to attention. “I was told you wanted to see me.”
“Yes.” Cyclone turns from the radar to him. “I want your debrief from the moment Dagger one broke away.”
“Yes sir.” Hangman knows he broke the rules, he also knows it was the right thing to do. Afterall, Iceman had ordered him to stick to Maverick’s side. “After Dagger one broke away I followed orders and escorted Daggers three and four back to the carrier. Following that, I circled back to Maverick’s location.”
“Why?” Cyclone probes. He knows why. All of these kids have built up a rapport with Maverick. He still has to ask, however. “You were ordered to RTB.”
“Because Admiral Kazansky ordered me not to leave his wingman, sir.”
“More importantly,” Warlock cuts in before either of them can give that too much thought. “Did you see a parachute when Maverick crashed?”
He can’t help his wince. “No.” He answers softly. “I didn’t see anything.” No parachute. No one moving. Nothing
Warlock sighs and Cyclone asks: “What made him crash?” He has the grace to soften his voice.
“Their altitude was low.” Hangman answers after a moment. “By the time I had missile lock the bandit had already begun to fire. I fired and took out both the bandit and missile, but due to the angle and speed, when the jet exploded, the debris impacted Dagger one's jet. It followed the bandit down within seconds.”
He thought he had made it in time. Thought that he could have kept Maverick safe like he kept them safe. “I hovered over the crash. I saw no signs of survival from either pilot.” He says mournfully.
“Damnit.” He hears Cyclone whisper. Then the man clears his throat. “You are not authorized to share this anymore with anyone.”
Despite his years of military training, he can’t help his recoil. “But sir-” He protests. “Surely Rooster out of all people deserves to know.” How could he not turn Rooster?
“No.” Cyclone shuts down, facing him. The man looks tired, worn and old. Maybe he had liked Maverick more than he ever cared to show. “Iceman’s orders were clear. He does not want this shared with anyone until the results are conclusive.”
Iceman’s orders . Shit. He got Iceman’s husband killed. Worse, he got Rooster’s godfather killed.
“Oh.” He deflates, thinking back to the conversation he had with Admiral Kazansky.
He can so vividly recall the amusement that had tinged his words. “ My husband, of course.” Jake can’t begin to imagine what it must feel like to suddenly have the one who you’re meant to spend the rest of your life just cut away in a span of a day.
“Was…was Admiral Kazansky alright?” Jake asks, chewing his lip in guilt.
“The Iceman was…distant.” Is all Cyclone seems willing to share. “Go get some rest, Lieutenant. You can debrief us in full after you’ve had some rest. Good work out there.”
He can’t help the bitter scoff that rises within him. “The mission was only a success if all of us got to come home. We aren’t all home.”
Cyclone doesn’t disagree. “You’re dismissed.” He turns away, seemingly done with this.
Hangman is left standing there, glaring at his back. He’s not even sure he knows why he’s angry at him. He’s just angry . He about faces and steps out of the room. Then, his delima greets him in person.
Rooster.
Looking both furious and terrified all in one go.
“Where is Maverick?” He demands, stepping into Hangman’s personal space. “Why hasn’t he landed?”
“Rooster…” He hesitates. “You and Mav were close before whatever he did, right?”
He straightens, tense. He’s looking for a fight. Jake isn’t sure he can give him one right now. “I think you should call the Iceman, Bradshaw.”
“The hell do you mean by that?”
Jake runs a hand through his hair. He’s covered in sweat, his body hurts, and aches in ways he didn’t know it could. He’s tired and guilty, and he doesn’t have the energy for this. “He got shot down, Rooster. I’m sorry. A search and rescue team was sent out, but it’s not looking good. Iceman doesn’t want you to know yet.”
Rooster stills in front of him. “What?” In an instant there’s so many different emotions soaring across his face that even Rooster looks lost as to how he feels.
“I’m sorry.” He says genuinely. “I think you should call Iceman. He’ll be able to tell you if they know anything else.” Hangman hesitates a moment, but then reaches out to clasp a hand on his shoulder. “Really. I am. He was…a really great teacher.”
Rooster seems to be still in stock, for he doesn’t respond. Hangman doesn’t wait around. He’s barely controlling his own emotions. He’s never lost someone like this. Never been so helpless. He should be out there in the ocean trying to help save Maverick. Not here, safe and secure on the carrier.
Maverick isn’t coming home, and it’s his fault.
There’s a knock on his office door. He’s not sure how long he’s been sitting there, staring at the picture of him and maverick shaking hands. Long enough that his tears have dried, and he feels like he has none left to cry. He’s hollow. Like an abandoned church. No more devotees to find sanctuary with.
Tom easily ignores the knock. It’s not important. Nothing is important anymore.
The knock persists. “Tom, man.” It’s Slider. Of course it’s Slider. “Your phone is ringing.”
Hatred fills him in a flash. He doesn’t give a shit about his phone. Damn the world, he isn’t working right now. And he can not take the call confirming his husband is dead. He’s not sure if he could live with those words being said to him.
“It’s Rooster.”
Oh. Which means he’s found out about Pete anyway. On shaky legs, he rises and shuffles to the door. It creaks when it opens-
“Remind me to oil that for you.” Pete had said when he complained. “I’ll try to get to it when I get back from the test run.”
He’s present enough to see Ron’s brow furrow in concern, but absent enough to not care. “I…I can’t handle him right now.” He rasps, opening the door a little wider so his RIO can step in.
Slider takes that as an invitation to answer the call.
“Uncle Ice?”
Tom’s breath catches. It has been decades since he was last called that, and Rooster sounds so lost and confused. Like he is a child again being told that his father was killed in a training accident. If he still had a heart, it would be breaking again in sympathy.
“It’s uh, Slider kid.” Ron says gently. A far cry to how he had acted when he punched Bradley in the jaw. “Ice…Ice isn’t doing too well right now.”
“It’s true then?” He whispers. “Mav is dead?”
The words burn to hear, even having already known.
“It’s-it’s looking like it, kid.” Slider answers, brow creased in pity. Ron and Pete had never become close friends. Ice never honestly expected them too. But he has to think maybe they at least liked each other. Especially after 30 something years, and their personalities had mellowed out. Well. Everyone but Pete had mellowed out.
Was that true though? Sure Pete is- was a cocky son of a bitch, still kind though. Stuck his neck out for others, listened and led. But he had never quite learned how to take an order he disagreed with.
“We haven’t heard anything since they first called Tom.” He adds. “The rest of us don’t know much. We don’t have the clearance anymore.” He’s half tempted to grant them clearance. Let them know what he knows. Let Pete’s last words haunt someone, anyone other than him.
I’m sorry, Ice.
I love you, Pete.
The silence is haunting. “I…I never got to talk to him. To apologize.”
Time doesn’t slow down just because you want it to, kid . Ice thinks. You lost your chance. Maverick died and you still hated him.
It’s an empty comfort when Ron offers: “I’m sure he knew, kid. He loved you.”
Did he know? Ice wonders. He’s not so sure.
No one would mourn him , Rooster had said.
I would. His heart had screamed. I would .
I am . He thinks now. He’s lost so many friends over the years, even people from their Top Gun class. But never has anything ever hurt like this.
“But I was awful to him.” His voice cracks. “And angry; god I was angry, and now-now he’s gone.”
“Rooster.” Tom rasps. “There is nothing you can do but let go of that.”
Let go. He scoffs to himself. Like he could ever let go of this. There is not a piece of Ice willing or able to let go of Pete. Pete was his to keep. The ring on his hand said so. He’s not even sure if he can let go how Bradley has treated his husband all these years.
He doesn’t know anything . There’s no clear point where one emotion ends and the other begins. It’s all mixed together, coming in waves. He’s angry, but terrified. Confused and desperate.
“Uncle Ice.” The kid interrupts his thoughts. He sounds like he’s barely holding it together. “Are you going to be okay?”
No. Is he first and immediate thought. How could anyone be okay without Pete? He can’t find it in him to answer. Let Rooster have this small mercy. Hell. Once he figures himself out, it might be the only mercy he finds himself willing to give.
When Ron notices he isn’t going to respond, he takes over again. “He’s stepped out, Bradley. Please let us know if you hear anything. And take care of yourself. We’ll take care of Ice.”
“Okay.” He agrees softly. “I love you, Ice.”
The words are on the tip of his tongue, ready to be spoken. But the longer they sit there, he’s no longer so sure he can say them truthfully. Does he still love the kid? After all the hell he’s put his husband through? He had said awful things. Things that shouldn’t be spoken about someone if you even have an inkling of respect to them.
“I’ll relay the message.” Slider promises and lets the call end. The silence sits for a moment before Ron speaks again. “Tom? You alright man?”
“Stop asking me that.” His voice is strained. “Of course I’m not! My husband is dead and here I am having to take care of everyone else instead of grieving Pete.” He snaps, fingers curling around a photo of him and Mav. Taken in 1993 on the Top Gun base when they had both flown in to teach a few classes while the instructor was out. That is when Iceman and Maverick became a package deal- don’t get him wrong. They had kept in touch, caught up when possible, but Miramar was the first time Ice had become Tom and Maverick became Pete.
“Right.” Ron doesn’t even wince. “I’m sorry. I’ll give you space.” He lays a hand on Tom’s shoulder.
He isn’t sure if he doesn’t feel it because of his jacket, or because he can’t feel anything other than loss. He’s not sure if he wants to know.
“He loved you, Tom.” Ron tells him after a moment, pausing in the doorway. “I thought a lot of things about him over the years. But he had never made me doubt that.”
His throat constricts suffocatingly tight. Tom had never doubted Pete loved him. It was always Tom causing the doubts, especially in the beginning when their relationship had been illegal and he hadn’t come to terms with himself. He’d sleep with Pete and be gone by morning. Start arguments saying that it didn’t mean anything or that it was Pete’s fault. But he always came back at night, with a murmured apology. Pete had always forgave him, but before long a look had begun to appear in his eyes. Like he started to believe all the awful things Tom would use as a scapegoat for his fear. It was then, that he had genuinely tried. And despite all these years together, sometimes in an argument, or when Tom decides to go to his office, he would see that same look in Pete’s eyes. Like he was waiting for the day for Tom to say: This isn’t going to work out anymore. You’re too much. I’m done. He was waiting for the day Tom would leave.
He’s never figured out how to forgive himself for that, and now?
There’s no forgiveness to be found.
There’s four separate splashes in the water. “This is lifeline. We are on the scene of the crash. Search for survivor has commenced.”
“Yo, Soap! Get this canopy open.” She orders off the comms. “Find the manual release!”
Soap holds his oxygen mask close as he ducks underwater. Where the hell was that thing… ah. There you are. He opens the cover and yanks the lever. Immediately, the canopy opens, but it also starts to fill with water.
“G-Man! Knife! Cut him loose!” Lifeline orders.
Both G-Man and Wedge have crawled in the cockpit. Wedge forces her fingers under the Captain’s neck. He’s cold, and clammy, and there’s a fucking spear of metal through his gut, but there’s a pulse. Weak and thready, but it’s there.
“Holy shit.” Wedge whispers. “Shit! Commander, I have a pulse!”
“No fucking way, mate.” Soap can’t help but mutter in disbelief. He peers into the cockpit. “Shit, Commander we have a problem! He’s impaled.”
“ Fuck. Chopper lower stretcher!” She looks in to observe the damage. “We’re going to have to pull him off it. This will be underwater soon, and we don’t have the tools to cut through this. G-Man, Soap, get him out of this. Wedge, apply pressure the moment he’s off. You’ll ride on the stretcher with him.
As best they can without worsening the injury, they slug the body out of the cockpit, and no it’s not a great idea, with this type of fall, they could be paralyzing him. But they're out of options. The jet is sinking and he has to go up. They get him onto the stretcher and Wedge straddles the man, hands pressing cloth to the wound. Soap reaches up and grabs Wedge’s hook and clips her into the line. “Stretcher clear!”
“Clear!” G-Man echoes.
“Stretcher is loaded!” It starts to go up, then one by one, they climb the rope back up.
“Control this is rescue one.” Lifeline radios in as a gasp after making it to the top. She kneels by Wedge. “Captain Mitchell is alive and being brought to base.”
“Copy rescue one. What’s the damage?”
“Captain Mitchell has a severe impailment, left quadrant of the gut. Multiple head bleeds. Lacerations everywhere.” She cuts open the flight suit to feel around. “Ribs 3,4,5,7 and 9 feel broken, risk of punctured lung. Skin is clammy and blood loss is severe. Type is AB+. Recommend emergency surgery and stabilization.” “This is Admiral Bates.” Holy shit an Admiral . “Medics are on standby for surgery and trade off. RTB asap.” Warlock orders through comms. “He’s saved everyone's lives today. Let’s return the favor.”
Notes:
Poll time: how easily does ice forgive Rooster? and how many tongue lashing does the kid get before?
Also, a note for these polls cause I've seen a couple comments, these are really just suggestions for me. if i think it'll fit in I will do it. But if you don't see what most people voted for, keep in mind this is still a story and it takes time to set up suspense and tension to make what you want happen a story worth telling. It can still happen, but it may take a few chapters of build up. That being said, if you have a suggestion or idea, mention it and if i like it i can try and include it. I'm posting these chapters the moment they're done so i can respond and add your suggestions in real time
Another thing, there's a couple story points that i considered writing differently and if you guys want to see those I can either make a separate post for it under the same collection or just denote the chapter here with AU
Chapter 7: Mistakes and time
Summary:
You only really know what you've lost once it's gone
Notes:
Wooo we hit 20k words on this fic. Officially the longest fic I have ever written
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
His breaths come in harsh, short gasps. Mav? Dead? The two words are antonyms. Opposite. They don’t mix. Oil and water. His godfather had always been bigger than life. His hero. The man who bought him model planes and taught him differences between types of jets.
Maverick had been there before his dad died, and had been loyal enough to be there every second after. Even after he refused to speak with him, or Uncle Ice. Mav had still been there. He saw him at the concession stand at his last baseball games. He saw him in the last row at his graduation. At the top of the bleachers when he finished boot camp.
They may not have spoken, but Mav had always been there. Well. At least he had been until ten years ago. When Ice got his cancer diagnosis and Mav had left a voicemail. But he had been so angry that he reached out that the contents didn't matter. He had deleted it right after and forced himself to not look back.
Ice had been around too, but he had stopped showing up far sooner. Gave up on him far sooner. It had only been a couple years before Iceman moved on.
He can’t help the guilt that festers. This is his fault. Iceman had refused to see him, without Pete. He had for years. Iceman had sat him down one day at a little diner right off of where Bradley was stationed off of and told him:
“I love you, Bradley.” He said sincerely. “But you are a grown man, and you don’t have to be taken care of anymore. More than anything, I want to stay in your life, but I won’t do so at the expense of my partnership. I’m sorry, Brad. I hope one day you can forgive him enough to let him back into your life. But I can’t do this.”
Uncle Ice had become Admiral Kazansky that day.
Kazansky had kept his word, and hadn't reached out until Pete was in the hospital, supposedly dying after being injured in Bosnia. It wasn’t the Admiral that called him that day, it was Tom. Tom, who begged him to visit because things weren’t looking good. But he had let pride fill him, and he savored the power he felt reducing the two people who had ruined his life to begging and he refused to visit.
Admiral Kazansky had never reached out after that. There was no Pete, and no Uncle Ice, and he had been on his own. Finally doing whatever he wanted without anyone holding him back.
He had been doing great. (had he though? When he would stalk Tom and Pete’s Facebook and see what he had miss? When he had cried over missing their wedding? Or when he would be struck with the realization that they were getting old and he was nowhere around?)
Never in his life had he thought that Mav could die. He has always thought there would be time, that at some point they would sit down and talk and he could have him back. He wasn’t supposed to run out of time. And god, Ice was still refusing to really talk to him. Didn’t even want Rooster to know that Mav was shut down. Why? He’s desperate for an answer. How dare he try to hide this from me! That’s my godfather, for god sakes.
Jesus, the last thing he had said to Ice was that no one would mourn Maverick. His heart aches with regret. He shouldn’t have said it. He just wanted them to hurt like he hurts. Never had he thought that this was possible. That Mav wouldn’t be coming home with them.
Would Ice even let him attend the funeral? Would he be barred from saying goodbye? Would Ice have it out for him? Sabotage his opportunities for revenge?
His face falls into his hands with a groan. He’s made such a mess out of everything. How does he even begin to fix everything? Can it even be fixed with Maverick gone? What does he even do? Text Ice an apology? It’s unlikely Ice would even read it. Especially with Maverick gone. Ice and Maverick. The legendary duo. Gone. All that was left was the Iceman.
What would his dad think of him? He can’t help but wonder. What would he think knowing that Rooster had shunned his best friend, and has hated him for years? Would Goose be forgiving? Vengeful? He can’t be sure. He doesn’t even really have proper memories of his dad. All he remembers is Maverick.
Maverick used to stop by everyday after teaching at Top Gun. He’d go over homework with him, take him shopping, give advice on how to get dates. Maverick who came to his baseball games -sometimes still sweaty in his flight suit- but he had came . Mav had been there for everything. Then Ice had joined him. Filling in for Mav when he was on deployment, give more logical than emotional advice. Ice was who sat him down and explained what was happening with his mom because Pete was in Iraq. Ice who would sneak him onto the base to let him see the jets take off.
How does he say goodbye to all of that? To the two men who had done their best to parent him even when he just wanted his dad?
Shit. He thinks. He doesn’t fight the sob that escapes him at the thought. He already has.
Time is such a precious thing, and yet so many people spend it wishing for it to go faster. They want to get off of work earlier. They want it to be March for a concert. They want it to be next year so they can be 21. So much time wishing and so little time living. And once they actually get to where they want, they always seem to regret wasting that time, but it never stops them from making that same mistake again.
Iceman doesn’t make mistakes. He’s ice cold, calculated, respected and one of the best pilots in the world.
Tom , however, makes so many. It seems like that’s all he does these days. Mistake after mistake and they just keep getting worse somehow .
It had been a mistake to ask for a reassignment when Pete had asked what they were to each other.
It had been a mistake to tell Pete that he agreed with Carole and that Maverick should pull Bradley’s papers.
It had been a mistake to force Pete and Bradley back together.
It had been a mistake to assign Maverick to this squadron.
A mistake to let Pete be deployed.
A mistake to stay behind.
Mistake, mistake, mistake. His mind hisses torturously.
The repercussions were never even his to pay. Oh no, that would be far too bearable. No, Pete had paid for every single one of his mistakes. Pete who got deployed to Iraq right after Iceman’s reassignment. Pete who has spent fifteen years being shunned by his son. Pete who was forced to deal with a stubborn grown man who fights his every breath. Pete who is dead.
The ultimate price.
Paid for in Tom’s steed for his mistake.
Time slipped right through his fingers. It doesn’t even seem like it’s been 36 years since they met. It’s cliche, but it really did happen in a blink of an eye. Christmas’ spent on a boat somewhere in the sea he wasn’t allowed to disclose. Birthdays were all he could send home was a letter. He’s spent years watching Pete slowly develop laughter lines and worry wrinkles. Lord knows he probably caused a fair share of both. Just like Pete is the reason for all his gray hairs.
36 years together, and it wasn’t enough close to enough. How can that be over? How can it all be gone in a blink of an eye?
Iceman has made a mistake. Perhaps the second one he’s ever made.
Ice has marked his life by promotions. Spent his life climbing to the top. Doing whatever it took, whatever assignment or deployment or station that it required.
What has that gotten him? A lifetime spent chasing weekends and leaves to spend time with his husband? A lifetime away from the things and the people that make Iceman, Tom. That makes his life happy and worth living.
He is an Admiral; a four star one. And he has nothing of worth. It was meant to fulfill him, etch his name into the history books. It was meant to be everything he’s ever wanted.
It’s not.
Pete is everything he’s ever wanted. Pete who always welcomed him home with a hug and a smile. Pete who always sent him off with a good luck , a I’m sure you got the promotion, Ice and a I’m so proud of you. Congratulations, Tom. Pete who’s smiles slowly tacked on a sadness he never let himself truly consider.
How many times has he broken Pete’s heart? How many times has he left him for a job? Has any of this really been worth it? What would life have looked like if he had stopped chasing and started living .
That had been his first mistake. In the 90’s when paranoia and the aids pandemic had been rampant, when people left and right were being discharged because they were suspected of having dishonorable relations. When he had let fear rule him and he had broken off whatever it was he had with Pete and took a deployment on the other side of the world. No one could suspect him after all, if there was no Pete Mitchell in his life.
He loves his job, truly. The highs and lows and the importance. He loves the power and control and respect he wields. But on Themis’ scale, his job or Pete. Pete always won out. Or, at least he does now . He had learned from his first mistake. Never again . He had sworn when he came home from that deployment and saw the damage he had caused.
Has he always chosen work over his husband? Has he spent a lifetime away from the man who knew him better than any other?
The question is nauseating. Terrifying. He’s not sure if he can handle answering it. It is pointless now, too late to make any change. Pete Mitchell is dead. He can fix none of his mistakes.
His phone rings again, but he ignores it, just stares at the face down phone. How much time had he wasted with Pete by taking phone calls? How many trips had been ruined by a single call? How many dinners had Tom had to leave early to go back to work?
The buzzing stops. Then immediately starts once more.
He ignores it again.
It rings again.
Fuck you. He thinks bitterly. He reaches out and blindly answers the phone. He has to clear the feelings in his throat with a cough. “Admiral Kazansky.” He answers.
“Ice.” It’s Hondo. He sounds breathless, rushed.
God I can’t handle the truth right now.
“We got him, Ice. He’s alive, but critical. He’s being transported to the carrier now.”
He’s alive.
He’s alive and somehow the world starts to spin again. He numbness fades and the colors return, and he can hear more than just his mournful thoughts.
Pete.
“It’s...it’s not good.” Hondo says hesitantly. “It’s a long list of injuries, man. You should get out here soon.” The just in case . Goes unspoken.
But he’s alive.
That means he can fix this. He can get the best doctors in the world and put them on a helio, take them to Pete and make them save him or else.
“Leaving now.” He croaks his promise. Gone is the emotionless Iceman. His words leave him like a gasp. Like he’s broken the surface of water and can finally breathe . “I’ll be out there as soon as possible. Tell Bates and Simpson to prepare for my arrival.”
“Yes sir.” Good man, Hondo.
I’m coming, Pete. I will bring you home.
No mistakes this time.
I promise.
The carrier was in organized chaos. Three helicopters touch down on the runway. It all happens at once: the doors open and the medics swarm. The man on the stretcher still has a woman straddling his lap even as they are wheeled inside the ship to the infirmary.
From the top of the staircase to the bridge he can spot both Cyclone and Warlock watching everything so closely. They like Pete more than they let on, Hondo thinks. Unsurprising honestly. Pete is a Maverick, but above all else, he is a good man . A man who would take the risk for others. Who made friends with everyone around him It was just everyone above him that he found issues with.
Hondo is so proud to be considered a friend, and to serve under Captain Mitchell. He has served under many commanding officers during his time in the Navy, and not a single one could ever compare to Mav.
He looks like shit. It’s not a kind thought, but an honest one at the very least. They rush past him, and he stares hopelessly at the body on the stretcher. Mav’s hair is askew; more so than usual. There’s a long cut on his forehead that oozes with blood, coating half the man's face. (but if he’s bleeding, that means his heart is still beating which means that Maverick is alive .) His flight suit is torn open, revealing the ugly bruising that plagues his chest and neck. There’s cuts everywhere, but when he sees the hole in mavericks gut, he can’t help but freeze. He doesn’t get a good look at it, it only last a moment while the medic tosses the blood soaked rag to the side and applies a new one. But holy shit , Maverick’s torn open. Maybe he shouldn’t have told Ice to come. What if he called for him just for Maverick to die on the carrier?
His hands hang at his sides, itching to do something, but knowing there’s nothing to do. At the very least, even if the worst happens and Maverick dies, at least Ice will have a body to bury. Better that than an empty casket thinking the animals tore his partner's body into pieces. At least then, he wouldn’t have that dangerous little speck of haunting hope: What if he’s still alive? They never found a body. Believing that against all evidence would destroy even the strongest man.
It’s so quiet on the deck. It’s an eerie feeling. Like an omen. The deck is never this quite. Someone is always shouting orders, things are being cleaned or worked on. But here, now, almost the entire crew stands on the sidelines, waiting in horrified apprehension as one of their own lies on what may be his deathbed.
Only a handful of them really know Maverick, though, so while he appreciates that they understand how important this man is. It’s not until he sees the faces of the Dagger squadron that he truly feels like breaking down. Guilt and fear war on each of the pilots faces, even the ones who didn’t fly the mission. Phoenix’s mouth is covered in horror, Hangman’s arms are folded over his chest, and jesus the boy looks haunted. The others stand there, in varying degrees of horror. It’s Rooster, though, who looks like his world has fallen apart.
He hangs back, behind the others. Even from this distance, he can see the tears in his eyes. His arms just hang by his sides, he stands there. Completely still. Just watching Maverick be pushed by.
Get here soon, Ice . He begs. Please.
Notes:
Pollll time: should any of pete's injuries have lasting effects? I'm thinking chronic migraines and achy shoulder.
Chapter 8: It's a bird, It's a plane
Summary:
It's a bird, It's a plane, it's iceman here to save the day
a bit of team bonding with ice. After all memories are the best distraction. Rooster broods, and Hangman downs in his guilt
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
It’s hours upon hours of waiting. None of them had any duties to attend to. They were only here for the mission. Now that it was over, there were just…there. They should probably be resting, but how could any of them rest when Maverick is still in the infirmary? They had tried pestering for updates, but had got shut down. Hell even Rooster tried to get in. Nothing had worked. They had been sent away with a glare from Cyclone saying that none of them were listed as next of kin, so none of them were permitted to any news. The most Cyclone would say is that Maverick was still alive.
Hondo sighs as he shepherds them outside for air. Too long inside would drive them nuts; cause tensions and blame to build up when there really isn’t anyone to blame.
The group is silent. He watches them wander around the side, stare off at the sea. He has never once seen them this quiet. It’s uncanny. They never knew how to shut up .
“What’s that?” He hears Bob ask.
Hondo looks up. “What?”
“Over there.” Payback points out to a dot in the sky. “We don’t have any jets out, do we?”
“It’s not a jet.” Fanboy shakes his head as the dot gets closer. “It’s a helicopter.”
“Nah.” Hangman says, hand shielding his eyes from the sun. “It’s three.”
“Three helicopters?” Phoenix’s brow furrows. “Who on earth is coming now, out of all times?”
Hondo knows. He can feel his shoulders slump in relief. There’s only one person it could be. He’s not even the only one who’s realizing who’s coming. The first is Rooster, who goes still.
Hangman stills, but Hondo sees him swallow nervously. Above, a blue flag with four stars is being raised. Thank god, Ice.
“What the hell?” Coyote mutters, following Hondo’s line of sight. “Admiral Kazansky? Is coming here?”
“I mean. They were friends.” Bob says. “We’ve all seen the photo of Mav and the Admiral shaking hands.”
“That was 36 years ago though.” Payback argues. “There’s no way they’re still friends. Kazansky is Iceman. Ice cold. Unfeeling. He follows the rules and never make a mistake. And well…I don’t think there’s a rule Maverick hasn’t broken.”
“Very few.” Cyclone cuts in, stepping through their group. “I expect you all to be on your best behavior. Do not pester the Admiral for information. I daresay he is not in the mood.” His hands fold behind his back as he watches the helicopters get closer.
“Is he upset about the mission?” Fanboy asks. “We succeeded, even if Mav got hurt.”
“ That would be what the Admiral is upset about, Lieutenant.” Warlock answers, taking his place beside Cyclone. “Admiral Kazansky and Captain Mitchell have remained close friends since Top Gun.” He looks over his shoulder to them. “I think it would be wise to stay out of his way, for now.”
Close friends my ass. Hondo thinks as the kids all share glances with one another. Rooster looks like he’d prefer to go overboard than be anywhere near here. His gaze shifts up. The sound of the helicopters is deafening. It’s the only thing they can hear. The left lands first, then the second, and finally the third lands in the middle. In the same order do personal file out. The first group seems to be soldiers, either secret service or military police. The next quite obviously are doctors, just not military ones. They’re dressed in civies and carry brief cases and backpacks.
The third is the one that stops all other movement. Admiral Tom Kazansky steps out once the doors are opened for him. Dressed in the day to day uniform, cap securely on his head, and the most straight faced expression he’s ever seen. Even without all his medals on, his ribbon rack is impressive .
“Officer on deck!” Cyclone calls, and everyone jumps to salute.
Kazansky doesn’t break his stride. He heads straight for them. He offers a return salute. It’s lowered after a second, and he offers his hand to Simpson once he’s in range. ”Cyclone. Warlock.” He greets.
“Admiral Kazansky. We’re glad you could join us.” Beau inclines his head, and steps back with one foot. Opening his posture to gesture to the kids. “This is Dagger Squadron. They flew with Captain Mitchell.”
“I see.” His voice holds no warmth. He stares down each of the pilots. “Congratulations on a successful mission.”
“It wasn’t successful.” Hangman disagrees seemingly out of nowhere. He’d think it strange if he hadn’t known that Ice met with him before the “Not until Maverick is going to be alright.”
Hondo can see Warlock wince over Cyclone’s shoulder.
He knows better than to think Ice will react. Kazansky never looks away from Jake. “I couldn’t agree more.” His gaze shifts over to Hondo. Unlike the others though, he’s not intimidated. He knows Ice. Rather well at this point honestly. “Hondo. With me.” He calls.
“Yes sir.” He nods his head, but doesn’t miss the kids looks of concern.
Iceman turns to Cyclone and Warlock. “I want a debrief with them the moment I’m out.”
“Yes sir. We will have them on standby.” Cyclone nods. “Right this way to the infirmary.”
Hondo takes up a spot just behind Ice and follows the group through the ship.
“How is he?” Ice asks the moment they’re away.
“It’s not looking great, sir.” Cyclone answers. “He has a skull fracture, but more pressing than that is his stomach wound. He was impaled on a piece of debris. Massive internal bleeding. He’s gone through three units of blood already.”
“Jesus.” Hondo hears Ice mutter under his breath. “What else?”
“The wounds he had from the Darkstar crash have caused complications. Shattered collarbone and a punctured lung.” Warlock tacks on. “Even if he survives the surgery, he will still have to survive the high chance of infection.”
His jaw sets at that. “God Maverick…” Hondo whispers in horror.
Ice spares him a glance out of the corner of his eyes. “I brought some of the best doctors in the world with me. They will be taking over Captain Mitchell’s surgery from here.” He steps to the side and taps his security card to the door lock. “You'll find everything you need here.” He tells the doctors that have begun to shuffle through. “Let them know you are taking over at my command.”
He turns back to Cyclone. “I’d quite like that debrief now.”
Ice stands at the head of the small -dingy honestly- room. Each member of the mission stands before him at attention. “Sit.” He orders. Chairs scrape the floor as they’re dragged from under the tables. To the left of him, by the door both Cyclone and Warlock observe. “First and foremost, congratulations on a successful mission.” Is what he says, what he thinks is fuck this damn mission . “It takes incredible skill to be able to pull off the feat you accomplished. The Navy thanks you for your service today.” He lets his gaze flicker over each of them, all seem unsettled, on edge. Good . He’s still got his touch, then.
“I’ve heard the transmission logs, and I’ve read the reports.” Ice informs them. “It was a perfectly executed mission.”
“If it was perfect then Captain Mitchell would be here.” Coyote argues.
Tom has to resist a sigh, do they not think he doesn’t know that? If it was perfect then he would still be home waiting for his husband to come back so they can grab a celebratory dinner. Instead he’s in the middle of the pacific ocean waiting on news if Pete will even make it. “I understand your concerns about Captain Mitchell.” He placates professionally. Only years of practice prevent him from doing anything but sitting outside the medbay waiting for news. It’s the only thing he wants to do honestly. “I am at liberty to share that Maverick is still alive. He is still currently in surgery for internal bleeding and is suffering complications from the mission prior.” He shouldn’t have ever let him on this god forsaken mission. What sort of man sends his husband husband on a suicide mission? What is this job turning him into? He didn’t just leave his wingman, he offered him up on a silver platter.
Ice sees Hangman drag a hand down his. He’ll need to speak with him later. The boy looks too guilty.
“Do you know if he’s going to make it?” Phoenix asks from the back of the room.
He can’t help his grimace. “It’s up in the air, at the moment. If they can stop the bleeding and he doesn’t get an infection, he should be alright.” If not, he’ll be dead.
“Will you update us once there’s more news?” Bob asks, peeking over his glasses.
Ice inclines his head. “If not myself, I will send someone to do so, yes.” God knows that live or die, he will not be parted from Pete’s side.
Payback chews his lip. “You served with Captain Mitchell, sir?”
Tom blinks. Odd question. He knows that photo of him and Pete is damn near famous. Doesn’t everyone know they did? “I did. We were in the same Top Gun class, and got deployed to the same carrier.”
“What was he like? Back then.” Payback's hands are clasped in front of him. Rooster is bouncing his knee. Hangman is staring off into space. They want a distraction . He realizes and has to bite back a sigh. He doesn’t want to do this now. But, it is probably better than spending his time pacing in front of the medbay doors.
What was he like?
He was summer days spent lounging on the bed, wrapped in sheets as the sun streamed in. He was a laugh as he stole fries from Ice’s plate. He was arguments spent over his recklessness. He was bright smiles and a hard worn laugh. He was trouble and joy. He was his opposite. He was a warm hug after a long day. An afternoon spent debating if an X-Wing or TiE interceptor would be possible to build.
The silence must stretch on for too long. Cyclone steps forward to shut it down, but Ice speaks first. “Insufferably kind.” He chooses to start with. “And an absolute pain in my ass. He was dangerous.” That manages to get their attention. “He was actually the second choice from his carrier to go to Top Gun. First in line had been Cougar.” The shock on their faces is laughable. Pete hasn’t always been the best. “This was back in 86. He was Cougar’s wingman; or rather Cougar was his, if you ask Pete. Two MiGs had been spotted near their carrier. At the time we had RIO’s. Maverick’s was Goose.”
His gaze flicks up to Rooster, but he continues. “They weren’t allowed to fire at the MiG, so Maverick, of course, decided to have some fun.”
“It was hilarious, Ice!” Maverick had laughed when telling him the story. “Definitely a top three photo.”
It still hangs proudly in Mav’s hanger.
There’s scattered chuckles at that. “He and Goose inverted themselves in a 4G dive with the MiG, something we hadn’t thought the MiG could do, and what was it that he called it, ah, Forgien relations, I believe.”
Coyote’s brow furrows. “Sir?”
Ice can’t help his small laugh. “He gave the MiG the bird, Lieutenant.”
That inspires a proper laugh from the pilots, even a chuckle from Warlock. “His wingman, Cougar, had been so afraid of the MiG, that Mav disobeyed orders and helped guide Cougar in despite being on fumes. Earned himself both a proper tongue lashing and a spot in Top Gun.”
And from that moment their fates had been sealed. Tom and Pete’s path collided, and never unwound.
“He was a charmer too.” He continues. The memory sits fondly in his chest. “The first night there, we all went to the O Club, and him and Goose did this little routine of serenading a lady at the bar; ended up getting the entire bar to sing it.”
Phoenix snorts at that. “Did it work?”
He tilts his head, considering. “Never asked, actually. But I believe so.”
“You said he was dangerous?” Rooster cuts in, voice low despite being at the back.
Ice narrows his eyes at the tone. God help him if this kid tries any shit today. He is not in the mood. “He was.” He confirms after a moment. “Reckless. Always left his wingman.”
He sees the confusion grow on their faces. He knows now, that Mav would never. But that had been a hard taught lesson. “He wanted to prove himself. To be the best pilot. Granted we all did, but not like he did. It’s his life goal to be the best pilot.” Shit, he may have succeeded. What will be his goal now? “It took losing his best friend, Goose, in a training accident for him to understand that up there, your life is in your wingman's hands.” He doesn’t linger on that. “That picture in the halls of Top Gun, of us shaking hands is right after he saved my life.”
Bob tilts his head. “That’s why you’re here then, sir? Because he saved your life in 1986?”
Oh. He shakes his head. “That may have been the day we became friends, but that friendship has lasted the past 36 years. Maverick has no other family, I am his emergency contact.” Father killed in action, mother lost when she was driving drunk, best friend in a training accident, son lost due to the promise to the boy's mother. All that’s left is Ice.
“Well damn.” Hangman mutters. “You’re basically a get out of jail free card.”
Tom chuckles at the idea. “Precisely. Allow me to assure you, he has no qualms using it either.”
Fanboy grins. “Who was the better pilot, sir?”
He fights a laugh. How many times had Pete and him had that same argument? The door creaks as it opens, interrupting his answer. Tom turns towards it. Hondo stands in the doorway, one hand keeping the door open.
“You should come, Tom.” The warmth that the memories brought flee him in less than a second. What now ? He can’t help but wonder. There’s nothing left to go wrong. He meets Hondo’s eyes, and in a daze he follows.
Please be okay, Pete.
Notes:
little bit of a filler chapter to build some niceties with Ice. idk i love the idea of Ice terrifying everyone around him. its fun.
Chapter 9: I have loved you since the day I hated you
Summary:
Ice visits his husband.
Notes:
I wanted to dedicate a chapter to just ice and mav and their emotions. I try to hit 2.5-3k words per chapter so I wanted to try and use all of it to get you to really feel what they do.
Also literally anything medical is just stuff that i have learned from binging greys anatomy. if somethings wrong blame meredith and derek
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Doctor Hythlen.” Tom greets, stopping in the hall just in front of her. The doctor looks up from her clipboard. Exhaustion radiates off of her. Don’t tell me he’s dead. God, don’t tell me that. Don’t curse me to a life without him.
“Mr. Kazansky.” She bypasses the formalities, which god does he appreciate. “We were able to stop the bleeding and we have closed the wound.”
His grip tightens on his forearms, daring to hope. Daring to believe. “So he’s going to make it?”
She hesitates. “There’s no guarantee.” She tells him gently, lowering the clipboard. “The damage is substantial. The wound had already been contaminated by the time we arrived. If he pulls through the night, he’ll have a far better chance at survival.”
Just one night, Pete. You can survive a night.
“And his other wounds?” He asks, refusing to linger on his doubt. Well, at least in front of others anyways.
“That’s where his prognosis worsens.” She guides him in and holds the x-ray up to the light for him to see. She doesn’t even have to say anything for him to know it’s bad.
There’s cracks running down three ribs, two look snapped in half, and jesus- his right shoulder looks a damn mess.
“Ribs 3,4, and 9 have been shattered. 7 and 2 are clean breaks.” She holds up a second x-ray. She reaches up and points to the collarbone. “He also has a clavicle fracture.”
Tom struggles to keep his emotions underwraps. God , Pete was put through the ringer, but the news doesn’t stop there. Hythlen continues with Pete’s rundown. “While all that is concerning, what really concerns us is the skull fracture and his punctured right lung.” She turns back to him, pushing her glasses further up her nose with her pen. “Both require surgery that we don’t have the tools for."
So it’s hopeless? He survived the crash just to die on the carrier? “What do you suggest we do, then?”
She considers for a moment. “Neither are good options.” The doctor admits. “He is not stable enough to survive an air lift back to land.” She tells him. “But it is either that, and we risk losing him due to a brain bleed or collapsed lungs, or we do airlift him out and his body can’t handle the stress and we lose him to organ failure. There is also the added risk of infection if we move him.”
He wants to cry. Wants to laugh at the absurdity of it all. “So he dies no matter what we do.” He finally says, voice kept low. Any louder and his voice might just give out, not unlike his legs.
The doctor sighs; it’s pitched with regret. “It is possible, yes. My recommendation is that we keep him here until his vitals are better, and the chance of infection lessens. Following that, moving him to a proper hospital for emergency surgery.”
Tom can’t help but give into the urge to run a hand down his first. “What’s the chance he survives the night?”
“Best guest?” She tilts her head. “30%. If he survives the night, he’ll be on the right track, but not out of the woods. The moment his vitals stabilize he will need off this ship. The longer we go without treatment, his chances plummet.”
He digests that information like bitter medicine. Pete’s chances are so low…”Will he wake?” He murmurs.
“He’s heavily sedated.” She doesn’t look at him. “With the location of the fracture, there…there is a chance he will never wake. Even if he survives long enough to receive treatment.”
“A coma.” He says, eyes widening. “You’re telling me he’s in a coma?”
“It’s possible.” It feels like she's jabbing a saber through his heart, every word a twist of the sword. “If he does wake, then it could mean his chances are better than they appear currently. I just want you to be prepared for the worst.” Her fingers curl around her clipboard and she pulls it closer. “You may want to say your goodbyes. Just in case.”
Tom doesn’t move, even once the doctors leave him alone in the room. Pete is right behind that curtain and he can’t move. How the hell does he say goodbye? How to sum up what Pete means to him? It’s been 36 years. 36 years of memories, of laughs, of tears and love. Both a lifetime and a blink of an eye. Now he’s being asked to say goodbye to all of that, just in case Pete passes.
He feels like a scared child as he inches forward. Suddenly everything is too big, too overwhelming and terrifying. He wants to run and hide like he’s not the most powerful man in the Navy. Like he’s not a weathered soldier.
Tom steels himself with a deep breath and slips past the curtain.
Holy shit.
There’s so many tubes and wires hooked up to his husband. An oxygen mask on his face. White squares patches stand out in stark contrast compared to the black and blue of his chest. A blue and white plastic brace covers his neck.
He’s…he’s so small.
He’s always been short-
“Fuck off, Ice.”
-but Maverick has never once felt small . He was always larger than life. The center of attention. Life of the party.
But now, he looks so helpless. He looks his age.
Pete . He covers his mouth in horror. He knew it would be bad. He just never never thought it would look like this . Tom’s breath catches, heart stops beating. He reaches out so gently; like his touch will shatter what’s left of Maverick.
His other hand grips the chair arm, and shakily lowers himself into the seat. The fear is nauseating. Debilitating. “God Maverick.” Voice shaky and all. “You really did it this time, huh?”
Tom doesn’t bother to fight the tears. “All these years of you pulling miracles out of your ass, I really thought you’d do it again.” He admits. “I shouldn’t have let you go on this mission I knew better. I knew I should have pulled you.”
Forgiveness would have never come for that, though. They’ve had plenty of arguments over the years, even ones that ended without them seeing eye to eye. But if he would have kept Maverick on the ground, he would have resented him. But he would be alive. He’d be okay at least.
“If you die, I’ll kill you, Mitchell.” He croaks, swiping at a tear. He takes Pete’s hand in his, carefully not to move him in case he hurts him worse. As if he’s chained to the ground, his head bows and his head rests against Maverick’s hand clutched in his. “How do I say goodbye?” His voice cracks. “It’s been me and you for decades, Pete. All the firsts we’ve had together.”
Their first Christmas together was spent on base. A shared laugh and a spiked hot cocoa while looking out from the bridge.
The first time they had gotten a place together was right after DADT had been repelled. It had been a two bedroom apartment (DADT might have been repelled, but people like them still weren’t accepted) not five miles off of base. They had gone to Ikea together and just begun piling things into the cart. They had spent that night, mostly arguing over directions, but then on the ground eating pizza, hips bumping into each other as they shared a proud smile.
The first time they bought a house. Under Ice’s name, at first. Just to be safe. They had stood in their entry way, hand and hand, and danced to Lost that Loving Feeling.
The first time their home became Bradley’s home.
All of those first, and all the routines Ice loves so much. All of them were spent with Pete. Hell, even his rank was in part to Pete. He had to protect his husband somehow . “How am I meant to keep going without you?” He sniffles. “You have so much more life to live, Pete. You still have Admirals to piss off, rules to break, and a P-51 plane that you still haven’t fixed.” He knows it’s useless begging, but what else is he meant to do? He’d sell his soul to the devil for even one more minute with Pete. God knows what he’d give for years.
The only response to his words is the rhythmic beep of the heart monitors. “Live.” He murmurs, lips against Pete’s hands. “God, I’m begging you. I will find you some way to stay in the air if you live. I’ll do anything.” He promises desperately. “Just- just don’t make me lose you, Pete.”
He wants Sunday mornings with burnt pancakes that he eats with a smile and tells Pete-
“Thank you for breakfast, dear. It was wonderful.”
He wants afternoons spent out shopping for new décor for the house because;
“It’s fall, Tom. Of course we have to get pumpkins!”
Or Friday nights spent with friends over while Tom grills and everyone while watches the football game Pete would come over, lean against the moonlit patio railing and tell him:
“I’ll give you twenty bucks to burn Slider’s burger.”
“We have the same bank account.” Tom would answer, deadpan, and not even bother to look up from the grill.
Pete would huff and say. “It’s the principle of the matter. Besides. He broke my favorite mug.”
Tom would snort, and Pete would take it as a no, but maybe Slider’s burger does come off a little crisp and is delivered with a: “Buy him a new mug so I don’t have to hear about this for the rest of my life.”
He wants a life of domesticity. Of routines and laughs. Days spent without fear of losing his husband. But he would sacrifice it. Give up every minute if it meant that Pete would wake up with a painful smile and tell him that it’s just a scratch.
What does he even do if Pete doesn’t wake? How long does he keep him on life support? The answer comes in a heartbeat. Pete wouldn’t want to be kept on life support, to be reduced to just a shell. He’d want the cord to be pulled. His gut churns at the thought. He’d have to be the one to say when it is time for his husband to die.
For better or for worse.
The vow haunts him now. He doesn’t want this responsibility. Can’t someone else choose? Why does he have to? Could he live with that on his hands?
But who else is there? Rooster still hates him, and Pete wouldn’t want anyone other than Tom to make the decision.
In sickness and in health.
Pete had fulfilled his vows to the fullest. Dotted his I’s and crossed his T’s. When Tom had been diagnosed with cancer, Pete had been there. For the surgery, for the chemo and radiation. Pete had been there.
He remembers waking up and immediately knowing Pete wasn’t beside him. He remembers finding him on the couch, watching a youtube video on ASL. He remembers just how loved he had felt watching him unnoticed.
Pete had learned ASL for when he couldn’t speak. Still used it some days when Tom’s throat would get agitated. Not once through the entire experience had Tom felt alone. Even when Pete would have to be gone for testing the SR-72. Tom would wake up each morning to test from his husband, and he would go to sleep with another.
To love and to cherish
If Pete wakes up, he’ll need that same level of dedication from Tom. The same patience Pete had shown when Tom would have a bad day and snap at him for nothing. He’ll need care and love and rides to the doctor.
He’ll need time to learn how to adjust to life on two feet. How to finally let go. He’ll have to relearn himself like Ice did years ago when he took the promotion to Admiral, and stepped away from the jets.
Pete had been there for that too.
Until death do us part.
“Not yet.” He whispers. “You don’t get to die yet.” Not until they've tried every possible solution. Tom won’t give up on Pete. How could he ever give up on him? Pete’s a madman, and a miracle worker, and god damn it, he will see Pete miracle himself out of this shit situation. He will see him come home.
No matter what it takes, he will not see those vows completed. Not until they are both old- well. Older . And have settled down and have gotten to live the life they deserve. Free from secrets and the stress that the Navy is so wonderful at creating. Free from any expectations and demands for their time. The only thing that would matter would be each other, and god, Tom can’t think of anything better. He’s earned his retirement. Pete has earned his retirement. They’ve both fought and killed and suffered for this chance, for this hope of a life they could live.
Tom has fought for his husband all these years; he’s hardly going to stop now.
Notes:
No poll this time, but did ya feel it?
Chapter 10: What is a medal compared to a life?
Summary:
rooster gets punched in the face again
sorry not sorry
tensions are high
Notes:
Shorter chapter today, but i had a hell of a day at work, and tomorrow is going to be much of the same smh
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Paperwork waits for no one, even after one of the longest, most stressful days of his life. He hadn’t much of a choice when it came to getting the pilots reports. They were necessary. Especially when someone had been wounded. Especially when Maverick lost another jet. Cyclone scribbles his signature at the bottom of the brief. He doesn’t quite have the ability to be annoyed with Maverick. Not when the man had managed to achieve the impossible.
“Have you decided who you are going to nominate?” Warlock asks from across the desk. He’s stretched out; feet up on a low file cabinet. Far too relaxed for all that happened today.
Cyclone glances up. Like you don’t know. “Regrettably. I still can’t believe you convinced me to do this.”
Bates looks up from his own paperwork at that. He meets his gaze unflinchingly. “I didn’t convince you of anything. You knew who you were going to choose the moment he succeeded.”
He can’t help but concede the point. He had decided that moment. Had even surprised himself by it. “We also have to decide on award nominations.”
“That’s easy enough, no?” He sips his coffee, unbothered. It’s a front, though. Cyclone knows for certain. Bates liked Maverick. Would go up to bat for him during their conversations. “Bronze stars to each who flew the mission, and Navy Unit Commendation for everyone- including the reserves.”
“And what for Maverick?” He lays the papers down on his desk with a frustrated sigh. He was tricky to award. The man had no small amount of ribbons and medals. Also, it grates on a small part of him; to award a man who flaunted every rule.
Bates doesn’t share his frustration. Simply shrugs. “There’s really only two options. The man already has a Silver Star. The only things above that is the Navy Cross or the Medal of Honor.”
“You can not seriously be considering that we give that ass the highest award in the entire US military?”
“That ass, Admiral,” He reminds sharply. “Is currently laying in the infirmary, possibly dying, after sacrificing himself to ensure the other Daggers, and us mind you- were safe from any harm.” Bates sits back in his chair, watching him closely. “Besides. For either award of that level, the President would have to agree with our call.”
It’s like Bates lives to cause him dilemmas. And headaches. Naturally, they seem to revolve around Maverick. Unconsciously, his pen taps against the desk. “Have you heard any updates on his condition?”
Warlock seems to age at that question, shaking his head. “None. Other than the fact that Admiral Kazansky refuses to leave his side. Threatened to discharge a medic when they said that visiting hours were over.”
Cyclone can’t help his grimace. That would have to be smoothed over. “You and I both know that this award will more than likely be posthumously awarded.”
“All the more reason to give him the award he deserves.”
Damn you, Bates. “I’ll consider it.” He concedes finally. He jabs his pen in his direction. “But I make no promises.”
“That’s all I ask.” He folds his hands over his stomach. “You’ve already submitted him as your recommendation, then?”
Cyclone sighs. “Yes. I assume you did as well?”
“I did.” He confirms. “I think it’s time. Cain will disagree, but everyone knows he’s an ass anyways.”
“Kazansky won’t be able to hold a vote.”
“Better make it a damn good recommendation then.”
No news came that night. Hangman has spent the entire time sitting on a bench outside the infirmary. Hondo had gone to bed hours ago, entrusting Jake with making sure Kazansky and Maverick went undisturbed.
No news had to be good news, right? If Maverick was dead then they would know. Surely they would know. Iceman had promised after all.
Speaking of Iceman…the infirmary door opens. Admiral Kazansky looks like he’s aged a decade since their time in the classroom. He’s discarded his cover. His hair is flat and messy, uniform partially unbuttoned. “Lieutenant Seresin.” If he’s surprised to see him, he doesn’t show it. “Would you like to see him?” God the offer is kind.
Kinder than he deserves. “Are you sure, sir?”
He nods and opens the door wider. “You saved his life. It’s only right.”
Jake can’t look at him. It’s only because of the years in the navy that he doesn’t shuffle his feet nervously. “I left him. Sir. I’m the reason he was shot down.”
The Admiral sighs, closing the door behind him. “You are not. You followed your orders and once your peers were safe you did exactly as I said and returned to help your wingman. If you hadn’t gone back for him, he would be dead.”
Guilt only festers. Kazansky shouldn’t be worrying about his feelings. Not now. Not with his husband in a hospital bed. “Did the doctors say how he is?”
The Admiral…seems to be more emotional than he thought possible. The man's shoulders slump and he holds open the curtain for Jake to see.
“His chances aren’t great.” Kazansky admits as Hangman stands there in shock. “It is not likely he will survive.” A dark look firmly slots itself on Iceman’s face.
“But there’s a chance, right?” Hangman tears his gaze away from Mav and to the Admiral.
Kazansky sinks into a chair right beside Maverick. He takes his hand in his. “There’s a chance, yes. If he can survive tonight the doctors say his chance will improve, but he’d be in far less danger if he would just wake up .”
Jake’s fingers wrap around the footboard of the bed. “Maybe he’s just exhausted from today.” It’s not a strong reasoning, but it is possible at the very least. “I wouldn’t give up hope. Maverick always manages to pull off the impossible, sir.”
That inspires a chuckle out of Kazansky. “He does, doesn’t he? But don’t tell him that. I don’t need his ego getting any bigger.”
“No promises, sir. He is my instructor.”
Iceman shakes his head, but he’s smiling. Even if it’s only a partial smile. “You remind me of him.” He looks up from Maverick to Jake. “He was reckless too, like you. But when we needed him most, he became exactly what we needed.” Jake finds he can’t move as Kazansky rises and clasps a hand on his shoulder. “Thank you. For saving him, Hangman. Even…even if he dies, you gave me the opportunity to say goodbye. I will always be thankful for that.”
Jake ducks his gaze, blinking rapidly to avoid the tears. “Had to sir. He would do the same for any of us.”
The hand on his shoulder squeezes. “He would.” He agrees, looking back to the man in the bed.
Cautiously, he swallows the lump. Suddenly all too aware of every bodily function. “Are you doing alright, sir?”
The hand drops, and with it comes a sigh. “You try to be prepared for this day; for when you get that call. And you would think after all my years in the service, I’d be ready.” Iceman really isn’t so Ice cold. “But I’m not. Not sure I ever will be. 36 years together, and then in the span of a conversation you’re told to say goodbye just in case.”
Kazansky shakes his head. “I’ll be better once we make it through the night.”
Understandable. Jake thinks. But he also thinks of Rooster, who’s been shut down since the moment the news came. “Have you told Bradshaw?”
The shake of his head is immediate. “No.”
“He was worried about, Mav. They seemed close.” They had seemed like they hated each other, actually. But then why would Rooster care so much? “Maybe he should pay a visit too.” He hasn’t even finished his sentence before he is overcome with the feeling that he has overstepped himself.
Iceman tenses, back straightens and his voice is kept carefully level. “The last thing Bradley said to me before this mission is that no one would mourn Maverick if he died. I want him nowhere near my husband. Do you understand me, Lieutenant?”
Hangman’s brow furrows before leveling out. “I understand perfectly, sir.” What the fuck Bradshaw? Just because you weren’t picked as mission leader?
“Good.” Iceman doesn’t look back to him. “Dismissed.”
Hangman steps out without another word. His nails dig into the palm of his hands. He pays no real mind as to where he’s going. Just walks and walks and walks. He only stops when someone grabs onto his shoulder.
It’s Rooster. “You good, Bagman?”
Jake pivots, and immediately throws his fist into Bradley’s face. “Get your fucking hands off of me.” He snaps. There’s already people separating them. Hauling each of them back.
“The fuck was that for?” Rooster fights against the people restraining him.
Hangman doesn’t resist. “I’m good.” He says gruffly. The anger doesn’t lessen. It’s overwhelming; increases with every rapid beat of his heart.
“What is going on here?” Cyclone calls out, stepping from his office.
“Fight sir.” A petty officer answers.
Admiral Simpson’s gaze flicks between Rooster and Hangman. “You two. Inside. Now .”
Hangman tugs straight his uniform when he’s released and follows obediently. “Sir.” He comes to attention in front of the Admiral’s desk.
Rooster doesn’t bother to hide his glare, even as he too, comes to attention.
“Fighting? Today? After everything we’re already dealing with, really?” Simpson begins with, standing in front of them. Even Jake can tell the man looks stressed. He half feels bad for causing a scene.
The other half though? Wishes he could do it again.
Jake sets his jaw. “He deserved it.”
Bradshaw breaks attention to snarl: “All I did was try to make sure you were okay. How the hell does that mean-”
“Enough! You’re not children.” He snaps. His gaze settles firmly on Jake. “Why did you punch him?”
“Because I think anyone that says it won’t matter if someone dies, deserves to be hit in the jaw. Sir.” He tacks on. “Especially when it’s said to Admiral Kazansky about Captain MItchell.”
Both of the other men freeze at his words. Simpson’s head snaps to Rooster. He can see the two of them make eye contact, as if they’re having a conversation in a language he doesn’t speak.
“Very well.” Simpson pinches his brow. “The two of you stay away from each other. We’re only on this carrier a few more days. Let’s see to it that we don’t cause any more problems. Tensions are high. I know that. I won't file a report for this.”
Well. That’s good news at the very least. “May I be dismissed, sir? I’m to ensure Admiral Kazansky is not distrubed.”
“Assign a guard to it.” Simpson answers. “You’ve been through hell and back today, Seresin. Running yourself into the ground is not going to help Maverick. Eat, rest, and then you can return to the infirmary.”
Every cell in his body wants to argue, but even he knows that he’s pushed his luck today. Especially after being let off the hook for attacking Bradshaw. “Yes sir.”
“Bradshaw.” Simpson says as Jake leaves. “Why don’t you hang back a minute?”
Notes:
Anyone have any guess as to what the recommendation is for? Sorry if jake isn't in character. Haven't read much with him as the focus, but ill do some reading this weekend for him
Chapter 11: Tick tock it's death o'clock
Summary:
You never know what you have till its gone
Notes:
Sorry for no update yesterday. I got called in to work a 14 hour shift, hope yall enjoy this chapter, i tried to make it a bit longer for yall. Mentions of homophobia kinda, and secret relationships
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Are you alright?” Cyclone asks after a few moments of silence goes by. He seems to almost care. “I know who Maverick is to you.”
Rooster takes a bet on that care. He breaks attention to rub his jaw. “I’m fine. Sir.”
Cyclone doesn’t look like he believes him, but he also doesn’t push the matter. “I know you’ve been private about the entire situation, but it may be in your best interest to explain it to your peers before this situation spirals any further out of control.”
“Yes sir.” Yeah, cause that would go well.
“Dismissed Lieutenant.”
Rooster hesitates. “Is there any update on Captain Mitchell’ condition?”
“None that I’m at liberty to share.” Is the Admiral’s response. “You’ll have to speak with Admiral Kazansky for information.”
He bites back a tired sigh. Ice is still angry with him. This entire situation is so fucked . Is his godfather going to die and he’ll be the last one told? He hadn’t meant what he said. He swears he didn’t. He’d do anything to take it back. To be forgiven.
In a daze, he somehow makes it back to his temporary quarters. The uninviting gray of steel makes it feel almost like a prison. He pushes open the door with a sigh, but stops in the doorway when he sees the squad gathered in his room.
“I’m not in the mood for whatever this is.”
“Sucks.” Phoenix responds, meeting his gaze evenly. “Somethings up with you, and we all know it.”
“Honestly man.” Payback butts in. “Hangman’s an ass, but he wouldn’t attack you for nothing. What’s going on?”
His jaw clenches. To the point of pain, and he has to take a conscious moment to unclench his jaw. “Maverick is my godfather.” It’s as good a start as any.
“Holy shit.” Someone mutters; he can’t quite make out who.
Rooster can’t look at them. “My father was Maverick’s RIO. He died in a training accident with Mav, and Mav did-” his worst . He almost says. Fed my hopes of being a pilot only to snatch them out of reach. “His best.” That’s closer to the truth. “He took a teaching position at Top Gun to be with my mom and me. He would come to my baseball games, would help me with my homework. Anything really. He was over almost every day.” His heart aches enough that he’s left sinking into a seat beside the bunk beds. ”Him and Ice both really.”
Fanboy leans forward with wide eyes. “Sorry- did you say Ice? As in Iceman? As in Four star Admiral Kazansky?”
Ordinarily, the surprise and awe would have sparked amusement. Now all that festers is guilt. Rooster nods. “They’re wingmen.” Never admit who they actually are to each other.
“Remember Brad,” Mav would tell him. Kneeled down, with a warm hand on his shoulder. (Mav was always warm) “Your uncle Ice and I are just friends, okay? We live together, but as roommates, okay?”
He hadn’t understood at the time. Of course they were roommates. They shared the same room. “Okay, Uncle Mav.”
“Uncle Ice would come by whenever he was state side or if Mav couldn’t make it. My mom passed away from cancer when I was 15, and Maverick took me in.” He had hated him. Was so angry at the world at the time, first his dad and then his mom and he had said so many awful things to Mav-
“I wish you died instead of them!” He had shouted, tears streaming down his face.
He had been forgiven with a big hug and two ice creams, but he had never quite gotten rid of the unsettling feeling he had felt when he had made eye contact with Ice over Mav’s shoulder.
“Jesus, Rooster.” Coyote says, pity dripping from his voice. “That’s some shit, man.”
All he manages is a shake of his head. “Then when I was 18 Maverick pulled my papers from the Academy.” There’s varying degrees of shock around the room. For everyone except Bob who says:
“Makes sense.”
Roosters brow furrows. “Huh?”
Bob shifts awkwardly- obviously not used to all the attention on him. He sits straighter up from where he sits on the bottom bunk. “Well. I mean, you said your dad died with him. He probably has PTSD from it. It makes sense that he would try to protect you; misguided as it was.”
PTSD? He’s not sure why, but he had never thought of Maverick having PTSD. Never even seemed like a possibility. Mav was….well Mav . Invincible. Nothing ever affected him. But then-
It’s late. He’s not supposed to be awake. Mav let him have a later bedtime (10:30) than his mom. But still. He had heard something clang. And he can’t not go investigate. He creeps out his room, rolling his feet as he steps. (Mav had taught him how to walk quietly to scare Ice.) His steps are slow and measured. Controlled. Just like how Ice taught him every movement should be. Purposeful.
The noise seems to be coming from the main bedroom (“It’s not our room.” Maverick had hurried to explain when Bradley had referred to it as his and Ice’s. “Ice has his own room.” Though it was more so a room for dust to settle in than anything.) The door is partially open. He kneels in front of it, peeking in.
Maverick is sitting on the bench in front of the bed, head in hands. He seems to be shaking. Bradley doesn’t know why. Much to Uncle Ice’s chagrin, Mav liked the house at a balmy 76. Ice is kneeling in front of him. He can see his mouth moving, but he can’t quite make out what’s being said. What he can see is Ice laying a hand on Maverick’s knee. Then he rises and pulls Maverick close. His Uncle’s cling to the other. Having seen enough, reassured that someone isn’t breaking in, he goes to leave, but then the door creaks as his forehead accidentally hits it.
Immediately, he freezes, but it’s too late. Ice is already looking at him. He doesn’t look like the Uncle Ice he knows though. He looks tired, and there’s tear tracks on his face that glints in the light. His Uncle’s expression softens, and he shakes his head silently.
Ice had never brought up that night.
He tries not to go too far down that line of thought. “I…I’ve spent 15 years hating him for pulling my papers. I always meant to work it out with him. But I never did. I just kept being angry.” He admits, plucking at a loose thread on his sleeve. “They tried to reach out at first; Maverick for the longest, but I ignored it all, and now it’s too late to fix things.”
“You should talk to Admiral Kazansky.” A new voice interrupts- Hangman . He leans against the door frame. Damnit , he didn’t shut the door all the way. “He might let you see Maverick if you apologize.” He crosses his arms. “And sooner than later. Maverick’s condition isn’t great.”
His heart stutters at that. For once, he forces the anger at Hangman away (did he really have to hit him so damn hard?) “You’ve seen him?” Hangman out of all people?
The air changes at the question- ripe with promise and fear.
Hangman looks away, like he’s avoiding all their gazes. “I have. And you should make amends quickly.” He pushes off the door. “He made a mistake, Bradshaw. One he tried for years to make up for. You shouldn’t hang on to it when you obviously want him back in your life.”
Something in him bristles at being read so easily. But instead of arguing. “Where’s Ice?”
“Infirmary.” Of course. He’d never leave Mav’s side. It wasn’t in his Uncle. All Ice ever preached was not leaving your wingman. There was nothing in this world, or heaven and hell for that matter, that could move The Iceman from his wingman’s side. Unstoppable force vs. Iceman?
Iceman would win every time.
“You’ll have to get Hondo to drag him out.” Jake continues. “He’s…rather adamant about you not seeing Maverick.”
Despite knowing that that’s probably deserved, he winces.
“What did you do?” Phoenix asks with a furrowed brow.
Suddenly, his mouth goes dry. He doesn’t want to say it again. He regrets it the first time, and the fact that he’s not even saying it to his Uncle’s fails to matter. Ice’s face had flashed with anger, proper anger. A type Bradley had never been on the receiving end of. He has no doubt in his mind that if Slider hadn’t been there, Ice would have been the one to jaw him for that line.
Hangman saves the moment, firm voice and all. “Something that shouldn’t be repeated.”
That hangs in the hair for an impossibly long moment. “Go man.” Payback urges. “Time isn’t something Mav has a lot of right now.”
1945
Time is such a funny fickle thing. When you want it to speed up it slows. When you desperately cling to every second, it seems like it goes impossibly faster. It’s a pendulum in the back of his mind. Slow so he can soak in every moment of his husband being alive. Fast so the night will be over and Pete will have a better chance of survival.
He’s not sure which he prefers.
All he knows is that he wants him to live.
1948
He also knows that people tend to pass when they’re alone. There’s not really a scientific reason that he knows. But he knows when people take that quick moment to run to the vending machine or the cafeteria, often when they return, their grandma, or husband or mom has passed away.
So he won’t leave. Not even for a moment. He won’t allow Maverick the chance to slip through his fingers. His husband will not become a statistic. So sure of this he is, he doesn’t even feel bad about the medic.
1658 (past)
“Excuse me sir, Admiral.” The medic had stammered, but his voice leveled out as he spoke. “I’m sorry, but visiting hours are over for the day. They begin again tomorrow at 0800.”
He doesn’t dignify him with even a spare glance. “Do you enjoy your job?” His voice is level too, but controlled in a way the medic’s isn't.
“Um. Yes sir?” The confusion is plain.
Ice hums, almost noncommittal. “Then, if you would like to keep it, I would highly suggest that you remove yourself from my presence. This is my fleet. My ship. My sailors and aviators. I will do whatever I damn well please; and I damn well please to sit here as long as I like.”
He doesn’t get a response, but just over the beeping of the monitors he can hear footsteps leaving at double time.
Maverick would have laughed.
His heart hurts.
Sitting there was his purpose; the only thing that matters. Though that lasts up until Hondo approaches quietly.
1953
“Any changes?” The warrant officer's voice is soft, gentle . Like he’s trying not to wake Pete. Like Pete is just asleep .
God, how he wishes Pete was just asleep. He could be in bed with him. Pete snuggled into his side with a snore loud enough to be heard, but not loud enough to distract Tom from his reading. Tom’s free hand would be in his husband's hair, playing with it absently up until Pete would wake with a loud yawn and stretch, then he’d pout until Tom tugged him up for a good morning kiss.
“None.” He finds his tone is much the same. He pulls Pete’s hand further into his lap. He’s clammy, and that’s so fucked up . Pete hated the cold, ironically enough. He loved being warm. At the thought he reaches out and pulls the blanket further up. “I’m not a religious man, but I can’t help but to just pray that he wakes up.”
A soft hum replies to his statement. “Did you say goodbye already?”
All consuming rage flickers with in, but it’s put out just as quickly. It takes energy to be angry. And he has none. All of his energy is spent on the desperate hope that Maverick will be okay.
He forgot how exhausting it is to be hopeful, and that’s coming from an optimist. But then, he isn’t particularly hopeful, he doesn’t think, he simply believed that things would work out. Active hope, though, that required thought and energy.
His voice doesn’t rise above a whisper. “I did.” And it’s the worst thing he’s ever done.
Hondo doesn’t respond immediately, and Ice doesn’t pry. Maverick meant a lot to Hondo, and vise versa, he knows that. He won’t begrudge him these precious moments.
Not too long into the silence does Hondo break it. “Rooster is outside the infirmary doors. He wants to speak with you.”
Now? He thinks. Now? He wants his attention and time-
2004
-now? When every moment is so much more precious than the last? It’s too late , an apathetic part of him whispers. Too late for apologies and tears and last minute feelings. Maverick was dying and it’s too late for any fixing it.
No one will mourn him when he burns in.
The words echo in his mind. They anger him. They steal his energy from what’s more important. “No.” The firmness in his voice surprises even him.
2006
He knows Hondo well enough to know the man is deciding whether or not to push the matter. Evidently, he finds it worth pressing. “I know you’re angry with him, and I’m not saying you should forgive him or anything like that really. But I…I think Maverick would want him close.”
Fuck you . Is his instinctual thought. He doesn’t care to find out whether it’s aimed at his traitorous conscience or Hondo’s words. Doesn’t matter either way. Because of course Maverick would want Rooster near. The boy was practically his son. Their son honestly, though Maverick had always refused to be called dad, and Ice couldn’t be called dad. (Too suspicious. A boy with two dads? People would wonder. People would notice. Presume. Accuse . Career ending. World shattering.)
2007
Beep. Beep. Beep. Goes the monitor in steady intervals. The only noise really in the tense silence. “I do not have the energy to deal with Bradley. Not right now.” Not when he hasn’t slept since he got the news. Hasn’t even eaten. How could he eat when his husband was barely clinging to life? How could he waste these seconds dealing with Rooster?
Hondo goes to respond, but Ice cuts him off. “He can visit. He can stay. But that’s it. I am not going to spend my night angry and arguing.” Rooster will just have to take that as enough; he has nothing left to offer. He’s a broken man with a broken heart in a broken world. “And if he says one out of line thing, I will throw him in the brig myself.” His tone books no arguments.
It seems to be enough for Hondo. “I’ll let him know.”
2015
There’s two sets of footsteps approaching. Ice doesn’t turn. He already knows who’s coming.
Hondo’s voice is soft; directed at Rooster. “I’m outside if you need anything.”
Rooster must nod, or do some gesture because Tom never hears him give a response. In the corner of his eye, he sees Rooster sit in a chair on the other side of the bed, and tentatively take Maverick’s hand in his.
Don’t hurt him . He warns in his mind, like he could force it into Bradley’s. Hurt him and I will kill you.
He’s not sure if he should be worried when he finds that he means that.
2029
He shifts a little energy into pretending he can’t hear Rooster talking to Maverick. Saying all the things that are too late to be spoken. It’s pointless. Maverick isn’t awake to forgive him. Does that part really matter? Maverick would always forgive him . And Bradley will find no forgiveness from him. The only reason he’s even in this room is because Maverick loves the kid.
Does Tom love him anymore? He’s not so sure. He wants to say yes, of course, but Tom has never found love to be unconditional, not really. Love depended on if you treated each other with respect and care. Rooster hadn’t done either of those things. But also, Rooster was Bradley, and Bradley was-
“Brad, do you want to go to the mall with me? Your uncle’s birthday is coming up.”
But the reverse was also true. Brad was Bradley who was-
“Rooster. Enough of this. I know you are angry. You are right to be. But it’s been seven years. Please. Pete was shot down in Bosnia. They don’t know if he’s going to make it. Please visit him.” A message left on a voicemail.
The difference in a name.
The difference between a boy and a man.
The difference in his love.
The boy could be forgiven for the things he did and said. He had been a child. Immature, rash and cautionless. Things that children were. Even when things that he did hurt, they could at least understand. Bradley had lost both of his parents too young. He was young and upset.
The man however, was a man. No longer a child. The only one responsible for his actions and decisions. And he had chosen to be cruel . Something neither Tom or Pete was.
Maybe he doesn’t love him. But Pete does. And that’s enough for tonight. It has to be.
2056
Beep. Beep. Beep.
His fingers tap in time with the monitor.
2113
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Tap. Tap Tap.
2130
Beep. Beep.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
He freezes.
2131
There's a missing beep. Head jerking up and rising to his feet in one fluid motion. The monitor goes shrill. Alarm and lights blaring. He’s pushed to the side as doctors flood the room and take his place by Maverick’s side.
2132
There is no beep.
2133
"Pete." He breathes as he's pushed out the infirmary.
Notes:
:)
I'm actually pretty proud of this chapter, it was fun to write. I hope I did a good job with roosters reasonings and feelings. Writing's Ice's portion was my favorite though. I love repetitive line breaks.
Also I know there’s some typos so in the next couple days you’ll see an update when I fix them
Did i just kill mav?
Let me know what you think!
Chapter 12: A rock and a hard place
Summary:
Waiting should be a form of torture.
Notes:
Alrighty this chapter is completely from Ice's perspective, as you read it remember Ice hasn't eaten or slept in over 36 hours.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
It’s an hour before someone comes to update them. A long, awful, tortuous hour spent pacing in front of the door. The moment he sees the scrubs, he turns his full focus on: “Doctor Hythlen.”
“He needs to be airlifted out of here.” She wastes no time; straight to the point. It’s why he had chosen her as his and Pete’s doctor. No nonsense, or bullshit or sugar coating. “He’s alive,” Thank god . “-but infection has already set in. We have to take the risk of the transport.”
“You said it could kill him.” The very opposite of what they’re trying to do here.
“It could.” She confirms. “But if we do nothing he will die.”
Well. That’s a motivator if he’s ever heard one. “Hondo.” He calls over his shoulder. “Get your things. We leave as soon as the pilots are ready.”
Ice turns on his heel, grateful for this purpose . Something to do other than panic. Pete is alive. It’s his job to keep it that way. His feet lead him to the bridge. “Authorize departure of Helio 1 through 3.”
“Yes sir. We will clear the air space.” Someone answers. He doesn’t care who, so long as it gets done.
“Wake Admiral Simpson and Bates.” He orders another. “And send someone to wake my pilots.”
One of the soldiers nods and hurries out of the bridge. Kazansky doesn’t wait to hear them carry out his orders- he has more important things to do. Like find Pete’s room and get his seabag.
He finds Rooster in the hall. Or more so, Rooster found him . “Uncle Ice.” He breathes once Tom is close. “Did they give you any news?”
As if it was answering him, the sound of the helicopters starting up echoes through the ship. “Yes. He needs emergency care; more than we have on this ship. He is being taken to shore.” Kazansky doesn’t stop moving. “Where is Maverick’s room?”
Due to his rank, Pete would have his own. Somewhere near the Admirals probably. “One floor down. Third door on the right.” Rooster answers automatically, adjusting his path to Ice’s. “Let me come with you. Please.” The man pleads. “I don’t want to lose him.”
You already have . He thinks cruelly. “I’m not your commanding officer. You will have to go through your chain of command.” Rooster doesn’t get to have it both ways. He is not here to grant any favors. He is here for his husband and that is all.
Bradley recoils like he physically struck him. “Uncle Ice-”
“ No. ” He swivels on his heel to face him. “I am not Uncle Ice. Not anymore. You don’t get to have it both ways, Bradley. You’ve been cruel for the sake of being cruel to Maverick. I will not forgive that. You want to visit him in the hospital; I won’t stop you. But I will not bypass the chain of command for you.”
“B-but…” Rooster’s brow furrows in clear hurt. “He’s my godfather, Ice.”
“Now that he’s dying, he is. But he is my husband. And I don’t have the time or the energy to try and do this with you right now. His heart stopped . He needs me more than you right now.” He’s barely keeping it together as it is. His control is fraying; obvious by the way he’s losing his temper now. He shouldn’t be. He doesn’t have time for this. This argument is pointless. He’s stressed, Rooster is stressed, a bad combination. Tom makes himself turn away. He pushes the door open to Maverick’s quarters.
His seabag is in the chair next to the bag. It doesn’t seem like he unpacked much (unsurprising). His favorite watch on the desk against the wall (a gift from Goose. Black leather band with a small white face). There’s a scratch on the face that Tom always meant to go get fixed. The bed is still a mess- Maverick has taken advantage of the fact that no one does room inspections on him anymore- the blue sheets are askew and his yellow PT shirt drapes off the edge.
He throws the shirt in the seabag, but elects to place Maverick’s watch on his wrist. There, he can at least be sure that it won’t break on the trip. As he tightens the wristband, something glints on the nightstand. It demands his attention. It’s a polaroid, he realizes as he picks it up. A well loved one at that. It’s a photo of him and Mav, both asleep, curled into one another. He had never known that Pete took this with him. Honestly, hadn’t even known the photo existed. Based on the furniture it had to have been taken at the apartment they had first gotten together. Everything had still been so new then. All risky and terrifying but it had been worth it to wake up to Maverick.
Something he may never do again.
His eyes burn with the threat of tears.
Pete.
The tears fall despite his will. He can’t help it. Everything is too much . Tom sinks down onto the bed. A ragged gasp tears itself from his throat. Pete’s heart had stopped . Pete had died . Yes he’s alive now . But he hadn’t been. Tom had existed in a world without Pete, and now, they have to risk killing him to save him. Can’t anything go right?
His thumb ghosts over Pete in the photo. Funny. Tom’s side of the photo is worn, like Mav had been doing the same thing while he’s away. The realization is like a hug, an I love you and an I miss you all wrapped in one.
It’s heartbreaking.
The tears blur his vision. So carefully does he lay the photo back on the nightstand (he can’t ruin it. Not when it means so much to his husband.). His head falls into his hands as another sob escapes. His shoulders shake. He’s sure he looks a mess. He is a mess. His life is splitting at the seams and nothing is working to fix it.
The bed dips alongside him, and then there’s a firm hand on his shoulder tugging him into a warm, strong chest. “I got you, Uncle Ice.” Comes the reassuring, surprising , words. Rooster.
“I-I can’t lose him.” He croaks, sacrificing what little was left of his composure. “He’s-” His voice gives. “He’s everything .”
“I know.” Is the response whispered back. “I know.”
He keeps his word. Iceman does not bypass the chain of command. Rooster boards with them regardless. Cyclone must have granted him permission, then. Or Rooster is pulling a Maverick. Tom doesn’t care enough to find out which. All that matters is keeping an eye on Pete’s vitals and keeping him alive long enough to make it to the hospital.
Rooster, the Doctor, Maverick, Hondo, a nurse and himself all ride on one chopper. It’s a tense, silent flight. No small talk, or anything. At best, some small updates between the nurse and the doctor.
It’s a grueling, stressful four and a half hour flight. All he manages to do is sit near the head of Maverick’s bed and card a hand through his hair. He doesn’t even manage to be nervous about someone other than him piloting (he hates being a passenger). Maverick is the object of his sole, exhausted , focus. He can’t remember when he’s last ate at this point. It might have been the morning Pete deployed.
Pete cupped his cheek with sticky fingers and stole a kiss. He tasted like syrup and cinnamon. He had laughed when Tom complained about the syrup on his face.
On queue, his stomach must rumble or something because Hondo is holding out a protein bar. Maverick’s flavor of protein bar. His brow furrows, but he takes it.
“Maverick forgets to eat.” Hondo explains. Voice raised so he could be heard over the helicopter. “I always keep a few on me just in case.”
Thank god for you, Hondo. Ice thinks, suddenly filled with a gratefulness that is typically reserved for thanksgiving. Hondo is one of the best things to happen to Maverick. They were damn near best friends. Anytime Maverick had been in trouble and got moved stations, Ice could be sure to get a text from Hondo within the hour about transferring with him. Even knowing that it could damage his reputation. Ice responds in sign language. A simple flat hand that bows from his chin. ‘Thank you.’ There was little to no way he’d be able to speak loud enough over the helicopter without causing himself pain.
Hondo nods, sitting back. Ice knows he understood. While not as fluent as himself or Pete, Hondo had learned the basics. He watches Hondo’s gaze drift to Maverick and settle there with a pinched brow.
He’ll have to make sure that Hondo gets a good station, if Maverick dies. His heart stutters at the thought, but he persists. Any station he wants. Perhaps a promotion too. Lord knows the man deserves it.
Ice unravels the protein bar and takes a bite. He knows what it should taste like: too sweet. Even for him, but almost exactly like a s’more. He’s had it before, when he runs out of his own lemon flavored protein bars and elects to steal one of Pete’s.
It tastes like ash in his mouth. Somehow worse than an MRE.
He eats it regardless. He knows he has to eat, even if it is that last thing he’s in the mood for. Not eating led to him snapping at Rooster in the corridor. And it’s not like he didn’t mean what he said. It’s just. He hadn’t wanted to say it. Not like that at the very least. Tom knows he’ll have to sit down with Rooster and explain his position, but he intends to do that in a civilized manner. No shouting and yelling. And certainly not while his husband is in this condition. It’d be a waste of time.
There’s a few perilous moments during the flight in which Maverick’s vitals plummeted, but somehow, (he’s not a doctor. He doesn’t know any of what they did) they manage to stabilize him and keep him that way until:
“Prepare for descent.”
They’ve made it. They’ve made it to land and Maverick is still alive. Hondo reaches out and clasps a reassuring hand on his shoulder, both echoing the same bone deep relief.
The chopper lands with a small jerk, and the doors get slid open by military police. Maverick is whisked away from him and into the ambulance. Both Doctor Hylthen, and the nurse (he doesn’t remember her name. He’ll need to find out. Thank her for her help.) take up the seats in the ambulance. His security detail takes their place in the front and rear Escalades of his motorcade.
Hondo, Rooster and himself climb into the middle car. The moment the door closes, police lights light up the street and follow close behind the motorcade. His hands fumble (unlike him) plugging in the phone charger into the port and immediately dials his sister.
“Tom?” Her voice crackles through the phone. It comes out almost as a mumble. He must have woken her up.
“Hey Sarah,” He clears his throat. “I-”
“What’s happened?” She interrupts. Far more awake than just a second ago. She knows him too well.
“It’s Pete.” He bites his lip. “He was shot down on an assignment. We just got back stateside. We’re on our way to the military hospital.”
“Oh my god.” Her voice softens in sympathy. “I’ll call the kids. We’ll meet you there, okay? It’ll be okay.”
Ice runs a hand through his hair. “I’m going to call Slider and them to let them know too.”
There’s shuffling on the other end of the line, and muffled conversation. She must have woken up her husband, Darrell. “No.” She disagrees. “I’ll handle the calls. You just focus on Pete, okay?”
He’s grateful. He doesn’t have the energy to make more phone calls than absolutely necessary. “Thank you.” His voice is etched with relief. “It’s…it’s not good, Sarah.”
“Don’t say that.” She admonishes. “Be optimistic. Pete’s survived a lot. He’ll survive this too.”
God he wishes he had her certainty. Her faith. “Okay.” Is all he says, not agreeing or disagreeing. “I’ll see you soon. I’ll let the guards know to expect you.”
“See you soon.” She agrees and Tom hangs up. He clasps his hands together in front of him.
“Aunt Sarah’s coming?” Now she’s your Aunt? When’s the last time you even spoke to her?
Ice barely turns to look at Rooster. “Yes. All of our family is coming.”
You were wrong. People would mourn him. Tom thinks. Maverick has a family. Maverick would be missed. He has nieces, nephews, brother and sister in laws.
He turns away from the boy. The hospital is approaching. The guards let them in without pause. Pete has already been pulled into emergency surgery by the time the motorcade rolls to a stop.
A security detail surrounds them as he leads the way inside and gets escorted to a private waiting room. “If anyone comes to see Pete Mitchell, send them here.” He tells their escort. “I’m expecting a large group.”
“Of course, Admiral.”
And then they’re left alone in a sterile beige room. His detail wait outside the closed doors. Tom slumps into a seat. Hondo takes one beside him. Rooster sits a few seats down.
There’s no sense of time in this room. The blinds had been closed for security purposes. There’s a clock, but it’s broken. It’s been stuck at 0813 forever.
It could have been five minutes, or a few hours (he wouldn’t know the difference) before the door opens and his niece and nephew enter.
“Uncle Tom.” They both say, almost in sync.
Tom rises and his immediately pulled into a hug by Nicholas. It’s a strong hug. Firmer than he last remembers. The Marines suit the kid well. “How are you holding up?” Nick asks, warm breath tickling his ear.
A hand lays itself on his arm. Emily. “Has there been any news? We got here as soon as we could. Mom and Dad should be here in just a few. ”
He gives Nick a squeeze before letting go and shaking his head. “None so far. He had one surgery on the carrier, but his wound had already been infected. They had to resuscitate him.”
“Oh Tom .” Sarah breathes, having just entered the room with Darrell. The kids part like the Red Sea for Moses and she pulls him into a hug. “I’m so sorry.”
If he had any tears left, he’s sure he’d be crying. Tom swallows the lump in his throat. “He tried to come home.” He croaks. “He wanted to come home.”
Her hand rests on his neck. “Of course he did.” She says, so sure. “He loves you.”
He knows that. Never doubts that. It’s just, Pete loves the sky too. “They took him back for surgery. I haven’t heard anything since we arrived.”
Sarah hums and lets him go. Darrell clasps a hand on his shoulder. “No news is good news, right Tom?”
Right . He thinks. It has to be.
“Bradley?” He hears a cool voice say. Nicholas. It’s startlingly similar to his own voice when he’s upset. “What are you doing here?”
Oh. This is not good.
“Waiting to visit my godfather.” Rooster is already on the defense. “What do you think?”
Nick takes a step forward. “Bit late, huh? You can’t just show up after fifteen years and pretend to care.” Nick had always been so attached to Pete. Mav was his favorite, even with how similar Nick and Ice were.
Shit. Maybe it was because of how similar they were.
Ice agrees. It’s exactly how he feels too. But he can’t deal with this argument right now. He lays a hand on Nick’s shoulder, the boy looks to him, anger is clear. It festers in his eyes. “Please.” He says softly. “Not now.”
And just like that, he deflates. “Of course. I’m sorry, Uncle Ice.” Nick grabs his arm and leads him to a chair. He can still see Rooster in the corner of his eye, tense. Still ready for a fight. But then Sarah blocks his view when she steps in front of Bradley and says something he can’t quite make out.
Emily returns (he hadn’t even noticed she left) with a tray full of food and some water bottles. It’s set on the glass table. “You three need to eat. I know you haven’t.”
So much like her mother . Tom thinks as she pushes water into his hands with a raised brow, daring him to argue. He doesn’t. “Thank you.” He says instead.
“I’ll go see what I can find out.” Darrell announces. “Your friends were a bit further out, but they said they were on their way. But it may be an hour or two.”
That’s okay. At least now his family is here. Even if Emily’s kids aren’t. No reason to drag them out in the middle of the night for this. Kids don’t belong in hospitals.
Nicholas drapes an arm over his shoulders after taking the seat next to him. “He’ll pull through, Uncle.” He reassures. “He’s too stubborn not to.”
It gets a chuckle out of Ice. “Distract me.” He requests softly. “Tell me about work.”
Nick is all too happy to oblige. His ramblings start immediately. Talking about what CO he pissed off, or his new promotion, and this really cool tank he got to ride on. It’s nice. Comforting. The story is only interrupted once by Darrell who informs them that Maverick is still in surgery, and there was no real update.
By the time Nick starts to run out of stories, Slider and the others have arrived. They don’t demand answers or attention, just take up what seats are left and make themselves comfortable. Slider is the only one to waste his breath with a promiseless reassurance. He means well, so Ice will let it slide this time.
Tom’s not sure when, but at some point, he feels a blanket tucked around him, and his face pressed against something soft. Then, sleep bypasses his arguments and finally claims him.
It’s both a curse, and a blessing to dream of Pete.
Notes:
kk poll time: does maverick get the navy cross or the medal of honor?
Also:
Darrell is Sarah's husband, their kids are Emily and Nicholas. They're a few years younger than Rooster. Nick is a marine captain 0-3. It's not the same rank as Pete despite the same title. Pete is an 0-6. Emily is a business major and has two kids (the ones that you see at Tom's house in the movie)
Chapter 13: haven't you slept enough old man?
Notes:
im just spoiling yall today. Two chapters in 12 hours.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
He wakes to the smell of pancakes. For a cruel moment, he almost thinks he’s home, and that for once Maverick has managed not to burn the food. But then all too soon, he remembers that Maverick is in the hospital. In surgery.
Tom sits up with a groan, back protesting the movement the entire time. Damn. He is too old to be sleeping in chairs. The things he does for his husband are borderline ridiculous.
“Morning, Uncle.” Nick greets, seeing him awake. “Mom had breakfast delivered.”
He blinks. “Oh.” That explains it. He clears his throat and takes the coffee offered from Emily. It’s a bit sweet, but better than plain black coffee. “What time is it?”
“It’s like 9.” His niece answers. “No word on Uncle Pete though.”
Still ? He sips the coffee; it’s delightfully warm. “Where’d your parents go?”
“They went to your house to get clothes and some of you and Uncle Pete’s stuff.” Nicholas answers around a bite of bacon. “She figured you wouldn’t leave.
Oh. He’ll have to thank them. Tom stands and grunts as he stretches. He needs to find a doctor to update them. It’s been too long. “Feeling old?” Hondo quips with a tired smile. Doubtful that the man slept.
“I am old.” He counters. Then his brow furrows. Someone is missing.
Nick must notice for he says: “Bradshaw stepped out.” The boy shakes his head. “Can’t even believe he’s here.”
He sighs. “I don’t want him to be.” He admits, causing both of the kids to look at him. “But Maverick would want him close. So I’m doing my best to be amicable.”
“More than he deserves.” Emily mutters. She’s staring at her own coffee. “He wasn’t even at your wedding. Or around when you got cancer.”
Tom presses a quick kiss to her head. “I agree.” He says simply. “But for now, please try to tolerate him.”
“You ask for so much.” Nicholas whines, but it’s obviously put on. So dramatic. It reminds him of his husband.
He can’t help his fond chuckle. “It is appreciated.”
“Admiral Kazansky.” A doctor raps on the door. It’s Hythlen, she has a small smile on her face. Tom freezes in place, coffee still half way being brought to his lips. Pleasepleaseplease- “ Would you like to see him?”
His breath catches. Nicholas (always steady. always there.) is by his side in an instant, hand on his back in support. He can’t help but be grateful. He’s not sure how steady his legs are at the moment. “H-he’s alive?”
“More than alive.” She promises, like a gift from god himself. “He’s awake.”
Awake. Not in a coma. Alive. Not dead.
The coffee is plucked from his trembling hands - Emily - and he covers his mouth in shock. Something between a laugh or a sob escapes him. He’s not sure which. Hell. It might have been both.
“Go on, Uncle.” Nick nudges. It’s easy to spot the relief in his eyes. He doesn’t hold himself so tense. His shoulders are slumped in relief. “We’ll see him soon.”
He gives a jerky nod. “Right.” His voice is rough. “Call your mom. Please.”
“We will.” Emily promises, making a shooing motion. “Give Uncle Pete our love!”
A wet chuckle escapes him. “I will.” He follows the doctor with baited breath.
Every step brings him closer to Pete.
Pete who is alive.
Pete who has come home .
“I can give you all an update later.” Hylthen promises. “But I figured you’d like to see him.”
“I would.” Even he hears the strain in his voice. The hope that constricts his airways. “Thank you. For saving him.”
She smiles in response and pauses in front of a partially open door. “He’s right inside.”
He can hear nothing over the beating of his heart. He pushes open the door, just a little wider so he can step through, then closes it. Tom sucks in a shuddering breath, praying to god this is real and not some sick nightmare. His feet guide him closer until he can see Pete, in all his bruised, broken glory, lazily looking over to him.
Oh god, oh go- “ Tom .” Pete breathes. His voice is warm, scratchy and relieved. Like just seeing him was enough to fix the world.
It’s certainly enough to fix Tom’s.
“Fuck, Pete .” The hesitation leaves him. Tom drops to his side and clasps his hands around Pete’s. The bruises have fully developed now. Black and blue bruises have prime real estate on his face, and peak around the neck brace. He's sure if he were to look under the hospital gown he would see much of the same.
Maverick coughs into his shoulder with a groan. “Wh-what happened?”
How can yo-right. Head trauma. “You were shot down on the mission. It’s been two days.” The worst two days of his entire life.
Confusion settles on Mav’s brow. “The kids? Did the others make it?” Always concerned for everyone else, huh?
“They did.” Tom promises. You saved them. “You were the only one hurt.”
Pete nods in relief, then grimaces. “I feel like shit.”
He can’t help but press a kiss to Maverick’s forehead and breathe him in. He’s here and he’s alive and everything will be okay now. “I’m sure.” He whispers. “You’ve undergone a lot.” Too much. And it’s my fault. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.
Mav hums tiredly. One hand slides up to rest against Tom’s neck. “Tom-I…”
Tom looks down, only to find himself horrified. Pete’s eyes are full of tears. “-I love you.” Mav croaks. God. It’s so good to hear those words again. It’s all he ever wants to hear from this moment forward.
He has to be careful not to disturb the bandages on his face, but he cups his cheek. “I love you too.” His own cheeks are wet. “I thought I lost you.”
“Nah.” Pete leans into his touch as his own tears spill over. “Couldn’t let Cyclone have that pleasure.”
It tears a laugh from him. “I think Cyclone is coming around. He looked almost upset when we were told of your condition.”
Pete’s laugh is small, and short and accompanied with a painful grimace. “Fucker is almost human.”
“You do have a way of growing on people.” Ice mutters in agreement. He hadn’t pegged Cyclone for someone who would end up liking Pete, however. Warlock, he knows had met Maverick prior to this mission.
“Grew on you.” Pete agrees, sitting back, but keeping Tom’s hand close.
“You did.” He presses another kiss to his head. “Do you feel up enough for company?”
His husband's brow furrows. Like he’s still surprised that they have family that would be there to visit, “Who?” He croaks.
“The family.” Tom answers, like it’s obvious. It should be obvious. “Emily, Nicholas, Hondo. Sarah and Darrell went to our house to grab some stuff.”
A small smile lights up Pete’s face. “Of course.” Pete’s always had a soft spot for the kids.
Tom hesitates, debating if he really wants to say his next words. “Rooster is here too. Not sure where he went, however.”
Pete’s smile falters. “Probably left.” He guesses with a weary sigh that breaks Tom’s heart. He doesn’t linger on the subject. “Bring the kids in before I pass out.”
“Aye aye Captain.” He jokes, trying to get Pete to smile again. His reward is a quick twitch of the lips. “I’ll be right back.” He promises, a part of him is scared to leave. Scared the moment he turns his back the illusion will fade and Pete will be back on death's doorstep. Staying isn’t an option, however, and he’ll only be gone for a moment. It’s what he tells himself anyways.
A hum is the response he gets. It sounds tired. He’ll need to make this quick, who knows how long Pete will be able to stay awake. His body must be exhausted. Even without the effects of the medicine.
He steels himself before stepping out of Pete’s room, and heads down the hallway “He wants to see you all.” Tom announces to everyone in the waiting room. He really needs to find out where Slider and the rest of the guys went.
Their heads perk up. Nicholas and Emily are out of their seats first, followed by Hondo. “Mom and dad are on their way back.” Emily tells him. “They’ll be here soon.”
He nods. “He’ll probably be asleep.” Tom warns. “He’s exhausted.”
“At least he’s alive. Stubborn bastard.” Hondo mutters, and Ice can’t help but agree. Tom pushes open the door to Maverick’s room.
“Uncle Pete?” Nick calls into the room as they file in. His nephew immediately goes to Pete’s side.
His husband sits up a little, and his expression softens when he sees them. “Hey kiddos.” He breathes.
“Gave us a scare there, old man.” Emily informs him on his other side, wiping away tears of what he hopes is relief.
“Not old.” Mav protests with a cough. “Your Uncle Tom is the old one.”
Tom rolls his eyes fondly. To think, he almost lost this. This loving bickering. “I’m only two years older than you, dear.”
“Keyword is older.” Nick argues in Mavs defense. His husband has put the oxygen mask over his nose and breathes through it. Pete reaches out with a shaky fist that Nick meets with his own. “I gotch ya back, Uncle Pete.” Nicholas grins. Brat. Tom thinks with a heart full of love.
Pete takes a deep breath before pushing the mask to the side. Even bruised and battered, he still looks so fond of the kids.
“I like this look, Mav.” Hondo says; and it must be an inside joke that Ice doesn’t get, for Pete smiles.
“Only one I got.” His gaze turns to Emily. “How are the kiddos?”
Emily smiles. “Maddy is in fourth grade now. Peter-” It is so unfair that she named a kid after Pete and not him. “-just started Kindergarten. Oh!” She turns behind her and picks up a teddy bear in a uniform that’s holding a plane. “I FaceTimed the kids and they picked this out for you.”
She sits it where Pete can reach it. His husband's fingers curl around the brown furry bear and pull it close. It’s a long, almost awkward moment, before Pete clears his throat. Tom knows his husband is touched by the gesture. “They’ll have to visit and help me name him.”
“I’m sure they’ll be more than happy to help.” Emily tells him. “Peter is a bit unimaginative though. He’s just been adding a ‘Y’ to the end of everything. Beary. Bunny. Fishy.”
Pete chuckles. “Sounds like your Uncle. We got a goldfish in one apartment, and his only idea for a name was goldy.”
He can’t help but roll his eyes. How many times was this going to be brought up? “Yes, well, your suggestion was Mr. Icefish.”
“And yet still better than yours.” Pete smiles over to him. Even with half his head bandaged, and more than half bruised, it still makes his heart flutter. “I’m trying to convince Tom to let us get a dog.”
Tom groans as the kids snicker. “C’mon Uncle Tom, get the man a dog.” Nicholas goads.
“You should listen to our nephew.” Pete laughs, but it’s cut off by a god awful cough that leaves Pete gasping and clinging to the sheets. His gut churns in sympathy. He knows how awful coughs can be when injured, or in his case, diagnosed with cancer. Ice hurries to his side and takes the oxygen mask offered by Hondo and puts it over Pete’s face. “Breathe, Pete. Take a breath.”
His breath is more like a wheeze. His hands wrap tightly around Tom’s wrist. Tight enough that it fucking hurts . But he doesn’t show it. “Get a nurse!” He barks over his shoulder. He doesn’t care who listens. “Focus on me Pete.” He encourages. “I know it hurts, but focus on me. Keep breathing.” His husband's eyes are blown wide. Afraid .
It only takes a moment for a nurse to arrive, and they do something with Pete’s medicine drip, cause he’s back asleep in only a handful of seconds. His head jerks to the side, a silent demand for answers from the nurse. “His lung is punctured.” She explains. “They performed surgery but he will still be in pain for sometime. Especially when he over-exerts himself by working out or laughing.”
“But he’s alright?” Emily asks. She’s holding herself close.
“He will be.” The nurse tells them. “I’ll grab the Admiral’s doctor and paperwork.”
“Captain.” Ice corrects automatically.
The nurse's brow furrows as she looks down to the paperwork. “I’m sorry, sir. But the paperwork here clearly states he is a Rear Admiral.”
Tom blinks. What? He had seen the email from the White House, asking for suggestions to replace Langstein, but he hadn’t seen a single email saying Pete’s name. Hell. There would have to be several Admiral’s willing to nominate Pete, and it sure as hell shouldn’t have happened so soon, and without his knowledge.
“When did he get promoted?” Nick asks from behind him once the nurse leaves.
“...I don't know.” Tom admits. “It may be a clerical error. I haven’t seen anything suggesting this.”
A knock on the door interrupts his confusion, and the doctor steps in. “Good morning everyone.” She gives them a polite smile. Her head turns to Tom. “Is it alright to update you here, Admiral?”
“We’re here!” He hears his sister's voice call, then her and her husband shuffle in with a couple bags.
He spares her a glance before looking back to the doctor. “Of course. Everyone here is family.”
She nods. “You already know the list of his injuries, but for the sake of the others: Mitchell has a punctured lung, skull fracture, five ribs are broken as well as his clavicle.” A hand wraps around his, and he looks to see his sister holding his hand close. “Maverick is currently fighting off an infection from the impalement in his gut.” The Doctor looks directly at Tom. “At minimum he’s look at two weeks here. More realistically up to a month. It can sometimes take five to seven days from brain injuries to appear after a skull fracture. That combined with the infection and lung, it’s safe to say it will take a while.”
“What does his recovery look like?” Nicholas asks. He’s still holding Pete’s hand.
“A lot of physical therapy, and mostly a lot of rest.”” She answers. Hylthen hesitates before continuing. “A punctured lung can be a disqualifying item when it comes to piloting. Depending on how it heals, there is a chance Maverick will never be cleared to fly again.”
Fuck .
Notes:
okay so realistically, someone wouldn't be appointed admiral in that little amount of time, but i figured they think he's more than likely going to die, so they tried to rush it. nicholas is really growing on me tbh
Also: where did dear ol' rooster run off to?
Chapter 14: The last line of defense
Summary:
Nicholas reminisces on his Uncle's.
Notes:
Okay so I'm not the only one that likes nick! So i decided to write this chapter from his pov so everyone can get a grasp of his character, his thoughts and reasonings. Enjoy! I kinda imagine him looking like this as a teenager: https://hips.hearstapps.com/elleuk.cdnds.net/15/37/2048x2730/2048x2730--11e6-84d3-c79e782c8cc7-assets-elleuk-com-thumbs-2227-1381423045-five-minutes-with-douglas-booth-jpg.jpg
and this as an adult: https://superstarsbio.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/10/Douglas-Booth-net-worth.jpg
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Nicholas looks between his Uncle and the doctor. Never fly again? That may as well be a death sentence for Pete. Being a pilot was half of his Uncle’s personality. Ever since he can remember, Pete talked about the jets. How fast they went, how it felt to take off a carrier. All of it. He can so vividly recall all of those small moments.
Nick looks to his Uncle Tom once the doctor steps back out. “You can’t let that happen.”
Tom turns his head partially. God, he seems so old and weary. Haunted. And haunting to see. “That’s not something I can control.” He says softly. “Time comes for us all. Even Pete. Especially if he has been promoted to Admiral.”
His heart stutters in sympathy. This is all awful . He has never once, in his entire life, heard his uncle sound so defeated. So hopeless.
“He’s alive, Tom.” His mom comforts, laying a hand on his Uncle’s shoulder. “He’s still here.”
His uncle is staring at his other uncle. “I know.” He says softly. “But this will break his heart.”
“Will I get to fly in a jet, Uncle Pete?” Nick had asked, sitting in his lap as they watched the jets take off from his Uncle Tom’s office.
“Sure.” Pete had promised, looking down to him. “If that’s what you want to do.”
He had swung his feet idly. “What’s it like?”
His uncle had considered for a moment. “You know that feeling right before you get to go on a field trip? When you wake up and everything feels really different, and nice and exciting?”
His head had bobbed the affirmative. “Yeah! We went to the aquarium last week!”
Pete had smiled at him. “It feels like that, every morning that I know I get to fly. It’s freedom, Nicky. It’s my favorite thing in the world.”
He faintly recalls pouting. “I thought Uncle Tom was your favorite thing in the world.”
Uncle Pete’s laugh was accompanied by a grimace. “He is. But remember, you can’t say things like that here.”
“Oh.” He does remember. “Right. Because we’re playing spies.”
They had not, in fact, been playing spies. It was only once Nick had gotten older, and had been properly sat down by both his uncles, and his parents, and explained why they hid like they did, that he had understood. And he had hated it. It wasn’t fair. Pete and Tom were awesome . They gave great hugs, had so many stories to tell, and were afraid of nothing. Who cared if they were two men in a relationship?
Apparently, a lot of people. Ever since that conversation, he’s been so aware of the world. In fact, it had only taken one week after being told that he got arrested for punching a dude running his mouth about people like his uncles.
He remembers staying up late when DADT was repealed waiting for it to strike 0600 in his Uncle’s time zone. (he had actually only made it to 5:47 but that was close enough) before calling his Uncle Tom, congratulating him.
His Uncle had chuckled, but even through the phone he had heard the smile. “Thank you, Nick.”
Bosnia happened next. He had been at dinner with his parents and Uncle Tom. His Uncle always tried his best to not be on his phone during visit, but as he climbed in rank it became harder and harder to do so. The effort was appreciated all the same. That night, his phone wouldn’t stop ringing, so with a sigh, his Uncle answered. Nick hadn’t heard what was said, but from the way his breath had caught and the way he went still.
There was only one thing in his Uncle’s life that could cause this sort of reaction.
Uncle Pete.
“Tom?” His mom had probed after a moment.
It startled Tom out of his thoughts, and he rose with jerky steps. “I-I’m sorry. I have to go. It’s Pete.”
His heart dropped to his feet. “Let me come with you.” Nick had risen. “Please.”
Tom had agreed after a moment and during the flight, had called in a favor to Nick’s CO. It was astonishing how many people owed his Uncle favors. Even from people in different branches.
Nick had been there when Tom made the call to Bradley. Had been there watching Pete’s health decline and his Uncle Tom sink into a depression.
Nick had swallowed his own pride and tried calling too. “Bradley.” He keeps it short. “Stop fucking around and come see him man. It’s not good.”
Bradley had never shown up.
He remembers when it had become legal for his Uncles to get married. He remembers that before he could even call, he had gotten a call. Surprisingly, both of his uncles had been on the call. Even though Pete was supposed to be overseas somewhere .
“Nicholas!” Pete had called out. “You awake?”
“I am now .” He had grumbled.
“Good.” Tom’s voice hadn’t been so transparent as Mav’s, but even so, Nick could hear the joy. “We have news.”
Nick recalls sitting up in bed with a furrowed brow, “Yeah?”
“We’re getting married!”
Tom laughed at his husband's statement. “We are.” He confirms. “We wanted you to be the first to know.”
He also remembers the look on their face when they told him that his cousin Bradley wouldn’t be coming. The grief and sorrow that had been plain on his Uncle Pete’s face, and the disappointment that reeked off of Tom. They had tried to hide it- that was obvious- but they hadn’t quite managed.
The wedding was beautiful. Not a terribly large affair (just because it was legal didn’t mean it was accepted ), but all of his Uncle’s friends had made it. Slider had been Tom’s best man, and Nicholas had been Pete’s. (the spot had belonged to Bradley. Nick had known it. But if Bradley wouldn’t be there for them, he’d be there for every moment.)
Then the cancer happened. Uncle Tom had been bedridden and Pete had requested to be stationed stateside so he could be there. Nick remembers at the worst of it, when there were concerns that the Chemo and radiation wasn’t working.
Pete had stepped out, had said he’d be right back, but that had been twenty minutes ago. Nick couldn’t help but chew his lip in concern. Tom tapped his arm, wanting his attention.
Dutifully, Nick looked over to see his Uncle signing to him softly. ‘Go find him. Please.’
He wanted to. Truly. But he’s also terrified the moment he steps away something will happen to Tom. He’s already weak, and more frail than he’s ever seen him. His eyes are dark and sunken in. ‘Nick.’ His uncle begins again, with shaking hands. ‘He needs you.’
He needs you, Uncle. He had thought. He needs you to get better. “Okay.” He had given in. “But I’ll be right back, okay? I promise. Right back.”
A small nod and then he was off. It didn’t take long to find his Uncle Pete. The man was sitting in a waiting room chair, head bowed, shoulders slumped, and crying.
He had never seen his Uncle cry before. It just wasn’t something he did. As unhealthy as it was, Pete had always been a man to shove his problems down. “Uncle Pete?” He calls softly, inching forward.
Pete’s head had snapped up, and in an effort to save face, he hurriedly wiped his tears. “Nicholas?”
Nick took the seat beside him, and laid a hand on his back. “What’s wrong?” There were so many things wrong. The world was wrong. How can his Uncle be dying? After everything? The world is so damn stupid!
A slight hysterical laugh escaped him. “I tried calling Bradley. Letting him know about Ice’s cancer. Sent me to voicemail. It was over a month ago, and he isn’t here. I get he hates me. I understand. But god, it’s Tom.” His voice had given out. “I just want him here for Tom.”
I hate you, Bradshaw. Nick thought, and how seriously he felt it surprised him. He’ll never let that man hurt his family again.
Now Bradley is showing up fifteen years later and thinking he will be welcomed back with open arms. Fuck that. He doesn’t get to do that! Not after Bosnia. Or after the tours in Iraq and Afghanistan. Not after the cancer and the wedding, or the funerals. He had decided he wasn’t family. How dare he come back?
His sister interrupts his thoughts. “I’m going to go check on the kids, and then I’ll come back.” She tells them. “If Uncle Pete is feeling up to it I could bring them by to see him?”
“He’d like that.” Tom agrees with a small nod. “I’ll ask when he wakes.”
Emily nods, she gives their parents a hug, the rest of them a wave before stepping out.
Hondo is the next to leave. “I’ll update Cyclone and Simpson.” He says before bowing out.
Tom is looking back to Pete. “I have to make a few calls.” He announces softly. Then he looks over his shoulder to Nicholas. “Would you mind staying with him?”
That’s not really the only thing his Uncle is asking of him. It’s a request to protect and oversee. Keep Pete safe. Is the actual request. “I’m not going anywhere.” It’s a promise.
“Thank you.” He watches as his Uncle presses a long kiss to Pete’s forehead. It’s such an intimate moment that he ducks his gaze. “I love you.” He hears Tom whisper. “I’ll be right back.”
Nick can’t help the roll of his eyes when his Uncle ruffles his hair as he steps out. His parents start to unpack the things they brought from his Uncle’s house and put it away. From the looks of it they grabbed the essentials: clothes, back up uniforms, chargers; everything. Someone would have to make another trip, though, if Pete really is going to be stuck here for a month. God knows Uncle Tom isn’t going anywhere. Especially after he had looked last night. Miserable. Terrified. Heart-broken.
Nick settles into the chair beside his Uncle, just in time for the person he hates most in the world to step in. Both his mom and dad pause, sharing a glance that Nick doesn’t even bother to try and translate. He leans forward, gently sitting Mav’s hand back on the bed. “Bradshaw.”
“Cavanaugh.” The man greets in kind. He shifts his weight between his feet. “Is there any news?”
He won’t go into detail. Not with him. “He’s going to make it.” Is all he answers with. It would be up to Tom to divulge anything further.
“Oh thank god.” Bradley’s shoulders slump. He takes a bold step forward. “Has he woken?”
“He has.” Nick rises. “Where were you?” Abandoned them again, huh?
His ex-cousin stiffens. “Calling the squad that flew with Uncle Mav.”
“Don’t call him that.” Nick sets his jaw. Being related to them was a privilege . One Bradley threw away. “You aren’t family anymore. You made that clear.”
We used to be close, Bradley. Proper close. Baseball games and birthday parties. What the hell happened to you man?
“It was a mistake.” Brad argues firmly. “I’ll make it up to them.”
“How exactly do you intend to do that? It’s been fifteen years. You haven’t been here for anything. You can’t just waltz in he-
“Enough.” Tom’s voice isn’t sharp, biting, or even cold. Just tired. “Rooster. I think we should have a word.”
Rooster doesn’t even turn fully towards Tom. “Can I see Maverick first?”
“Yes.” His uncle doesn’t hesitate to answer. “But Nick stays.”
If he wasn’t almost thirty he’d stick his tongue out in victory.
“Ice-”
“No. Nick stays. I need him to look after Pete.” Like you should have been doing. Nicholas thinks.
Bradley sighs, then nods. He waits to move closer until the others have left, then he takes a seat beside Pete.
Only out of respect for his Uncle does he turn away and give Bradley some semblance of privacy. It’s silent, for a long time. He imagines Bradley is just holding Pete’s hand.
Nick blinks in surprise when Bradley speaks, and it’s directed at him. “He pulled my papers from the academy.”
“I’m aware.” Pete had never hid what he had done.
“Then you know why I haven’t been around.”
Nicholas shakes his head. “I get being angry about it.” That’s true. He would have been angry. But never, could he have ever done the things Rooster did. “But did you ever even try to understand? Parents make mistakes, man. Especially parents who have actually seen their friends die.”
“He cost me four years of my career.”
“And you let it cost you a family.” Finally, does he turn towards Bradley. “It’s too late. The time has gone and passed, Rooster. Uncle Pete may forgive you. Or he might not. That’s up to him. But you aren’t family to the rest of us. Not anymore.”
Hurt flashes across Bradley’s face. What did he honestly expect? “You should go talk to Admiral Kazansky. He doesn’t like to be kept waiting.” Nick turns back out the window. He half wonders if Rooster is going to ignore him, but then hears the scrape of the chair against the floor and faint footsteps that walk out. I got you, Uncle Pete. He promises and resumes his post back by his side. I always got your back, old man.
Notes:
Hope you all enjoyed!
also the amount of names i had to use because they're both uncles it ridiculous
Chapter 15: Forgive and Forget? Fuck that.
Summary:
Bradley Bradshaw meets COMPFLACT Admiral Kazansky for the first time.
Notes:
the long awaited discussion, hope I did it justice!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The blinds are shut again in the waiting room, but this time it is not for security. No. It’s for privacy. This is going to be a hard conversation with just the two of them. Hardly warranted an invitation for others to watch.
He’s already cleaned up a bit. They had, admittedly, left the room a bit of a mess, and Tom doesn’t do messes . So he busied himself by combining the food into a few containers (he really needs to thank his sister for feeding everyone) and folding up the blankets someone had acquired through the night. He does indulge in a second cup of coffee. No cream. No sugar. The way Pete likes his. Most people would think it was the opposite. That it would be the Iceman who takes his coffee black, and Pete who would like it to be more milk than coffee.
They’d be wrong. Tom takes his time with things. Wakes up earlier. Enjoys the comfort of home and takes the time to make a cup of coffee that he enjoys. Pete, though. After all the deployments he’s had (more than Ice at this point) and how late he’s always running (“ Let me sleep, Tom.”) , Pete never makes the time to fix up a proper coffee. Just enough to pour one black.
Some mornings, if Tom was feeling particularly generous, he’d make Pete a coffee too, but always with a dash of a seasonal cream (a small I love you) . Pumpkin in the fall, Peppermint in the winter… Tom sips the coffee. Far too bitter to his liking, but it’s an easy sacrifice to feel just a bit closer to his husband.
The door clicks open and Tom straightens, habitually straightening out his shirt (he’s not even in uniform so it doesn’t even really matter). Rooster has come. “Bradley.” He greets levelly after the door has been shut. “I owe you an apology for how I acted on the boat. It was unprofessional of me.”
“It’s okay.” Bradley forgives. He runs a hand through his hair. The man reeks of exhaustion. He must not have slept well last night. God knows none of them did. “I know you were just worried about Mav.”
Still am . He thinks to himself. I’ll be worried till he’s out of this place. “I was.” He agrees with a small nod. “But I shouldn’t have raised my voice.” It’s not what he does. Ice cold. Well. Up until his family is involved. “But I do believe that you and I should be on the same page.”
Rooster’s brow furrows, stilling in his movement to sit. “What do you mean?” The confusion is clear.
“I mean, that I may not have liked how I said it, but I did mean it.” Ice, without the same hesitation, sits in one of the plastic chairs. (They really need to invest in nicer chairs. These were so damn uncomfortable.)
“You meant it.” Bradley repeats with crossed arms. “How could you mean it?”
He’s had enough time to debate and plan his words so that they come easy. “Because it’s been fifteen years.” He tells him. It feels like deja vu the amount of times he’s tried to explain this. “Please, don’t misunderstand me. I know what Maverick did. I helped him do it.”
Rooster freezes. Tom knows Maverick never shared that detail. Pete had been dead set on implicating no one else. So he had hid the fact that it was Carole who made him promise to pull the papers. Hid the fact that Tom was the one to pull the favor to get the application thrown out. Self sacrificing ass . “What?”
“When your mother was dying, she made Pete swear that you would never fly. She was terrified of you dying like your father.” Tom grimaces at the memory. He had been in the room when Carole had demanded the promise. She had been so sick, a shell of who she was before. Her clothes hung off of her, and she was horrifyingly skinny. Carole had been crying, and latched onto Pete’s jacket, and made her demand. “And you know that Pete keeps his promise. But this one. He was going to break.”
“I can’t do this, Tom. This is his dream. How could I do this to him?”
Just watching him pace is exhausting. He sips his whiskey. “You don’t have to do this now. We have time. He has a few years before it’s time to apply.”
Pete shakes his head. “I can’t. I won’t. He’d never forgive me.”
Vulnerability comes off in waves from Bradley. “He didn’t believe it was the right thing to do. I did. But not for the same reasons. I didn’t believe you were ready. You were immature and ill prepared to go to the academy. I told Maverick the same. He wasn’t swayed, at the time, until 9/11 happened.”
That entire day is scorched into his memory. Panicked phone calls to his family, to Bradley telling the kid not to leave the house. The fear of that day, he swears still lingers in his bones.
“9/11 happened and on 9/12 Maverick made the call to pull your papers.”
“Pull his papers.” Pete bypassed greeting him when the phone connected.
Tom hesitates. He may think it’s the right thing, but Pete had never once wavered in his stance. “Are you sure?”
“He isn’t ready. He will get himself killed. And god Tom-” Tom can imagine him shaking his head, slightly breathless. “With what happened yesterday I- he can not fly.”
“Okay.” He promised. “I’ll make sure it’s done.”
Rooster’s hands are shaking as he all but collapses in the seat across from him. “My mom?”
Ice grants him a small nod. “Carole asked us not to encourage your love of planes, so we did our best, we just never expected she would ask that of us, and Pete…after loosing your father like he did, and then the terrorist attack, he felt like he didn’t really have a choice. Losing you was never something he could handle.” he folds his hands together in front of him. “He didn’t want you to know that she made him promise. He’d rather you hate him than your mother.”
“I couldn’t ever hate my mother.” It’s a long moment in which the kid scrubs his face tiredly. “He never told me any of this. I thought he didn’t think I was good enough.”
Tom shakes his head. “You were always more than enough. You were his son. He just wanted you to stay alive. It was me who didn’t think you were ready.” Well . Pete didn’t think he was ready either, but hadn’t found it a good enough reason to pull the papers.
“ Why ?”
“You were rash like Maverick, but cautious like me, but at all the wrong times. You still are. I’ve seen how you’ve trained for this mission. You hesitate, and let your emotions get the better of you.” All the wrong things for someone in a fighter jet responsible for other people's lives. “I had hoped that by pulling your papers that it would give you time to grow into the man you need to be. But it seems like we only worsened the problem.”
Bradley stands suddenly, clenching and unclenching his fist. “Why not just tell me all of this?”
Tom can’t help but raise an eyebrow as the boy starts to pace. “We did. You were still a teenager though, so I’m not surprised you don’t recall. But we did. It only led to you being angry.”
Rooster swears. “I only ever wanted to be like the two of you. And my dad.”
He knows. God does he know. It’s all Bradley ever wanted to talk about as a kid. Especially as he had gotten older. “I know.” Ice sighs. “And you are allowed to be angry with us. You have that right. That’s not what I take issue with.”
“Then what?” He stops pacing and looks to Ice. Is it not obvious?
“I take issue with both the fact that you have been cruel, and the fact that you think fifteen years of no contact can be so easily swept under the rug.” Tom leans forward. “I won’t speak for Pete. But for myself: I’ve moved on Rooster. You didn’t want us in your life. I’ve accepted that. I’ve moved forward with my life. But you haven’t moved past it. You still use every opportunity to use your words or actions to hurt Pete. You should know me better than to think that I am able to forgive and forget that.”
Rooster doesn’t look at him. But Tom can see the words hit home in the way that the boy’s shoulders slump. “What does this mean for us then?”
What does it mean, indeed? “Maverick more than likely will forgive you.” He perks up at that. “So I will not. I have no interest in a relationship with you. I will be polite. You will be welcome in our home so long as Mav welcomes you. But I am not your Uncle Ice. I will pull no favors. I will not cover for you. You will be treated the same as any other pilot as far as I am concerned.”
Rooster is still so terrible at masking his emotions. They’re written out clear as day. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.” His voice cracks. “I just…I didn’t know how to stop being angry.”
“Pride is a cantankerous beast.” Ice muses. “At the very least, what comfort it may bring, Pete will be more than happy to have you back. He’s missed you dreadfully.”
The pacing begins again. “Did you tell him-”
“What you said?” Ice shakes his head. “I have no interest in breaking my husband's heart, Rooster.” Ice rises. “I will make myself clear, however. If you ever say something like that to him, I will ruin you. I will strip you of your rank myself and see to it that you are dishonorably discharged.”
Rooster searches for something on his face. Then sighs. “Yes sir.”
Tom nods. “Good. Then I trust you and I will find no trouble moving forward.”
He ducks his head. “I just- you said that I would always be welcome back.”
“I did.” He recalls the conversation. “And then you looked me in the eyes and said that it wouldn’t matter if my husband dies. Anything I promised before that is null in void. You made your position clear, and now, I have made mine.” His hands fold behind his back. “The family of course will have their own opinion, and course of action. But you will not deter me from mine. You are dangerous. Unsafe to my family, and I will protect them from anyone .”
That’s his job. The one more important than the Navy. Keeping his family safe. His nieces and nephews, their kids, his sister and brother in law and his husband. They’re his to covet and protect.
“Alright.” Rooster concedes with a small nod. Finally, finally, out of energy to fight. “What do I call you then?”
“Admiral Kazansky. Or Mr. Kazansky.” Tom answers. The same that he would require from any other subordinate “Either or. I have no preference.”
For a moment, he doesn’t think Rooster is going to respond. But then he wryly says: “Nick sounds a lot like you.”
“He does.” Tom agrees. “He’s a good man who loves his family. I know he has already made his stance clear as well. Do not be surprised if the others follow suit. Not everything can be forgiven or made up for, Lieutenant.” He lets that sit for a moment. “You're dismissed.”
They lock eyes for an impossibly long second, and for a smallest fraction of a moment, Tom almost sees the boy he raised in his eyes, but then it’s gone as Rooster breaks the contact and leaves.
He expected perhaps regret. Or guilt and longing. But he doesn’t. Rather he feels a bit indifferent. Though, who could really blame him when he’s had the last fifteen years to grieve the relationship they once shared? He won’t waste anymore emotions or time on this mess. Not now, when Pete needs him more than everything. All that would be required of him would be to be civil with Rooster.
He can manage that.
Probably.
Notes:
Okay so this was a bit hard for me to piece together, but i hope it made sense and that yall liked it, i did my best to keep everyone in character and make ice not too standoffish, but also upset. Roosters POV will be coming up soon. If this chapter doesnt seem to feel right lmk and ill give it a rewrite
Chapter 16: Maddy and Pete(r)
Summary:
The squad comes to visit and meets two kids on a (pre) sugar high
Notes:
Sorry for no chapter yesterday, work was exhausting
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
They finally make it back to shore three days after the mission. It’s been an agonizing wait. Cyclone had barely deigned to inform them that Maverick had made it through surgery and was awake and responsive. They had sat down with both Warlock and Cyclone and were offered leave to visit Maverick.
Each of them had agreed, though hadn’t expected that trip to visit Maverick to be accompanied by Admiral Bates and Simpson. Jake hadn’t thought either of them liked Maverick to even consider visiting. Though, the Admiral’s were not lax enough to give the opportunity to ask why . The ride was quiet, cramped, and no small amount of awkward from the port to the hospital.
Simson steps in front of them all, flanked by Warlock. Both are dressed in their khakis while the rest of the team had opted for their BDU’s (camos). They were certainly more comfortable. “Here to see Admiral Mitchell.” Simpson tells the medic at the front desk, whose head pops up from around the tall counter.
Admiral? Hangman’s brow furrows and he shares a confused glance with Phoenix. The fuck ?
“Yes, of course, Admiral.” The medic nods. He rises, and points over his shoulder to an- ah. Elevator. “He’s on the third floor.”
“Which room?” Bates asks from just behind Admiral Simpson. Do they plan that? Jake wonders. Bates is always beside him.
The medic looks over to him, like it was obvious, but explains: “He’s the only patient on that floor. You can’t miss him.”
Right. Hangman thinks. If the Admiral is here then it would be closed for security purposes.
Simpson clears his throat. “Thank you.” He passes the desk. It’s just a short walk to the elevators.
Bates presses the up arrow to call the elevator. He doesn’t bother looking over his shoulder as he says: “I expect you all to be on your best behavior.”
“Yes sir.” He speaks the clearest of them all.
The elevator dings and the silver doors slide open. Cyclone and Warlock step in. The rest don’t bother trying to step in, instead resolve to wait for the next one. As soon as the doors close Coyote says: “We all heard the medic say Admiral Mitchell right?”
“Do you think they promoted him for the mission?” Phoenix asks.
Bob shakes his head. “You have to be nominated to even be in consideration. It’s not just a standard promotion.”
“The only person who would nominate him would be Kazansky.” Fanboy thinks aloud. “And I’m pretty sure that's not enough.”
The door dings again as it arrives back to their floor. They step into the elevator once the doors open. “It must have been. Simpson isn’t a man to make a mistake like that.” Payback disagrees. “Hell. It might have been done to ground him.”
Jake ignores them all. He isn’t in the mood for their idle ponderings. Yes, he’s as confused as them, because Kazansky wouldn’t be allowed to nominate or even influence the decision. The Navy was strict about things like that. But then, he’s the only one in the cramped elevator who knows that Mitchell is married to him. The 3 button lights up as he jabs it (perhaps a bit too hard. But no one really notices.)
Rooster had called them the day before and had given them an update on Maverick. He hadn’t said much (honestly sounded like he didn’t know much) But that Maverick was alive and responsive. The exact same that the Admiral’s had said. But can he fly ? They never touched on.
I didn’t kill him . Was his first thought when he had heard the news. Full of relief. The sort when it’s been a long day at work, and you finally make it home and toe off your shoes, and collapse on the bed. The next was dread. Like work texting you the moment you get on that bed. But he may never fly.
That might be worse than actually killing him, at least to Mitchell. Kazansky, he’s positive, would prefer Maverick alive, over anything. Kazansky didn’t blame him for what happened, but that didn’t mean Maverick would see it the same. After all, Mav had been the one actually there . Kazansky had only ever read it, two very different points of view. The chime of the elevator demands his attention, and the door slides open. Children’s laughter is the first thing that reaches his ears. A boys and a girls, if he’s correct. Why would kids be here? Did Maverick have kids?
That wouldn’t make sense. He would have had kids years ago. They would be around Rooster’s age. Said kids run right between Cyclone and Warlock who look after the kids with furrowed brows.
“Sorry mister!” The older of the two says, turning back for the apology. She looks up to Simpson with a grin. She’s maybe three feet tall with long brown hair. Couldn't be older than ten. Her small hands have a butterfinger clutched close. Who, Jake assumes is her brother, comes up and pulls on her other hand.
“C’mon mads. Uncle Petey said he’ll share!” The boy whines, tugging.
Uncle Petey? Did Maverick have siblings?
“It’s alright.” Cyclone forgives, confusion palpable in his tone. “I think we’re looking for Pete too.” Damn it feels weird to hear Simpson say Maverick’s first name.
“Oh!’ She brightens. “You can follow us! Uncle Pete sent us on a super secret mission.” She whispers.
“Is that so?” Warlock indulges, following the child.
“Yep!” She holds up the chocolate bar. “He wanted candy but Uncle Tom said he should wait. So he gave us Uncle Tom’s wallet and said we could get anything we want so long as we bring back a Butterfinger!”
Ah. That explains the boy with an arm full of M&M’s and chips.
She turns back to them, expression solemnly serious. “You can’t tell Uncle Tom.”
“We won’t.” Cyclone swears after sharing a glance with Warlock. “Never heard a thing.”
The grin is back in an instant. “Cool! He’s in here.” She points to the half open door. The boy must have gotten bored with them, if the way he’s hurried into the room is anything to go off of.
Cyclone turns back to their group. “Sersin, you can join us.” The rest of you wait here. We don’t need to overwhelm him.”
Jake steps forward, then blinks at the sudden hold on his hand. He looks down to see the girl is pulling him towards the room. “I’m comin lil miss.” He promises. He doesn’t resist her tug. Who are you two? He wonders.
He tries to be quiet, respectful, but the kids have no such restraint or hesitation. They push past the polka dotted curtain and reveal Pete “Maverick” Mitchell in all his glory. He’s in a blue and white hospital gown. Has a brace around his neck. But he’s alive. There’s no denying it. He had not killed Maverick.
Admiral Kazansky, predictably, (at least to those who know of his relationship) is sitting beside Maverick with a book in hand, and his other hand absently playing with his husband’s hair. It is painfully domestic.
It’s sweet, actually. Kazansky looks up from his book when they enter but his attention is quickly stolen by the two kids (who’s kids??) who dump their pile of candy on Maverick’s lap. “Maddison.” Tom’s voice is sweet. “Peter. Where did you two get all of this?”
“More importantly-” Mav cuts in. “Which one of you has my Butterfinger?”
“I do!” The girl- Madison ’s fist shoots out in offering. With the grip she has on it Jake wouldn’t be surprised if the chocolate bar was both snapped in two and partially melted.
Maverick smiles, and it’s more genuine than any he’s seen before. “That’s my girl.” He takes the bar and meets the little girl's demand for a fist bump.
“Oh!” The girl turns to young boy and takes the billfold from him. “Here you go Uncle Tom!”
Kazansky blinks, brow furrowing a little as he takes the wallet. “Pete.” He sighs. “You’re a terrible influence. And we have the same bank account. Just use your card.”
“You said no.” Maverick shrugs, then winces. “Besides. Not as fun.” He looks at the two kids. “Why don’t you go find Uncle Nick? We have to talk about some grown up things.”
Madison pouts, and blows a stray piece of brown hair out of her face. “I’m grown up!”
Maverick’s smile grows. “You are.” He agrees patiently. “But Peter isn’t, besides, you have to share all this candy with your Uncle, don’t you think?”
“Fine.” She gives in when the Iceman gives her a pointed look over Mav’s shoulder. “But we’ll be back!” She swears, dragging her brother and their candy out the room.
“Gentlemen.” Tom nods towards Cyclone and Warlock, who both straighten when addressed. It’s kind of funny. Kazansky is a powerful, and respected man, however, it was far harder to see that man in the one in front of him. He wore gray sweatpants and a navy hoodie. Reading glasses sat atop his hair which was a far cry from the picture that hangs on every base this side of the country. Never once had he ever expected to see the Commander of the Pacific Fleet so casually. The man looks like he belongs on some mountain resort with a Long Island, rather than on a naval base.
“Admiral Kazansky.” Cyclone greets respectfully with a small nod in return. “Maverick.”
Maverick grunts and Jake sees him sit up a bit further. “Admiral Simpson, Bates. What can I do for you? Poor fashion to write a man up while in the hospital.” He jokes, with a partial smile. But with Maverick’s record, Hangman wouldn’t find it surprising at all if he meant that seriously.
“It would be indeed.” Warlock agrees. “We simply wanted to see how you were holding up, and well,” He gestures over to Hangman. “Your team insisted on accompanying us. The rest are outside.”
Maverick smiles over to him (it reminds him of the smile he gave the kids). Hope kindles inside his chest. Maybe Mav really didn’t blame him. “Well. I’m above ground, so that’s a good thing.”
Iceman mutters something that sounds like: “Despite your best efforts.”
Mav rolls his eyes, and it’s only now that Jake notices the bags under his eyes. Hell. Under both his and Iceman’s. They both seem exhausted. Mav from obviously, almost dying. Kazansky, he assumes, is from grief and fear. Or maybe rowdy children. “ ‘fraid I’ll be stuck here for a bit, though. They estimate about a month.”
Jake steps forward. “Will you be able to fly again?” Please tell me I didn’t take the skies from you.
Maverick pauses, then looks to the Iceman, and then to Jake. Fuck. “...They aren’t sure yet.” He admits, plucking at his blanket. “They have to see how my lung heals.”
“It’s punctured, then?” Cyclone asks, rhetorical, but Maverick nods all the same.
“Cain will be thrilled.” Maverick muses with a tight grin. Jake has to wonder if it’s from pain, or fear.
Kazansky snorts, and looks over the edge of his book. “I’ve never known Chester to be happy about anything. This, however, may just get that man to throw a party.”
“Shut up.” Mav rolls his eyes. “He doesn’t like you either.” He reminds pointedly.
The Iceman shrugs, uncaring. “It’s mutual. He’s a dick.”
“Certainly a man… that’s an acquired taste.” Warlock puts politely, but Maverick laughs.
“Ow.” The man hisses in between laughs. “Not fair. How come you’ve decided to be funny when I can’t laugh?”
“Patience is a virtue.” Cyclone says wryly (are they friends? He sounds friendly.).
“One my husband does not have.” Kazansky interjects, and is met with grumbled agreement from the Admirals.
“On a more serious note.” Simpson begins hesitantly. It draws the undivided attention of Admiral Kazansky, and nope . Jake takes it back. The man most certainly is intimidating even when in sweats. Very much in control, and unafraid to show it. “We need to talk about the mission."
Maverick pats his husband's lap. Almost like calming him. Odd. Jake would have guessed their relationship would have been the opposite. “What, specifically?”
“We’ve settled on awarding Bronze Stars to each pilot who flew the mission.” Oh. Cool. Warlock begins after seeing Cyclone nod. “Admiral Simpson and I feel that a higher degree of award would be more reflective of your role in this mission.”
What would they give him? If he recalls correctly, Mav already had a silver star, but hell, maybe they'd give him a second one.
There’s a slight furrow in Maverick’s brow. “The medals aren’t that important to me.”
“They are deserved nonetheless.” Cyclone speaks up. “We are getting ready to suggest you for a Medal of Honor or Navy Cross.”
Holy shit. Holy fucking shit. Why did they let him in the room for this?
Iceman seems as surprised as Jake feels. The man looks at Cyclone and Warlock, then to his husband, then back to the Admiral’s. “It was the two of you.” Kazansky pieces together, “Who suggested him for Admiral.”
“ I’m sorry? ”
Did Maverick not know? Did no one tell him about his promotion?
“It was.” They confirm. Cyclone looks at Maverick. “I don’t much like you. But you are a damned good pilot. And I believe with you as an Admiral, we can bring more of our soldiers home than without you.”
Maverick blinks, and then blinks again. Jake isn’t sure what exactly the man's thought process is, but his expression turns from bewildered to serious. He completely skips addressing the promotion. “No Medal of Honor.” He tells them. “If you have to pick one, pick the Navy Cross. I do not want the Medal of Honor.”
“Why?” Jake asks before he can help himself. It’s the highest award of any branch, who in their right mind would turn that down?
Patiently, Maverick answers. “You know what Don’t Ask Don’t Tell is, don’t you Hangman?” At his confused nod, he continues. “For most of Tom’s and I’s relationship, it was illegal for it to even exist, so we hid it. Then it was legal, and the memo was repelled, but it still isn’t a safe and welcoming world, Jake.”
He’s certain he’s not imagining how uncomfortable Cyclone and Bates are. “I don’t understand what that has to do with this?”
“I serve under Tom’s command.” He explains. “That’s already a problem when it comes to the code of conduct,” Like Maverick has ever given a shit about that , Jake thinks. “But they don’t look too closely at our relationship due to Tom’s rank, and the fact of when our relationship came to be. If I were to take that Medal, it would be done on live TV, by the President himself, and it could ruin both of our careers. Nevermind our private lives.”
That’s so fucked up. “Oh.”
Maverick turns back to the others. “No Medal of Honor.”
“No Medal of Honor.” Cyclone concedes.
Jake is sure he wasn’t supposed to notice, but those words seem to cause the Iceman an almost physical pain. The man's lips are thinned out, and his brow furrowed slightly. Displeased.
He’s not the only one to notice. “Get well soon, Admiral. Please, reach out if you need anything.” And then the Admiral’s are gone, leaving Jake alone with Kazansky and Maverick.
“You alright, kid?” Maverick’s voice draws him out of his thoughts.
Jake blinks. “i-Yes sir.” He moves closer to the bed. “I’m glad you’re alright.”
“Thanks to you.” He agrees. “You saved my ass out there.” He smiles, obviously proud.
Proud? Of him?
“You’re a good man, Sersin, and a damn good pilot.” Maverick continues. “You might have to change your callsign if you’re going to keep this up.”
The joke acts like a balm on his soul. “Eh, not sure how entertaining that’d be. I’m thinking that was a one time only deal.”
Maverick laughs, well. It’s a muffled, painful one, but it’s there. “Careful. You’ll make my Wingman jealous.”
Somehow, Jake doesn’t have to look at Kazansky to know the man is rolling his eyes. “Right. Jealous of a kid. Sure thing, Pete.”
Jake nods. “Besides, they’d have to find a callsign as good as mine to replace it. Impossible, if I were to reckon.”
“I like you kid.” Maverick prefaces, but shakes his head as best he can. “The Iceman has you beat, though.”
“Mr. Iceman.” Kazansky corrects.
“Sure, Slider .”
Jake isn’t sure who that is, but he laughs all the same. “Do you want to see the others?”
“Sure.” Maverick agrees. “Send them in. Warning though-” He rests back into the Iceman’s side. “-I don’t have much left in me.”
Jake…doesn’t doubt that. Neither does the iceman either, it seems, he pulls Mav closer into his side and puts the book on the table adjacent. He turns away from the intimate scene, and heads for the door. “I’ll handle most of the questions.” He hears him mutter. “Save your energy. If it’s too much, just tap my leg.”
Exhaustion seeps into Maverick’s tone. He can still hear it at the door. “Don’t think any of this gets you out of trouble for the Admiral thing.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, dear.” The Iceman laughs.
Notes:
The rest of the squad will be next, but it's hard to juggle too many characters at once so ive broken it up into pieces, also so they can discuss separate relevant topics. Also we've hit 40k words! Thank you so much to everyone who has commented, im doing my best to respond when I can.
Let me know what you think of this chapter, and if everything makes sense.
Chapter 17: Two Stars Too Late
Summary:
Awards and Medals for a life he's never gotten to live
Notes:
okay so this wasn't where i had imagined this chapter going, but it is certainly were it landed lmao
Key info:
SAS is basically the british version of navy seals, and they have actually worked with the navy in operation iraqi freedom.
Price and roach are callsigns from Call of duty modern warfare 3. I borrowed them and the idea of the SAS from the game cause it was easier lol
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“What rank have I been promoted to, exactly?” Maverick asks in the lull between visits. His head rests against Tom’s chest. He still smells like the cologne he’s been wearing since the 90’s. Pete’s not even sure how he manages to get his hands on it these days, and he lives with him. He’s grateful all the same. After all these years, it smells like home.
“You want to get into this now?” Tom sighs, but answers regardless. “Rear Admiral, Upper half.”
“I skipped a rank?”
He confirms with a small hum. “Cain wasn’t incorrect when he said you should be a two star Admiral. Uncustomary, but heard of. I suppose it will be up to you if it was a courtesy promotion.”
Does he want it to be? Pete wonders. The promotion has already been given. There’s no way to avoid it like the others. Hell, he might have made it to Ice’s rank if he hadn’t turned down every opportunity that could lead him there. What would his responsibilities be? Would he ever see the inside of a jet again? He doesn’t answer Tom, but the dread in his stomach has already formed. “Do you want to move before they come in?” It’s still a blessing for either to be an acceptable option, but still. Their relationship has never been a very public one. Whether it's because of DADT or just because it’s who they are, he doesn’t care much. Too late for that to change.
“No.” Tom answers simply. “I’m comfortable.” He looks down to him. “Unless you would prefer I did?”
It’s a kind offer, but a needless one. “You know I don’t want you to. It’s your career that concerns me.” This close, he can see Tom’s jaw set.
“Fuck my career.” He says firmly, never breaking eye contact. “I almost lost you. Nothing else matters.” Pete can see the thoughts behind his eyes. “Besides. The Navy already knows of our relationship. It doesn’t really matter if they know.”
Huh. “I love you too.”
Footsteps break their conversation. “Admiral Mitchell!” Coyote grins as he enters with the others. “Congrats on the promotion, old man.”
“Did they give you one or two stars?” Payback calls, rounding the corner.
“Does everyone know but me?” Pete has to admit, it’s fucking hilarious , to see them all stop in their tracks and gape like a fish when their brain catches up to the fact that it’s the Commander of the United States Naval Pacific Fleet that’s laying in his bed.
“A-Admiral Kazansky.” Bob stutters. “Sir.”
Fanboy hesitantly starts with: “Should we come back…?”
Pete chuckles. “Daggers, meet my husband. Tom Kazansky.”
“You’re married?” Phoenix’s jaw practically drops. She turns to Hangman when she notices that he’s the only one not surprised. “You knew?”
Jake shrugs. “I was told before the mission. I didn’t think I was meant to share.”
“Your discretion is appreciated, Lieutenant.” Tom inclines his head. “You can all be at ease, I’m hardly on duty at the moment.”
It very obviously doesn’t put the group at ease until, “Married up, eh Mav?” Coyote jokes.
It eases the tension quite well as they all laugh. “In his dreams, kid.” Pete rolls his eyes. “He only has his position cause I turned down every promotion after Captain.”
“The only reason you’re still in the Navy is because I won’t let them kick you out.” Ice rebukes with a raised brow.
“You turned down being an Admiral?” One of the kids asks.
“I did.” He feels his nose wrinkle of its own accord. Imagine the paperwork . “Why would I want it? It would ground me.” It has grounded him, hasn’t it? The dread is back in full force, and with it comes another wave of exhaustion. As well as a squeeze of his shoulder from Tom. “I was offered it a few times, actually. Most recently after my silver star.”
Payback finds himself a seat to the left of his bed, and Fanboy sits right beside him. “How’d you get that one, anyways?”
Ice fields the question for him. “The town that was being used as the base of operations was attacked. Maverick stayed behind to assist the SAS with the evacuation and clearing the area which was outside of his responsibility as he is primarily a pilot. Despite that, Maverick does have quite a few awards for marksmanship. “
“Damn straight.” He mutters.
“So, he armed himself and stayed until everyone had been evacuated. He had taken a bullet for a soldier in the beginning, but hid it until he couldn’t any longer.”
“Jesus Mav.” Jake mutters.
What else could he have done? There had only been seconds to formulate a plan. The mortars had hit, and then suddenly screaming, chaos, people evacuating, taking cover. How could he not help? He was not born to run away. Only forward. To help. He had taken the M-16 off a dead body- Private Lewis . A kid . He had made the kid make him a coffee just that morning. He knew it had been a hot zone, but never had he thought they’d be ballsy enough to attack their base directly.
Seven hours. Seven hours of hell with a bullet lodged firmly in his shoulder.
But in those seven hours, he had saved countless lives. He had been ushered to the medics, supported by two members of the SAS. Pierce and Roach. Covered in blood, both his and others, grime and sweat. Sent home for leave directly after, and for those seven hours of hell, he got a star on his chest, and offered a star on his shoulders.
A star that Tom had asked him to take. A star Pete had refused.
Operation Iraqi Freedom was the last deployment Mav had taken. Everything since then was just test flights. Far away from combat. That was the last time he had seen active combat, before this task force.
He’s killed people. Both up front and safe up in the air for precision bombings. What has it gotten him? Time away from his family? From his husband? He’s gotten to see the world, but only on military bases really. He’s seen destruction. Buildings topple over with civilians inside. War Dogs starved and dead on the side of roads. Friends blown up. Friends who never got to come home.
Were the planes worth it? Was the adrenaline rush worth the nightmares?
What was peace like? Was it better? Worse?
“Pete.” Tom’s breath is warm on his ear. “Are you alright?”
He must have gone silent for too long. Pete can’t find it in himself to speak, so instead he just taps Tom’s leg. Taking the out that Tom had mercifully had the foresight to provide.
Should he retire? Say goodbye to the only thing he’s known all these years? Going out a two star Admiral really wouldn’t be the worst. But what would he do? Everything would be unstructured. No rule book or meetings, or anything . It would all just be whatever he wants. To most, that would probably sound wonderful. But for him, it’s terrifying.
A warmth plants itself on his cheek. A hand. Tom is cupping his face. “Pete.” His husband says, he can hear the concern in it. “Can you hear me?”
A painful jerk of his head is the best he can manage. Pete doesn’t trust himself to speak. Not right now. He’s not sure anything would come out even if he did try.
Tom’s face swims before him. Piercing blue eyes break through the mirage of memories he knows aren't really there. “Maverick. Focus on me.”
He’s trying . “T-Tom.” He gasps.
“That’s right.” He nods. “Can you tell me what’s going on? Are you in pain?”
“What was this all for?” Maverick croaks. Voice hoarse, and shit - is he crying? These fucking pain meds…
He doesn’t have to see Tom’s face to know he’s confused. “I-what was what for?”
“ Everything.” He knows that his answer isn’t descriptive. Or particularly helpful. But he doesn’t have it in him to describe his thought process.
His husband's voice is tense. Pleading, almost. “Pete. Love. I don’t understand.”
Pete turns away from him, and lets his gaze fall to the window. “Nothing. I’m fine. You can go.” That came out wrong. He’s aware enough to know that.
“I’m sorry- go ?” Great. Ice is frustrated. “Like hell I’m going anywhere with you like this.”
Pete feels his own jaw set, and doesn’t respond. He hears his husband grunt, and sit in one of the chairs. He still doesn’t look at him.
Has he held Tom back from actually living life? From having a proper marriage? Someone who would actually be there at the end of the day? Instead of being stuck with someone who doesn’t know how to live a life here, stateside and on the ground.
Retired or not, he would, realistically, never fly a jet again. Could Tom live with him constantly looking towards the sky? Longing for it? Could Tom live with him taking weeks to visit his hangar to work on his planes? Could Tom live with him when he doesn’t even know who he is? What does he like outside of the jets?
“I want a dog.” He says into the silence. He hasn’t even heard Tom turn a page in his book. He must just be sitting there, attention still on him and his meltdown.
“Okay.” Tom says simply.
Pete looks over to him and he was right. Tom’s just sitting there, legs folded, and brow furrowed. Concern is etched into every handsome line on his face. “Okay?” He asks. Maybe he hadn’t heard right, there’s no way he agreed that easily after years of this debate.
Tom leans forward, not fully, but a little. NAVY his sweatshirt proudly displays. Proud, proud, proud. Proud of what? “If you want a dog, we will get a dog.” He concedes. “But you’re going to tell me what just happened.” Of course it couldn’t be that easy.
It’s not a request. But Pete knows, he could delay it if he asked. Tom would never force him to be ready when he wasn’t.
Tom loves making things complicated. “I…I’m tired.” He confesses finally. Unable to meet Tom’s gaze, he turns it upwards; to the white ceiling tiles. They’re really not that interesting. “And I’m not sure if this has all been worth it.”
His husband doesn’t demand eye contact, but his hand wraps around one of Pete’s. He didn’t know just how cold he was until just now. “How do you mean?”
“I’ve killed people.” Hell of a starter there, Pete. He thinks. “I have the most air to air kills in forty years. I’ve killed people with air to surface missiles. I’ve killed people with guns, hand to hand combat, you name it, I’ve done it.” The grip on his hand tightens. Pete doesn’t pull his eyes away from the ceiling. “What was it all for? Stars on my collar? A lifetime spent away from my family? The Jets? A relationship that could have ruined our lives?” He shakes his head, squeezing his eyes close. “I joined the Navy on my 18th birthday, and I know you want me to learn to let go. But I don’t know who I am outside of the Navy, Tom.”
There’s no mistaking the feeling of Tom’s lips against the back of his hand. “Pete…I can’t tell you why. That’s up to you to find, and judge whether it was worth it. I know you’ve killed people. Just as I know that you’ve seen friends and family die. I’m not blind to any of it.” His husband speaks slowly. Letting them both consider the weight of his words. “I’ve done the same, and I wanted promotions. Chased them. You know that. I made the same decisions you have, I just took the path that led to a desk rather than another jet.” Tom sighs. “What I’m trying to say is that neither of us really know who we are outside of this job, Pete. Or what it’s like to not be in the service. But what I do know is that through all the bad, all the stress and fear and guilt, I have some of my happiest memories because of the Navy. It’s not all war, love. It’s volleyball games, and late nights at bars. It’s being in a country you’ve never been before and butchering their language as you try to communicate.”
Finally, Pete looks to him. Tom is smiling. It’s faint, but it’s there. “It lead me to you, and friends that are practically family at this point. It may not be the reason I joined, but it is certainly why I stayed.”
“Sap .” Mav croaks.
“I am.” His husband owns without hesitation. “We can learn what life is like, Pete. We have time. The rest of our lives, even. But,” Tom waits for him to look at him before continuing. “Whether we retire or not, I am on your side Pete. I promise.”
Pete has to swallow the lump in his throat as all that sinks in. “If…If we retired, what would we do?”
Tom hums. “Paint a picture for me. Tell me what you could see as our forever being.”
It’s a tough question. One he had never truly given any thought of before today. Can he see them here, in California? Sandy beaches and freezing cold blue waves? Try all he might, he can’t really. “A house.” He goes with. “In a forest somewhere. Something quaint, and we own the land around it. We grow some of our own plants. Just a small garden though, and we go into town for the farmers market, and we always take Darkstar with us.”
“You are not naming the dog Darkstar.” Tom shuts down immediately, but he’s smiling. He rises and sits on the edge of Maverick’s bed. “If that is the life you want, I will give it to you. We can sell this house and buy one in a perfectly green forest, that’s not too far from somewhere you can have a hanger.”
“You’d be happy like that? Away from California?”
“Pete.” He says, like he isn’t understanding. “Our family can always visit or we can visit them. But wherever you are, I’m happy.”
The declaration sparks tears that he has to blink away. “Okay.” He agrees shakily.
Tom’s blue eyes flicker across his face. His face warms. Ice reads him like he’s his favorite book. “Okay.” He nods too.
Pete lets his eyes shut, and he takes a steadying breath. “What did you tell the kids?”
His husband settles back against his side, and pulls him close. “That they should let you rest. You were silent for a good 10, 15 minutes there.” His hair smushes as Tom presses a kiss to his head. “Blamed it on the medication. I talked with them for you.”
“Thank you.” He murmurs. Maybe it was the medications fault. “No visitors tomorrow.” It’s been three days of visitor after visitor. Every time he wakes up there’s someone new asking the same repetitive questions. It’s exhausting. He just wants to rest, and not have to play nice. Just let him have one day.
Their pillow shifts as Tom nods. Blankets get pulled up further and tucked around him. “Alright. I’ll let them know.” He’s already half asleep when Tom speaks again. “Rooster wants-”
“Not tonight.” Pete doesn’t even open his eyes as he mumbles. “I don’t want to talk about him right now.”
Tom doesn’t push. “Rest. We can talk more later.”
It just might be the first order Pete has been happy to obey.
Notes:
Sorry there isn't too much dagger squad interaction in this one, I had a plan and then the silver star question just really sent me down this path
Hope you enjoy all the same!
What should they name the dog? I'm thinking a golden retriever
The marksmanship awards I mentioned are real, and Mav does have them on his uniform both for pistol and rifle, so safe to say he's a damn good shot. With the silver star, I figured since he hasn’t had a proper fight with the jets in 30 years, the event for the award would have come from a fire fight
Chapter 18: The talk
Summary:
There's a lot to discuss, but it has to begin somewhere
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Rooster hates hospitals. Has since his mom was diagnosed with breast cancer. He barely had his license, but would be the one driving her to and from treatments when Maverick or Ice couldn’t.
The burning smell of antiseptic, the bland colors that litter the floor and walls. The sterile white of the ceiling. The feeling of creaky plastic waiting room chairs. He hates it all.
That hasn’t changed now that he’s grown. Still hates them. Still here because his parent is hurt. Maverick is hurt. He’s going to live, he’s already woken up, even. Bradley knows everyone has already visited him. He’s watched them all flock to his godfather's room. Emily had even brought her kids to visit and holy shit she had kids now . But those kids didn’t even know him. He barely knows his cousins anymore. They used to be so close. Never had he really thought back to them. Both Emily and Nick are so different.
Emily is much more confident than she was when they were teenagers. It’s so odd to see her be a mom, but in the same vein, it’s not. From what he’s seen, she’s raised two great kids. Maddy and Peter were adorable, chatterboxes to be sure, just like their mom when she was their age.
Nick…was still bullheaded, but he had filled out in the years since he left. Still no kids, and as far as Bradley can tell, not married. But then, maybe he just doesn’t wear a ring. He wouldn’t know. Nick blantantly refuses to speak with him. He’s glued to Maverick’s side.
There’s not a doubt in his mind that this is his fault. He shouldn’t have stayed gone so long. It hasn’t changed anything. In fact, it’s rather made things worse. Ice has disowned him, his cousins ignore him, and he doesn’t even know what Mav thinks yet.
Day one was spent anxiously waiting to see if Maverick was even going to make it. Day two, Maverick had been asleep for most of it, and while he had visited it didn’t really count till they talked. Day three had been spent with the Dagger’s visiting him and Maverick. He hadn’t quite managed to muster the courage to visit after his talk with Ice the day before.
Day four. He can’t put it off any longer, despite how much he wants to turn around and take the next flight back on to a carrier that’s far far away from here. He can't. He needs to go in there and talk to him. Finally have a heart to heart. No matter how the conversation goes.
All easier said than done, but if there was ever a time to have this conversation it would be now. The Daggers had returned to base for briefings, Nick had gone home with Emily to help with the kids, and his Aunt and Uncle had gone back to Iceman’s house to do laundry.
And Ice…Ice had been called into a virtual meeting.
So Mav would be alone.
He can’t help but run a nervous hand through his hair before knocking on the door. A part of him hopes that Maverick is still asleep and that this conversation can be pushed. His hopes are unfounded.
“Come in.” His Uncle’s voice calls.
Rooster rocks back on his heels before taking that dangerous step inside the room. He can see the surprise on Mav’s face. It’s almost slack, and he blinks.
“Bradley?”
He clears his throat, fighting against the dangerous lump in his throat. “Hey Mav.” He breathes, whether out of relief of nervousness, he’s not sure. “How are you feeling?”
“I-” Mav grunts as he struggles to sit up a bit more. “I’m fine. They got me on the good pain meds.”
He doesn’t doubt that. Ice would have made the doctors give him the good stuff. Never had the Iceman been able to see either of them in pain or upset. It’s like he was hard wired to prevent it. “That’s good.” He settles on saying. His hands itch to help, but who knows if that would be welcome. Maverick may have the same stance as Kazasnky. He folds them behind his back to try and hide it.
The quiet is awkward for a long moment. They just stare at each other. But Maverick is the first to break eye contact, “Sit, sit.” He gestures with a grimace to a chair near the bed.
He doesn’t hesitate to obey. Rooster chews his lip. “Going stir crazy yet?”
A huff of laughter is his response. “A bit.” Maverick admits. “Not too bad yet, though. Been asleep for most of it.”
That’s good. His tone is friendly, open . Maybe he really can salvage this. “I know. You drove Hondo mad with your snoring.”
“He hardly gets to complain.” Mav rolls his eyes. “He snores plenty. He just doesn’t like to admit it.”
Bradley nods, he searches for a reply, but they all elude him. They’re just stalling. Trying to avoid the elephant in the room.
But this elephant is whacking them with its tail and trunk and is rather set on not being ignored.
Rooster ducks his gaze from Mav’s pale, bruised face, and let’s it settle on his fiddling hands. “Did Ice tell you that we spoke?”
His uncle answers cautiously. “He did.” He confirms. “I’ve been wondering when you’d be by.”
Wondering if I’m leaving again , was more likely. “I…I wasn’t sure what to say.” he admits. “Why didn’t you tell me that my mom made your promise?”
At Maverick’s sigh, he risks a glance up to see his Godfather staring at the ceiling. “Because that part doesn’t really seem to matter. It had been my decision to make the promise, and my decision to keep it. Doesn’t seem right to pass the blame on to her.”
“She knew you’d keep it.” Rooster answers quietly. Maverick always kept his promises. It was his thing. “It wasn’t right for her to ask that of you.”
“Wasn’t right for me to agree to it anyways.” He sounds tired, weary. “I refused for the longest, but then 9/11 happened, and you were getting ready to go to the academy, and I couldn’t lose you. Not like that.”
9/11
He remembers everything about that day. Waking up to both Ice and Mav having already left for work, and breakfast being in the microwave- Fluffy eggs, bacon and a cinnamon roll. He had just climbed in his car when he got the call-
“Rooster.” Ice’s tone is deathly serious. Ice cold, yet he sounds terrified. “Where are you?”
“Just getting in the car to go to school. Is everything okay?”
“Get back in the house. Lock the doors, and get the pistol out of the safe.” His uncle had ordered in that tone he used on his soldiers. “Do not leave the house for anything or anyone. Do you understand me?”
“What’s going on?” he’s not ashamed to admit to the shake in his voice.
There’s some hushed conversation before Ice comes back. “Turn on the news. Get inside. Now. I love you.”
“I-I love you too?” He had scrambled inside. Locking every door, window, and clutching the pistol close before turning on the tv and watching the second plane hit the tower.
Mav had been deployed that same day, never even was permitted to come home to say goodbye or pack. Just shipped off.
“Why not just tell me all of that? Why let me think it was because I wasn’t ready or good enough?” Why make them go all these years like this?
His uncle chews his lip. “Because that’s also true. I didn’t think you were ready. I had faith you would be, but at the time you just weren’t kid. I was worried about you being hurt, yes, but also that you could get someone hurt.” Mav turns and makes eye contact. His eyes are dark, tired. “I know what happens when you lose someone up there, kid. It haunts you. Even when there’s no one to blame.”
“You killed my dad!”
If he’s honest, he doesn’t really remember his father. He had only been four when he died, he remembers glimpses. His dad playing with him. Jets and a laugh. But overwhelming, his childhood is mostly Ice and Mav. Two men who did anything and everything for him.
“I just wanted to be like you.”
Mav ducks his gaze. “I know, kiddo. I am sorry, for whatever it is worth. I know it wasn’t the right thing to do.”
He’s sincere, and it helps. “I…I just wish you told me. It would have changed everything.”
“I know.” His voice is tight; emotional. “But you had already lost so much, Bradley. First your dad, and then your mom. I loved them. I couldn’t bear the thought of you hating her, not after everything the two of you had been through.”
But what about everything you went through? Watching my dad die? Watching my mom die? The years I spent cursing your existence?
No wonder Ice refuses to forgive him.
“But it’s been fifteen years. Surely you thought I’d finally understand?”
“Why would I think that?” Mav raises a brow and he so picked up that look from Ice. “You ignored me reaching out at every turn. Even emergencies. Even for the last three weeks, you’ve been nothing short of spiteful.”
Bradley can’t help his wince. That is true, isn’t it? Mav didn’t even know the half of what he had said to Ice about him. “I’m sorry.” He says finally. “For everything. I shouldn’t have acted like I did.”
“Brad.” Maverick croaks. “You have nothing to apologize for. It was my mistake. You set boundaries and that’s okay.”
“I know.” He tries to explain, but it’s hard . “I’m not apologizing for that, but I didn’t have to be a dick about it. I’m sorry, Maverick.”
There’s tears in Pete’s eyes that he tries to hide, and Rooster decides to be kind enough to ignore them. “I’m sorry, too.”
It’s okay. He’s fixed it. He hasn’t ruined everything.
Bradley clears his throat, so sure that his voice would crack without it. “How’s it feel to be a part of the brass now?”
A surprised, thick, laugh leaves his uncle. “Awful.” But he’s smiling. “Ice is getting a kick out of it. We’re actually thinking about retiring.”
Mav? Retiring? “Really?” He says, skeptical. It may have been years since they spoke like this, but he knows Maverick. “You want that?”
“Fuck if I know.” Maverick grumbles. “Maybe. It would be nice to work on my plane. Or the bikes.”
“You have a plane?” Jesus Christ.
“A P-51 Mustang.” Rooster knows he isn’t imagining Mav’s dreamy tone or his small smile. “A beauty, I tell ya. Just about got her up and running too.”
It’s so similar to conversations they had when he was a kid. Maverick covered and grease and dirt, and sharing a private smile with Ice before turning to Rooster and telling him what he had been working on. “How long have you had her?”
“Uh.” Mav tilts his head, and his brow furrows a little. “Ah. Five years. It was a thirtieth anniversary present from Ice. That and the hanger.”
Rooster doesn’t even fight his laugh. “He bought you your own hanger?”
“He did.” Maverick chuckles too. “It’s in Nevada. An old Navy Hanger. It’s perfect. Was very irritating when I got it though.” he admits. “I had got the man a watch, and a vacation, and he just had to show me up.”
Sounds about right. Bradley rolls his eyes. “You’ve been competing for thirty five years. Honestly you should have expected it.”
“Who the fuck would ever expect to be given a plane and a private hanger?”
“It was a pretty good present.” A new voice cuts in. It’s Ice. His voice is warm though, not detached and cold like before. “And for the record: I do love my watch. In fact.” he holds up his wrist and taps the watch face. “Just what till you see what I do for our fortieth.”
Mav groans good naturedly. “Just let me win that one.”
Ice laughs. It’s full, robust and loving, and god Bradley has missed the warmth of the Iceman, even though it’s not directed to him. “No chance of that.” The Admiral nears, and takes Maverick’s hand. “They cleared you for solid foods. I was going to have food delivered if you like.”
“Oh thank god .” Maverick says in relief, and Rooster snorts. “I would do anything for a pepperoni pizza wit-”
“-extra cheese. I know.” Ice shakes his head, and surprisingly turns to Bradley. “Would you like anything Rooster?”
His tone isn’t quite as warm as it was towards Mav, but it’s polite, and Rooster thinks he can live with this.
Maverick answers for him. “Get him ham and pineapple.” The order had started as a joke. One night when he was 15 Maverick had been in the kitchen with Ice and his mom ranting about how pineapple is a sin against the Pizza Gods, and Bradley had ordered it just to see the look on his face.
Surprisingly, it was good. Really good, even.
“Alright.” Ice agrees, nodding. “I’ll order it. The nurse should be by in a minute to check your vitals.”
His uncle pouts. “Can’t you tell them I’m fine?”
The pout disappears when Ice steals a chaste kiss. “Nope.” He answers popping the P like he used to pop his gum. “Rooster, keep an eye on him please."
"Hey!"
“Yes sir.” That he can do.
Notes:
This isn't my favorite chapter I've written, i struggle with roosters pov, but i hope you enjoy it all the same! I know some people wanted a very emotional rooster and mav reunion, but i didnt find that really in their characters. They're both grown men who serve in the military, I dont see it likely that they would break into sobs. A few tears, yeah, but the rest is just a bit too OOC for me
Chapter 19: Endgame
Summary:
Pete is already bored of the hospital, and Tom gets a call that may risk his marriage.
Notes:
Shorter chapter but was fun to write! Not even sorry about all the chess references, you can tell what i spend my free time playing lmao.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“I’m bored .”
Tom sighs. He, in his foolishness, had taken the last week for granted, he should have known that eventually Pete would feel more like himself, and with that would come his restlessness. “So you’ve said.”
Pete huffs, but not in his amused, exasperated way. More like Tom isn’t understanding what he wants. “Entertain me.”
Finally, Tom looks up from the report on his laptop. Pete is pouting at him from the hospital bed, cocooned in blankets and pillows. “I have to finish working.” He reminds pointedly. Tom had refused to return to the office, but that came at the price of working at the hospital. “Watch a movie. I should be done in a few hours.” God he misses his home office. Peaceful and quiet, and he could work while Pete dismantled something.
“I’ve watched movies. Like seven of them.” Pete reminds, like Tom hasn’t been there having to sit through each and every one of them. He loves his husband. Truly. But the man has the worst taste known to man.
“Then watch an eighth.” His tone must be colder than he intended, for Pete sets his jaw, and turns away.
“Fine.” Bogies inbound .
Which of course, means not fine . His fine is said in a way that reminds him of the very few times Pete has made him sleep on the couch. Tom resists a sigh, just barely though, it stalls on the tip of his tongue. “Why don’t I see if one of the nurses will take you on a walk?” He suggests instead. Changing course.
“ No .” Pete’s response is firm, heated and agitated. Somehow he’s made this worse. “Just work on your computer.”
Alarms blare in warning in his mind, Locked tone, and Ice doesn’t make mistakes. But he isn’t in the air, and he’s not Ice with Pete, so Tom makes the mistake of listening and turns back to his work.
It’s silent in the room, just like he wanted, but now it’s impossible to focus. Now, the air is tense, suffocating. Brace for impact.
He damn near jumps out of his skin when the shrill ringing of his cellphone startles him out of his tense anticipation. “Admiral Kazansky.” He answers.
“Good evening, Admiral.” Ice sits up straighter at the voice: the President. It wasn’t uncommon, exactly, to talk to the man directly, but nor was it uncommon. “How is your husband recovering?”
“Better, certainly.” He answers, scooting the laptop further onto the table, then rises. “Already restless, however.” Ice tacks on once he’s outside the room.
“Knowing what I know of him, I can’t say I’m surprised.” Dalton clears his throat. “I’ll cut this short; I don’t want to intrude on your leave.”
He’s not even truly on leave. “It’s no problem, sir.”
“I know you are nearing retirement, Admiral.” Tom blinks. Where was this going? “However, before you make any decision, I’d like to offer an alternative. Secretary Rodloven has submitted his own retirement notice.”
Fuck .
He knows where this is going. Only one way it could be heading.
“You want me to be the Secretary of the Navy?” He surmises. The precipice. The goal. Everything he has ever wanted. The height of his career. He’d be the best. Ambition ignites in his veins. Warm and thready and it consumes him. Iceman is the best .
“Yes.” President Dalton confirms. “I do. It would require you moving to D.C. of course, but there’s no one else I’d rather have for the job. Your work with the Pacific Fleet has been nothing short of outstanding- and this last mission of yours: Operation Coffin Corner was impeccable.”
It was, wasn’t it? But that’s hardly his accomplishment. He may have picked the pilots, but it was Maverick who taught them all, who risked everything for mission success.
Shit. Maverick.
“Thank you sir.” Genuinely appreciative, but… “May I have some time to discuss it with my husband?”
“Of course.” The President is quick to agree. “And if it helps, if you decide to accept the position, I’m sure that it could be arranged that your husband keeps his flight status.”
Maverick could stay in the air. He could give his husband what he wants most. “I-It’s appreciated, sir. When do you need my answer?”
“Sunday should be fine, Admiral. I trust you won’t let me down in this.”
“Yes sir. I’ll reach out by then.”
“Goodnight, Tom.” Dalton tells him, then the call drops.
In a daze, he lowers the phone from his hear and stares down on it. The Secretary of the Navy is in his reach. He would be SECNAV, and then maybe SECDEF.
It’s all there. Rook takes Bishop. Check.
But on this board of chess, Maverick is a knight, who is positioned to take his Rook if he makes the right move.
His gaze slides from the phone to his husband's hospital room. What to tell Mav? He asked for time to make the decision, not for him, but for Pete. He already knows his answer. It could never be anything but Yes. This is everything he’s worked for. Now to just get Pete onboard.
Tom steels himself, and steps back in.
Pete knows he’s been a bit of an ass. But he’s restless, and in pain, and tired and he wants to go home . Or somewhere where he can feel at ease. But also, Tom’s suggestion of the nurse walking him like a dog ? Uncalled for.
His bones ache and they never stop. No matter how he adjusts, there’s only pain. They’ve already started to wean him off the pain meds. But still. Another three weeks before he can go home and heal in his own damn house.
Pete tears his gaze from the ceiling when Tom steps back in. He knows it’s Tom even without seeing him. His husband has quite a distinctive walk. Somehow, his footsteps always come across as purposeful and important.
Something happened on that phone call. He knows the moment he sees Tom. His posture is straight, like he’s issuing orders, but he holds his phone with both hands in front of him. He’s nervous. But there’s a light in his eyes, a youthfulness not there a few minutes ago.
He’s seen this before.
At 36 when Ice stands at the foot of their bed, grinning at him as he announces he’s been promoted to Admiral and ships off to Lemoore tomorrow. Nevermind the fact that they had anniversary plans the next night.
Pete’s happiness for him is not false, even though it is tainted with disappointment. “Told you, you’d get it!” He had laughed and pulled Tom onto the bed by his tie. “I’m so proud of you.”
Or:
At 41 when their leave had coincided and they took a vacation to the Bahamas. Tom had gone to get them Pina Colada’s served in coconuts. Pete is stretched out on the beach chair, covered in sunscreen and relaxes in the summer heat and soothing waves. His eyes flutter open when something blocks his sun. It’s Tom, with his phone in one hand and one coconut in the other. Pete has to bite back a sigh and a frown. Disappointment has already sunk in as Tom tells him he is now a Rear Admiral Upper Half, and is needed on the Roosevelt at 0800 tomorrow.
“It’s alright.” He had lied while Tom said his apologizes as he repacked his suitcase. “I’m sure I’ll find plenty of trouble to get into.” Pete hadn’t left the resort the rest of that week.
Then:
47. Vice Admiral. That one was the only promotion that hadn’t ruined anything with its timing. Ice hadn’t grinned that time. Simply informed him like it was expected. And it was. After all, Tom is the best in the Navy. They all saw it coming. So Pete had got them dinner reservations at Tom’s favorite restaurant to celebrate and stopped bringing up getting a dog.
52. Admiral. Tom had finally made it. Four star Admiral. He’s so proud of him. He’s worked so hard, and they’ve both sacrificed so much for the Navy. Finally. God willing it would be enough. He stands to the side, watching Tom stare up at the blue flag with four stars being raised in Tom’s honor, and wonders if Tom had ever looked at him like that.
59. Four stars wasn’t enough. Commander of the Pacific Fleet. The boys had all come over and toasted to the Iceman, cheered him on. Half of them were retired by then. A quarter dead. And a quarter still clinging to active duty. Their office became Tom’s office.
61. “The President just offered me to be the next Secretary of the Navy.” Tom says without any preamble. Direct. To the point. Iceman. Cold, calculating. No mistakes. Was he a mistake to Ice? He can’t help but wonder. To Tom? He’s always running away, the moment they get on the same page. Pete may be the one who clings to flying, but he can do that from any base. Ice? He always runs half a world away where Pete can’t follow.
He expects dread, disappointment, anger, but none offer themselves. Only resignation finds any purchase in his heart. His fingers are clammy, and they rub against the soft fur of the blanket Sarah had brought up here for him. “Do you want the job?” Choose me. Love me. Stay with me.
“Yes.” Tom nods, stepping forward, encouraged. “We would have to move to DC, but it’s nice there. You’ll like it.”
I’m not going . He thinks, then blinks in surprise at himself, but he finds the words true. “What happened to us retiring?”
To the house, and the dog, and land?
He had already been browsing for all of it. He had thought Tom was serious.
“We can just push it out a few years.” Tom says like it’s that simply. Hell. It probably is that simple for him. But it won’t only be a few years. Something better, gold and shiny will come calling his name to the prestige, and it will never happen. “The President agreed to keep you in the air while I’m in DC.” Ah. How we becomes I’m so easily.
And Pete, Pete loves the sky. But he’s done dying to be up in it. He can fly his planes. They don’t have to be jets. He doesn’t need presidential clearance. Not like this. He wants his husband not a fucking heap of metal. “What about getting a dog? And our house?”
It clearly throws his husband off, though he does his best to recover. He pulls his hand away from where Tom tries to hold it. “We can still get a dog. You can even name him Darkstar if you really want.” He says like it would make any of this better. “We can still get a house. Maybe on the border of Virginia and DC.”
It’s not the same. It’s not what you promised. Why do you always change the chapter when we get on the same page? We’re supposed to be on the same team. Why does it always feel like we’re playing against each other?
For all their similarities, their differences have never been as blatant than when it came to their priorities. See Maverick, Pete’s priorities sat:
- Tom
- The Navy
Tom’s though? Or was it Ice right now? Iceman who should have been called Icarus.
- The Navy
- Pete
“I’m not going to tell you not to take the job.” He says, or sighs more accurately. “It’s not my decision and you’d only resent me for it.” Pete shakes his head when Tom goes to protest. His heart is racing, and breaking, and it feels like his world has been upended. “But I don’t think I can stay with you if you do.”
Knight takes Rook.
Notes:
Alrighttyyy poll time: Does Ice take the job? If he does, does Mav stay with him?
Chapter 20: Icarus' climb
Summary:
Two truths and one lie:
I love you
I love you
I love you
Notes:
Well, didnt want to leave you guys waiting, hopefully this is up to yalls expectations and their motives make sense. Enjoy! And thank you for all the comments on the last chapter, i love reading them as I work on the next chapter, i really trying to take inspiration from what yall think
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“What?” Tom blinks, thoughts screeching to a halt. “You mean you won’t stay with me in DC?”
There’s that sigh again, like he’s still not understanding. “I’m saying, that if you take this job I will file for divorce.”
He can feel himself physically recoil at that. “How could you deal me an ultimatum like that?” His brow furrows in hurt. “I mean, divorce?” Never, in their entire marriage has the word even been thought of, never mind
mentioned.
“We’ve been together almost 40 years. You’d end it over a career move?”
“We have.” Pete agrees levelly. “And I have spent that entire time watching you choose this job over me. It’s never enough for you. You always want
more
. I can’t keep doing this, Tom. I want to settle down, with a house and a dog
with
you. I don’t want it to be pushed until we’re in our seventies. I’m ready now.” Guilt festers within at the weary look on Pete’s face. “I’m not trying to be an ass, or to force your decision, I just want to be clear on where I stand.”
“Why can’t we have that in Virginia? Just because I won’t be retired doesn’t mean you can’t be. It’ll only be for a few years, Pete. Dalton only has three years left of his term.” He’s pleading now, and he doesn’t care. He wants Pete on his side. He can’t lose him, not like this. But how could he turn down his dream?
“The point of retiring is to spend time with each other, Tom.” Pete’s voice is frustratingly level, and he doesn’t look away. “If we move to Virginia, we will have to live within a 15-20 minute radius of the White House. You will always be on call. There will be no land or peace and quiet. You will be constantly called into work. We will have virtually no time together.” Maverick shakes his head. “Nevermind the fact that it’s the other side of the country. What if our family needs us?”
Tom crosses his arms. That’s his best argument? “It’s a five hour flight. Only an hour longer than if we were to move to Nashville.”
With closed eyes, his husband shakes his head. Pete’s shoulders slump. Disappointed. “I don’t want that life, Tom. I want to be able to spend time with you without being worried that you’re going to be rushed away. The house and the dog are nothing compared to being finally able to spend time with you.”
“You can spend time with me.” He argues back. “We’ll be able to see each other every day, it’ll be the most time we’ve spent together in years. And then as soon as the three years are up we can move anywhere you like. I promise.”
Pete frowns, like he doesn’t believe him, and it stings. He feels like his heart has been cut and dunked into a vial of lemon juice. “And what happens when they offer you Secretary of Defense next, Tom? You and I both know that you wouldn’t turn it down, no matter what I’d say. Then after Secretary of Defense, what then? President? Does the wheel ever stop turning? Are you always going to be searching for more and more prestige? Can you not be happy just being with me?”
“It has nothing to do with you.” Ice sets his jaw.
“I know.” Pete looks back to him. The resignation is clear both in his eyes and his tone. “That’s the whole problem isn’t it?”
And Tom, for all his words, all his moves and countermoves, can’t find a defense to that. So he settles on: “There’s no swaying you on this?”
“No.”
“Jesus Christ, Pete.” He drags a hand down his face. His hands settle on the plastic bed end. He half expects it to give out under his strength. “How do you expect me to turn this down? It’s everything I’ve ever worked for.”
“Since when?” Pete pressures. “You always said you were working to be an Admiral, and then that became the COMPACFLT. Now it’s being SECNAV.” A bitter grimace flickers on his husband's face. “All you want is to be the best. No matter what it costs you.”
Is that how little you think of me? He wonders. He yanks his coat off the chair. “I need some air.” Is all he mutters before storming out.
“How you holding up, Pete?” Sarah’s voice draws him out of his stupor.
Pete blinks. He’s not even sure if he knows how to answer that. “I’m hanging in there.” That was a decent answer, he thinks. Truthful in its entirety.
“Good to hear.” She smiles and sits the bag of take out on the table near Tom’s laptop. “Have you fallen in love with any houses yet?”
She’s always so kind. Pete thinks, from the moment he met her, she has been nothing but supportive and on their side. “A few.” He admits. “There was this one that I loved. Three bedroom, three bath. No garage, but I figure we could build one. 23 acres of forest in Nashville.” Pete shakes his head. “I don’t think it’s going to happen though.”
Sarah frowns. She looks up from the food. “Why?”
He can’t bite back his sigh in time. “Tom’s been offered a promotion.” He says blandly, and this time, it’s Sarah who sighs.
“He’s going to take it.”
They both know Tom too well to think that he could ever turn down a promotion. “I think so.” He agrees quietly. Pete can’t help but fiddle with his hospital gown. “I told him I would leave him if he accepts it.”
“Oh Pete. ” She stops unpackaging the food and comes to his side. “And he’s still going to take it?” She holds his hand between hers.
“He didn’t say, just stormed out.” He looks down to their hands. “He’s going to resent me either way, if he doesn’t take it and stays, or if he leaves and I stay. But I can’t handle his ambition anymore. It’s me or the job, and we both know the job is everything to him.”
“He never did learn how to be satisfied, did he?” She muses quietly, and carefully pulls Pete into a hug. “Even if you two separate, we will still be here for you, Pete. You’re family. Being married to Tom makes no difference.”
He doesn’t protest. “Thank you.” He says sincerely. “I’m not sure what I would do without you all.”
“Good thing, you’ll never have to find out.” She smiles and pats his hand.
He manages a smile back, and even if he ends up divorced, he will always be grateful to Tom for giving him a family.
It’s real fucking rich of Admiral Thomas Kazansky to have lectured him about hurting Mav, when he’s considering doing just that. He paces restlessly in front of his Uncle’s bed. Leaving? Now? When they just got Maverick back? When all Maverick had been talking about was what kind of dog he wanted? About the different breeds and which would suit them best? Or him and Mav spending hours browsing houses until he found one that he fell in love with?
Now the Iceman would take that all from his Uncle just for a job? Did Ice even care about Mav, and what he wanted? Or was all of this just for Ice to get the next promotion? How could he do this to Pete? The man wasn’t even a week out from coding on the carrier.
His head jerks up at the sound of children's laughter. Emily and Nick must have arrived. Perfect. They may not like him, but he knows they love Mav just as much as him. So he steps out, and around the kids as they hurry in to see their Uncle. “Hey. Could I have a word with you two really quick?”
The siblings share a glance, but nod. “Yeah.” Nick gestures to the empty waiting room and closes the door behind them. “What’s up Bradley?”
He takes a deep breath. He needs to be careful, he doesn’t want to seem like he’s trying to cause a divide. “I’m not eloquent.” He prefaces. “So I’m just going to say it how it is and go from there.”
“...okay?” Emily chances with a furrowed brow.
“Ice was offered Secretary of the Navy, and he’s considering taking it even though Maverick told him he’d file for divorice if he accepts the position.” There. Simple.
“What?” Nick frowns, glancing over Rooster’s shoulder like he could somehow see Mav through the wall. “I thought they were retiring.”
“They were. Ice apparently got the call this morning and wanted Pete to change his mind.”
“That’s…not fair.” Emily murmurs. “Uncle Pete was excited.”
“I know.” Bradley agrees. “But I didn’t tell you guys this to try to pin you against Ice. I’m trying to figure out what we can do to help Mav through this.”
“Shit. If they separate, Pete will be a mess.” Nick says for certain. “He’ll need a good divorce lawyer, but I don’t think Uncle Tom will fight him.” Far more probable that he’d just sign the papers and be done with it, as cold as it sounds, it fits the man.
“Pete will need someone to take care of him.” Emily adds. “He has months of PT ahead of him. He probably won’t want to stay at their house if they split.”
Bradley frowns at that. “I can stay with him. Cyclone will approve my leave.”
Nick sighs and eases himself down into one of the chairs. “Let him stay with Mom first, she lives in town and is close to the doctors for his check ups. Meanwhile I’ll see if I can’t find an RV to put out at the Hanger.” He glances up to Rooster. “You could stay with him out there, if you want. He’d like the company.”
“In Nevada, right?” Emily nods in confirmation. “Okay. I can do that. I’ll get a hold of Admiral Simpson to approve my leave. Do you mind staying with him while I’m out? I don’t want him to be alone.”
“We’ll take care of him.” Nick promises. “And Rooster.” He calls as Bradley pushes the door open. “Thank you for telling us.”
It feels like forgiveness. “Of course. I knew you two would have his back.”
Now then, to find Cyclone, and explain why he might need a few months leave, and then pray to whatever god exists, that Ice doesn’t fuck up his marriage and destroy his Uncle.
“Thought I might find you here.” Slider interrupts his quiet and slides onto the bench alongside him.
There’s only one reason Ron would come searching for him. “You talked to Mav, then.” Ice responds, lighting another cigarette. Nevermind that he had quit in the 90’s due to Pete and Brad’s insistence.
Slider hums, noncommittal. “I did.” His best friend confirms. “What are you thinking?”
“That I want the job.” He admits, blowing a puff of smoke out. “I really want the job. It’s everything I’ve worked for. How could I ever turn it down?”
“Because if you don’t you’re going to lose the man that makes everything you’ve done worth it.” Slider has never been one to mince his words, and he certainly doesn’t now. “I’m your best friend, but even I’m on Maverick’s side on this one, man. It has to be enough someday. Hell, one week ago you were in shambles thinking he was dead, and worrying that you’ve picked a job over him all your life. The truth is that you have Tom.”
I haven’t. He swears, I haven’t I haven't I haven’t he denies. “He knew that my career is everything to me. He knew that the moment we got into this relationship. How could he think that that would change now?”
“Is it everything to you?” Slider disagrees. “If Pete had died a few days ago, you’d be a disaster. I doubt you’d have even made it out of your bed, even for work. Isn’t he everything?”
Tom chews his lip in an uncharacteristic sign of consideration. “But he’s not dead.” And that makes all the difference doesn’t it? He doesn’t have to lose his husband, if Pete will stop being so stubborn about this whole thing. “He’s alive and he’s going to be fine. Why is he making such a big deal out of this?”
“Because it’s not what he wants.” He spares a glance over to Ron, and the man is frowning. “You asked him to retire, and give up the jets. He was- is prepared to do so, because you mean more to him than it. Hell, Ice, the man had already been looking up houses, and dogs. You asked the world of him, and he delivered only for you to say nevermind.”
That’s not fair. “It’s not like I knew I was going to be offered SECNAV, I hadn’t even heard rumors that he was retiring. If I had, I would have never asked.” Ice defends. “And if I take the job, he doesn’t have to give up flying. He wouldn’t for years, he’d be nigh untouchable.”
“Ice, man…” There’s a look in Slider’s eye that Tom doesn’t recognize. Like the man is looking at a stranger. “For all we called you the Iceman, we never meant for you to become this damn cold.”
He can’t help but bristle at that. “Pardon me?”
Tom is so sick and tired of people acting like he isn’t understanding. “It’s not about the job, Tom. It’s about Pete. It’s about your futures together. Haven’t you spent enough time running away?” Ron asks. “Have a heart, Tom. Choose your husband for once.”
For once? Hasn’t he constantly chosen his husband? “You’re dismissed.” He snaps, flicking his cigarette away.
Slider doesn’t even argue. He can hear the man sigh and walk away, once they’re nonexistent, he pulls out his phone. “Mr. President?” He confirms when the call is answered. “I’d like to accept the job offer.”
Notes:
Well. Tom certainly made the wrong choice. Also, the house Pete mentions is real! I'll link to it in a couple chapters.
Poll: Who's there when Pete is told the news? And how long after the news being delivered does Tom leave?
Chapter 21: A rewriting of the fall of Icarus
Summary:
Tom has accepted the job, The President has told him to wait, and now both Tom and Pete are left in the aftermath of their decisions.
Notes:
Okay, I just want to start off by thanking everyone who commented, my phone hasn't stopped blowing up since I posted the last chapter. I mean yall tripled the amount of comments I usually get. I really appreciate each of them, and I do take time to read every single one of them, and I try my best to respond when I can. It was admittedly really amusing to see how everyone reacted to Tom's choice so strongly, and I really tried to do you guys and the characters justice with this chapter. Originally, the last two chapters were just an idea for an AU, but i wanted to use it show that they're both human, and marriage is hard. Really hard, even when you love each other. Wires get crossed, and feelings get hurt, and if you let them rule, it can ruin everything. I wanted to show them getting through this struggle, and both making the choice to sacrifice what they want for who they love.
The President in this story is borrowed from Madam Secretary, and I'll be borrowing other members of the government from that show just for the ease of it. You do not need to know anything about the show or the characters to understand what is happening.
Alright, enough of my rambling, enjoy the chapter :)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Thomas Kazansky was not a rash man. It is not an objective statement, rather an entirely factual one. It’s what made the man so good at his job. Calm, cool, and collected. A man who takes time to consider options and weigh them appropriately before reaching his decision. Iceman was appropriately titled. Most of the time, even his voice was emotionless. Kept perfectly toned, not too cold, but not fond either.
So, when the call comes in, only hours after the offer, and he answers the phone to hear proper emotion in Tom’s voice, it fills him with such a jarring sense of wrongness that he hesitates. “You talked about it with your husband then?”
“I have.” Kazansky replies. Too fast , Dalton thinks. It’s odd. Not only for Tom to have an answer so soon, but to have reached out the same day. The man usually would have waited a few days, just for the sake of optics. Same day seemed particularly rushed. And desperate.
“It’s only been a few hours.” He cautions, offering a way out. “There’s truly no rush.”
There’s a moment of silence that almost feels normal. “I know sir. I simply have worked for this all my life, and I know I want the position.”
It’s obvious in how he speaks in the singular, that his husband isn’t on board. He hasn’t mentioned Maverick at all. He knows, from his own experience, that making this sort of decision without your spouse's support, only spells trouble, and a staff member who might not actually stay around for as long as truly needed. “I appreciate that, Tom, however, I’d like you to take some more time to consider this. It is no small ask, and I want to ensure that both you, and your husband understand what is going to be asked from you. Why don’t we speak on Sunday with your final answer?”
“I-” A cough interrupts the Admiral. “Yes sir.” He responds dutifully.
“Good.” Dalton exhales. “Give my best to your husband, his sacrifice has not gone unappreciated.”
He can’t quite pin the Admiral’s tone, but chalks it up to almost losing his spouse. “Will do, Mr. President. I’ll reach out on Sunday.”
The call ends there, and Dalton looks over to the short list for candidates for the position. “Russell. Reach out to the others, I don’t believe Admiral Kazansky will be accepting the position. Call it a hunch.”
The call drops and Tom is left sitting on the bench, both frustrated and helpless. Disappointed and relieved. He needs a damn drink. But of course, that can’t even go his way. “Admiral Kazansky?” A voice beckons, apologetically, like she knows he doesn’t want to be bothered, but needs to be regardless “The doctors have requested your presence.”
And just like that, what’s left of his crumbled, trampled heart, drops to his gut. “Is my husband alright?” He demands, already rising on shaky feet.
“He’s been complaining of headaches, and nausea. The doctors are concerned about the chance of brain damage. It’s about now that we start to see symptoms start to arise.” She tells him factually. “They’ve taken him back for a CT scan.”
Fuck fuck fuck. “I’m coming.” he doesn’t even bother to try to keep pace with her, he’s just a hair short of being in a full out sprint. He jabs the elevator button repeatedly; a forceful demand for it to hurry up . The slow ding of it announcing each floor it passes is almost enough to send him to the stairs. The only thing holding him back is the knowledge that if he runs up those stairs both his lungs and throat will declare all out war against him.
Finally . The doors open and Tom steps in, forcefully selecting Pete’s floor. They just can’t take a break can they? God, it feels like the world is conspiring against them. He steps out only to see that Pete has already been taken back. He should have taken the damn stairs. He stands in the doorway of the room, blinking like it doesn’t make sense. Gently, a soft hand takes his- Sarah.
“He’s alright.” She promises, giving his hand a comforting squeeze. “He said he had a headache and the doctors just wanted to be sure it wasn’t caused by the skull fracture.”
I wasn’t here . “Tom.” She steps in front of him when he doesn’t respond. “He’s just fine. It’s just a checkup.” Gently, she pushes him into the closest chair. “He won’t be long. They said an hour at most.” She takes the seat beside him. “The kids went to pick up food. I told them to get you a burger and fries, I thought you might be hungry.”
He has to take a moment to think if he’s eaten, and the answer is no. He had had a coffee that morning, much to the jealousy of Pete who wasn’t allowed caffeine just yet. “Thank you.” Tom mutters, despite the fact that he’s not sure he can manage to eat anything. Stress was a killer, and he’s been nothing but stressed in the last month. Ever since he had picked Pete to teach the mission, really.
His sister squeezes his hand. “How are you? I talked to Pete.”
“I…I don’t know.” He admits numbly. There’s nothing left to feel, he’s already felt it all. Anger, disappointment, hurt and fear, all consolidating into one blob of emotions that sit heavy on his chest. “I just-Divorce? All I did was bring up the offer, and he immediately responded with an ultimatum. I’d never do the same to him.” He could have, after every crash and deployment, he could have said enough, to pick him over the sky but he never had. Sure, he had asked him to be safer, berated him for doing stupid shit, but never had made him choose . In fact, he had done everything he could to keep him in the air, despite how much it terrified him. Why was it now that Pete has found that he can’t support him the same way? Was it really that much to ask for?
She nods quietly, considering. “I know.” Sarah says finally. “And I don’t want to take sides in this. I’m here to support you both , and this is really only something that can be solved by talking with Pete.” She chews her lip, like she’s debating something.
“Say it.” Tom tells her, most would consider it an order but ordering his sister to do anything had never resulted in anything positive. “What are you thinking?”
“That Pete shouldn’t have resulted to an ultimatum, and that I’m worried about you.” She admits. “I…It’s just that sometimes, it still feels like you’re trying to prove dad wrong about you. Like you’re not enough unless you’re the best, and I don’t want you to lose Pete by trying to prove that you're worth it, when you already are.”
Vulnerability chokes him, seizing his heart and lungs. That he hadn’t expected her to say. What the hell is he expected to say to that? “Just not worth enough to move to DC for a couple years.” he says bitterly, declining to comment on her comment about their dad. It stings, even though it wasn’t meant as an insult. It takes a conscious effort not to grow defensive. Sarah knows their father has always remained a sore spot for him.
Sarah’s brow furrows at his words. “Tom…I don’t think that’s why he’s against this.”
“Then why ? He knows I want this.”
“I can only guess.” She cautions, “But I think it’s because you asked him to choose you over flying, I know it wasn’t an ultimatum,” She tacks on before he can protest. “And he did, and he was excited for retirement, but if you take the job- and I’m not telling you not to- it’d seem like you’re breaking a promise to him, and you know how Mav is about promises.”
God does he know how Pete is about promises. He watched it almost ruin his husband’s life. But is it really breaking a promise if all he’s asking for is a couple years? His sister, however, isn’t done.
“And I’m not trying to excuse him, but he is barely a week from being shot down, and the doctors did say that his skull fracture could cause heightened emotions and mood swings.” She tilts her head, peering up at him. He’s a full head taller than her, even when sitting. “I don’t think right now is a good time for either of you to be making decisions like this. There’s too much going on for the both of you.”
“The President gave me till Sunday.” He says softly. Nevermind the fact that he had tried to accept the position already. “I have to have an answer by then.”
“It’s at least enough time for you and Pete to discuss it, and try to come to a mutual decision.” She encourages, and their conversation comes to an end as they wheel back in. Pete’s asleep and for a terrible moment, Tom wonders if he’s dead.
He banishes that thought as soon as it comes. Of course he isn’t dead. They wouldn’t be wheeling him back here if he was. The doctor looks over to them as the nurses get the bed situated. In rar form, Tom leans forward, not bothering to try to appear calm. “How is he?”
She tucks the clipboard under her arm. “There is too much pressure in his cranium. It is not deadly, and does not require emergency surgery. However, it is an item of concern. We will wait and see if his body is able to heal it on his own, if it isn’t we will schedule him for surgery.” She informs them. Sarah holds his hand in her lap. “In the meantime, we will perform CT scans once a day, and we recommend that he isn’t on electronics overmuch- they can tire him out rather quickly.”
Hell, maybe that’s why he didn’t want to watch another movie that morning. “Why is he asleep?”
“Ah.” She glances at Pete. “It’s a natural sleep, not medically induced. He fell asleep in the CT machine, he’ll be awake in a few hours.”
He’s alright . He thinks in relief. “Thank you.” It comes out a sigh more than anything else.
“Of course. Just page us if you need anything.”
He nods quietly and switches to sit beside Pete. His husband's hand replaces his sisters. “You’d think one of these days we’d figure it out.” He muses quietly.
His sister laughs softly. “Tom, you have. The two of you have been together for almost forty years, people who don’t have it figured out don’t last thins long. This is just another hurdle. I have faith in the two of you.”
Faith? What does he even have faith in anymore? The answer comes unbidden and immediately. Pete, of course, his shoulders slump. He has faith in Pete, always has, and that has gotten them through every fight and awful day. It would see him through this too.
Tom watches the sunset from Pete’s bedside. Sarah had left hours ago, opting to let Tom think in peace. Emily and Nick had been by earlier with food, and concern. Apparently Bradley had told them what happened. Hugs had been exchanged, and fears assuaged.
“Tom?” A hoarse voice croaks from the bed.
Tom blinks, tearing his gaze from the sunset and turns to him. “Hey.”
Pete taps his throat with a cough, and Tom obeys wordless and passes him a cup of water.
“You’re here.” His husband's voice is kept carefully blank, startlingly odd to hear in someone as emotionally driven as Pete.
He sits back in the chair, still holding onto his hand. “I am.” Of course . Are the words that he almost said, but he almost hadn’t been. He wouldn’t be if the President had accepted his acceptance. “We argued.” He continues. “Admittedly, one of our worst arguments, but it’s just an argument. It’d never stop me from loving you.” And it’s true. As frustrated, and angry Pete has made him, he still loves him even if he doesn’t quite like him right now.
Pete deflates at that, like he had been expecting a fight, and pulls his hand closer. “I love you too.” His voice is weary, and apologetic. “I’m sorry, Tom.” Pete’s gaze is lazer locked where he fiddles with their joint hands. “I genuinely hadn’t meant for it to become an ultimatum.”
Seems like they’re doing this tonight, then. His tone is flat, tired. Neither of them have the energy to argue so maybe they could discuss . “What did you mean to happen then?”
His husband chews his lip in the way he’s always found so endearing. In a better mood, he’d cup his cheek and run his thumb over his lips before kissing him. “I…I just- I didn’t want to seem onboard with it, all the way up to the end and then tell you I don’t want to go. It didn’t seem fair to you. And I know the ultimatum isn’t fair either, but I can’t lie, Tom. It’s genuinely how I feel.”
A sigh leaves him, and with his free hand he pulls his glasses off his face and tosses them to the side. “I really want this job, Pete. Truly. Why are you so against it?”
His husband is quiet for a long moment. Too long of a moment. But Tom is a patient man for Pete, so he waits. “Because it’s not as simple as just taking a new job.” Pete says finally. “We’d both have a security detail, our every move would be watched. We’d be in the public eye, there’d be no privacy, and that’s the exact opposite of what we’ve strived for. We’d be in the press, The first Gay Secretary of the Navy, everything in our past would be brought to light and stripped down for the world to see. I can’t handle that.”
Finally, Pete looks up from their hands. “And god forbid I fuck up, and we both now I will. It’s what I do.”
That stings, and his heart leaps to his throat. “Don’t say that.” He disagrees gruffly. “You don’t always fuck up.”
Pete levels him with a glance and frown, a clear disagreement even though he doesn’t audibly argue. “When I fuck up, it will be plastered everywhere. They will try to tear you down for it, and you will end up hating me if I cost you your career.”
“How is preventing me from advancing my career any different?” Tom can’t help but question.
His husband recoils a bit at his words, and the implication that Tom hadn’t meant to imply. “Because at least this way, you can still choose your career, and I won’t have ruined it. But if we get there, and I ruin that job for you, you won’t forgive me, Tom. That’ll be the end of us.”
“I’ve managed to forgive you for all your other stunts over the years.”
Pete frowns at him. “Because what I did could only ruin my career. I have been so careful to never affect your job, Tom. I know I’ve made it hard sometimes, but I never did anything that could jeopardize it.”
Tom mirrors his frown. “What are you talking about?”
A sigh leaves the man in the bed, like he’s about to admit to something he doesn’t. “I haven’t been avoiding the promotion to Admiral because it could ground me.” Is a hell of an opener to whatever he’s going to say. “There’s been admirals who have continued to fly even after their promotion. Just look at Rear Admiral Strohsahl. He’s fifty two and still flies.”
His brow furrows. “Then why?”
“Because it would cause you problems.” Pete’s thumb runs over the back of his hand. “We get away with our relationship, because even though I am in your chain of command, I’m far enough below that people don’t really pay attention. If I had taken those promotions, they wouldn’t be able to look over it anymore.”
Fuck , and damnit if Pete didn’t make perfect sense. “I never asked you to do that.”
“No.” Pete agrees, devastatingly gentle. “You never had to. We wanted different things. You wanted to be the best in the navy. I only wanted to be the best pilot . The promotions didn’t matter to me because I got to stay in the air, and you got to keep climbing the ranks.”
“Why not tell me all of this?” Surely they could have figured something out.
“You’d feel guilty.” He says simply. “And there was no real point to telling you. It was an easy thing to do for you, I didn’t need thanks or praise for trying to protect you. That’s my job.”
Just like it’s been Tom’s job to protect him in turn, and keep him in the air even though he hated it. “I don’t want you to sacrifice things for me.”
Pete laughs, it’s short, and cut off with a painful hiss. “We don’t get a choice in what we sacrifice for each other, Tom. We both just do our best and hope it’s enough.”
That’s what marriage is, isn’t it? Hope. Hope that things will work out, that the future will be good and kind, and that on the days the world doesn’t live up to that hope, that they will still choose each other, and that will be enough. “I wouldn’t hate you.” He says finally. “I don’t think I could ever hate you, and nothing the press could ever say could ever matter more than you.”
“You say that now, but what if it costs you the job, or the next promotion you set your eyes on? I don’t want to hold you back, Tom. I will love you whether you take the job or not. You are enough for me. You were enough for me back in ‘87, and you’re enough for me now. But if I’m not enough for you, I understand. I don’t want you to feel pressured to choose me, if you genuinely want the job more.”
And Tom’s heart breaks, not clean in half, because he doesn’t love in half measures. His love for Pete is etched in every crevice and nook. How could Pete
not
be enough? How could that even be brought into question? That wasn’t the problem, here. Not what makes the decision hard. Being
forced
to choose is the problem. Pete matters more than the Navy, that’s an easy truth. “It’s not that you’re not enough.” Tom explains quietly. “I love you, and you’ve always been enough for me. But you’re asking me to toss away decades of service, and work, when it’s only a three year posting.”
“I know.” Pete says softly. “But I’m tired, Tom.” He admits, bearing all. “You asked me to give up flying, and to retire, and I did, and I’m not looking for a tit for tat. But I was-
am
looking forward to retiring. My body hurts. I spend more nights with nightmares than without. I spent my entire life in the service and fighting for every inch I was given, and I’m tired of fighting. I’m tired of hiding. We spent most of our relationship under don’t ask, don't tell, watching our every step not to draw unwanted attention. I just want to be free, Tom. With you. I don’t want to have to spend three years walking on eggshells. And could you honestly promise me it would only be three years? What if they offered you SECDEF? Could you turn it down?”
And Tom, for all his words, and foresight and plans, has no fucking idea.
Notes:
Okay so i know that this probably wasn't everyone's go to idea for the resolution, but i genuinely didn't want them to divorce, and I felt that this could satisfy everyone's feelings on the matter, but if you guys want, I could write a chapter where what would have happened if they divorced and post it for an AU?
If this chapter doesn't fit well or go the direction you guys feel like it should just lmk and i can rewrite it
the admiral mentioned is a real guy and still flies jets
Also do you guys want me to link like the songs i listen to for the chapter, for this one it was this brilliant song: Maybe in the Morning by Zach Seabaugh.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oqK-HQJVULQAs always, thanks for reading and I look forward to yalls thoughts!
There's really two options of how it plays out from here:
A) Ice really does take the job and Mav goes with him, but he's miserable and Tom quits after seeing what it's turned their life into
B) Ice turns down the job, and they do properly retire.
C) Tom takes the job with Mav's support, but Maverick doesn't go to DC with him. They don't separate, just do long distance.
Chapter 22: Sacrifice and Sorrow
Summary:
Sometimes, even though you agree to give something up for someone, it doesn't quite stim the grief and sorrow for what you could have had.
Notes:
Enjoy!
Some info:
I did some research on the house the Ice lives in, homeboy lives in a genuine mansion. Wattles Mansion in particular, the house was sold in 1968 for 1.9 million dollars. Assuming he bought it around 2008, he would have bought it for around $10 million. The bro gotta be getting money from somewhere. Like he makes around 200k as a 4 star admiral. No where enough to buy that house, even with Pete's salary. So we're gonna go with it having been a family home and bought by his father in 1975 for a few million, and Tom inherited it. Today that house is worth about $18 million just based off inflation, due to it now being own by the city of LA there's no real price, but that's what we're basing their budget on. All of this is just to explain how they can afford the houses they are looking at.obviously I spent far too much time on zillow and researching houses, the one I did pick, may not feel like it really fits them, but there's a good reason for it thatll come up later
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
They spend days talking it over, to the point they’re just rehashing old arguments and points. It’s pointless and tiring, because it is obvious nothing he says is going to convince Tom not to accept the position.
Tom is unrelenting in his desire to take this job. He keeps pushing, and talking about it, but there’s no real compromise to be found. Tom doesn’t seem willing to budge on the job, just wants Pete to, despite his protests, and concerns, Tom seems to think it really won't be a big deal.
“Fine.” He concedes finally, exhaustedly . It’s all they’ve talked about for days, he can’t handle it anymore. His head swims, and his headache isn’t entirely because of the skull fracture. He hates every word that leaves his mouth. “Take the job, Tom.”
Hope dares to blossom in his husband's eyes. “Are you sure?”
He wants to laugh, of course he’s not sure. He’s quite sure he doesn’t want this. But Tom does, and he won’t take no for an answer. He’s tired and in pain and everything is too much . “Just make the call.” Don’t think, just do .
“Alright.” Ice squeezes his hand and Pete has to force himself not to recoil. “Thank you.”
Pete doesn’t respond. Doesn’t trust himself to. He already hates what he’s agreed to. Dreads it more than he’s dreaded everything, all he can do is hope that this really will be enough for Tom, and that maybe someday, they can actually have the life Tom promised him.
Ice lets go of his hand as he rises, his phone already pressed against his ear as he steps out, and god, despite his best efforts, he can’t help the few tears that escape him. They’re silent tears, and they burn as he stares helplessly at the ceiling. He’s quick to wipe them away with the back of his hand, just in case Ice turns back.
Perhaps it’s too much to hope that he does.
Maybe it’s wrong to hope he notices, and says nevermind, that they can buy their house and get the dog and retire. But god does he hope. A way out that never comes.
His bleary gaze slides over to his laptop, still open on his bedside table. The house he had picked out stares back at him, mocking him and his damn trust in Ice. With a grunt, he slams the laptop close, with enough strength that he won’t be surprised if the screen has shattered.
Fitting. It feels like his life has.
Tom’s smiling, and it seems like the tension held in his shoulders has finally dissipated. Like he’s back to being Tom and not Ice. “The President said that it would be around a month or so before my confirmation hearing. I figured we could look for houses in the meantime?”
Pete doesn’t find it in him to protest. “Alright. Just show me the ones you like. The computer makes my head hurt.” In fairness, everything, his head hurt. Damn this stupid skull fracture.
“Okay.” Tom agrees easily, scooting his chair closer so that both of them can see the laptop. “How many bedrooms are you thinking?”
Pete hums, closing his eyes. “Three should be fine. You could have an office, and the other could be our guest room.”
The click clack of keys used to be a sound Pete found comforting. When he’d be in bed, snuggled under the covers and face pressed against Tom’s leg. Tom would work on his laptop and gently card a hand through his hair, and Pete would be lulled to sleep by his steady typing. Now, though, it wouldn’t be remiss to compare it to the Jaws theme song.
A gentle hand cups his face and Tom’s thumb brushes his cheek. “Are you alright?”
No. “Yeah.” He lies. “Just a bit tired.”
“Do you want me to get the doctor?” He can practically hear the frown in his husband’s voice. The concern that should be standard, and it is, so why does it feel so wrong to hear from him.
“No, no.” He shakes his head, and opens his eyes to prove his point. “Let’s look at houses.”
“...alright.” Lips press against his forehead, and then Tom is pulling up real estate listings in DC. “What’s our budget?”
“Depends. Are we selling the house here?”
“I think so.” Tom says after a moment. “You want to live in the forest after DC. I don’t think there’s any reason to keep it.”
Pete’s gaze flicks over to him. “Are you alright with selling it? It is your family home.”
“My family home is wherever you are.” Tom reminds, not even looking up from the computer. “Besides, It would just collect dust. It’s too big for just the two of us. If we want to keep a place in California, we can just buy something a bit smaller.”
That’s true, Pete supposes. They could always stay with Sarah or the kids when they come to visit. “The house is worth, what 10-15 million now?”
“Around that.” Tom confirms. “In this market we could probably get a bit more. I don’t want to spend all of that, though. I’d like to put some of it away.”
Pete knows they aren’t poor. Tom for one, has never been poor. His father had made good money, and invented well. Pete, though, after his father died, struggled. His mom was a single mother making pennies, and after his father died, his mom turned to spending those pennies on liquor. It turned out that liquor would take her life and almost his. He can still remember that night so vividly. His mom, drunk and insisting she’s fine to drive, buckling him up with liquor on her breath.Her missing the turn and running them into a tree, sending his mom through the windshield, killing her instantly, while he shattered his shoulder when it slammed into the dashboard.
After that, he was sent to foster homes, which were not renowned for having much money. He grew up poor, so it was a bit surreal to be talking of millions and it not being make believe. They genuinely have millions to use to buy a house, and pocket the rest. But perhaps they is too strong of a word, in this case. Pete’s name may have been added to the deed, but he would never try to lay claim to any money that came from the house. In his mind, everything that came from that was solely Tom’s. After all, he was the one selling the house he grew up in. Pete carries no part in it. “How much do houses in DC go for?”
“Uh.” There’s some clicking. “For what suits us? Three to Seven Million.”
“Hell of a nest egg to put aside with what’s left over.” He comments. Certainly there would be no need to worry of running out of money in their retirement.
Tom laughs softly, and takes his hand in his. “Plenty for you to spend a few grand on your dog.”
He blinks. Partially because he forgot about the dog, but also: “That’s how much dogs cost?” He can’t help but ask, scandalized.
His husband looks up, a fond smile on his face, and despite how much Pete hates the position he’s in, he can’t help but feel a rush of love for him. “From a breeder, yeah. Did you pick what kind of dog you want?”
“A soft coated Wheaten Terrier.” He answers, a loyal dog with enough energy to accompany him on adventures and walks. That dog was meant for Tennessee. “But I was thinking we’d wait on the dog. I think it might be too much at once.”
A flicker of concern glimmers in Tom’s eyes. “Are you sure?” He probes. “You’ve wanted a dog forever.”
In an effort to deflect the concern he says: “Oh I’m still getting one.” He reassures, but he’s not sure it’s true it feels different, now, for some reason. “But I want to wait till we’re settled down.”
It works, the concern is gone and Tom relaxes again. “Okay.” He agrees. “We can find a breeder when you’re ready.” Tom promises, and a bitter part of Pete wonders if he’ll even keep that promise.
With his foot, he nudges the laptop. “See any you like?”
“A couple.” Tom turns the screen towards him. “I’m trying to find ones with a garage for you and a yard for the dog.” He clicks through the pictures for him, and they’re all really nice houses, but…
“That’s a lot of stairs.” He comments. “We’re getting older.” They may be strong enough for three flights of stairs now , but anything could happen in three years, and even then, it may be longer. “Maybe we should try to find one's with less? Or at least an elevator.”
“Good point.” Tom adjusts the filters, and more and more options fade away, especially once he adds a 10 miles radius.
It’s quiet for a bit, in which Pete finds himself almost asleep, and then: “I picked out a few.”
To clear the fogginess, he blinks and does his best to stifle a groan as he peers at the laptop. It’s a nice townhouse, admittedly, but dear god is it soulless. The entire place is painted white and it’s too modern. “No to that one.”
Accordingly, Tom closes the page and displays the next house. In the end, they shorten their options down to six houses. None of them were perfect, but Pete can’t find it to really care because none of them would be perfect, the house he wants sits on 23 acres in Tennessee. It’s unfair to compare them to it. So, he settles for the ones he likes well enough. Most of the houses are just too big for them, but they’re the only ones that meet all their other needs.
So, they put all the links in an email and reach out to a realtor suggested to them by the White House, and Tom reaches out to one here, in California, to see about getting the house appraised and listed.
Truthfully, when Pete had agreed to the job that morning, he hadn’t quite expected everything would move quite so fast . Hell. All he wants to do is curl up in their bed at home and sleep , not stress about moving and what they’re lives are going to turn into.
“When do we have to move?” Pete asks in the silence.
Tom hums. “Probably in the next month or two.”
I’m still hurt . Pete thinks. He’s never been one to stay and bed and brood about being hurt, but this is different than all the other times. Now, he doesn’t get a choice. He has so much recovering to do, and Tom is supposed to be by his side for it. Not make the entire situation worse . “Tom, I don’t know if I’m going to be well enough by then.”
His husband looks up from the computer at that, and squeezes his hand. “That’s alright.” He reassures gently. “We’ll figure it out, and we can see about getting all your information transferred to Walter Reed, that way you have a doctor close to home.” Tom pulls his hand to his lips. “I’ll be by your side for all of it, Pete.”
You’re not the only one I want around. Pete thinks. Of course he wants Tom, but he also knows that once Tom is confirmed by the senate, he really won’t have the time to help him with doctor visits and physical therapy. He needs someone else there to help him, at least at first.
“I need you to approve an extended leave for Bradley.” He says after a moment, Tom won’t be thrilled with the idea, but he won’t fight him on this. “I’m going to need help for a while.”
It’s quiet for a moment. “Okay.” Tom agrees. “But you know you can approve it, right? You are an Admiral now too.”
Pete hums. “But I’m not The Admiral.”
“You could be.” Tom tells him, meeting his gaze seriously. “I have to retire to take this job, but there’s no reason you have to. If you want to stay in the service, that's your choice. If you play your cards right, you could get four stars.”
“That’s not really an option, Tom.”
His husband frowns. “Why not?” C’mon Tom. You’re the smart out of the two of us.
It’s only barely that he restrains his sigh. “You’ll be retired, yes, but you’ll be in charge of the entire Navy, not just a fleet. I’ll still be a part of your chain of command, and a high ranking member at that. It won’t be permitted.”
“But is it what you want?” Tom doesn’t look away. “You’ve spent long enough ducking promotions for me. If you want it, I’m sure we can figure it out.”
“Maybe.” He says finally. “I don’t know.” He must let more into his tone than intended because Tom faces him fully.
“I can’t tell what you're thinking.” Tom admits softly, pulling Pete’s hand closer. “Please talk to me.”
I’ve talked. We’ve talked, and talked and talked and you still don’t listen. “I don’t know.” He chooses to repeat. “All of this is too much right now.” He says honestly. “I just want to rest.”
“Okay.” Tom nods, and rises, flicking off the lights for him, and closes the blinds. “You can sleep. I’ll wake you for lunch.”
Unbidden, and bitter, he thinks: Life would have been so much simpler if he had just died in that damn jet crash. He says nothing, just lets his eyes close and tries to sleep despite the god awful pain and the unsettled feeling that’s found a home in his gut.
Tom can’t help but chew his lip as he watches his husband sleep. He’s half surprised he hasn’t chewed his lip raw over the last two weeks.
Out of the many things he is, an idiot is not one of them. He can tell something is wrong with Pete. He’s his husband, of course he knows when something is wrong. But god, it’s hard to tell what’s caused by his head injury and what Pete actually feels. He knows that Pete doesn’t want to go to DC, but it’ll only be for a couple years, and Tom will make it up to him.
Genuinely, he appreciates it so much, he’ll make sure Pete knows it too. He hardly wants his husband to think that he doesn’t know what Pete is sacrificing, and he doesn’t want Pete to sacrifice anything he doesn’t have to. If, while Tom is in DC, Pete wants to keep flying jets, or stay in the service, he’ll do nothing but support him. Do whatever is necessary to keep Tom’s job from interfering with whatever Pete wants to do. However, he needs to know what Pete wants to do.
But, Pete’s I don’t know , had sounded genuine. Like he truly doesn’t know what he wants, and maybe he doesn’t. But his I don’t know , also stung with a tone of disappointment. Whether in their situation, or him , he’s not sure he wants to know, he’s not even sure if his business at the moment. Pete is going to feel whatever he needs to feel, and Tom can merely help once Pete lets him.
He just wishes he’d let him. Tom drags a hand down his face, exhausted and excited both in the same measure. It would take time, he knows for their emotions to settle, and the awkwardness to fade after a big fight, but it’s still always so jarring to not have all the answers, or know the next step. After every big fight, it feels like they’re back on ground zero, in a fresh new relationship where they don’t quite know how to exist around each other. But, they have always preserved and settled back down, he knows they will this time too, even if it takes a bit longer. Pete will always be worth the wait.
Notes:
You can vote on which house they get here:
https://take.supersurvey.com/poll4549607x3EE7469d-142yall i started writing a bit of what life is like for Pete after Tom takes the job and holy shit it got dark so damn fast. Taking votes on how dark that arc will be 1-10, cause at the moment it's sitting on a pretty perch at 10
snippet from an upcoming chapter:
"Tom rounds the couch, sitting in the loveseat beside Pete. Trying not to scare him off. “What happened? You’re not even drinking from a glass.”
Pete hums. “I was.” He denies. “I just already put it up. Hadn’t quite made it to putting up the bottle yet.” Why is he so good at lying? Tom wonders. When did he get so good at lying? “It’s just so far.” He whines.
“Stop lying.” He says firmly. “And tell me what’s wrong.”
“I’m fine.” He stresses. His body tenses, preparing for an attack. “I’ll clean up and be in bed shortly. You should get ready for bed, it’s late.” Pete deflects."
snippet for divorce AU:
"The papers slide out easily. They’re heavy, and not cheap regular printer paper. He sees both his and Pete’s name on the front page glaring up at him in demanding 18 point times new roman font.
He’s certain it would break his heart if he still had one. But he lost his heart the day he told Mav-
“I’ve accepted the job.” He had informed him, voice kept cautiously level. Maybe Pete would change his mind and come with him.
Pete, still bed bound, was swarmed with blankets and machines still all trying to help him heal. “Alright.” He had said finally. “Go then.”"
Chapter 23: Moving forward, backwards and on all in one step
Summary:
Tom and Pete have to tell their family and friends about the move.
Notes:
Here's a playlist with songs that I listen to when writing the fic, it's constantly being added to: https://music.apple.com/us/playlist/can-a-bird-love-a-cage/pl.u-gxbll07u5JAvKma
Enjoy the chapter!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
It’s mostly Pete’s decision to wait a few days to tell the others. Mostly out of the naïve wish to pretend that it’s not really happening. It’s stupid, and he’s aware of it, but that’s never stopped him before, so he’ll hardly let it happen now.
It’s Bradley, who’s the one that Pete is most worried about telling. They just started repairing their relationship, who knows what this will do. Never mind the fact that he still has to ask if he’s alright coming to DC for a month to help him recover. Call him a coward, but he saves him for last.
Sarah and Darrell are the two that’ll be the easiest to tell. They’re used to their deployments and long absences, this will just be another one on the list. Just. Maybe the hardest one yet.
“Oh, congratulations Tom!” Sarah smiles and pulls her brother into a hug. Pete doesn’t miss the look of concern she throws him over Tom’s shoulder.
“Thank you.” His husband says warmly, hugging her back. Tom certainly got all the height; Sarah’s head barely reaches his shoulder.
She pulls away, and glances between the two of them. “...are you two staying together?”
“We are.” Tom confirms, turning a little to smile at Pete, and that smile is why he said yes. Because despite all his misgivings about the job, and the move, Tom would be happy, and that’s always been the most important thing to him. Important enough that he’ll give this his best shot and put off what he wants for three years. “He’s coming with me to DC.”
Three years. He can manage three years. They’ve been managing for the last 36. “As soon as the doctors give the okay.” He confirms.
“That’s so good to hear.” She says in relief. Pete knows her well enough to know she has questions and doubts, but won’t ask them in the open like this. Far more likely to visit each of them alone. She could always be counted on to want the best for them.
Not for the first time, he’s so grateful for her. Even from the beginning, she took him in as family. She had hid their relationship and kept them as safe as possible. Even Darrell, who she married in 1997, had been vetted by her to make sure he was okay with people like them, cause if not, Sarah had no interest. Loyal from the first to the very last.
Much of the conversation passes with little input from him. It’s not that any of them ignore him, far more so that the exhaustion seems to grow everyday. It’s harder and harder to fight it, especially with his hand held securely in Tom’s. It’s not exactly a welcome touch, but it is a grounding one.
Out of all the people he had expected to visit, that or any day, was Cyclone. Quite honestly, he thought the first visit would be it. But, he’s here now, sitting rimrod straight in the hospital chair, ankle resting on his knee. It’s quiet for a moment; he seems to be considering his words before he chances: “I heard that Iceman is taking over as SECNAV.” He’s similar to his husband in the way he disregards small talk, and it’s a quality Pete can appreciate.
“He is.” Pete confirms, head tilting just a bit. What was he here for? An in? Mav already knows who’s being chosen as Ice’s replacement. “It’s a couple months out, though. They have to get everything in order.”
Cyclone doesn’t even nod at that. Simply sighs, and says, “I’m not going to pretend that I understand how the two of you work.” He holds up a hand to try and stop the words forming at the tip of Pete’s tongue. Do they even work anymore? He can’t help but wonder. “And I don’t want to know. But what I do know is that DC is a snake pit, especially when you are going to be in the public eye.”
Pete frowns. He knows that too. “What are you trying to say?”
“That I risked my career for you once.” Simpson’s gaze meets Maverick’s unflinchingly. “And that I’m willing to do it once more. If DC is not what you want, I can keep you at Top Gun.”
What?
The surprise must show on his face, because he follows that up with: “I knew there was a chance that your promotion would be a courtesy, but I also knew there was a chance it wouldn’t be. I’m prepared for both. If it isn’t, Bates is due for a promotion. He will be promoted, and likely made a commander of one of the forces. I could use someone to take over as Air Boss of Top Gun.”
What the fuck ?
There’s not many things in life that leave Maverick speechless, but this one certainly manages. How the hell has this come up? Cyclone barely even liked him for god sakes.
“Jesus christ.” He can’t help but mutter. Simpson holds up a hand again, stopping him, and that’s certainly the last time he’s getting away with that.
“I don’t need an answer now. You’re certainly in no shape to give one. But once you have one, call.” He seems done, but tacks on, “Call regardless. DC can eat you alive. I wouldn’t see it happen to you.”
That ’s a hell of a fucking thing to say, and it seems that’s that all that Cyclone is prepared to say, for he leaves without another word. Maverick manages to stop him at the door. “You’re going to be made COMPACFLT.”
A tit for tat.
“Good.” Is all the man says before stepping out.
“Fuck .” He can’t help but mutter once he’s alone.
Sarah is a loyal person. It’s one of her defining characteristics if you ask her (or the Harry Potter sorting quiz), the only problem was, that loyalty is a tricky things when it faces a split. The left or right path. Tom or Pete.
Blood would demand loyalty to Tom, and god she doesn’t want to betray her brother, even though that’s exactly what it feels like now. But dear lord, sometimes her brother is an idiot . You’d have to be blind to think that Pete was on board with this. She takes his hand in hers. The bruises have started to fade into shades of yellow, so much easier to look at than the blue and purple that had painted themselves all over his face.
He’s still in a neck brace, IV still securely in his arm, and still not able to walk- won’t be until his stomach heals. “Are you sure this is what you want, Pete?” She asks softly. The machines beep, and woosh, and Pete stares at their hands.
“It’s not.” He admits, and his voice is tired. Weary to the point it hurts to hear. “But Tom isn’t budging on it. It’s either we go, or we’d divorice, and I’d rather just put up with it for three years than to spend the next twenty or thirty without him.”
She gets that, she does. She’s married to her high school sweetheart. They’ve been together almost as long as Tom and Pete. But even she would be hard pressed to be put second over a job. Especially this late in their lives, when retirement had been on the table. “It’s not fair to you.” She protests for him. “He shouldn’t even be taking the job, it’s like he’s determined to become our dad.”
“Don’t let him hear you say that.” He warns needlessly. She’s very aware of how much Tom hates being compared to their father. A hard thing to do when he’s named directly after him. So Thomas became Tom .
But Thomas had only ever made it to a two star Admiral. Tom had knocked that out of the park at a remarkably young age, but that wasn’t enough for him. He became the youngest four star Admiral in history. Had stood in front of their father, stars proudly gleaming on his shoulders, and told him that he was marrying a man.
He…hadn’t taken it well to say the least. The only reason Tom wasn’t written out of the will, was because Thomas had died before it was possible. But even with him dead, it still feels like Tom is trying to be better than him. But he already is . He outranks their father, has a better title, more awards and accolades. Yet he’s still chasing what he’s already acquired. Now, it seems like he’s dooming himself to become Thomas and not Tom . Thomas who was so set on his career that he left their mom with them, and only ever cared to discipline, not to spend time with. Thomas, who broke their mom’s heart every time he refused to retire.
She watched how it wore their mom down to dust. She refuses to watch Tom do it to Pete. “I won’t.” Sarah promises regardless. “But I don’t want this life for you. For either of you.”
Pete tries to comfort her by squeezing her hand. “I know. But it’ll only be for a few years.”
It’s never just a few years. “Promise me something.”
Once upon a time, Pete would have responded with: Anything . But answering with Anything had cost him Bradley. So now, the response she gets is: “What is it?”
“If it gets to be too much, promise me you will call, and we will figure it out.” She pulls his hand closer, desperate for him to agree. They’ve been family for so long now, she can’t bear to lose him. Not like this. Not for her brother's career. “Promise that you’ll call one of us and leave him if you can’t handle DC.” The words burn to say, betrayal, but it’s fair enough isn’t it? After all, Tom is betraying Pete.
She watches his eyes flick over her face searching for something. She thinks he finds it when he finally agrees: “I promise.” He says softly. “You don’t have to worry about that.”
She does. And she will, but the promise is enough. Because Pete has never broken a promise, and she knows he won’t start now.
“You wanted to see me, Mav?” Bradley cocks his head and hands over a McFlurry. “Thought you’d like some ice cream.” He explains.
“You’d be right.” His uncle confirms with a smile, already putting a spoonful in his mouth. “God I love ice cream.” He moans.
He can’t help but snort. “I’m surprised you don’t have diabetes from eating too much of it.”
Mav rolls his eyes. “Hard to get diabetes when Tom refuses to buy ice cream that isn’t low in sugar.”
His brow furrows a little. “Is that even possible?”
“He somehow manages to make it so.” Pete grumbles. “I swear, I have to hide the Ben and Jerry’s in the garage freezer.”
Rooster can’t help his laugh. “Can’t even stay out of trouble at home, can ya?”
“Of course not.” He rolls his eyes, and Bradley is glad to see it. He feels more like himself than he has almost all week. “You should know that.”
He hums. “So what did you want to talk about?”
“A couple things.” Mav begins with. “And feel free to say no, but I wanted to see if you wouldn’t mind taking an extended leave; Tom or I will approve it- to help me out for a month or so. I need help getting to doctor's appointments and just getting around the house.”
“Of course.” It’s not even something that he has to think about. It won’t make up for all the years away, but at least it will be a step forward . “You don’t even gotta ask, Mav.”
“I do.” Maverick disagrees with a small shake of his head. “Because Tom and I are moving to DC. They offered him Secretary of the Navy.”
Rooster blinks, and his brow furrows. He sits his own ice cream to the side. “I thought you two were retiring?”
“We were.” Mav sighs. “But he got the call right after we decided, and I know how much he wants this. We agreed to three years in DC, and then moving to Tennessee after.”
“And you’re alright with that?” Rooster has to check. It’s his job now.
“Trying to be.” His uncle answers honestly, and that was the thing about Mav. He never really lied. “It’ll take me a little bit to be on the same page, but I’m willing to tough it out for him.”
He’s not going to push it. He knows it’s not really his place yet. They’re barely on solid footing with one another, demanding too much will only cause another rift. Which is one of the reasons he really does want to help Mav once he’s out of the hospital. They can relearn each other, and hopefully grow close again. He wants his Uncle back in his life, to the same degree as when he was a kid. “Okay. Well I don’t mind staying with you in DC.”
“Thank you.” He says sincerely. “We’re supposed to move next month. We have a realtor looking at a few of the houses we liked.”
“Want to show me them?” He asks around a mouthful of ice cream.
“Sure.” His uncle smiles. “Grab the laptop?”
Notes:
The house has been picked, it was a close call! I actually ended up making a twitter that way I can get yall's opinions easier, the twitter handle is @Conradao3
I will try to tie in a couple of the daggers, but it's a bit hard to do realistically since at the end of the day, they really only knew each other for three weeks. Hangman will make an appearance at some point, but I'm not sure when atm. Also if it helps, Pete does not become an alcoholic, but he does drink a little more than typical.
How long does Mav last in DC before he can't handle anymore?
I hope you all enjoyed the chapter!
Chapter 24: Step one, two, three
Summary:
Tom and Pete work to put themselves back together.
Notes:
Alrighty, here it is! I wanted to showcase Tom and Pete's feelings and that they still are working through their emotions, but they do always try to be their best for each other.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
It’s early, earlier than even Tom prefers to be awake. 0430. But better to be awake and able to watch the steady rise and fall of Pete’s chest than to risk nightmares of his husband’s breath stalling, his heart beat stopping, all the things that could happen in an instant and ruin his world.
He’s grateful, however, for the peace and quiet he’s allowed in the interim. Time to think without any rush, pressure or expectation. His thoughts, both good and bad were his own for the time being.
His gaze drags over to his husband, bundled under layers and layers of thin hospital blankets, and a fuzzy gray one. The bruises still discolor his face in shades of yellow and brown, but it’s a far sight better than the blue and purples. He knows his chest looks much of the same. The bandages on his wound still were being changed daily, thankfully, the infection had been curbed by the medication, and hadn’t worsened.
Still, it would be another week before they’d let Pete start trying to walk again, he’s almost as excited for it as his husband. It’s awful to see Pete be so reliant on others, when above all else, Maverick has always cherished his freedom, but it is heartening to see their family support him in every way possible, even Rooster.
It’s certainly affected his husbands mood. He’s been irritable, short and frustrated, but he knows he can’t fully place the blame on Pete’s injuries. Tom would be a fool not to know that in part, it’s because of him and the job offer. It’s shit timing, and a bad situation. He’s aware of both of those things. As aware as knowing that this opportunity would never be offered again in his life. Guilt still churns in his gut when he thinks of the look on Pete’s face when he told him about the offer. He hadn’t expected to go back on his offer of retirement, or he would have never promised it to Pete.
But anger too, still lingers. How quick Pete was with bringing up divorce out of all things. Had he already been thinking of it? Was he holding onto other arguments and past feelings? Did he still want a divorce? How much was Pete’s actual feelings, and how much was the brain injury? He knows he’s asking for a lot, but Pete doesn’t really have to give up everything he promised him. There’s two houses that they picked in DC that have enough land around it to make it feel private, and give Pete space from the city, and surely enough for the dog. Pete can retire, or as much as it terrifies Tom, he will see about getting Pete stationed at a nearby base so he can keep flying. He knows Dalton is a man of his word, if he promised to keep Pete in the sky, he would. He’s still not sure when or how Maverick flipped on a dime and was okay with never flying again. After teary nights of trying to reassure him, arguments over his safety and decisions, begging for his safety and to put aside the jets, all to no avail. But then suddenly, he just agrees to never flying again? It doesn’t make any sense.
His phone vibrating drags him out of his ruminations. Tom reaches out with a quiet sigh and glances at the text:
‘The Secretary will be announcing his pending retirement tomorrow morning. Your confirmation hearing is scheduled one month out. 10/1.’
It’s from Russell, the President’s Chief of Staff. Speaking of which, he really needs to start working on finding his own staff members. His first action after stepping in would be to clean house.
‘Understood.’
He rereads the message a second time, before opening his calendar and adding it to it. 10/1. Shit. If that was a month out, then today would be September first, and Pete always decorated for fall on the first. Even when on deployments, Pete would send a fall themed greeting card. Holidays and traditions were important Pete, far more than they were important to him. But then, for most of his life, Pete had had no one. No family to spend it with, not until Goose came along. Pete’s told him, quietly, and very un-Maverick like, what life had been like after his father was KIA (had even told him the classified truth to his fathers death). How his mother fell to alcoholism, killed herself and nearly him by drunk driving. His time in foster homes, was rarely discussed, even after all these years. Maverick remained tight lipped, and locked down if he pried. But, at the very least, Tom knows that Maverick didn’t really get holidays or birthdays then. Which made them all the more important now.
He flicks his gaze to his watch. 0503. Still early. Pete could be trusted to sleep till 0900 at the latest, but that’s been earlier and earlier as they wean him off the pain meds. Still. He has to give it a shot. It’s a small, easy thing to do, especially if it helps makes Pete’s stay happier, and begins to heal over the rift between them.
Give and take, push and pull.
The first thing he’s aware of as his eyes flutter open, is the smell of fall, of apple pie. The sun is already shining in, painting the room in a warm orange glow. He’s pleasantly warm under the blankets, and even without seeing him yet, he can feel his hand held in his husband’s hand. Tom’s hands were bigger than his, smoother too, now in his old age. His hands no longer carry the callouses built by hard work and manual labor, that had faded years ago, when he received his first star. His hands are warm too, holding his loosely. Likely a comfort for them both.
“Good morning.” Tom says warmly, voice a little scratchy, and smiling at him over the top of his book when he notices his stirring. The bags under his eyes are darker than before. “How are you feeling?”
He hums groggily, pulling his husband’s hand closer out of habit. “Cozy.” He answers truthfully.
His husband acquisities his pulling and moves to sit on the edge of his bed. “Good.” His smile grows, the most genuine one he’s seen all week hell, weeks, and it makes his heart flutter. “I went out and got you a heated blanket. I know you’ve been getting cold.”
“Yet I married the Iceman.” He jokes around a yawn, this was familiar territory. It no longer feels like the both of them are walking on eggshells. His gaze slides from his husband and around the room. He hadn’t been imagining the smell. There’s a wax melter on the window sill, a couple pumpkins littered around the room, colored leaves are glued to the walls. “…what?”
Tom’s smile softens and follows his gaze. “You always like to decorate on the first.” He explains softly. It’s already the first? “You’re not quite up to it this year, so I thought I’d give it my best shot.”
Warmth floods him, and not from the heated blanket this time. “I love you.” He says without thinking, but he means it all the same. It’s the first time he’s really thought it in the last week. But this is why he agreed, because Tom is worth it. Because Tom knows his stupid like of seasonal decor, and his tradition of doing it on the first. Tom knows it’s important to him. Because Tom would always step up when Pete can’t. “I love you.” He repeats, when Tom’s bright blue eyes settle on him.
His husband’s smile grows, and softens. “I love you too, Pete.”
One foot in front of the other, and we’ll figure this out. He thinks. He uses his free hand to pull Tom into a kiss. His husband goes willingly. His lips are soft against his own. Not demanding, or expecting anything from him, but Pete deepens it all the same. Never mind his morning breath. Tom takes life coffee- and god he really misses coffee- and as Tom cups his cheek, the dread that made a home of his gut, finally starts to unwind, and as if this moment can’t any better, when they break for air Tom says: “I got you a pumpkin spiced latte.”
“Don’t toy with me.” He warns, fingers curling in Tom’s hair.
His husband grins and pulls away fully, but then he’s pushing a Starbucks cup into Pete’s hands. “Oh thank god.”
Tom laughs, warm and full and everything feels okay. “Drink it before the nurses come in and you get me in trouble.”
Pete hums. “You’re going to get us both in trouble.”
“Only fair.” He shrugs. “You’ve gotten me into plenty.”
“Not my fault.” He denies, holding the coffee with both hands. It’s delightfully warm, and god, he’s missed coffee so much. “You knew what you were getting into when you married me.”
“I did, didn’t I?” Tom muses with a smile. “Always livin’ up to your callsign, huh?”
“No more than you do.” He counters, taking a sip of his coffee. Maybe that’s their problem. Maybe they’ve spent too long being Mav and Ice, and not Pete and Tom.
“Says the man known for melting the Iceman.”
He can’t help but chuckle at that. Cautiously though, careful not to hurt himself. “I’m not sure I’ve managed that.”
Tom looks at him curiously for a long moment. “You have.” He promises, and then his lips are against his temple, pressing a gentle kiss. “Are you in any pain?”
He can’t help the grimace. “A bit.” He admits after taking stock. “I’m worried they’re going to have to do another surgery.” He’s had plenty of surgeries, but never a whole fucking Craniotomy. Who even knows if Tom would stay long enough for it.
It’s not a fair thought- Tom has never once even implied that he’d leave him while he hurt. But it’s a true thought nonetheless. A worry that gnaws at his heart. That maybe Tom really will pick up his bags and leave him. Hate him for trying to make him choose between work and him, and of course Pete was the one to surrender.
Tom squeezes his hand, and he can see the same worry reflected in his eyes. “The doctors said your CT scans were going fine. We’ll talk to the doctors today, see if there’s any other options if we get to that point.”
“Stay.” He begs. He knows his voice is fragile. Even he can here. “You’ll stay won’t you?”
“Pete.” Tom says so softly, pressing his lips to the back of his hand. “I’m not going anywhere. Especially not if you have another surgery.” He pauses for a moment. Pete can see him weighing his words. “You know that us going to DC isn’t me choosing work over you, don’t you? I’m still going to be around. You aren’t going to be alone, Pete.”
Does he know that? It certainly already feels like how it’s going to be. He could deny it, lie and say of course he knows, but when has that ever gotten them anywhere? “It feels like it.” He admits quietly, turning away from his husband. “I know you say that everything is going to be fine, and that the press really won’t be too bad. But what if it is, Tom? I want to spend time with you, not fight for minutes on the hour.”
Admittedly, he’s so relieved when Tom doesn’t immediately start with platitudes and dismissing his concerns. “Whatever I have to do, to make sure you’re happy there, I will do.” Tom promises, looking down at their hands. “I’m not going to break my promise to you. I know it’s going to be tough, and not always easy, but I am always going to find time with one. On the first of every month, we will go shopping and decorate the house together. All the things we do together now, we’ll do there too.”
“You can’t promise that.”
“Yes.” And Tom sounds so sure of himself, that he can’t help but believe him. “I can.”
Tom’s gaze doesn’t falter, and Pete finally, gives a small nod, and pulls him closer. “I really hate being in the hospital.” He mutters into his chest. A hesitant hand cards through his hair. Tom doesn’t respond, but he does pull away after a long moment, and walks away without a word, leaving Pete gaping like a fish. But then Tom is back with a wheel chair and his pea coat draped over his arm.
He feels his brow furrow. “What?”
“C’mon.” Tom glances over his shoulder. “Why don’t we get out of here for a few hours.”
Tom? Breaking him out of the hospital? Usually it’s Tom forcing him to stay. “I-We’ll get in trouble.” He protests weakly, and for naught, he can already feel himself grinning.
“Good thing we’re both Admirals then.” Tom grins back, and helps peel away the covers. Carefully, Tom helps him put on the coat. It’s definitely too big, but it’s warm, and smells like his husband, so it’s perfect.
With no small amount of hissing and groaning, Tom gets him into the wheel chair. “Where are we even going?”
“Fuck if I know.” Is the answer he gets as Tom pushes him through the hall and into the elevator. “Maybe steak and shake?”
“Marry me.” Pete moans gratefully. He loves Steak and Shake.
His husband laughs heartily. “Took care of that years ago.”
Notes:
Hope you guys enjoyed! I really wanted to have Tom do something sweet and show that even though he's very career driven, he still is a good husband and the man Pete fell in love with in the beginning.
Chapter 25: Medal of Honor
Summary:
The White House wastes no time in assigning their first expectation of Tom taking office, but of course, they have to involve Pete too.
Notes:
...hey guys. I promise this story is not abandoned, my idiot of a dog decided that the power bank of my PC would be his new chew toy while I was transferring it over to a new case, so you can blame him for the delay. This chapter is a bit longer than I usually put out and there is a small time skip. I hope you all enjoy it, and that you all enjoyed the holidays.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Tom hasn’t even attending his confirmation hearing before the job starts affecting their lives. He misses the text at first, understandingly preoccupied with helping Pete with his physical therapy. Finally, had they been granted permission for Pete to try walking again.
But now that Pete is back in bed, exhausted from their morning efforts, the words stare up at him. It’s not that they’re bad exactly but rather, they aren’t what he had expected. He knew their would be press junkets and the like, but he hadn’t thought that Pete would be dragged into the middle of it so early on.
“Russell.” Tom greets when he hear the line connects. “I got your text. What are you wanting exactly?”
There’s some background noise, and then: “Exactly what I said. The paperwork for your husband medal crossed the President’s desk this morning. "
“The Navy Cross, yes.”
“No.” Russell shuts down. “We need to boost your image and polling numbers. Admiral Mitchell’s actions are enough to qualify him for the Medal of Honor. Admirals Bates and Simpson have revised their recommendation accordingly and the President has already signed off on it. We will hold a ceremony as soon as the good Admiral is well enough to attend.”
Well. Fuck. “I…I’m not sure my husband will agree to this. As much as he likes to be a show off, he doesn’t like media attention.”
“Figure it out, Kazansky.” The man bites out impatiently. “This is apart of the job. Get your husband on board.”
It’s only due to decades of being in the service that he bites back any further protest or insult at this point, but the urge is still there, and he’s sure his displeasure shows in his tone. “Yes sir.”
The call drops without any further pretense. Probably for the best, too.
Ice caves just enough to let himself run a hand down his face and pinch his brow. It’s like the world is determined to make this transition as hard as possible. Can’t one thing go right? He can’t help but wonder as he drags his gaze to his sleeping husband. Pete, who he knows beyond a shadow of a doubt wouldn’t like this. He already had shut down this option, had when it had first been mentioned. Had also mentioned already that he didn’t want to deal with the press being in their lives. Tom had promised it wouldn’t be a problem, and now, it would be the first problem they face together, but only Tom is well enough to handle it.
If this morning was anything to go by, despite his husbands stubbornness, it would be quite some time before Pete would be ready for any of this. His progress to date is remarkable, to be sure, but there’s still so much further to go. Doctor visits, Physical Therapy, regular therapy, perhaps even other surgeries. Hell, Pete had barely been able stand on his own, nonetheless take a step. Just the mere idea of asking this of him is awful.
Yet, what choice does he have? He has his orders, and must follow them, they’re from the President after all. But how to make it better for Pete? Could he even make it better for Pete?
So consumed by his thoughts, it startles him when a heavy weight places itself on his hand. Tom blinks and places his other hand on top of Pete’s. “What’s wrong?” His husband croaks, eyes barely peaking open.
Ice squeezes his hand in response, and sits a bit straighter. “Don’t worry about me. How are you feeling?”
Pete grunts with a frown, pushing himself up a little to sit. “Don’t do that.” He chastises, seeing through Tom’s front like it didn’t even exist. “What’s going on?”
In a rare show of hesitance, Tom chews the inside of his cheek. “The White House called.” His voice is kept carefully level. “They want you to accept the Medal of Honor.”
Pete matches his tone, only taking a moment to consider the words, and that’s how Tom knows Pete already doesn’t like this. His husband is just trying to get over it.“In public or in private?”
Tom can’t help his wince. “Public.” He answers dutifully. “They want to make a show of it. Russell believes it will help with public support for my confirmation hearing.”
His husband nods quietly, gaze slinking away from him. “Do you think it would help?”
“…It’s likely.” Tom admits cautiously. “I tried to tell them you wouldn’t like it, but Russell wouldn’t hear any of it.”
At first, he’s not sure whether or not Pete’s going to give him a response, but then his husband gives his a sharp jerk of his head. “Alright.”
Tom blinks. “Alright?”
“It’s apart of the job, isn’t it?” His husbands voice is worn, tired, and Tom’s heart breaks for him. “You and I both knew that we’d have to deal with the press.”
Tom can’t look at him. Guilt sits heavy in his chest, and what’s worse, is it’s a guilt he deserves. A guilt he chose, in a way. “I didn’t expect for you to have to put up with them so soon.” He admits. “I don’t want you to have to do things you don’t want to.”
Pete’s jaw sets itself at that. “Right. Did they say when?”
“Not until you’re up for it.” Tom promises, looking away. “I don’t want them parading you around while injured.”
“We can ask the doctor.” Pete says after a moment. “So you can tell the White House a date.”
He can’t help but squeeze his hand. “There’s no rush.” He’s quick to say. “I don’t want you to stress over this. I just want you to focus on healing.”
Agitation flickers in his husbands tone. “You asked me to get on board with this. I have. This is what you wanted, Tom.” Pete’s hand falls away. “Go talk with the doctors.”
He can’t help his wince. He wants to protest. To say this isn’t what he meant, but he doesn’t and the words fall short. So instead he obeys, and rises, and goes to find a doctor. Guilt and regret both weigh heavy on his heart. It was never meant to be like this. They were never meant to expecting anything from Pete other than a few dinners and balls a year. But now they demand Pete to be paraded around the press while still injured, while still bedridden. Pete, who wants as little to do with this as possible. Pete who is upset and deserves better.
Pete, who Tom put in this position. Pete, who Tom chose the job over.
47 days is the time allotted to them. 47 days filled with selling their house, buying their new house, goodbyes and hellos, and today, on the 48th day, they’re both getting dressed for the award ceremony.
Granted, the ceremony was happening after Russell had wanted it, but Tom refused for Pete to be drug out before he was cleared by the doctors, so they were all going to have to fuck off. Which, they had, but now, with not quite a clean bill of health, Pete has been at least cleared for a few hours of activity.
Which honestly, for one in his life, he’d have been just fine not being cleared by medical. His bones ache in ways he hadn’t thought possible, and it’s not a fleeting ache, no, it’s the sort of ache that persists, no matter how many painkillers or Epsom salt baths he tries, it still hurts. So it’s with clenched teeth that he dresses in his Dress Blues. The clothes are stifling; thick and restrict his movement even further. Tom had offered to help, but his pride would have none of it. That and well, resentment lingers even with his agreement to do this.
He smooths out his coat before stepping out their bathroom without a word. He can feel Tom’s gaze linger, but he pays it no mind. “You ready, Brad?” He calls down the hall to the other bedrooms. Six bedrooms was a bit extreme for just him and Tom, but it was the only house that had met all their other needs. Plus, it didn’t feel so empty with Bradley staying with them. His godson had proven himself to be a rather good care taker (which he had to get from Goose, because good god neither him or Tom were any good at it). Had gone to every doctors appointment with him without complaint. It was…nice. To have him back. Even if their relationship was still being redefined and that they often stumbled into now unfamiliar territory. They both still bumbled through the awkwardness and did their best not to muck it up.
“Yeah!” Bradley calls back, head popping out of the kitchen. “Just making coffees.”
A blessing in itself was to be able to consistently have coffees again. Okay, it wasn’t quite recommended with his head injury, but it came to be one of those things the doctors were just going to have to get used to. After all, there was only so much a man could be expected to sacrifice.
Pete hums. “Thank you.” He sighs, taking the proffered coffee from his kid. A touch too sweet, like how he used to take it, but he smiles gratefully all the same. It’s the effort that counts, and it’s touching to know Rooster still recalls his old order, and with time, the kid would learn how he likes it now.
Bradley nods, leaning back against the kitchen island also in his Dress Blues. God, he looks so much like his father, his tie is even crooked in the way Goose’s always was. “You ready for today?”
Pete gives a half shrug, and hides his grimace behind his coffee mug. “As much as I can be. I’ve always hated formal events.” This is hardly the first he’s had to attend. In the beginning, he had gone as Tom’s ‘friend’ to support him. He could hardly make it to every event, but for the ones he could, he always saw the small, grateful smile Tom would send his way, that had always been all the repayment enough. Though his husband had always made it up to him in far more enjoyable ways.
A knowing, amused snort is what he gets in response. “I know. I spent half my life listening to you complain about military balls.”
“Yeah, cause they suck.” He stresses, putting his coffee on the counter top. It’s with a genuine smile that he reaches out to fixes Bradley’s tie. “Your Uncle is lucky I love him enough to go along with these charades.”
“And I know it.” Interrupts Tom, entering the kitchen and wastes no time in planting a kiss on the top of his head. “Thank you again, Pete.” His voice is sincere, and it helps calm the waves of anxiety and frustration. “And thank you for the Coffee, Bradley.”
His godson nods. “You’re welcome.” That was another new thing; the relationship between Tom and Bradley. They both seem to have moved past the awkwardness and almost, but not quite hostility. Still, nothing compared to what it once was or what now is between Bradley and himself, but a marked improvement nonetheless.
“The car’s ready whenever you two are.”
No use in putting it off, this day would only be worse if they managed to be late to his own award ceremony. The only highlight would be seeing some of their friends after. Slider, he knows, was already in town, and had been for days. Warlock and Cyclone would of course be in attendance. Not that they were friends, exactly, but familiar faces and all that. “I’m ready.”
“Me too.” Bradley confirms grabbing both of their covers off the counter. “Oh- actually, let me go grab your medication. Just in case.”
Before Pete can shut that down, the boy is off like a bullet down the hall. His sigh catches itself on his teeth, and Tom’s hand rests itself on his waist. He drags his gaze upwards to meet Tom’s worried look. “You’ll tell me if it gets to be too much, won’t you?” His voice is soft, gentle, damn near pleading. “I know this is what the White House wants, but you’re still hurt. They can hardly begrudge you if you need to step away after the ceremony.”
“And if they do?” Pete can’t help but challenge. Tom isn’t the big boss anymore he’s a big boss. Tom couldn’t stop the repercussions of everything.
“Then this job isn’t for me.”
The answer is so unexpected, Pete just blinks. Then blinks again, and then finally says: “What?”
His husband stays firm in his answer. “I already don’t like them dragging you into this, and if they get upset that it’s too much too soon, then they can go fuck themselves. I accepted this job because I think I will do great things. But not a single one of those things could ever mean more than you.”
The deceleration inspires him with enough confidence in his husband to let his head drop and rest against his shoulder. Immediately, Tom’s hand comes to the nape of his neck. Pete can feel both his wedding ring and his class ring from the academy. “I love you too.”
Tom’s breath is a warm gust of air on his ear. “I know, and I hope you know how much I appreciate you coming here. I know you still don’t like it, but you’re trying, and that means the world to me.” And Pete knows that. If he didn’t he probably would have divorced Tom. “Three years.” He reminds.
Tom nods against him. “I know.” His hand slides down onto Pete’s back, guiding him. “Come. Let’s get you into the car, you’ve been standing too long.”
As much as Pete would love to disagree, the faint pull on his stomach scar is enough to get him to follow, with Bradley trailing behind them. He already can’t wait to come back home.
The White House is bustling with activity. Assistants scurry back and forth, only a few managing to look undignified in their efforts. They’re given an escort, and taken to a staging room. One that’s fully stocked with snacks, drinks, and ample plush seating. Tom leads him to a seat and Pete takes it, grateful to ease the strain on his body. Their escort is still talking, but he pays the kid little mind. Tom could give him a run down.
But then his attention is demanded when the door opens and in steps the President. He’s slow to rise to his feet and offer a salute, but he manages, even with needing Tom’s hand on his back to keep him steady. Beside him, Bradley follows suit in rendering a salute. Tom is the only one out of the three of them that doesn’t salute anymore. After all, Tom had retired. No longer an Admiral.
“At ease, gentlemen.” Dalton is quick to say, and wastes no time in offering a hand for Pete to shake. “It’s a pleasure to meet you at least, Admiral Mitchell. I’ve heard quite a bit about you.”
“I’d say hopefully all good things, but-.” He can’t help his small crooked grin, “Never been known for that.”
It gets what he thinks a genuine laugh from the President, and a snort from his godson. “Perhaps not all rule abiding things, but I found them rather refreshing.” The man smiles kindly. “After all, Tom doesn’t go to bat for just anyone.”
“No sir, he does not.” Pete agrees with an amused smile.
Dalton moves and offers his hand to Tom. “Good to see you again, Kazansky. Are you settling in well?”
His husband gives a short nod and shakes his hand. “Yes sir. Bit of a change of pace from being COMPACFLT, but similar enough. Mike B proved himself invaluable with replacing the staff. I’ll have to thank Secretary McCord for sending him my way.”
“Indeed. A special sort of man to be sure.” Dalton gives a small incline of his head, but their conversation is interrupted by Russell Jackson stepping in the room, barely looking up from his phone.
“They’re ready for you, Mr. President.” In all honesty, he’s a bit shorter than Pete expected. Of all the times Tom had griped about the man, or times that Pete had overheard conversations, he expected someone a bit…bigger than someone the same height as him suffering from balding and gray hairs. But hey. The man could obvious hold up to the pressures of D.C.
“Thank you, Russell.” The President straightens and smooths out his suit. “I will see you all out there, then.” With that, the President and his entourage step out of the room and their escort steps forward.
“I can guide you all to your seats, if you’re ready.” She says to them, and they follow suit behind, to the front row on the right side of the platform. His eyes scan the crowd only to find Sarah and the rest of their family there, on the left side towards the back, and closer to the front, near Cyclone and Warlock, he finds the Daggers.
His eyes slide from them, to his husband. “Did you know they were coming?”
A mischievous twinkle glimmers in his bright blue eyes. “Who do you think invited them?”
His bones creak as he eases himself down into his chair, Tom takes the seat beside him, and Bradley the one just over. “Thank you.” He says after a moment.
Tom hums. “Of course. I’m having food catered to the house after, Slider and the boys will be there.” Ah. That’s were Slider was then. He can’t blame them for not attending the ceremony when even he doesn’t want to be here.
Camera’s flash in their direction, and Pete can’t help but wipe his clammy hands on his pants leg. Well. Tries to at least, up until Tom takes his hand firmly in his own. He stills at the contact, and even his heart seems to get the memo from the way it stutters in his chest. “Tom.” He hisses. “There’s cameras.”
Ice doesn’t even blink. “There are.” He confirms, grip not faltering in the slightest. “It’s not illegal, anymore, Pete.” His voice softens. “I’m not going to hide you away, as if I’m ashamed. You’re my husband, and I’m proud of you.”
“But your career-”
“Can surely hold up to people knowing I’m queer.” Tom gives him half a smile. “It’s alright, dear.”
He searches his eyes, for what he doesn’t know, but he only finds surety and love. “…alright.” He breathes and squeezes his hand.
Tom smiles, a private one, one that had only ever been to him, and turns his attention towards the entrance as the President’s arrival is announced. Everyone rises in ceremony as the music plays and Dalton walks to the center of the platform. They stay standing as the military chaplain steps forward to the microphone and starts the ceremony with a long winded prayer.
As the prayer drags on Tom’s hand on his back turns into a grip on his waist, just in case. It’s not entirely necessary. If Pete couldn’t stand for at least the three minutes of the prayer, he’d never have been cleared to attend. That’s not to say it isn’t appreciated, or that he’s not thankful when Dalton finally allows them all to sit.
“Good afternoon.” The President begins. “The presentation of our nations highest military decoration, the Medal of Honor, is always a special occasion. But today, it is truly historic. Today, we have gathered to honor one man. A man whose reputation truly precedes him, and yet, his reputation tells us nothing about the man behind the call sign: Maverick.” His hands rest on the sides on the podium. “Rear Admiral Upper Class Pete Mitchell. A man who has served his country for four decades, has been deployed to Iraq, Afghanistan, Kuwait, the Philippines, Bosnia twice, most of which he carries service stars or other prestigious awards.”
Pete doesn’t miss Bradley’s proud grin. He can’t help but wonder how much Brad knows of his service history, and how much he’s just learning.
“Most recently, his award of the Silver Star for his actions in Afghanistan, where Admiral Mitchell, outside of his duty, elected to stay behind during a ground assault, and assist SAS in evacuating the wounded and fending off their attackers.” The President continues. “But his bravery does not only exist in the field of war. For most of Admiral Mitchell’s career, he has served under Don’t ask, don’t tell. Something that was rightfully repelled by my predecessor.”
What? His head snaps over to his husband, who’s own brow is furrowed, and is turning to Pete. Since when was this a part of the ceremony? “I didn’t know.” He whispers. “This wasn’t on the briefing.” He swears.
His heart thunders in his chest. He isn’t ready for this. Holding hands with his husband was one thing. But a public announcement that he had no say in? He pulls his hand out of Tom’s and folds them in his lap, desperate to hold on to some semblance of control.
“But Admiral Mitchell persevered all the same, and despite how the world showed their prejudices, he loved regardless, and ended up marrying his partner of over thirty five years.” There’s some polite clapping, Dalton wait’s for it to die before continuing. “That same partner attends with him today, retired four star Admiral Thomas Kazansky, who recently ascended to the position of Secretary of the Navy. With them attends their godson, Bradley Bradshaw. The son of Admiral Mitchell’s best friend, who the two Admiral’s raised, and then followed their footsteps and joined the Navy to become one of the finest pilots our country has seen.” Dalton smiles. “But I am sure if you asked either Admiral Mitchell, or Kazansky, they would both say they’re still the best.”
A chuckle floats in the crowd, and drifts away in only seconds. “It’s when I’m in attendance with people like Admiral Mitchell, that the title of President seems so inadequate compared to what he’s done for his country and it’s people. For what sacrifice could I have ever made that could amount to even half of what he has given.” Dalton lets the words sit for a moment. “It was only two months ago, while on special deployment, that Admiral Mitchell sustained multiple life threatening injuries. Ones that have brought us here, today, to honor him and his sacrifice.”
“Two months ago, Admiral Mitchell was tasked with an impossible task. Teach six of the best pilots the Navy had to offer how to fly the most dangerous mission perhaps in the entire history of the Navy.” He half wishes he hadn’t let go of Tom’s hand. “During those lesson, it became clear that the only one suited to lead this mission, was the Admiral himself, and so once more was Mitchell deployed.”
“While the majority of that mission is classified, I can say it was a success, and was nothing short of remarkable. It was on their journey back, that problems arose for the Squadron.” Tom’s hand moves and rests against his thigh. He can’t be sure if it’s for his comfort, or for Tom’s. “During their return, two enemy bandits were spotted and on route for their position. Knowing that continuing on course would only lead the threat to the carrier, and to the other pilots that were not equipped to handle fifth generation fighter jets, Admiral Mitchell broke away and diverted course away from the carrier, effectively ensuring every person aboard the carrier and in those jets would get to live and return home safe.”
Tom moving his hand catches Pete’s eye, and distantly, he realizes that it’s shaking as it’s placed above his clasped ones. “Any other pilot would not have survived the encounter, but Admiral Mitchell is no ordinary pilot, he is perhaps the finest pilot our military has ever produced. With that, Mitchell accomplished the impossible and downed both fighter jets, only to be intercepted by a third jet that would go on to shoot down Admiral Mitchell’s jet.” Pete slides one hand out from under Tom’s and places it on top, clasping his partners shaking hand in his own. “Admiral Mitchell sustained no shortage of injuries, ones to the degree that multiple times did resuscitation efforts have to be employed. He was prepared to give everything to see his brother and sisters in the service safe. Some who are in attendance today, Lt. Bradshaw, Trace, Floyd, Garcia, Fitch, Machado, and Seresin. His commanding officers, Admirals Simpson and Bates. Sailors and Aviators who’s lives Admiral Mitchell saved. We are proud to welcome those who did the impossible. Would you please stand.”
From his seat he sees Cyclone and Warlock rise, obviously the ones most comfortable in a crowd of the brass and reporters. The daggers are slower to rise, but stand just as proud. Especially Hangman, who jets his chin out proudly, pea cocking under the attention. Out of all the aviators he taught, it’s him who will more than likely follow Tom’s footsteps. His gaze turns upwards as Rooster rises. Rooster, who is safe and there with them. Applause echo's in the room, and Tom moves his hand so he can clap. Awkwardness is hard to fight with all this attention and flashing lights. It’s oddly reminiscent of sitting in front of your birthday cake awkwardly while everyone sings happy birthday.
The President motions for them to take their seats once more, then continues. “Pete, members of Dagger Squadron, thank you for your service. You’ve done your duty, and now it is time for America to do ours: After more than four decades of war, to welcome you home with the support and the benefits and opportunities that you’ve earned. You make us proud, and you motivate all of us to be the best we can be as Americans, as a nation; to uphold our sacred obligations to your generation and all who have faced that “measure of danger” and “the willingness to incur it.” May God bless you, and may your courage inspire and sustain us always. And may God continue to bless the United States of America. With that, I’d like to have the citation read.”
Tom nudges him and Pete swallows the lump in his throat before rising. In a fog, he goes to the platform, one military aid behind him, and one against the wall to the right of him. Kindly, Dalton meets him at the steps of the platform and positions him right in front of the Medal of Honor flag. It’s silent in the room, which makes the shutters of cameras all the more louder. He doesn’t smile, it’s not customary to smile, so instead, he stands there at parade rest as the President takes the position between himself and the aide with the medal.
The military aide reads off the citation loudly. “The President of the United States of America, authorized by Act of Congress, March 3, 1863, has awarded in the name of Congress the Medal of Honor to Rear Admiral Upper Half Pete E. Mitchell, United States Navy. Adm. Pete E. Mitchell distinguished himself by acts of gallantry and intrepidity at the risk of his life above and beyond the call of duty while serving as a Naval Aviator with Special Detachment D, during combat operations against an armed enemy in the Zargos Mountains, Iraq on August 27, 2022.” They make him sound so heroic. He’s really not one, he’s just a man doing what was right. “Adm. Pete E. Mitchell Extraordinary heroism and selflessness above and beyond the call of duty are in keeping with the highest traditions of military service and reflect great credit upon himself, Special Detachment D, Top Gun, Pacific Fleet, and the United States Navy.”
In his peripheral, he can see Dalton take the blue ribbon and gold medal from the aide, and then suddenly it’s going around his neck and he’s shaking his hand as the room erupts in applause. “Thank you for your service.” The President says just loud enough for him to here.
“It’s been an honor, sir.” He smiles, not broadly, but sincerely, then walks off the platform and back to his seat. His husbands proud, teary smile is the first thing he sees, followed by Bradley beaming grin.
Dalton once more takes up his position at the podium, and says his parting words. “That concludes the ceremony, but not the celebration. I hear the food here is pretty good.” There’s some polite chuckles at that. “And the drinks are free.” The laughter is a bit more sincere here. “But I hope all of you enjoy the hospitality of the White House. I hope we all remember once again those who are fallen. We are grateful to the families who are here. And to Pete and all who serve in America’s Armed Forces, we want you to know that we will always be grateful for your extraordinary service to our country. Thank you very much, everybody. Have a great afternoon.”
They don’t stay at the celebration for very long, mostly they stay long enough to not appear to be rude. Bradley had rode with his friends back to the house; everyone would be meeting them there to celebrate. It ends up being for the best- he’s drained of all the energy required to put on a brave face. Tom’s pressed against his side, a gentle warmth, and Pete can’t help but lean his head back and close his eyes.
“Are you alright?” His husband’s voice is rough. He’s not the only one this has put a strain on. Tom had taken most of the questions and conversations for him, but that of course comes at a cost.
His eyes flutter open, and he pulls the divider separating them from the driver. “Take us through a Starbucks please. Tom could use a tea.” He gets an “Of course, sir.” and close the divider again, surrendering to Tom’s gentle embrace.
“You didn’t answer my question.” Tom points out.
With a sigh, he opts for the truth. “I’m exhausted.” He admits. “And in pain. I’m not sure I’m up to celebrating.”
Tom winces. “I’m sorry. I should have realized you’d be tired. I can entertain while you rest. Just about everyone is in town for a few days. The family will be here all week.”
“It wouldn’t be right.” Pete disagrees. “They all came out here for me.”
“They did.” Tom agrees seriously. “But they would never want you to strain yourself, we’ve all spent far too long watching you be hurt.”
He mulls that over for a moment, then sighs. “The Daggers will be in town for the weekend?”
Tom hums. “Yes. You’ll want to speak with Cyclone and Warlock, they aren’t staying long. But you’ll have time to see everyone else over the next few days. I promise.”
He wants to protest, he wants to have the energy to spend time with their friends and family, but he just doesn’t. He’s so exhausted, and in so much pain that if he let it, he’s sure could inspire tears. “Okay.” He whispers, and lets himself be pulled further into Tom’s side.
“Rest.” His husband murmurs. “We’ll be home soon.”
It’s not even a conscious choice. With his head resting against Tom’s shoulder and the soothing vibrating of the car, he really has no choice but to rest. All the same, it’s far too soon that he’s awoken by his husband carding his hand through his hair.
Pete can’t help but groan as he wakes. Somehow his short nap has only made his headache worse, and him all the more aware of the pain spreading through his body.
“I know.” Soothes Tom. “You can go back asleep as soon as we get inside.”
Tiredly he nods, and leans heavily into his husband as they make the way to their door. The solider in him doesn’t let the security trailing a foot behind him slip past. Tom must have had him follow in case he falls. Good thinking on his husbands part, because he’s genuinely not sure how much further he has in him.
Tom fiddles with getting the key into the lock, then pushes the door open with a grunt. Then Pete’s shifted into the wheel chair that awaits them just inside their doorway. Pride claws futility at him, but it’s pointless. It’s hardly the first time he’s been in it, and Tom is too old to be lugging him everywhere. Besides, he can hardly say that he’s even aware of everything. Colors blur and his vision swims dangerously. Nausea rises as he’s shifted again, this time with two sets of hands helping him into their bed. He can’t find it in him to care who’s. He’s not given the time to, anyhow, someone situates him on the bed, and then Tom is back with a handful of medication and water bottle.
Faintly, he can see his husbands lips move, but no sound processes. Blackness creeps around the edges of his gaze, and he gives into the urge to sleep.
Notes:
Most of Dalton's speech is my own, but once it gets to the citation bit, it was mostly borrowed from one of Obama's speeches and adjusted to fit this. small poll for you guys: Is Pete passing out something Tom handles calmly or does he freak out? And is it actually serious or not?
Chapter 26: Friends and Family (and Dr. Patrov)
Summary:
Pete's passed out- what happens now?
Notes:
Hey guys, sorry for the delay. Life's been a bit hectic these last couple months, I got laid off, my car broke and I had to buy another (learning how to drive a stick is awful) and am opening restaurant so my time hasn't been as free as I would have liked. Don't worry though, I'm not abandoning the fic. I'm quite proud of this one. Hope you guys enjoy.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Pete?” Tom murmurs, sitting the bottled water on the night stand before cupping his cheek. His husband doesn’t stir, doesn’t even lean into his touch, doesn’t react at all to the tapping of his cheek.
Sarah’s hand slides up, and she places two fingers just under his jaw against his neck. “His pulse is steady.” She reassures. “Has he been feeling alright?”
His frown deepens, and eases Pete against the pillow. “He was in pain, and tired after the ceremony, but that’s been standard through his recovery.” Tom knows Pete is more than likely okay, but… “I’m going to call the doctor, and have him make sure he’s alright. Do you mind entertaining everyone for a bit?”
His sister nods, then presses a gentle kiss to Pete’s forehead. “Of course. I’ll be check on you.” She gives his arm a comforting squeeze before leaving, making sure to softly close the door behind her.
He pays it little mind, instead digs out his cellphone and dials Pete’s doctor at Walter Reed.
“Dr. Patrov.” The Doctor answers almost immediately. “What can I do for you Mr. Kazansky?”
“I need you to make a house call.” He says, bypassing any formalities, or greetings. It’s not something he ordinarily skips, not due to any particular fondness for it, but largely due the optics of it all. He’s an Ice cold bastard sure, but even he has to deal with pleasantries. “My husband is unresponsive.”
“How long has he been out for?”
“Couple minutes.” Tom tells him, having started to pace at the foot of their bed. “He was experiencing pain, and exhaustion leading up to it. It’s likely just due to the stress of today, but I’d have you take a look regardless. How long till you can get here?”
“Half an hour. But I have to be honest, Tom. If you’re concerned about this, I have to recommend an ambulance.” Patrov cautions. “Yes, exhaustion and pain is to be expected during his recovery -especially after a stressful day- but there are still other things it could be; punctured lung, brain bleed-anything.”
His jaw sets of his own accord, and he considers the doctor’s words. Yes it could be all of those things, but was it likely? After all, Pete hadn’t hit his head, or his chest on anything, he had been sitting for most of the day. Everything reasonable points to stress. “I’ll wait for your observation before making that call. We have company over at the moment so I’ll have security guide you through the back; I don’t want to worry everyone just yet.”
Patrov takes his decision in stride. “Then I’ll wrap up here and be on my way. If his condition changes at all, call an ambulance.”
He’s half tempted to say damn all sense and call one now, as he looks at his pale husband, however, he swallows down the urge and promises: “I will.” And lets the call drop. It’s a brief, couple seconds long phone call to inform his security of the plan, and then, all of his attention is back on his husband.
Pete still hasn’t moved, face still slumped against the pillow. There’s a crease in his brow; troubled even in sleep. Stress haunts him it seems constantly now. It’s obvious he’s still fighting for every inch gained in recovery, but, at least, it seems to be an easier fight when Bradley is around.
It’s still a touch awkward having the kid around, but they’re all learning, and at the very least, he makes Pete happy, and at this point, that’s all Tom really needs. Pete has to be happy and healthy for everything to be alright in his world. Obviously, both of those things require time at the present moment, but Tom is willing to wait, to help and encourage.
A sigh slips past his clenched jaw, and he has to make a conscious effort to unclench it. He grips one of their sitting chairs and drags it beside the bed. He sits (more accurate would be to say he collapses) into the chair. Tom can’t deny the ache in his bones, or the exhaustion that’s seeped into his very soul. He reaches and takes the glasses off that are perched safely on his nose. For a moment he toys with them, though it doesn’t interest him for long as he tosses them onto the bed. Hand now free, he reaches and takes Pete’s hanging hand in his. “You’re alright.” He murmurs, though, considering that Pete is asleep, it seems the words are meant to comfort him; what little reassurance his hollow faith has.
Once he had been a proper faithful man; but that was a lifetime ago, and he’s a different man these days. Oh, he still celebrates Hanukkah -Pete had always done his best to combine their two holidays. Their Christmas tree lights were always blue and white, even had a little Chanukiah ornament. The menorah had it’s own place, a console table sat in front of their windows. Honestly, at this point, Pete was more Jewish than he was. His husband even had a Hebrew calendar to keep track of the holidays.
It hadn’t been one of those things that Tom really cared about. He was fine not celebrating every holiday, but Pete had taken it as a challenge, and now they hardly miss a one. But for all their celebrating of his holidays, Tom rarely prays. Seems pointless at this point, after all these decades of silence. Don’t get him wrong, he still believes, but believing and trusting in are two very different things. How to trust a God that’s taken so many friends from him? A God who made a world with war? He’s seen, and lived through so many awful things. What sort of God could let everything that happens, happen?
But, he thinks, grip tightening on his husband’s hand, he could trust a God that keeps his husband safe. “Please.” He whispers, voice fragile. “Just heal him. Help him. Let him be alright.” He begs.
He clutches Pete’s hand close, and prays, the words inaudible, mouthed against the back of his husbands hand. The mantra repeats, and repeats, until it’s interrupted by their bedroom door being pushed open.
“Tom?” Darrell chances, pushing the door open a little wider, and in steps both him and the doctor. “Sarah had me send him your way.” His brother in law clasps a hand on his shoulder and gives it a switch. “Just call if you need anything.”
“Mr. Kazansky.” The doctor greets after the door closes on Darrell’s way out. “Would you mind stepping to the side?” He does, in fact, mind, but nonetheless, gently sits Pete’s hand down and moves out of the way. Patrov wastes no time. His medical bag is placed in the seat he had just been occupying, and the first thing he pulls out is the stethoscope.
Anxiously, Tom’s fingers drum against his arm as he watches the doctor listen to Pete’s chest. “Breathing is a little labored, but I don’t hear anything too concerning. I don’t believe he has re-punctured his lung.” Patrov tells him, putting away the stethoscope, then pulls out a small pen light. The doctor shines it in both of Pete’s eyes. “His pupils are equal and reactive.”
Patrov toss the pen back into the bag. “I’ll take his blood pressure for good measure, but he’s fine. He’ll need lots of rest, and keep him out of any stressful situations.”
Finally, the hammering of his heart isn’t so loud, and he sighs in relief. “Thank you.”
The doctor hums, focus on the blood pressure monitor being strapped around Pete’s bicep. Smaller than it may have ever been; the muscle has been slowly, but surely, disappearing the longer Pete’s recovery has dragged out. His husband may not have mentioned it, but he knows it bothers him, even if Tom doesn’t care at all what Pete looks like.
It beeps in no time, and Patrov frowns. “His blood pressure is high.” He digs a small black notebook out and scribbles something down. “I’ll blame it the stress of today, but when he comes in next, if it’s still high, we’ll have to discuss blood pressure medication, or options to reduce his stress.”
That all sounds manageable enough. “His next appointment is next Thursday, yes?”
“Yes, Admiral Mitchell keeps us scheduled at 0830.” The short man confirms as he packs away his bag. “Will you be joining him?”
“No.” He wishes he could, but that just wasn’t an option currently. Not with everything on his plate. “Our godson will be.”
The doctor nods. “I’ll make sure he’s aware to keep an eye on Pete’s blood pressure, then.” He straightens, and clasps his bag together with a sharp click. “He should wake shortly, if he doesn’t, in say-” His lips thin as he glances at the worn gold watch on the inside of his wrist, “-an hour, call the ambulance and demand a head scan.”
Tom nods, using Pete’s alarm clock to note the time for himself. 3:47. “Thank you for coming and checking on him.”
“Of course.” He nods and picks up his bag. “Admiral Mitchell is always a pleasure to see. Let him know, if you would, to reach out to me once he’s rested, I have a few things I’d like to speak to him about.”
Like what? Tom can’t help but wonder. “I will.” He promises despite his curiosity. “I’ll have security show you out.”
“Thank you. Until next time, Mr. Kazansky.” The doctor smiles politely, then leaves him alone again with his unconscious husband.
Tom takes his seat once more and looks at the time. “Alright, Pete.” He murmurs. “You got an hour.”
Sarah comes in almost immediately after the Doctor exits, he knows it’s her without even looking up. The clack of her high heels are distinctive against the hardwoods that it’s announcement enough. “What did he say?” She asks after the door latches closed. Her hand on his shoulder is a comforting, reassuring thing. It’s not enough to quell the fear that’s grown in his gut, but, it does help.
He uses his free hand to reach up and put his hand on top of hers. “That Pete is more than likely fine, and that it’s just stress. If he doesn’t wake in an hour he wants me to take him to the hospital for a head scan.”
Her hand squeezes his shoulder in support. “I’m sure it won’t come to that.” Sarah promises, and Tom can’t help but cling to it. “He’ll wake up, even if it’s only to avoid going back to the hospital.”
A wet chuckle escapes him. “I’ve never met a man who hates doctors so much.”
Sarah snorts, and he’s sure that she rolled her eyes. “Please. You hate the hospital just as much as he does.”
It’s true, but- “You have no proof of such an egregious accusation.” He denies, steadfast.
“You’re an idiot.” She laughs, and Tom can hear the fondness in her voice. “Call if you need anything, okay?”
“I will.” He promises. “Go and enjoy the party. I’ll make an appearance once I know he’s alright.”
His sister hums, but she hesitates long enough that Tom turns and looks over his shoulder. “What?”
Sarah chews on her lip for a moment. “Do you think we should let Bradley know?”
Admittedly, the idea had never truly occurred to him. After so long of it really just being him and Pete, it’s strange to think there’s someone else who would have the right to be present. “Pete would appreciate it.” He says finally. “You can go ahead and send him in.”
“I’ll let him know.” She promises, and then she’s gone. It’s barely a minute- if that- before:
“Ice? Sarah said you wanted-” Bradley’s voice cuts off and his tone swaps from polite, to serious. “What’s wrong with Mav?”
“Close the door.” He instructs first, then sighs as his hand runs down his tired face. “He passed out when we arrived. The doctor said he should be fine if he wakes up within the hour.”
“The Doctor-” His voice pitches up, “Why am I only finding out now?” Rooster takes up the space between Tom and the nightstand, and peers down on Pete. From his angle, he can see the flicker of his eyes. Likely searching for any visible sign of distress or trouble.
He’s not in the mood. But he understands. “It was more important that he was seen by the Doctor first. I didn’t want to worry everything if it turned out to be nothing- which it likely is.” He says it, and he knows he sounds convincing, but god if he still isn’t filled with worry and uncertainty. “You’re welcome to stay.” He gestures to the other chair in the room. “He’d like it.”
Bradley doesn’t respond, just stands there, staring at Pete. He does so for long enough that Tom’s attention drifts from him, and onto the clock that taunts him from Pete’s nightstand.
When their godson does speak, his voice is cold, and accusing. “It was too soon for him.”
“It was.” Tom knows what this is of course- a taunt, but he doesn’t have the energy to rise to it. Certainly not when he can’t help but agree. He had known it before they had even left, but Russell, and by extension, the President, was not inclined to grant them any longer. It had already been delayed twice- a third time was not on the table. “Thank y0u.” He says sincerely, looking between the both of them, “For helping take care of him. We both appreciate it. He’s really missed you.”
We both have. He thinks but doesn’t voice.
Rooster shifts his weight- obviously uncomfortable with such a proclamation, and the fire within him goes cold. “…I’ve missed him too. I should have just listened when you two tried to explain.”
Tom lets the words sit for a moment, before finally deciding on: “Perhaps, and perhaps we should have explained in the beginning, or told you what your mom asked of us before we even pulled your papers.” Rooster hesitantly raises his head to look at him. “We’ve all made mistakes, kid. A lot of them- and nothing really truly ever makes up for them. Impossible too, really. The past is what it is. Life is about learning how to live with what you’ve done, learning how to let go- learning how to be the person who wouldn’t make those mistakes again.”
He watches as Rooster processes the weight of his words. His shoulders slump, but there’s understanding in his eyes. “For what it’s worth-” He can’t help but take on. “I think you’re on the right track.” Perhaps they all were.
“On the right track for what?” A groggy voice mumbles- really it would be incoherent if he hadn’t spent almost four decades waking up to that same voice.
“Pete.” Tom breathes and the relief that floods his body leaves no room for anything else. Not even amusement when Rooster jumped at Pete’s voice.
His husband hums sleepily. “Hi baby.” Sluggishly, his eyes flutter open, and then wince at the light. Rooster notices too, for he hurries to turn off the overhead lights, and turn on the lamp.
Bradley rest a gentle hand on Pete’s shoulder. “You gave us a scare there, old man.”
Confusion settles neatly on his face. “What are you talking about?” He turns from Rooster to himself.
“You passed out.” Tom tells him. “When we were getting you into bed. Patrov said you’re fine- that it was because of stress and exhaustion.”
A grimace paints itself of Pete’s lips, but it’s tucked away only after a moment. “Alex was here? How long have I been out?”
For a moment, he’s so endeared by the fact that Pete is on a first name basis with his doctor, that he forgets to answer his question. Leave it to his husband to make a friend out of anyone. From the look on Rooster’s face, Pete isn’t the only one that wants to know. Tom doesn’t even need to reference a clock to answer him. “An hour. He’s left about thirty minutes ago.” Remembering his request, he adds: “He wants you to give him a call when you feel better.”
Laughter floats in from the other room, and Pete’s attention turns to the door. “Is everyone here?”
“Not yet.” Bradley answers. “Don’t worry about them, dad. You need to focus on feeling better.”
Dad.
Good lord, how long has it been since that discussion about what they would be called? Where they decided that it was safest for them to just be Uncle’s? Pete visibly stiffens, and his gaze snaps upwards to their nephew- godson- or just son?
Bradley chews his lip in the same way he did when he was 13. But unlike his teenage self, he pushes forward. “Don’t ask, don’t tell isn’t a thing anymore.” He hurries to explain, “And your marriage is public- so is it okay now? I mean-”
Pete’s shock softens into something tender and fond. “You can call me dad, kid.” He cuts off Rooster’s rambling. He doesn’t stop there either, he reaches up (which he really shouldn’t be doing, but Tom feels rather inclined to let him make it this one time) and pulls the kid into a desperate hug.
To himself, he smiles. This had been his hope when he assigned them both to the mission. That they’d both find peace, and forgiveness. Letting go of the past, and being here in the present.
Tom contents himself to let them have their moment. It’s not hard to do, he may not like it, but today had exhausted him too. Obviously, not as much as Pete, but god, the whiplash of emotions of being terrified of his husband’s health to the sweet relief that he was okay, was-is overwhelming. He can feel the urge to nap start to find purchase, but he really should get up and go make an appearance at the party he orchestrated.
He must have started to drift off, but just barely, because he wakes to Rooster’s voice.
“I can wake you guys up once everyone gets here.” He offers, looking between the two of them. “Should be an hour or so. No offense, but the both of you look like hell.”
Tom can’t help but laugh and Pete snorts. “Thank you.”
Bradley gives them a thumbs up before leaving to find his friends.
He’s hesitant to break the lull left in his wake, but he does toe off his shoes and climb up on his side of the bed. He lifts in arm in offering. Tom didn’t use to be so uncertain, but who knows if Pete is upset with him for today or not.
At the very least, Pete does scoot closer and rest his head against Tom’s chest. “I can’t wait to sleep on my stomach again.”
He’s careful with how he holds him- completely unwilling to hurt him. “Soon.” He promises. Tom leans down and presses his lips to his head. “I’m glad you’re okay.” he can’t help but whisper.
Pete turns and presses a soft kiss (soft enough to tickle) to his neck. “I love you too.” he settles back down against his chest. Tom takes that as his queue to be quiet, and pulls the blankets up around the both of them. Distantly, he realizes that he’s going to wrinkle his uniform, but it’s a mere passing thought-and the last he has before he surrenders to sleep.
Notes:
Now we're getting somewhere with the three of them learning how to be a family again-all through life's ups and downs. I hope you guys enjoyed this one, I was a bit unsure about the dad thing, but Pete's been there forever, and i doubt rooster even remembers goose as much as he might miss him
There’s a few typos that I’ll work on fixing tomorrow
Also, we hit 70k words! Go us! Honestly thank you all for commenting, it really means a lot and I love going back through and rereading them- it’s all very encouraging
I hope my book will end up being as popular as this fic lol
Chapter 27: Who have we become and who do we want to be? (not this)
Summary:
Pete and Tom join their party and are reminded of what they've given up for what was wanted.
Notes:
Alrighty here's the newest chapter for you guys. A couple things, i updated the summary and gave it a proper one (surprising I know), and im also thinking of renaming the fic if anyone has any ideas. I'm actually going to get this printed into a hardcover book once its done so i can put it on my shelf
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Thankfully, and due entirely to Sarah’s skill as a hostess, their integration into the party isn’t awkward or the center of attention. It’s seamless, and Pete already seems to be in a better mood now that he’s surrounded by their friends and family. He seems steadier, steps more certain and eyes less clouded.
Tom keeps an eye on him all the same- searching for any sign of distress, exhaustion or any other symptom that Pete needs to retire for the night. Admittedly, a bit harder to do in practice, seeing as they were separated almost immediately. Pete’s lithe frame leans against their kitchen island, chatting amicably with those who flew with him last. There’s a few of their old friends too, Hollywood, for instance is looking far too comfortable sitting on their counter.
Warlock steps into his line of sight, effectively cutting him off from Pete.“Mr. Kazansky.” He greets.
On reflex, he goes to correct him. ‘Admiral Kazansky.’ The words linger on the tip of his tongue, press against the back of his teeth when a vengeance that catches even himself off guard. “Admiral Bates.” He greets instead, swallowing the correction. “Congratulations on your promotion. How are you finding your new posting?”
Bates inclines his head and gives a polite smile, not a sincere one like the ones he’s seen him share with Pete. It’s a notable difference, though unsurprising, Warlock had always liked Maverick more. “It’s enjoyable. Admittedly, quite nice to assign the scheduling to Admiral Jaher- always one of my least favorite duties.”
That inspires a genuine chuckle. “Perks of being the brass. Don’t tell Mav this, but I used to assign someone to shine my shoes. Could never be bothered.”
“Better than using that insta-shine shit.” The man shakes his head in amusement. “Can’t tell you the amount of times we’ve seen it at Top Gun. You’d think officers would know better.”
“You know as well as I, most of our officers tend to take the easy route.”
“Some.” Warlock admits. He tips his glass towards him in concession. “But I like to stay optimistic about the ones who will replace us.”
They have to be optimistic don’t they, if they don’t what would be the point in all the work they do? “Speaking of replacements, is Simpson any closer to finding anyone to take over as Air Boss?”
“He’s got an eye on someone.” Bates tells him. The vagueness of it is not lost on Tom. The options were not numerous, in fact, he knows every name on the list: Berkley, Rahdson, Martinez and Urklone. As far as he knows (which is quite a bit), Berkley is the front runner. “At the moment it’s just a matter if time. He’s already reached out to a few backups as well. The paperwork will be submitted as soon as we have confirmation.”
It’s a strategic decision not to press for more information. Tom is no longer on active service. He is not the COMPACFLT any longer. He chose Cyclone for a reason- he trusts his judgment and in his ability to do the job well. So, he chooses to let it lie, he’ll find out soon enough either way. “Glad to hear it. You can’t be split between the Atlantic and Top Gun for much longer. One or the other will start to suffer for it.”
“Noted, sir.”
It’s at that point the Cyclone reappears. He’s still in his dress blues, new stars shining proudly on his collar. “Admiral Kazansky.” He greets, there’s a calculating look in his eyes. “Good to see you again, sir.”
“Likewise, Beau. You’ve taken up the mantle well.” It’s true, too. Beau ran nothing but a tight ship, the only tighter one, was his own. “Have you gotten settled in?”
“I have.” Beau confirms. “Though you didn’t leave much for me to have to handle- one of the smoothest transitions I’ve experienced.”
The warm feeling of pride is one he is used to, but he still finds such satisfaction in a job well done. “Good. Have you been reading over the reports from the Arkansas? They seem mundane, I know. But it’s perhaps our most important sub.”
“I have. Just as you said to.” Cyclone reminds, a nod to the discussion they had before Tom had handed over the reigns.
“And what about your dealings with Ngyuen? How are tensions? He’s a tricky man.” He can’t help but tack on. Ngyuen had always been particularly stubborn- his Vietnamese counter part for the Pacific.
There’s a slight tick in the mans jaw. “I have it well in hand, sir.” Warlock gives him a sympathetic smile from over Cyclone’s shoulder. Tom bristles at it. He doesn’t need any sympathy. He has what he wanted. “Though I’m afraid Bates and I must take our leave. Our flight leaves soon.”
“Right.” Tom manages a half smile that he’s sure isn’t fully convincing, but neither man would ever press it. He knows their just looking for an out. Their flight leaves whenever they decide. “Have a safe flight. We’ll speak soon.”
Politely, but quickly, the pair makes their exit with impressive efficiency, saying goodbye to the ones they deem important enough, and then they’re gone.
Something churns in his gut. It forms a nausea inducing pit, but he’s a coward, and he pushes it from his mind. He’s busy and doesn’t have time for whatever has his nerves in a twist. The set of his jaw serves his restraint well enough, and now that Bates is no longer around to block his view, his gaze turns back to the kitchen- past Sarah and Bradley- to the island in the center. No longer shadowed by his husbands frame, but now decorated with a few beer cans and a picked at charcuterie board.
The chatter is still plentiful, he can pick out Phoenix and Hangman talking shit and pointing at the TV. Bradley probably put football on, if he were to wager. It does nothing to ease his nerves, but already he can feel the tension finding real estate across his shoulders. So he takes a moment that he doesn’t feel like he has to take a deep breath and shrug off the weight before making the trip into the kitchen. “Where’d Pete run off to?”
Bradley looks over to him from where he’s talking with Sarah while simultaneously eating the entire bag of Doritos. “Out on the porch with Slider. They might’ve gone for a walk.”
Oh. Well. That’s alright, isn’t it? Slider would look after Pete. Just as well as Tom would. “Ah.” He says with a small smile and raised brow. “Hogging all the Doritos, are you?”
Bradley grins and he looks so much like the little boy who’d run around amok. “Don’t tell dad.” He tells him all the while wagging a finger coated in cheesy chip seasoning. “I’m going to blame Hangman.”
“Why do I always get all the blame?” Jake whines. “I don’t even like the red Doritos.”
“You what?” Rooster gapes, tone completely scandalized.
Already, the blond is on the defense. He seems like he’s had this argument before. “The blue ones are better! Ranch is the best flavor of anything- like corn nuts!”
“You- how-what?” He stutters. “How can you not like them? And what in the hell is a Corn Nut?”
Tom can’t help his laugh- though he does muffle it with his hand, and thankfully only Sarah hears him.
“Remind you of anyone?” She whispers with an amused smile.
He raises a questioning brow. “Should they?”
Sarah laughs and shakes her head. “Men. You’re so obtuse. They like each other.”
Oh. He looks back over to the pair, standing close enough that their hips are touching and Hangman is eating a Dorito despite his claim. Ah. Perhaps there is something there. Something familiar and foreign and new and old. Pete probably noticed, he always was far better with people than him. That, and he was closer with Bradley. Tom can’t help but wonder if Bradley even notices what’s there between them- the boy could be a bit…oblivious, he supposes.
“Too much like his father.” Tom can’t help but murmur. Mostly to himself. Hotheaded and loyal, all heart on his sleeve. Fondness creeps in with a sort of vengeance it threatens to knock the air out of his lungs. Bradley really is so similar to Pete. Stubborn to a fault, eager to help, finds too much amusement in being a pain in the ass. They’re different too, as was only expected, but sometimes the boy served as a blast from the past.
Sarah’s smile only grows and nudges him out of the room and onto the back porch. The blinds clatter against the glass of the backdoor. The sun has already begun to set. It paints their backyard with a warm orange glow. Illuminates Ron and Pete’s frame from where they sit out on their picnic table. There’s a few beer cans between them, though it seems to be different a different brand than the ones inside. From this distance he can’t quite hear what they’re saying to one another, but it seems amicable enough.
Though he had worried over his husband and if he was alright, he finds he has no desire to interrupt them. He has Pete to himself often enough- no need to impose when he’s spending time with friends.
“How have the two of you been?” Sarah asks from his side, interrupting his train of thought.
“Busy.” He answers honestly. Tom eases himself into one of the patio chairs. “I feel like I’m constantly on the phone- from dawn to dusk. Don’t even know what it feels like to hear my own thoughts at this point.”
His sister hums. “Do you think it’s always going to be like that?”
“It’s possible.” He admits, despite his hopes. “My predecessor seemed to be glued to his. Pete hates it even though he refuses to admit it. Not too fond of it myself.” He rests his ankle on his knee, palming at it, like he can still feel the aches of when he broke it back in ‘97.
“What makes you say that?” She asks while sipping her glass of wine. Most people would assume it’s an expensive vintage, due to his office and their lives, but he knows it to be the seven dollar bottle of wine that Pete had always bought from Kroger. In truth, it’s a stretch to even call it wine- more so grape juice with a hint of alcohol, but Sarah and Pete always seemed to enjoy it more than any other.
He gives half a shrug. It’s hard to put into words- a lot of grimaces and empty words. “It’s mostly a feeling. You know how it is. You can read Darrell like a book- just as I can Pete.” He doesn’t like it anymore than Pete does, but it’s what the job demands and they both had agreed to it.
“You have a deputy secretary, don’t you? Maybe you could plan a day to turn it off; Pete would probably appreciate it. You would too, I think.” She suggests. Admittedly it is true that he could do that. But this early into office? It wouldn’t paint him well. Lord knows what the President would think.
“Maybe.” He says regardless, if only because Sarah will be upset if he says anything else. “I’ll talk with Brandon and see.”
She doesn’t seem convinced, but mercifully, doesn’t push it, instead pushes the conversation forward. “It’s good to see you getting along so well with Bradley.”
“It’s touch and go.” He admits. Tom reaches over and takes her glass of wine, pointedly ignoring her rolling her eyes. He takes a sip, and can’t quite fight the grimace. “But it’s better. We’re both trying, at the very least. Pete’s a good mediator; that and the kids starting to lose the chip on his shoulder.”
Her smile is genuine this time. “Good. I heard him call Pete, Dad earlier. That’s new.”
It is, and it still warms his heart. “He’s always wanted to, but we were worried back then what others would think. Now, though, that we’re apparently out to the world, there’s not a real danger in it.” He tries not to sound bitter about the last bit- it was after all doomed to have came up at some point, but he had hoped that him and Pete would have at least been given a heads up. That, obviously didn’t happen, and there’s no use being upset about it. Embrace the suck as he learned in boot camp.
“If I know Pete, I know he’s thrilled.” She laughs fondly. “He was always worried about replacing Nick.”
He knows. They had countless conversations about it while Bradley was growing up. Panicked, hushed whispers while Bradley was asleep about if Pete was doing the wrong thing. Like Goose would have ever resented him for making sure his son was safe and loved. “Bradley doesn’t remember him.” Tom answers after a moment. “Not anything really. Pete’s really the only father he’s ever known.”
“Not really.” She disagrees. “You were there just as often, too.”
It’s an uncomfortable point, because, yes, he had been, but he’s not sure if Bradley has ever thought of him like that. If he has ever really thought of Ice as being apart of his family, or just the guy that came with Maverick. He doesn’t want to think about it now. Not when already there’s still an uncomfortable feeling slithering around and constricting his heart. He’s saved from having to answer by Maverick and Slider coming back towards the house.
Ron’s got an arm slung over Pete’s shoulder, and is apparently gracious enough to also carry what's left of their pack of beer. “How are you going to bring beer from back home here and not give one to your oldest friend?” Tom calls out towards them, voice protesting the volume, but it’s ignored in favor of a laugh.
“Oh my deepest apologies, Mr. Iceman. Please, have a humble beer.” Sli mocks with a growing grin. “Hardly my fault you had to talk shop with Cyclone and Warlock.”
Tom can’t help but roll his eyes. “Certainly feels like it should be. Never know with you.”
Pete laughs softly. “I’ll vouch for him this time. He’s been on babysitter duty the entire time.” His husband promises with a hand over his heart. It’s the most like himself he’s been in quite a while.
He grunts, but it’s just for show. “I suppose I’ll believe the two of you.” He leans forward once they’re close enough and snags a beer. “Keeping this one.”
“Spoil sport.” Is the grumble he gets in response. “We’re gonna watch the last of the game if you want to join us.”
He doesn’t care overmuch for sports, but he doesn’t have to, it’ll just be nice to spend time with everyone. “Sure. But I’m not taking part in whatever dumb bet the two of you have going on.”
There’s lingering laughter, but no denial comes, and he can’t help but chuckle to himself in his fondness.
“What did Cyclone say?” Ron asks him. It’s jarringly strange, this development in their friendship. They’ve been friends, certainly, but never this close up until his crash. But still, it is a bit nice to talk with someone who understands- at least a little.
Pete avoids the question for a moment, opting to take a sip of his beer. “He offered me Top Gun again, if I felt ready.” The words drop like anchors from a ship, scratch against the back of his throat.
“And?” Slider presses when he doesn’t tack on anything. There’s no judgment or expectation in his tone; only curiosity.
“Told him the truth.” He answers finally. “Not healed enough to really consider it.”
Ron doesn’t seem satisfied with that. He kicks a foot up on the bench. “But do you want it?”
Now that’s a question not even he has the answer for right now. “Honestly?” Pete sighs. “I don’t know. There’s too much happening lately. I know I’m always one for the fast life, but even this is too fast for me. Tom’s job, my injuries, the move, Bradley- everything.” He gestures out in front of him as if it could encompass everything he’s going through. “I…I think I just need some time.”
“Fair enough.” He nods and cracks open a new beer.
A door opens from behind them and Pete chances a glance over his shoulder to see his husband and sister in law take a seat in the patio chairs.
Ron follows his gaze. “I won’t tell Tom about the job offer.” He says after a moment. “but,” he tacks on. “If you ever decide you do want the job, I can help you tell him, if you’d like.”
It’s a nice offer, however-“You’re his best friend. You’re supposed to be on his side. I’m not going to ask that of you.”
“I am his best friend.” Slider confirms easily. “But he’s got his head up his ass right now- and I think, once he gets himself straightened out, that he’d be grateful I wasn’t just blindly going along. A good friend doesn’t just say what you want to hear.”
They tell you what you need to hear. He finishes for him. “Do you think you could stay in town a bit longer?” Pete asks after a moment. It’s a big ask, he knows. But it’s nice having a friend here where he knows no one.
Ron raises a brow, but the look in his eye is soft. “And what? Eat you out of a house?” He shrugs. “Your loss.”
He can’t help his snort. “Tom makes more money than either of us. He can afford extra groceries.”
“Like he even goes grocery shopping like us peasants.” Slider laughs.
“God no.” Pete shudders in horror. “Have you seen the price of eggs? He almost had an aneurysm about how much we spent on groceries in 03, nonetheless now. He’d put us all on a beans and rice diet.” He shakes his head. “No.” He repeats. “Let his assistant handle that. I will handle hiding the receipt.”
“Sock drawer?” Ron guesses.
“Too obvious.” Pete points out. Then waits a moment. “I burn them.”
A guffaw of shocked laughter leaves his friend. “No fucking way.”
“He’ll never believe you if you tell him.”
“Please.” Ron rolls his eyes even as he rises with a stretch. “It’s perhaps the tamest thing you’ve done in your entire life.”
For a moment he considers it, only to come to the conclusion Slider is probably right. But still. He’ll never ever admit to that. So instead he rolls his eyes, and manages to his feet without his help, though that doesn’t stop Sli from throwing an arm over his shoulder and heading indoors to watch the last quarter of the game that they’re doomed to loose.
Tom’s quiet, he notices. Quieter than usual, and he’s not watching the game. Which, in of it’s self, would not be too concerning, Tom really didn’t find football that entertaining. But the quietness last past the game, past the good nights and goodbyes, and even into their room where they both get undressed and into their pajamas.
For a long moment, he can’t help but stare at Tom’s back, itching to ask what’s wrong, but the exhaustion from the day is already laying claim. He’s in pain and tired, and can’t deal with it tonight.
So instead, he climbs into bed too, and turns away, and tries not to think about his husband.
Notes:
Hope you guys enjoyed, it was a fun chapter to write. I already have the next chapter planned out but if anyone has any ideas feel free to leave them below. Not too sure about the hangman/rooster dynamic, it wasnt really planned, but did happen. not sure how far ill take it, but we'll see! And what will our dearest Icecube think when he finds out Ron is keeping stuff from him?
Also I hope the emotions came across well in this one I’m not too sure since I was a bit rushed writing it, but i wanted to kinda showcase their friends and family in this one
Chapter 28: Ron and Doc o'clock
Summary:
Pete has a doctors appointment, and gets told somethings he'd rather not hear.
Notes:
I don't remember if i gave ron a rank yet so just bear with me- also thank you for everyone who suggested titles, there's a few really solid ones that I liked!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Something soft presses against his throat. A low hum escapes him as he rolls towards the warmth behind him. Tom’s arms wrap around him and pull him closer. “Good morning.” He says into his hair, voice raspy both from sleep, and because since the cancer, that’s just what his voice sounds like first thing in the morning. He’d almost forgotten. Most mornings, Tom’s gone by the time Pete wakes. It’s how every morning goes. It’s not really anyone’s fault, to be fair. Tom goes to work at 8 most mornings- a perfectly reasonable time, but these days, Pete is lucky if he’s awake before 10. It used to bother him (still does), but he’s made his peace with it (he hasn’t).
“Morning.” He mumbles back, unsure if it’s even coherent enough for Tom to understand. Not that it really matters. Tom will understand. A gust of warm air brushes his ear as his husband chuckles quietly.
“We gotta get up, baby.” He tells him, all the while rubbing his back, which really, only makes him want to sleep more. “It’s 0730.”
He only buries his head further into his chest in response. “Wanna sleep.” Pete can’t help but whine.
Tom kisses his head. “I know.” He sympathizes, “But you have a Doctor’s appointment in an hour.”
Right. With Alex. He likes the man- honestly. But he’s so sick and tired of Doctor’s and hospitals. It’s the only place he goes and the only people he ever sees. “I’m sorry.”
His husband stills beside him, and he chills almost immediately when Tom pulls partly away to look at him. Stubbornly, Pete refuses to meet his eyes. “Pete. Why are you sorry?”
“I…” How to explain it. “Just for what you went through. With the cancer.” Tom had basically lived in the hospital for a stint of his treatment, and then when he was able to come home, every other day they had to go to the hospital for radiation.
He finally meets his husband’s gaze, and watches his eyes soften. “I know you hate the doctor visits, but you’re healing well. Before long all of this will be all behind you, and you can go back to doing whatever stupid stunt you want to do next.”
Pete can’t help the laugh that escapes him, not even his aching chest can suppress it. “Make sure your PR team is prepared for that.”
A sincere smile is what Tom grants him in return. “Let’s keep them on their toes. Can’t let them get too complacent.”
“I’ll be sure to cause a ruckus enough to keep them on edge.” He promises, pressing a kiss to the edge of Tom’s lips. “But first, your darling husband requires coffee.”
Tom steals a proper kiss before climbing out of the bed. “I suppose I can handle coffee.” He wags a finger back at him. “Don’t go back to sleep or you’ll be late.”
His face is already squished back into his blissfully cool pillow. “Mhm hm.” They really did have a wonderful mattress. Pete can’t help but be grateful that they had spent the extra money on it. Maybe that’s why he’s having such problems staying awake, once awake. It’s an uphill battle all day long. There’s a part of him that’s always exhausted- even after sleeping for upwards of twelve hours, he wakes up so tired- eyes barely able to stay open.
He must’ve drifted off for the next thing is knows, is an mildly annoyed voice saying: “Pete. You have to get up. It’s already eight. You’re going to be late.”
A low groan claws its way up his throat. It was just 0730. How had thirty minutes passed so quickly? Carefully, he pushes himself up so he’s sitting against their headboard. He blinks in an effort to keep his eyes open, and focused. “I…I didn’t realize I fell asleep.”
Tom gives a disbelieving hum. “I’ve woken you up three times now.” He’s grabbing his briefcase were it rest on their sitting chair. “Coffee is on your nightstand. Call me when you’re out of the doctors.” Despite his obvious annoyance he leans over and kisses his head. “Love you.” And then he’s gone.
Pete bites back a sigh, but gingerly climbs out of bed. He’s barely into a pair of jeans before there’s a knock on the partially open bedroom door. “Mav?” Ron calls. “You ready man?”
Ah. Right. Ron is coming with him today. Bradley hadn’t minded, and Pete knows that, but he also knows the kid hates the hospital, and he might as well give him a break while he can. That, and it’s easier for him to go to the hospital with Slider. No need to sugar coat it, or protect anyone’s feelings. Ron would take it how it is, and keep it moving. “Almost.” He answers, already hobbling into the bathroom. “Just let me brush my teeth. I’ll meet you in the car.”
“Alright.” Slider says. “Don’t take too long.”
He does his best, taking his medicine, brushing his teeth, putting on his shirt and shoes, and miraculously grabbing his coffee all within five minutes. “Sorry guys.” He apologies to the security team and driver as he climbs into the car.
“Not a problem, Admiral. I’ll get you there in time.” His driver promises, and seems to mean it too, for they’re moving before he even has the chance to buckle. Not that he exactly intends to. A seat belt on healing ribs? Hell no. The partition separating them closes with a click and he leans back in his seat.
It’s not a long drive, but they make it in record time. Being married to SECNAV does come with a few perks. Like legally running red-lights with his motorcade.
“Gonna be honest with you, Mav, this whole having a driver thing, a man could get used to.” Ron tells him as they climb out the SUV.
He can’t help but snort. “He had a driver before.”
“Yeah, but it was a personal one.” Sli points out. He opens the door to the hospital for him. “We never got to use it.”
That’s…mostly true. Pete had rode with Tom a handful of times, but more often than not, they were going different places, and he much preferred the freedom of his motorcycle.
Once inside, Maverick leads the way, he’s been here often enough to know he could find Alex in Zone America. Thankfully located on the first floor. As they approach the nurse station, the head of a Hospital Corpsman peeks around a computer screen and greets him with a friendly smile. She’s wearing blue BDU’s. Hosptialman Leveen if he recalls correctly. “Good to see you again, Admiral Mitchell.” She greets, rising from her seat.
“You too, Jane.” He tells her. He sits his coffee tumbler on the ledge. “I didn’t miss Alex, did I?”
“No sir.” She shakes her head. “Dr. Patrov will be ready for you in just a moment. If you want to take a seat I can get you whenever he’s ready.”
“No need, Leveen.” He hears a familiar voice call out. “I’m ready for him.”
Pete looks past Jane’s blonde, neat bun and over to the familiar face of his doctor, a strict looking man to most, but for him, it’s just nice to know someone.
He has a regulation buzz cut, and brown eyes that soften when he meets his gaze. “Looking better than last time I saw you, Pete.”
“Feeling better, too.” He responds. He shakes his hand once he’s in range. “This is retired Admiral Kerner.” Pete gestures over to his friend. “He’s my babysitter for the day.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Admiral.” Alex greets, also shaking Ron’s hand. “I believe I saw you briefly at the get together last week.”
Sli confirms it with an incline of his head. “Yes sir. Ended up staying a bit longer to keep the old man company.”
“Old?” Pete protests. “I’m younger than you!”
Alex is polite enough to at least attempt to muffle his laughter, but he sounds sincere when he says: “I’m glad to hear that he’s got someone to spend time with. I hope Bradley is well?”
“He is.” Pete reassures. “Since Ron is in town I thought I’d give the kid a break.”
Patrov hums. “Well then, Admiral Kerner, why don’t you have a seat, and I’ll have your friend out to you shortly.”
“Sounds good, see you in a few Mav.” Ron squeezes his shoulder before heading towards were Pete knows the Starbucks is. Already, he knows that he’s going to be subjected to endless bitching about how it’s not even real coffee. Honestly, strong words from a man that has drank the coffee they’re given on deployments-now that bean water truly is an affront to man. Even he isn’t one to complain overmuch about coffees- other than the fact that Ice takes his far too sweet. Speaking of which, maybe they should order Ron some fancy coffee machine for his birthday- it is coming up.
“Admiral?” Patrov calls, an eyebrow raised expectantly.
He clears his throat and turns back. “Coming.” Pete walks a few paces behind Alex, despite numerous appointments, the room they ended up in changes every now and then.
They step into room 507 and Alex closes the door behind them. “Alright. Let’s go ahead and get through the basics: step on to the scale please.”
He does as he’s bade, and is patient enough as the Doctor writes down his information 134 lbs, still 5’6 (hah! Fuck you sli-I haven’t shrunk). Pete is complacent enough as Alex slides the blood pressure cuff up his left arm and they both wait in comfortable silence as it swells and deflates.
“Hm.” Alex hums, and speaking from his personal extensive experience- it’s rarely a good thing when a doctor hums after measuring anything. “Your blood pressure is still high. 136 over 82. This isn’t the first time your blood pressure has read this high.” Patrov’s fingers tap against his clipboard before he deflates with a sigh. “I’m going to level with you, Pete. It’s not good. Levels this high classify as stage 1 Hypertension.”
Called it. He thinks. “What does that mean for me?”
Alex chews at his lip. “It depends.” He admits after a moment. “I’m hesitant to diagnose you. I’d like for you to monitor your blood pressure at home and keep a log for the next month. It’ll tell me if this is a fluke or if you do have Hypertension.”
“And if I do?” He asks. Because at his rate, he does, because why wouldn’t he? It just another thing he has to deal with on top of everything else.
“It’s treatable, but there is no cure for high blood pressure. The best we could do is change somethings in your lifestyle and diet, and see how that helps. Our goal would be keeping you from getting to Stage 2.” Alex looks him in the eye. “However, before we assume that, I do think there may be a different cause.”
Pete can’t help his brow from furrowing. “What are you thinking?” He’s not even sure why he’d have high blood pressure in the first place. He eats a balanced diet (for the most part), and up until his crash, kept a workout routine that would put the daggers to shame.
“I’ve looked over your prior charts- ones from before your crash, ones after and ones that I personally took here.” He begins. “Ones taken just before your crash show low blood pressure, lower than what an average person should read, but that’s normal for athletes or those in the service. Even the ones taken after your crash are just a little higher, but still well within normal range. It’s only after you transferred your care here have we been seeing this high of blood pressure.” Alex looks up from his charts. His eyes are softer than Pete wants them to be. “I’m worried that you are under too much stress.”
His jaw locks up- but it’s not only that. It feels like his entire body is frozen in time. His heart, in contrast, is beating like a racing horse.
Patrov sets the clip board to the side and leans forward. His elbows rest on his knees. “Your medical record is sealed. Not even your husband can access it. It’s alright if there’s anything you want to talk about. It’s perfectly normal to have problems adjusting to being home after being deployed.”
“I’m fine.” He chokes out- the words feel like sandpaper in his throat, drawing blood, demanding penance for the lie.
It’s pity, that’s what’s in his eyes. That’s what is rubbing him so raw. “Alright.” Alex says, even though it’s clear he doesn’t believe him. “All the same, I’m going to write a referral to a therapist. I’d like you to at least get a consultation.”
Absolutely not. The thought is immediate. His hand twitches and he opts to grab the arm rests of his chair. “Was there anything else?” He says with a force he doesn’t truly mean.
Alex sits back in his chair. “Your weight loss is concerning.” He says, pushing away the one topic he doesn’t want to address. “It is expected, due to the restrictions on your movement, but you are loosing more than what we’d consider normal. I’m going to recommend some protein powders and supplements to help keep you from loosing anymore. Once you begin physical therapy we can start to wean you off them as your muscle begin to re-develop.”
“Alright.” That he can manage. Protein smoothies were hardly the bane of his existence. They might not taste the greatest, but most were leagues better than any food in the mess hall. The knot in his gut unwinds a little, but refuses to untie entirely.
The doctor looks far too relaxed in his opinion. “Do you have any concerns over anything that you’d like to talk about?”
No. He thinks sharply, but- “I’m exhausted. All the time. It doesn’t matter how much I sleep. I don’t even remember how many times my husband has woke me.”
“Hm.” Alex hums. “We can draw some blood and run some labs. There’s a few things that could be causing your fatigue. It’s possible you have an iron deficiency, could be a side effect of your medication, or even because of your head injury.” He seems to debate continuing, but does finally say: “It’s also a symptom of depression and PTSD.”
There it is. He knew Alex wouldn’t let it go so easily. “Dr. Patrov.” He says quite levelly, in truth, he’s imitating his husband as best he can. Ice has always been rather brilliant at redirection and controlling the conversation. “I suggest we move on to a different topic.”
“Very well.” The Doctor sighs. “If you’re ready, I can draw your blood and send you on your way.”
Pete nods and extends his left arm. It’s not a comfortable silence that’s fallen in the room as Patrov works. The needle inserts his arm with not even a flinch, and before long Alex has three vials of his blood and there’s blue tape around his arm. “All done.” He says quietly. “I should have the results in a few days. I’ll give you a call when I’ve reviewed them. Your referral and list of supplements will be at the nurse station. I won’t need to see you for a few weeks, but please make sure to keep a log of your blood pressure.”
He barely manages a grunt in response. “Have a good day, Doctor.” He says curtly, before helping himself out of the room and back towards Ron and the nurse station. One of his detail follow a pace behind and he can see the other five stationed in other areas, but all nearby. Ron must hear him coming for he looks up from his phone and over his shoulder. “Finally.” He grunts once he’s standing. He stretches his back. “These chairs are absolutely shit.”
“Well from what I hear, you have an in with SECNAV.” He rebuts, but his heart isn’t in it. It’s only to keep appearances up. Pete grabs the file from Jane with a nod of his head- a perk of being an Admiral, manners weren’t always expected from him. He’ll apologize next time.
The detail sticks close as they walk through the hospital back to his motorcade. “Eh. I’ll leave someone else to complain about it. My time sitting in those chairs is growing to the end.”
Had technically already ended, but then Pete crashed and then they were all back to were they had been. Pete doesn’t bother to respond. Too much on his mind. It’s not that he’s angry with Alex, it’s just-therapy? For him? It just doesn’t make any sense. And what would his friends think? Or Bradley? Or god- the public if they caught wind? It would be a nightmare for Tom.
He’ll figure it out. He always does. He’ll suck it up.
“-ete?”
He blinks, focusing again on his friend. “Yes?”
Slider frowns at him. “You good man? You’ve never once been this quite.”
He waves him off. “I’m fine.” A smile that he doesn’t feel carves itself on his face. “Let’s head back, yeah?”
Pete can tell he’s being watched closely, but all the same, Ron nods and climbs into the back of the SUV. He follows behind and leans against the window once the door is shut.
“Tom wanted you to call once you were out of the doctors.” His friend reminds him.
Immediately, he knows he doesn’t want to call him. Not yet, not with everything still so fresh, not when he hasn’t even processed everything. No. This…this stays with him for a while. “I’ll call him once we’re home.” He promises, knowing he’s lying.
Slider grunts. “What did the Doc say?”
Pete doesn’t want to tell Slider either, because Slider is Tom’s best friend. He knows what they talked about last week, but it doesn’t mean it feels right to confide in him and not his husband “Just to watch my blood pressure, and to eat more.” He chooses to say. Truthful enough that he doesn’t feel too bad, but dishonest enough that they won’t worry and he won’t have to explain.
“That’s good. Nothing major then.”
“No.” He agrees, gaze drifting out the window. The trees pass in a blur. “Nothing major.”
Notes:
Hope you guys enjoyed the chapter! How long do you think before ron and bradley leave and Pete starts to really spiral? It only gets darker from here. Let me know what you guys think!
Also- is Ice coming across too asshole-ish? Im trying to portray him as still loving, but overly preoccupied and a little distant. I don't want him to seem like just a flat out dick the entire time.
Chapter 29: Be Patient (i'm trying)
Summary:
Bradley's leave is ending soon, and Pete misses his husband.
Notes:
We've hit 80k! I'm really pleased with myself about that lol. It does mean that we are roughly 70% of our way through considering the plan is for the fic to be about 120k long, though I am not entirely sure how to wrap this all up in 30%. But hey. Guess we'll see.
This chapter is rated M.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
He’s running out of time with his son, and yes his son. Bradley’s leave would be ending soon. Tom had approved a two and a half month leave, and now they only have a week left.
“Dad.” Bradley calls, “You ready for breakfast old man?”
It’s well past breakfast. They both know it. Couldn’t even really call it brunch when it’s far past two in the afternoon. He should be hungry. He knows it. He’s just not. Not even a little. He also knows it’s not a good thing.
His kid is too kind to call him out on it- but he knows the boy is worrying. The same way Goose used to worry about him. “Yeah. Now that you mention it, I’m starving.” It’s a lie. But he’s a good liar, and he’s willing to stomach food to see the pinch in Bradley’s brow disappear and the tension in his shoulders dissipate.
“What are you in the mood for?” Bradley gets up from the couch, pressing pause on the episode of Top Gear.
“Anything really.” He answers. Pete hides a wince as he stretches. His scars pull in ways he isn’t quite used to. “Did you have anything in mind?”
“Don’t know.” He smiles, and Pete can see the smile and relief lining his face, easing the tension- he had been expecting a fight about it. “Let’s see what’s in the pantry, yeah?”
Pete hums, and absently listens as the kid purses the pantry. He showcases his offerings by holding it over his shoulder. Eventually, they settle on a box of Kraft Mac and Cheese. Simple enough, but they do go the extra step to take the thawed chicken out of the fridge.
Music springs to life so suddenly Pete jumps in surprise. Nirvana echoes in the kitchen, and Bradley tosses a blinding grin at him. For a moment, he’s so seized with fondness, he forgets to breathe. He’s missed him so much. It’s like he’s back to when Bradley was fourteen and using the spaghetti noodles as a microphone as he sung off key to the radio.
Without realizing it, his own grin starts to form. “I hope you’re a better singer than you were 15 years ago.”
“I’m a great singer.” Rooster defends haughtily. “Thank you very much.”
He can’t help his snort, “Yeah, kid. Whatever you say.” Honestly, he’s just giving the kid shit. He can sing just like his father.
It only edges him on, and his singing grows even louder- if that was possible. Pete can’t help his soft chuckle, and sings along too, even if a bit quieter. Between them both, they make quick work of lunch. He seasons the chicken and tosses it in the air fryer while Brad cooks the Mac and Cheese- and viola. In less than half an hour, lunch is served and they’re back in front of the television and the next episode of Top Gear is playing.
It’s a lunch he’s had countless times before- and yet it taste nothing like he recalls. It’s just…bland. He knows it shouldn’t be; for all his faults, he isn’t shy with seasonings. Pete fights a grimace. The taste is enough to put him off eating, but god he’s tired of seeing Bradley worry. Besides, he thinks to himself, if he can survive MRE’s and food from the mess, he can handle this. At the very least, it’s not actively awful.
The intro has barely played before Bradley is turning down the volume. “Are you sure you’ll be alright? I can always ask Ice to extend my leave.”
“I’ll be fine.” He reassures again. In the days leading up to the end of Rooster’s leave this conversation has came up more than once. “I’m able to get around by myself, and I have my security detail only a moment away. Don’t worry about me.”
Bradley rolls his eyes. “With the way you get into trouble I have to.” He sits his bowl down on the side table. “I really don’t mind staying, you know. It’s…nice being back.”
Pete doesn’t fight the urge to reach out and lay a hand on his arm. “I know you don’t mind- and it’s nice having you here. But you’ll be back for Christmas if not Thanksgiving. And it’ll be good for you to spend some time with your friends, too. You’re too young to spend this long cooped up with me.”
His lips thin out. “I like being cooped up with you. I really don’t mind, dad.”The term still causes a warmth in his chest- he’s not sure he’ll ever get used to it. If he ever wants to. “I believe you.” Pete promises, holding his hands up in surrender. “Still. Go cause some trouble for a couple months and you’ll be able to tell me all about it at Christmas.”
“Fine.” Rooster grumps. “But so help me- if you do something stupid while I’m gone I’ll strangle you.”
“I won’t.” Pete chuckles. “You forget I’ve got your Pops babysitting me too.” It’s a slip of the tongue, referencing Tom as Bradley’s Pops. His husband and son haven’t reached that stage yet, but Pete is hopeful enough that they will eventually get there. After all, even just after a month and a half, they’re on far better terms.
Bradley is too kind or perhaps a bit too embarrassed to call him out on it. “He was just as bad when I was a kid.” He points out. “I have no sympathy for you, old man.”
“You’re a cruel child.” Pete deadpans, and leans back against the couch, careful not to pull at his scars. Fickle things, they were.
He expects a laugh in response, but his son seems rather hesitant, and then says: “Are you and Ice doing okay?”
Pete isn’t prepared enough for that question to stop himself from tensing at it. Where the hell did that come from? “What makes you ask?” He questions in return.
“I don’t know.” He rubs the back of his neck, and he avoids his gaze. “Just, sometimes the two of you seem off.”
He doesn’t immediately start with platitudes, despite wanting to do exactly that. Bradley would see through it. “It’s a been a rough patch.” He admits, watching him carefully. Pete isn’t quiet ready to share everything with him- he loves his son, but somethings should stay in his relationship. Not shared with everyone. “But we’re working through it well enough. It’s not the first fight we’ve had, kiddo. Probably won’t be the last.” It is certainly their worst fight, however. Never before had divorce been on the table. Bradley doesn’t need to know that, either. He just needs to know that his parents are okay, and that it’s being worked on.
“Okay.” Rooster nods, satisfied apparently with the answer. “I just wanted to make sure.”“I appreciate it.” He says sincerely. “Tom and I have been through too much to let it end here. We’ll be just fine.” He gestures to the food. “Eat before it gets cold.” If only to get the attention off of him, and move the conversation on to something easier to manage.
Bradley opens his mouth- likely either to protest or ask more questions Pete doesn’t want to answer, but in the end, he picks his bowl back up and turns back to the TV. Thank god. Pete can’t help but think. He almost sighs in relief but catches it just in time. In turn, he also takes a bite of his own food, and opts to pretend it’s perfectly normal that it’s almost like eating cardboard.
It’s a comfortable silence that falls over them, but Pete’s mind is far from what’s on the television. Alex’s words ring in his head, and though he denied them, he knows the signs. He’s had people under his command before and was taught what to look out for. Pete knows, too, that he’s displaying all the signs.
It’s not something he tries to think of, not even something he likes to admit, if only to himself. There’s never room for such…weakness. Even before he was pushed into the spotlight. In the Navy, there are things that you don’t speak of. Depression and PTSD were both high on that list. Both could leave him with out a career; a dishonorable discharge even, and the press would some how find out about it surely. It could ruin is life. Could ruin Tom’s career, and after everything they went through to get here, how could he be selfish enough to risk loosing it?
Tom would never forgive him. He’d never be able to forgive himself. And yet, he’s not naïve enough to think that this will magically go away. It’s just not how it works. Not how it worked back in ‘86 and not how it works now. Everything’s catching up to him, and he’s not sure how much longer he can fight it. Now is hardly the time though, not when he only has this last week left with Bradley. Hardly would it be fair to leave the boy worrying while on deployment. If he’s distracted, it could get him hurt. Or worse- killed.
He’s killed more than enough Bradshaw’s for one life.
The unwelcome thought is enough to make the prospect of eating that much worse. Cause’s nausea to churn in his gut. Already his mouth starts to water- but not in a good way. No, it only promises bile. He grips his bowl, careful to carry it in a way that Bradley can’t see how much he did or didn’t eat. “I’ll be back in a minute.” He promises.
He barely hears him hum as he jabs the elevator button. Only once it dings, and he’s inside it, does he let himself clasp a free hand over his lips. Desperately praying the elevator would hurry up. It doesn’t, but it doesn’t take long for the doors to open regardless. He is, after all, only going up one floor.
Pete slips between the doors before they’re even fully open. It’s a mad dash to his bedroom. The bowl of food is tossed haphazardly onto the bathroom counter. He drops to his knees so suddenly he doesn’t even have time to process the pain. Bile rises uncontrollably and he’s left gripping the porcelain toilet. It burns, his stomach is mostly empty; he hadn’t ate anything except the few bites he had managed of lunch. Though now, as his eyes burn with tears he can’t stop, he can’t help regret what little he had ate.
With each pass his stomach scar stretches in a way that sends waves of pain that seems to radiate all through his body. A rib hits the side of the toilet and he can’t help the gasp that escapes him. Pete’s hand hovers over his ribs and lets his head fall against the coolness of the toilet ledge.
Fuck.
He needs to get up, needs to brush his teeth and clean up his mess, but god, he needs a moment. If he takes too long Bradley will start to wonder and come look for him, and then he’ll worry and panic and ask Tom to extend his leave. All things Pete isn’t prepared to deal with. He’s dealt with nonstop supervision for two months. He just needs sometime alone. Time to figure himself out.
He lets himself have it- if only for a moment. He sits there on the bathroom floor and rests against the wall beside him. Eventually, his breathing levels out from his ragged, desperate gasps into something more steady. Calm, level. Only then, and only once he’s sure his stomach will survive it, does he manage the journey to rise onto unsteady feet. The pain hasn’t gone away, still prickles and protests his movements, but for now, Pete settles for blindly flushing the toilet. Before he even brushes his teeth, he rinses his mouth out with a few cups of water. Once the vile taste is gone, he brushes his teeth, and swishes with mouthwash. It makes him feel marginally better, but the pain is still almost overwhelming. It demands his attention. For a meager blessing, he does have prescription painkillers. Pills clatter in their orange containers as he searches for the right one (he has so many these days). Pete shakes a couple into his hand and downs them with a gulp of water.
It’s a deliberate choice to avoid looking himself in the mirror. Unsure if he can handle seeing the mess he’s become on top of everything else. So instead he grabs a wash cloth, and some cleaning spray from under the counter and sets about cleaning off the toilet. He’s granted a second blessing: he didn’t make too big of a mess. A simple wipe down and his job is done. His ribs in particular, seem rather thankful for that.
Just in time too, for he hears Bradley’s voice faintly call: “Dad? You good up there?”
Pete swallows the lump in his throat, and makes his way out of his bathroom and bedroom, and out on to the top of the stairs. He can see Bradley looking over his shoulder from where he sits on the couch. “I’m fine.” He promises with a surety he doesn’t feel. “Just a bit tired. I’m going to take a nap for a little bit before Tom comes home.”
The worry in his son’s voice lessens. “Okay. Holler if you need me.”
He forces a smile. “I will.” He reassures. “Try not to get into too much trouble without me.”
Faintly, he can hear Bradley mumble to himself: “Never once been in trouble.”
Pete can’t help his fond chuckle as he turns away and closes his bedroom door behind him. Then, after a moment of thought, locks it too. He needs sometime by himself, let his body and mind rest from the ordeal he’s just put it through.
He trudges over to the hamper and pulls out Tom’s hoodie. It still smells like him. Which makes sense considering he was wearing it last night while they watched movies. Well, they is a strong word. Pete fell asleep so quickly he can’t even remember what movie they had decided on. His heart aches so suddenly, so fiercely, it catches him completely unaware. He wants Tom. It’s not like it’s been long since he saw him. Just last night, and even then, he’s got texts from him a few times today already.
A Good Morning, at 10:32am. An offer to have food delivered if he was hungry, that Pete had declined. A complaint about his Deputy Secretary that he did find a bit amusing (Tom hated idiots).
It seems the painkillers have already started to kick in, for when he slips on the hoodie, he barely feels any pain. It’s large on him, but it’s soft, and comfortable. Pete climbs into the bed and tugs the blanket over himself. His hand tugs his phone out of his sweats. Usually, he tries not to bother Tom while he’s at work. He knows he’s busy every second he’s away. But still- Tom is his husband before anything else. So, he presses his contact photo and lets the phone rest against his ear as it dials.
“A- Kazansky speaking.” Tom answers blandly in only a few rings. Pete knows the cut off at the beginning is because of how many years he spent announcing himself as Admiral Kazansky.
“Hey Tom.” Pete greets, even just hearing his voice is enough to make him feel partially better.
Gone is the emotionless tone, and it’s replaced with a far warmer, loving tone. “Pete. How are you feeling, baby?”
He hums noncommittally. “Surviving.” He answers, a bit more honestly than when Bradley had asked.
“Did you eat?” Tom asks, and Pete knows he’s frowning. “I can still have food delivered if you haven’t.”
“No, no.” Pete reassures. “Brad and I ate just a little while ago. I was just missing you.”
It’s silent for a moment and then: “Alright.”
He can’t help his brow furrowing. “Alright?”
“I’ll come home.” Tom explains. “It’s a slower day- as much as it can be, anyhow. No reason I can’t work from home.”
Warmth blossoms at his words. But still…“You don’t have to.”
“I want to.” Tom will hear none of it. “Besides, I miss you too. I’ll be home soon, and I love you.”
“Love you too.” The smile on his face is involuntary, but genuine all the same. They both say goodbye and Pete pulls the down comforter closer around himself. Already, he feels calmer. Tom would be home, and things were always better with Tom around.
There’s a distant, passing thought, that maybe he should unlock the door, but it’s dismissed with a yawn. Tom could figure it out- it’s not a hard door to unlock. So instead, he pulls the hood up and buries his face in Tom’s pillow. Sleep, after all, is rather appealing, and he harbors no desire to fight it.
Tom smiles in thanks as Andy- the head of his security detail- opens the front door for him. The tall ceilings and wooden floors welcome him home. He has to confess: they did a good job picking this house. The door is pulled close behind him with a soft click. He rests his leather briefcase on the entry way table and sets about shedding his coat and scarf.
“Ice?” A voice calls, and Tom looks up to see Bradley’s head poking around the corner. “You’re home early.”
“Ah.” He hangs both neatly on their hooks. “Just finishing the day up from home.” Purposely, he leaves out that Pete had wanted him home. He doesn’t want the kid to think somethings wrong, or that Pete doesn’t want to spend time with him. “Where’s Pete?”
“Went upstairs to take a nap.” Bradley answers, and sits on the edge of the couch. “He’s probably still asleep.”
He glances up towards their bedroom. “How long ago?”
“uh.” Rooster cocks his head. “Maybe like an hour?”
Right around when Pete would have called him, then. Tom hums. “I’ll check up on him.”
He’s barely got a foot on the stairs when Bradley calls out. “I-uh. Do you have a sec?”
Tom pauses. What could this be about? They haven’t really had any heart to hearts since he’s come home. “Of course.” He answers, and takes his foot off the step. “What’s on your mind?”
“My leave ends this week.” Rooster starts with. “I was going to see if you could extend it. I know Mav says he’ll be fine- but I’m worried about him being alone. He still isn’t eating much, and he still seems…off.”
Tom blinks, and a frown settles on his face. It’s not that he minds, extending his leave. It takes very little work- only a phone call to Simpson. However- “Did you talk to Pete about this?”
“Yeah.” He nods. “But he says he’ll be fine, and that he won’t be alone because he has you and the detail. It’s not the same though- you can’t be here all the time and the detail stays outside. Anything could happen.”
They’re fair points. “I know you’re worried. I am too.” Tom tells him, choosing his words carefully. “And I’ll discuss it with him, but I don’t want to take away Mav’s choice in this. He gets a say.”
“That’s all I ask. I just want him to be okay.” The boy tells him. He looks up from where he’s fidgeting with his hands.
And well, Tom wants that too. “I know.” He promises. “I’ll let you know.” He pats the railing of the banister, and then heads up the steps. The door to their bedroom is closed, and when Tom tries the handle, he finds it to be locked. His brow furrows. Pete didn’t often lock their door- any door really. More than once had he come home to find Pete forgot to lock the house up before bed. He fishes his keys out of his pocket and uses one to fit in the nook and twist the lock open.
He pushes open the door- a tad nervous at what he might find- but then he sees his husband curled up in his hoodie on his side of the bed, and his heart melts. Pete had missed him. Obviously. Or had been upset enough that he wanted comfort. Tom can’t help but be grateful that he had decided to come home when he did. It wasn’t exactly a slow day like he had told Pete, but it wasn’t anything his Deputy Secretary couldn’t handle. Despite the man sometimes being an idiot, today Tom is needed at home more than the office.
Tom’s gentle when closing the door, careful not to wake his napping partner. His suit jacket ends up draped over one of their accent chairs, and the dress shirt follows too- though not as neatly. Rather a lump in the seat. He toes off his shoes, and crawls onto Pete’s side of the bed. It’s that, that wakes his husband. Though he’s awake, he’s certainly not fully aware.
Bleary eyes blink up at him, and Pete groans. He might be trying to say something. Tom can’t tell. He pulls him closer, and he goes all too willingly. Pete is curled against his chest, and already snoring again. Tom smiles softly, and bends down to press a kiss to his head. “I’m here.” He promises softly. Whispering against the fabric of the hood. “I got you, baby.”
There’s no response, and he doesn’t expect one. He’s content enough to just hold his husband until he wakes. It’s a slight stretch to reach for the TV remote with his free hand, but he manages to scoot it close enough that he can properly grab it. The moment it powers on, he mutes it. He likes subtitles well enough. Most would find it boring to watch TV with no sound, but Tom finds it anything but. Not with Pete curled into his side and the soft content sigh he makes when he gets comfortable. He never wants to move. He could stay here forever.
Tom’s not sure how much time passes, only that he’s pretty sure he’s already about halfway through Rush Hour 2. It’s then, that Pete starts to shift against him. Tom pauses the movie and looks down to see Pete staring up at him. “Sleep well?”
His husband hums and snuggles closer. Goes a step farther and presses a kiss to his chest. “You’re still a good pillow.”
He can’t help but chuckle. Pete’s been telling him that for years. “Good to hear that, at least.” Tom ducks his head, tips his husbands head up and kisses Pete properly this time. It’s a chaste kiss, but Pete’s hand on his cheek draws him back for another, and another and then all he knows is Pete’s lips against his. Tom shifts, changing their position so he can deepen the kiss. His husband’s tongue slides against his own, and Tom doesn’t try to stop the small moan that leaves him.
Pete’s eagerness catches him off guard, but all the same, he’s just as eager. In the middle of their next kiss, he finds himself being pushed back against the headboard while his husband climbs on to his lap. “Someone’s over eager.” He breathes in between kisses. In the back of his mind, he prays that he re-locked the door, but then, he hadn’t expected Pete wanting this.
His husband grunts, his hands are already traveling the expanse of his chest. Tom, on the other hand, is overly cautious of his hands. It’s the first time Pete has initiated anything like this since the crash. He’d never forgive himself if he hurt him. They hover over his hips, brushing but not quite holding. Where would be safe to hold?
Pete pulls away, pressing a follow up kiss to the edge of his lips. His hands take Tom’s in his, and guide one to his hip and the other to his neck. Still…“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.” He promises, and he seems more himself than he has so long. There’s a teasing glint in his eye. His fingers toy with the hem of his undershirt. “Unless you’re not up to it, old man.”
He lets his grip tighten, only a little, only to prove a point. “Well, you’ve always had a thing for older men.” He quips back. “But fortunately for you, this one knows a thing or two about pleasing you.” And then his lips are back on Pete’s, not letting him get a word in edgewise.
His husband laughs into the kiss, but his hands are just as desperate, and fumble with his waist band, and then well- we all know what happens next.
The sight of Pete shirtless with just a towel around his waist is damn near enough to drag him back to bed and undo all the work they did cleaning up. “I love you.” He finds himself saying. Pete is still too skinny, the scars are still fresh, but he’s also still the most handsome man he’s ever seen.
His husband’s smile grows. It’s unfair how little the years have changed him. He’s still got that twinkle in his eye, the blinding smile, and a face he has yet to get tired of staring at. “I love you too.”
It’s nice, having this time with him. It’s been too long since they had time for just the two of them. He doesn’t want it to end, just yet. “Don’t suppose I could interest you in a date night?”
In the mirror he watches his husband’s brows rise. “Tonight?”
He hums the affirmative. “Let’s grab dinner. Just me and you.”
“Do you have somewhere in particular in mind?”
Did he? He isn’t sure honestly. He’s been to dinner a handful of times since the move, but none of those places were chosen by him and they were all worked related. “It’s a surprise.” He decides on. Better that than to admit he had no idea. Besides, he could text Secretary McCord for a recommendation. She and her husband surely had to know of a few restaurants that could squeeze them in on such short notice.
“A surprise?” Pete repeats. His brow furrows in a way he finds quite adorable. “Were you planning this? Did I forget our anniversary?”
Tom chuckles. “No, dear. I just thought it would be nice to make the most of tonight- I don’t have free time very often.”
His husband saunters forward, and Tom watches him in the mirror as he wraps his arms around his waist and leans into his back. He waits for him to say something, but he makes no move to speak. Simply, he seems to be soaking up his presence.
Something in his heart aches at that. He’s never meant to make him feel lonely out of all things. Tom turns in his grip, and wraps his arms around Pete, and just holds him. “I’m here.” Is all he can promise. He can feel a gentle kiss being pressed to his chest in response.
Eventually though, Pete does pull away. “How nice should I dress?”
“Casual.” Never mind his idea about a proper restaurant- Pete hates wearing anything business casual and beyond. He’ll feel far more at ease at a greasy hole in the wall than any upscale restaurant.
His “Thank god.” lingers even as Pete disappears into their closet. Tom doesn’t have to guess as to what he’s going to wear- the same thing as always. Jeans, a white shirt and his bomber jacket. Speaking of which, he really should get a patch made from Dagger Squadron for him.
He tucks the idea neatly away with other things to handle, and goes back to their room. He digs his own pair of jeans out and slips them on, but instead of a shirt, he snags a sweater and a scarf from the closet. It’s thankfully chilly enough out that people won’t question the scarf like they do in the summer. For all his scars, the one on his throat is the one he’s least proud of.
Still. He brushes the thought aside. It’s an argument he and Pete have had countless times over. Pointless to have it now again. Tom picks a pair of sneakers off the shelf. “Ready?” He hears Pete call.
The shoes slip on without problem and he goes back into their bedroom. He offers his hand to Pete; he seems to need the closeness today.
His husband’s hand fits securely in his own, and he brings it to his lips to press a kiss to the back of it. “Ready.”
They make short work of the goodbye’s to Bradley, and Tom leaves him with the reassurance that he can have food delivered on their dime, if he wants anything. While Pete slips into the car, he takes the opportunity to pull Andy to the side.
Tom doesn’t bother prefacing. “Is there anywhere around here that has burgers greasy enough to kill a horse?”
To his credit, the man doesn’t seem fazed. Granted, however, he’s never seen the man balk at anything. “Yes sir. It’s near Georgetown.”
“Perfect.” He clasps him on the arm. “Take us there please.”
The taller man nods and closes the door once Tom is inside the SUV. It’s not a long ride, he knows that. Georgetown isn’t far from their house. But it is long enough for him to broach the subject of: “Bradley asked me to extend his leave.” He keeps a trained eye on his husband. “How do you feel about it?”
Pete frowns, and Tom gets the feeling he shouldn’t have brought it up just yet. “I…” He takes a steadying breath. “Honestly?”
“That would be preferable, yes.”
“I want you to deny it.”
It doesn’t truly surprise him, he had seen it coming. “Okay.” He promises.
Pete chews his lip. “What are you going to tell him? I don’t want him to think he’s done something wrong, or that I don’t want him around.”
Tom reaches out and puts his hand on his thigh. “Relax, dear. I won’t make him think anything of the sort.” He’ll just take the blame if need be. Better him than Pete, any day.
Pete intertwines their fingers, and Tom makes the decision to ask: “Do you want someone else to stay with you?”
“No.” Pete says immediately, but follows it up with: “I- I just want sometime away from everyone. I’m tired of being babysat and fretted over. I need things to feel normal. I’m loosing my mind being cooped up.”
Tom nods. He expected it. It’s the same type of problems they’ve ran into every other time Pete had to be on any sort of bed rest. Though none had lasted quite this long. “That’s alright. Whatever you need- and it won’t be too much longer till you’ll be cleared to ride your bike again.” To be entirely honest, he expects Pete to be on it the day after Bradley leaves, and for once, he won’t even protest him breaking doctor’s orders. Not if it means Pete gets to be a bit more himself, rather than the shell he’s been for the last two months.
That, brings the spark back to his husband’s eyes. “I need to do a little work on her first.” Despite Mav having almost a dozen different motorcycles, there’s only one her. His Kawasaki H2R Carbon. Maverick had fallen in love with it, and refused to part with it- despite the glaring price tag that almost caused him to have a stroke. “Gotta make sure nothing was damaged during the move, probably needs an oil change and some new tires before I take her out.”
Something tense unwinds in his gut. All of this is normal. It’s the most normal moment they’ve had since the move. Maybe everything really will be okay. “We’ll have to get it registered here, too.” Tom points out. “At least then when you get pulled over it’s only a speeding ticket we have to worry about.”
A warm laugh leaves his husband. “We? You mean you. My husband is Secretary of the Navy. I’m sure he could get me out of any ticket.”
It’s a loosing battle, fighting his smile. “Could.” He concedes. “Won’t.”
Pete rolls his eyes. “So you say.”
It’s a fair statement. When has he ever been good at denying Pete what he wants?
The cars roll to a stop, and the partition dividing them from their driver slides open. “We just need a few minutes to case the area, Mister Secretary.”
Tom nods. “Thank you.” It takes less than five before the door is being opened and their security stands ready to escort them inside. The restaurant itself seems to be styled to resemble a 70’s diner, and god if that doesn’t make him feel old. There’s red booths and even a Jukebox tucked away in the corner under a neon milkshake sign.
It’s perfect.
They’re directed to a booth, likely the one his detail has the best view over, and slide in. It only takes a moment before a young girl- Tom can’t think she’s older than 19- hurries over to take their order. She seems frazzled. Perhaps afraid of him or their security.
Pete, though, is the one who gives her a reassuring smile. “Good evening.” He says to her.
“Hi!” She says just a bit too enthusiastically to be genuine. “I’m Hailey. I’ll be your waiter for tonight. Can I start you two with any drinks or appetizers?”
“I’ll have a water.” And that’s not right, Tom can’t help but think. Pete gets a milkshake anytime they go anywhere that offers one. The girl looks to him expectantly.
“A strawberry milkshake.” He orders in Pete’s stead, unable to help the critical eye he gives his husband. “And a water as well. Please.”
“Yes sir. Two waters and a strawberry milkshake.” She repeats back dutifully. “I’ll have it right out!”
It’s a small thing, but it sets off warning bells in his head, and throughout their meal, Tom can’t help but notice how little Pete eats. Before the crash, Pete could have ate his burger and fries within five minutes, now, half an hour in, he’s ate half his burger and three quarters of his fries. Hadn’t even tried to steal one of Tom’s -which he always does. But then, Pete did tell him that his doctor wanted him to gain more weight, and Pete had been drinking protein shakes. Maybe he just needed time to get his full appetite back, after all the myriad of medications he took were sure to have some effect on his appetite.
That, certainly makes the most sense. The worry eases it’s claws in his heart. He’ll just keep an eye on it, and bring it up with Pete’s doctor if nothing changes. Hardly does he want to pressure his husband and make him uncomfortable over something he can’t control. He went through something similar, during his cancer treatments. He couldn’t hold down anything. His taste buds changed and nothing had tasted how it was meant to. But Pete had never stopped trying and researching things that might taste better- lemonade for starters.
He’ll repay the favor now- all Pete needs is some patience, and luckily for the both of them, Tom has plenty.
Notes:
Alrighty! A bit of a longer chapter for you guys this time, I hope you enjoyed it. I didn't want to move right into Pete's worse spirals without showcasing some of what normal life is looking like for him right now, and giving the chance to show his and Bradley's relationship as well as his and Tom's. Everyone is trying their best. I've already started a couple of chapters that happen in the future, but i need some ideas for what should happen in the meantime. Pete's going to give DC his best shot, which means there's several months worth of time for things to happen, and I'm open to any and all ideas and suggestions.
But, for the first time in a while I do have a poll for everyone:
In a couple chapters Tom is going to have to call someone for help with Pete, the options are:
Sarah
Ron
Cyclone
Hondo
or yall can vote on a character. The only restriction is it can't be someone Pete would feel responsible for.Poll #2 is what do you guys think of these titles?
Stay Tuned (and Alive)
Partner, not Clone
Mistakes and CorrectionsAlso sorry for anyone who wanted smut, i dont want to slap an explicit rating on this baby. Also, im shit at writing smut lmfao.
Chapter 30: Alone at Last
Summary:
Bradley's leave has ended, and now Pete has to learn what being alone entails.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Awareness seeps in slowly. There’s sun slipping past the blinds and shining, not quite in his eyes- but close enough to disturb him. His arm is outstretched, hand tangled in the blankets. His face is smushed comfortably in his pillow.
It’s wonderful.
A low groan escapes him as he starts to stretch out across the bed. Bradley had been dropped off at the airport yesterday. Today is the first time in three months that he’s been completely alone.
Tom would be at work all day, and there were no visitors or surprise guest, or anyone to cobble himself together for. He is completely free of any and all expectations.
Thank god. He can’t help but think. Pete’s a people person, sure, but good god he’s never been so surrounded by them like that before. He gives himself a particularly long moment to soak up the calmness, but then, does, finally meander out of bed. Pete pads out of his room- doesn’t even bother with getting dressed. Simply walks around in his boxers, and one lone sock.
The house is absolutely quiet. No shrilling alarm clock or muffled chatter from a TV. Even his steps on the hardwood don’t make a sound. The stairs curve just a bit, and open up to the living room and kitchen. Some of their furniture came with them- the fluffy gray rug, for instance, but a lot of their furniture is new, too. Things like their old couch got replaced, but their dining room table is still the same. The entire house is a collation of new and old, and Pete finds himself somewhere in the middle. Both at home, and somewhere foreign. Perhaps like staying at hotel long enough to be familiar, but wrong enough to feel like an intruder.
It’s an especially true feeling when he’s in their kitchen. Far bigger, fancier and more modern than their last one. Large cabinets, and an island in the center, a fancy stove- hell their fridge has a damn screen on it. The only thing more outdated than himself, is the coffee machine. Not fancy, not aesthetically appealing. Just an old fashioned glass pot coffee maker. A little piece of home. It doesn’t take much digging to fish out the bright red Folgers Coffee tub out of the cabinet, and even less time to grab his favorite mug off the drying rack.
It’s a Navy themed mug, with a little F-14 Tomcat model attached to the top of the handle. The dark blue of the navy colors coat the mug and the yellow lettering says World’s Best Uncle. The kids had gotten it for him years back, a stocking stuffer if he remembers correctly. Tom had been jealous, but then he had gotten a pen with the same inscription so, really, who was the dramatic one?
The drip of the coffee is refreshing, and the smell alone is enough to help him relax. It platters endlessly, and Pete knows standing there and waiting will help nothing, so he really ought to start investigating the fridge and solve the crime of not knowing what he’s going to eat for breakfast. That is, if he felt hungry, which he doesn’t. Still. He’s done things he hasn’t always felt like doing, but food, especially today, seems particularity daunting.
That doesn’t change the fact that he knows he needs to eat if he’s ever going to feel like eating. Or healthier. He hums to himself, thinking it over. He could, if he’s feeling demanding enough, send one of the detail agents off to grab him a protein smoothie. Yes, he had bought the specific protein powder Alex had recommended him, in fact, the soulless white and gray tub mocks him from the counter. It just happens to taste fucking awful, and these days, he’s more than earned the right to things that taste good, even if it means sending a diplomatic agent off on an errand to spend $11.23 on a 32oz smoothie.
Pete snorts to himself and turns towards the pantry, but then something on the counter catches his eye. A long white box, and a blue post card. He cocks his head as he nears, he can clearly see the logo of Apple on the side of the box, but only once he’s staring down at it does he realize it’s a watch. His gaze presses on to the card. Delicately, he picks it up. Pete, it begins with Ice’s handwriting. Please wear the watch when you’re home alone.
Frustration that Tom doesn’t deserve swells, but he’s quick to temper it down. His husband appears to have already set the thing up. The seals on the box are all broken, and the watch itself is already attached to a leather band that Pete is relatively sure doesn’t come standard with Apple.
He knows why Tom got it. He’s seen the commercials. It’s ability to track and contact, and most importantly to his husband- call 911. Even in the event that Pete can’t ask it to. It’s a helpfully little gadget, even if Pete isn’t too fond of it.
Carefully, he lifts it out of the box. But his fingers are clumsy on the screen, it’s so damn small. But, it will offer his husband some peace of mind, and it’s not even like he has to acknowledge it. At the end of the day, it’s only a fancy watch. So, Pete complies with Tom’s request, and slips it on.
It’s lighter than any of his own watches- regular watches mind you. Certainly lighter than any of Tom’s, who harbored a particular fancy for expensive watches. Still, it’ll take a little getting used to, and lord knows he isn’t going to wear it forever. Hell no. He’s not an invalid. He’s a grown man who can take care of himself. Despite all of that, he also knows that he’s still on the mend, and until he gets a clean bill of health from Alex, he will wear the watch. The day after? Well, no promises.
Pete lets his wrist fall to the side, and turns his attention back onto more important matters: his coffee. Just in time too; the glass pot is a fourth of the way full, and the dripping seems to have slowed. He nears, then takes it out of its slot and fills his mug. A few drops of coffee splatter against the black base of the machine, but that can be cleaned later. He replaces the pot and cradles his mug close to his chest. His gaze shifts from the black pool in his mug to out the kitchen windows. They let sunlight in unfiltered, and showcase proudly their backyard. The leaves on the trees have already changed to an array of yellow and reds, and some have already begun to shed them. Winter would be settling in soon, but for now, it looks like a perfect fall day.
But what to do with his day? There’s nothing planned, nothing he has to do. He’s not exactly fit to go riding his motorcycle just yet- but the time is coming he swears to god. Don’t get him wrong. He has no problem breaking doctors orders; recommendations really. But if there’s one thing he’s learned, it’s that broken ribs on a motorcycle is a particular sort of pain that he has no desire to experience again. Even when he wants nothing more than to go for a cruise.
Or for a flight. Even then, his plane is still back in Nevada, and it’s not even flight worthy yet. It’s almost there, but not quite yet, still a few pieces that have yet to come in, and still, once it’s fixed, he still has to finish filing the registration. Regardless, he can hardly work on it from here. Perhaps he could spend the day looking for places nearby to park it, or another hanger, at least then he’d be able to make actual progress on the thing.
He rakes his gaze across the house, hoping something catches his eye. Nothing does. Everything is already tidy. There’s nothing really to pick up-the house is clean; it’s always clean, thanks to the housekeeper Tom employed so that Pete wouldn’t have to worry about it. A blessing and a curse as of this morning. Either way, it feels jarringly odd to have someone come in and clean up after him. Despite having the housekeeping service, he does continue to pick up after himself- he’s no slob. Even on his laziest of days.
Pete sips his coffee. He turns off the coffee maker and keeps his mug close. His gaze wanders from the kitchen and towards the pictures on the wall. So many pictures of friends and family, dating back decades. All hung for the world to see. Even some of Tom and him that were glaringly romantic. They hadn’t been that blatant at their house in California. They’ve had all sorts of professional meetings hosted at their house, it always just seemed safer to keep the photos where the world couldn’t play judge and jury. Despite them being legally married and it being in their records, most of the Brass that Pete’s met, seemed more inclined to ignore it. Willful ignorance.
That precedent, however, had been shattered into a million little pieces when the President had announced it to the entire world. As a result, there were crooked photos of Tom and Pete over the years showcased proudly on the walls.
With a fond quirk of his lip, he shuffles over and nudges the frame to straighten it out. His fingers linger for a long moment. So does his gaze. It’s a photo, probably taken in the early 2000’s. He’s comfortably standing in Tom’s personal space, his husband’s hand resting on his hip, and though Pete in the photo can’t see it, Tom is smiling so fondly at him. There’s grease plain to see on his shirt and on his cheek, he must’ve been working on a bike.
The fond quirk of his lips softens into something far gentler. “Love you too, baby.” Pete mutters to himself, knocking his knuckle against the picture. Now that he thinks about it, maybe working on his bike isn’t the worst idea. He may not be able to ride just yet, but he can at least look over it, make sure nothing was damaged during the move, and see what all tools he’s going to have to buy- just about all of his were left at the hanger. An oversight he already actively regrets.
Maverick keeps an absent grip on his coffee, it dangles precariously off two fingers loosely hooked through the handle. With a purpose in mind, he turns away from the memories and makes his way down to the hall.
He steps into the garage; the moment his barefoot hits the cool concrete he feels the pang of regret for not wearing shoes. As well as a chill that shoots up his spine. The garage it’s self is not huge- not like the one they had before. But, thankfully, it is large enough to fit both Tom’s BMW and a few of Pete’s motorcycles. Not all of them had made the journey out to DC, most live out in the hanger still. Pete makes a mental note; he’ll have to see if Darrell or Nick mind making the trip out to Nevada and let the bikes run for a few minutes. God knows letting them set would get expensive real quick.
Pete’s yet to have an actual chance to inspect his Ninja since they moved. All sorts of things could have gone wrong in transport. Pete kneels down, taking a better look. “Oh fuck off.” He swears under his breath. His bike isn’t in bad condition- quite the opposite, but something must have happened during the move to cause the bend in his wheels. It’s more than slightly frustrating. He didn’t have base rims- of course not. His were specialized. His were fucking expensive.
Though, speaking of expensive, he’s going to need tools to take apart his bike. The oil change would be simple enough; a few wrenches will do. But he also needs a couple stands and lifts, not to mention that he now needs new wheels- the tire and rim both. The tires themselves aren’t too expensive, but still a few hundred dollars each. The rims on the other hand, could run him almost five grand. The brakes, depending on their conditions would run him probably another grand.
Pete gives it a gentle pat and promises: “Don’t worry, old girl. I’ll get you all fixed up in no time.” Though, while he’s at it, he may as well give Tom’s car a look over. It doesn’t get driven at all, these days. Tom’s not allowed to drive. His husband can’t go anywhere without a security detail. So now, the car just sits and looks pretty. A glorified paper weight.
Don’t get him wrong, it is a nice car. A dark gray BMW M3 with an orange interior. Tom had gone the extra step to get black OEM rims and a tint that may or may not be entirely legal. It’s a couple years old, and yet it still has under 15 thousand miles. It was bought as a weekend car, but most weekends Tom preferred to stay home when he was able.
For a blessing, however, the car is still covered under it’s 3 year/50 thousand mile warranty. Which means that Pete doesn’t actually have to do any work on it. Just drop it off at the nearest dealership. Though- that warranty is running out. He really ought to read up on the common issues so that he can fix anything that breaks. Pete is well aware that BMW’s are notorious for breaking down- he has a motorcycle built by them, though not an M series.
Hmm, where are the keys…
He slips back inside the house, and looks at the hooks on the wall. It catches him off guard, despite being the one who bought so many bikes, that they have so many keys. Though, if he were to be entirely truthful, their lifestyle in general catches him off guard sometimes. Growing up how he did- mostly in foster homes, he was usually poor. There wasn’t always food, there wasn’t always someone who cared about him. But now they have a house that has a freaking elevator in it. His husband has a hundred thousand dollar car. He has his own plane for godsakes. There’s always food in the pantry- and even then, it’s not a problem to have whatever he wants delivered. He doesn’t have to check his balance before buying anything.
They’ve been well off ever since they started climbing the ranks, and once Ice had hit Admiral, it just snowballed. They had an accountant who managed their finances and investment portfolios, and they hadn’t spent all the money they had gotten from selling their house in Cali. Most of it had been used to buy their new house, but the rest was split between their portfolio, everything else just sits in their bank account. It’s more than a little jarring to open the bank app to see so many numbers.
Still, the money isn’t all his. Most of it is Tom’s, and either way, he has no intention of spending anything close to 10k without at least discussing it. So he fishes his phone out of his pocket and lets it ring while he sorts through the keys. “Gotcha.” He mutters, finding the right ones, and plucking them off the peg board.
“Pete?” Oh, he hadn’t heard Tom answer.
“Oh-hey.” He pushes the phone closer to his ear from where it’d been slipping off his shoulder. “I was just going to let you know I’m going to take your car in to be serviced, and I got to get a few things to fix my bike. It got damaged in transport.”
Tom hums. “I should have checked. Do you think you can fix it? Or do you think you’ll need to buy another?”
“I should be able to fix it.” If he can fix the P-51 he can fix his bike. “The rims are busted, so I figure I’ll take care of the brakes and tires while I’m at it.”
“That’s good.” His husband says. “It’s probably too late to take it up with the movers. Do they have everything you need near by?”
That’s a good question. “Not sure.” Pete admits. “I was going to talk it over with you, first. The parts and tools I need are expensive.”
“How much are we looking at?”
“Best guess? Somewhere around ten grand.”
“Oh. That’s not awful. Do you think the car needs a lot of work?”
“Nah.” He tosses up the keys and catches them. “Just some preventive maintenance, better to make sure everything is alright before it gets expensive.”
Tom chuckles. “Good idea. I don’t think 10k is enough to fix anything that breaks on that thing.”
“Probably not.” Pete agrees, wincing at the idea. “But it’s still under the warranty thankfully. So if you plan on breaking anything on it make sure to do it this year.”
“I’ll make a note of it.” His husband tells him warmly. “Thank you for taking care of it. Let me know if you need anything.”
“Will do. See you when you get home, babe.” The call drops and Pete pockets his phone. He’s already half turned to go back to the garage before remembering he’s not at all dressed. As much as his husband may enjoy the sight of him clad only in boxers, he has a feeling the rest of the world will not be so eager.
He abandons his half drank coffee on the counter and makes quick work of changing into jeans and a shirt- and then immediately has to go back upstairs for the second time to find his wallet. It does, admittedly, take a moment considering he hasn’t used the thing since before the mission.
Hm. He hopes he remembers how to drive well enough, now that he thinks about it. It’s been a very long time since he’s driven a car. He doesn’t even bother owning one. His bikes were plenty. Tom, however, has never been a fan of them. Has only ever rode on them once or twice, and staunchly refused after his last wreck.
Pete winces at the memories, both of the wreck, and the recovery. Though, that recovery was league better than these last few months. He physically shakes his head, trying to dislodge the memories, and presses the button to open the garage perhaps a touch too fiercely.
It creaks open annoyingly loud-he’ll need to grease the tracks-, and Pete unlocks the car. It’s slow going, getting into it. He has to be careful not to strain his ribs. Or rather, torso in general. Tom would kill him if he knew, but he skips the seat belt. The keys end up in the cup holder, and the car revves to life so obnoxiously it brings a smile to his face. Pete may not like cars, but he loves things that go fast. Slowly, he lets the car roll out of the garage and into the drive. He toys with the breaks a little, just to see how sensitive they are.
Oh this is going to be fun. He can’t help but grin as he presses just a bit on the gas, and then: Tom is definitely going to have to get rid of the ticket he’s about to get.
Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on who you are, Pete never makes it that far. Never even makes it fully down the drive before there’s a couple of the security agents jogging to get in his line of sight and hurry to throw up a hand. Very obviously wanting him to stop. It’s only out of respect for the work they do, that he does. But he also rolls down the window and raises a brow. “What can I do for you gentlemen?”
“I’m sorry, sir.” Distractedly, Pete notes that it’s not entirely a good thing that the agent is half out of breath. “I’m afraid you aren’t allowed to drive- it’s a security risk.”
Bullshit. “I’m aware that’s the rule for Tom, but I’m not nearly as important, guys. Just trying to take the car out to get serviced.” He flashes his winning smile.
“We’d be more than happy to take it for you, sir. But the rule for the Secretary does apply to you too, in this situation.”
Pete can’t help but flex his fingers out against the steering wheel; needing some outlet for the sudden intense agitation that floods his every cell. His grin fades into a tight smile. “I’d strongly prefer to do it myself.”
The agent’s tone strengthens- it only serves to piss him off further- as he stress. “It’s just not possible.”
The fuck it is. He almost snaps. All he wants is to take his husbands car and get it taken care of and buy shit for his bike- why does it have to be a fucking ordeal? He almost calls Tom; get him to order them to leave him the hell alone. But that- that Tom wouldn’t appreciate. And the agents are just doing their jobs. So with a deep breath, he says: “Fine.” He takes careful control to keep his tone level, and not angry. “But get a car ready for me- I need to go shopping.”
He is pointedly not sulking, even if his arms are crossed and a scowl is set firmly on his face. His foot taps an impatient beat on the floor of the SUV. He needs to calm down, he knows that. It shouldn’t have be a big deal.
Knowing that doesn’t change the fact that he’s fucking fuming.
It’s festering under his skin; scalding his veins. It’s not fair. He’s Maverick- a call sign he’s earned, and not by following other peoples rules. Stupid fucking rules in particular. It’s in his very nature to break rules. And yet- and yet here he is being chauffeured around instead of experiencing the freedom of doing something by himself. How the hell does Tom manage to put up with this shit?
It’s not a long drive to the auto part store- for once he forgoes his usually manners and elects to ignore the security team. At the very least, the kid running the Auto Zone couldn’t give a shit about anything he does- doesn’t even look up from his phone when he enters.
Only one of the agents enter with him, the rest wait outside. Perhaps electing not to test his non-existent patience any further. Pete keeps him just within his line of sight, even without consciously meaning too- hyper-vigilance is what they called it. It’s what keeps you alive in his field of work.
They won’t sell his wheels here, or some of the specialty parts he wants, but at the very least he’s able to get the basics. Oil, some tools here and there, a car fragrance that’s supposed to smell like the beach but doesn’t- Tom will like it all the same.
It’s unfortunate, but expected that they don’t sell the bike lift he wants in store, so he has it ordered and delivered to the house.
Mostly unfortunate because Pete needs something to fucking go right today, and he’d prefer if that something had to do with his bike. Still, that’s not how the cards read- it’ll be weeks before the lifts get to the house. The agitation that hadn’t gone away from earlier only worsens. Prickles beneath his skin, rubs his chest raw. Digs it’s claws in and refuses to be swayed. It’s not right. The agents were just doing their job. The employee hardly chooses what they carry in store. Knowing it’s no ones fault only makes it worse.
Pete isn’t an idiot, despite what many, many people think. Yes, he’s reckless, he won’t deny that one. He’s proud of that one, even. But he takes those risks because he knows what he’s doing. He knows how sharp of a turn the bike can take, he knows how low and how fast his jets can fly. Knows more than the people who write the NATOPS. Even outside of things like that- he’s still not stupid. He has his masters degree. His bachelors had been in mechanical engineering- worked his ass off for that one he did. Doing AP classes and starting college early so by the time he graduated high school and was getting tossed out of his foster home- he had gone straight into ROTC and finished his last year of university. Should have been two, but he’s not the patient sort. He took summer and winter classes. Booked himself completely. So by the time he was nineteen- he enlisted with a bachelors degree and was accepted into the Navy with a 93 on the ASVAB.
All of that is to say, he’s rather sure he knows what’s going on. The thing he keeps ignoring is refusing to be ignored. To be entirely honest, he hasn’t been too good at putting the last visit with Alex out of his mind. He knows irritability is a symptom of PTSD. Knows his insomnia and lack of appetite stem from it as well. He rolls his shoulders in an attempt to shake out some of the tension and aggression. It’s just- on top of everything else he can not handle dealing with his PTSD right now. There’s just too much going on. He has to find a way to mitigate what's going on. Something to hold him over till he can make a choice on what to do. he can’t be at risk of biting everyone’s head off over nothing. It’s not fair. It’s not right. he’s never been one to treat people unkindly. It’s not who he is, but it’s who he’s being lately.
A tired hand drags down his face. Pete doesn’t say goodbye to the employee, or thank the agent for grabbing the door and loading the purchases into the SUV. He climbs in the back and just sits there. Stares forward. It only last a moment, and then the partition is sliding open and his driver is asking him where to.
He should tell him to take him to Alex. Man up and ask him for help- advice.
Those are the things he should do.
Also things he won’t.
If only it were so simple as taking a pill and being fixed. PTSD on his record will ground him. Not that he already isn’t, but this time, there’d be no getting around it. The end all be all. Everything ruined. Everything he’s worked so hard for, fought for, killed for, would be stripped from him all because he’s suffering for the things he has done.
The only things he really has left. He thinks unbidden. It’s not true, not really. He still would have his family, the bikes and plane. But not the Navy. Not what he’s spent over two decades in. What he dreamed of as a boy- what his father lost his life doing. He refuses to let that be torn from him. To let his legacy be trampled because he can’t get his fucking brain to work right.
Is this how Tom felt? Feels? How is he handling not technically being in the Navy anymore? All of those questions are ones he should have answers for. Should’ve asked already. How can he not know that? What sort of husband is he?
“Home.” He answers after a moment. There’s no where else for him to really go besides home. The exhaustion has seeped into his very bones. It’s not fair. He thinks a bit distantly as he watches the scenery blur. He’s always exhausted and yet can never fall asleep. He spends more time watching Tom sleep than actually getting any rest.
Today was supposed to be different. Happier; he’s starting to get his bearings, his feet back under him. And yet he feels the same. Perhaps a little worse. The freedom he so desperately craves is denied to him even alone. Is it always going to be like this? Is he never just going to be able to decide to do something without having to run it by everyone else? How is this the life he’s ended up with?
It doesn’t have to be. A voice in the back of his head whispers sounding suspiciously like Cyclone. And god if that isn’t a sign of his mental state he doesn’t know what is. The voice is annoyingly correct. He could accept the offer to run Top Gun. To go back home to the rest of their family, to fly jets and have the freedom to be good at what he does, without worrying about drawing too much attention to himself. Tom is no longer active service. Their relationship is public.
He could be great.
But greatness has always been Tom’s thing. Never Pete’s.
But it could be.
But it won’t be.
What would be the point of accepting it if it would only split him and Tom apart? They could stay together, sure, but Pete was on deaths doorstop, for what he hopes to be the last time. He wants time with Tom. Wants to try and experience what everyone else gets to. Even if it means no jets. It’d be great to have both, but Tom was worth more.
How much more? A traitorous piece of him wonders which he shuts down with a vengeance. He can’t think like that. He almost lost his relationship due to himself before- he can’t do it again, not after he promised Tom. Not after Tom forgave him for the ultimatum. Not when their marriage is barely surviving. Yes he told Bradley that they would figure it out, and they will, but it doesn’t need him making it any worse. Right now, their marriage needs time, patience and understanding if they’re to survive these next three years.
What this marriage doesn’t need, is him.
Notes:
Alrighty, here you guys go. Gonna be honest, this chapter was hell to write. I've been fighting with it for months. I need some ideas of what you guys what want to happen before I need to move the story on to the next big plot point. The story needs some filler and somethings to show time passing so if there's anything you're dying to see or to happen lmk so i can incorporate it into the plot. Really hope you enjoyed, this was a quieter chapter but I wanted to get time to showcase Pete's mental state.
Chapter 31: Pilot to Pilot
Summary:
Pete, finally, has a good day.
Notes:
Happy fall yall! Hope yall enjoy the new chapter!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Tom’s asleep next to him. He must have made it home a little while ago. Blearily, in the darkness, the green numbers from his alarm clock pierce the dark to yell: 3:27.
Or in other words: too fucking early to be awake.
Unfortunately it has became normal to be awake at all hours of the night. Melatonin hasn’t don’t shit for him. He needs to ask Alex about something stronger- anything that will get him be able to sleep through the night.
His gut churns in displeasure, like a bone deep dread. It’s become a terribly familiar feeling these days. Pete sits up in bed, careful not to make too much noise or move the bed too badly. Tom needs his sleep. He leans against the head board. It’s cool against his naked back. His gaze drifts down to his sleeping husband. He looks exhausted. Though that’s to be expected, he supposes. He’s at work for most hours of the day, and liable to be called in at any moment- not going isn’t a choice.
Pete glances back at the clock, only a few minutes had passed. But he already knows in his bones that he’s not going to be able to sleep. If he stays in bed all his tossing and turning is going to wake up Tom. So, carefully he rolls out of bed, and meanders to the bathroom, making sure to shut the door behind him before turning the lights on. He makes quick work of changing into a pair of joggers and a loose t-shirt. He slips out of the room and makes his way downstairs, gripping onto the stair banister the entire way down so he doesn’t trip.
He pays very little attention as he starts the coffee machine and scoops some protein powder into his travel mug- a rather useful suggestion from Slider. It does change the taste, but it is more similar to the powdered creamer they’d get in their MRE’s on deployment. So, while it’s not his favorite, it is at least an easy way to get it down.
The coffee is warm on his tongue, and helps settle him a bit. The house is still bathed in dark hues of blue and black. There’s a few led lights gleaming brightly in the darkness- why does everything have to have a light these days? Who needs a bright button to tell you that something is on or off? They’re frankly just annoying he thinks with a grunt.
It’s nice, this stillness. Different from the afternoon where he’s alone, like the world is asleep and it’s not him that’s out of sync. Perhaps he could go and enjoy the area, before the world wakes and piles it’s expectations onto his shoulders.
Mind made up, he opens the front door, and as expected, their security detail is right out front. “Ah. Good morning everyone.” He gives them a half smile. The trees rustle from the light breeze, but all in all- it’s a nice day. “Is there a park around here? Other than Battery Kemble, of course.” He tacks on as an after thought. What fun is there to be had in visiting the park that lives in his backyard?
Andy nods. “Of course, sir.” He says. “There’s quite a few, but you may enjoy Georgetown park. The Secretary of State frequents it, so it is already a controlled environment.”
“Well, if it’s good enough for her, I don’t doubt it’s good enough for me.” He claps Andy on the shoulder. “What do you say to a morning jog?”
The agent gives him a glimmer of a smile. “Already had mine for the day, sir, but I’m more than happy to let you put the boys through the wringer.”Pete laughs and moves for the car door. “I’ll be sure to tell them to blame you.”
It’s a short drive to the park- he’s barely finished a fourth of his coffee before his clambering out of the car. The park is quiet, but there’s already a few folks out and about. Quite a few wearing clothes so bright they may as well be dressed as a highlighter. Despite his earlier words, he does not go for a jog. Best to take it a step at time, he thinks, and settles for a walk. The diplomatic security agents are all near by, but far enough out of range that he can pretend he’s on a walk alone.
The moon and stars glimmer off the water features running down the center, the leaves are a beautiful assortment of red and yellows- a few stubborn greens still hanging in there.
Just like him, he supposes. He stuffs a hand in his pocket and keeps his coffee close. It really is a nice morning- it feels even better to stretch his legs, and with so few people out, he doesn’t feel like he’s putting on a performance for the world. Or for Tom. Perhaps even for himself. Pete’s almost made a lap before someone is approaching, it’s hard to say for sure in the dim light, but he looks distantly familiar. At the very least, his security team doesn’t look concerned, in fact the other man also has a detail with him.
“That’s Doctor Henry McCord.” Andy tells him, suddenly only a step behind him. “Secretary of State Elizabeth McCord’s husband.”
He brings his mug to his lips for the cover of asking: “Anything important I should know?”
“Religious. Marine Veteran.” Andy considers for a moment. “Nice guy.”
All things he can work with, Pete thinks. Henry nears him, once he’s close enough he’s offering a hand and a warm smile. The man is sensibly dressed- though far more layers than Pete would ever suffer to wear, even with the wind chill.
“I thought I recognized you, Admiral Mitchell.” He says as they shake hands. It’s a firm handshake, though his hands are soft- not calloused as his own.
“Please, call me Pete, Dr. McCord.” He stuffs his hand in his pocket. “Early morning to be up and about Doc.”
Henry waves him off politely. “You’re hardly one of my students, Henry is more than fine. Just getting a walk in before I head into work.”
Pete can’t help but glance to his watch. 4:32. “They’ve got you teaching this early?” He raises an incredulous brow.
The other man chuckles. “No, not quite. My first lecture isn’t till 9:30, but my wife got called in, and I couldn’t manage to sleep.”
Pete fucking gets it. “I swear they put the most annoying ringtone on that landline just to piss us off.”
Henry snorts, eyes crinkling at the edges. “I don’t think they’ve quite gotten the hang of a gentle awakenings.”
Pete can’t help his own smile. “I’ll suggest it to my Husband if you suggest it to your wife.”
“It’s a deal.” The man clasps him on the arm good naturedly. “How are you settling in, by the way- Elizabeth and I wanted to attend your award ceremony but we were overseas at a diplomatic ceremony.”
“Oh.” Pete tilts his head. How honest to be? Not honest enough to admit he and Tom are having problem, but he also doesn’t want to outright lie. “It’s been, uh, an adjustment to say the least.”
He nods, and Pete can tell he gets it. “It was rough for us too. Especially since we had kids, but it does end up settling back down. Definitely takes some getting used to.”
“How long did it take you?” He can’t help but ask. He feels like he should be used to it by now, but still, he feels out of place.
“Probably about a year.” Henry says after a moment of clear consideration. “It started to feel normal after I started teaching at the War College.”
“Oh?” Pete can’t help but ask. It’s nice talking to someone who is in a similar position as him. “What do you teach?” He gestures for him to walk alongside him.
Henry saddles up beside him with a smile, but now that he’s closer he can see the tired strain in his eyes. “I’m a Theology Professor. I teach Military Ethics. I have a lot of beginners so I most focus on the foundations in moral, and political philosophy. But for my more advanced classes we start to delve into state violence, morality in war. ”
Interesting. Pete thinks. It reminds him a bit of Tom and the fact that he had been religious. Granted, he was hardly devout, and by the time Pete had met him, it wasn’t really something Tom gave much thought to, and in truth, Pete had never really considered what it would be like to be religious in war. “Interesting subject.” Pete says after a moment. “Are you religious yourself?” It’s a dumb question, but it’s genuinely the least awkward way to ask what religion he follows.
“I am.” He answers easily. “I’m a Catholic, though I don’t go to church often to say I’m practicing.”
He snorts before he can help himself. “It sounds like you turn your classroom into one.”
For a mercy, Henry seems to have a sense of humor. The man laughs warmly. “You’d think so, but it’s not so much that I teach directly from a book of worship, I tend to focus on poets or past religious scholars. Besides, I teach from a large array of religions, not just Catholics.”
Pete smiles and gives him half a shrug. “My husband is Jewish, and I can count on one hand the amount of times I’ve seen him attend a service- and we’ve been together nearly forty years.”
“You got Elizabeth and I beat by a few years then.” Henry tells him. “We got married in 1990.”
Pete sips his coffee. “Tom and I were off and on for a bit starting in ‘86, though obviously we didn’t get married till 2011.”
Henry grimaces. “I’m sure if you had been allowed to you’d still have me beat.”
True. Pete thinks. “Maybe.” He concedes, if it had been legal, and their careers wouldn’t have been affected. “Who knows, though. We both had a lot of growing up to do back then.” He says, then adds. “Still do.”
The other man shrugs. The birds are coming to life and starting to chirp. “That’s true for all of us- I mean hell, look at me and Elizabeth. I’ve gone from Marine, to Professor to arm candy.”
Pete lets out a surprised laugh. “You and me both, it seems.” Though, Henry seems to have weathered the change better than himself. Granted, it’s already been a few years for him. They’ve made it back to the start of the park. Pete looks to the sky, it’s starting to awaken with yellows and oranges.
Oddly enough too, for the first time in a long time, he finds himself hungry. Properly hungry. He looks down to his watch and then Henry. “What do you say to breakfast? All this chatter has built up quite an appetite.” He jests.
There’s a look of surprise, but he seems pleased about it. “Why not. Did you have somewhere in mind?”
“ah.” Pete winces. “I’m afraid I don’t even know my lefts from my rights around here. It’s going to have to be up to you.”
Henry tilts his head, obviously thinking. “There’s a few diners in walking distance, but if you want something more mainstream there’s a Dunkin right up the road.”
His nose wrinkles of its own accord. “Let’s do a cafe. At least their coffee will actually taste like coffee.”
The other man laughs and he gestures that they should cross the street. “You take it black, then?”
“Usually.” He answers easily. “Though, I can’t lie and say I don’t enjoy the seasonal coffees. Peppermint mochas have me in a choke hold all winter long.”
“I know what you mean.” A few of their agents cross the street first, and a few stand in the middle of the road on both sides of the crosswalk and remain put until they’ve made it safely across. “Though I can’t lie- I do have to take creamer with it. I’ve had enough black coffee to last me a lifetime.”
“Right- Andy was telling me you were a Marine.” It really is a short walk to the diner. They’ve barely walked a hundred feet, and then they’re standing of a modern looking cafe. Brown patio tables with green umbrellas are set up outside. The front of the store is entire glass. He grabs the door for Henry and follows him in.
“I was.” Henry confirms and holds up two fingers to the hostess. “I served for six years. I flew F-18’s in Desert Storm.”
Pete winces as he slides in the booth, his scars pulling at the already tight skin rather uncomfortably. But his attention is far more focused on the fact that Henry was a pilot too. “No shit?” He grins. “Should’ve been a Navy man. You’d have done well at Top Gun.”
The professor snorts and rests his elbows on the wooden table. “Please, you used our base to hold the damn thing.”
“That,” Pete says pointedly, “Is because the Marines are apart of the Navy.” He gestures vaguely. “Not the other way around.” It’s familiar bickering. Standard within the branches. Everyone can’t help but think their branch is the best. It’s hardly Pete’s fault they’re all wrong.
“That,” Henry warns with an amused glint in his eye, “Is a dangerous accusation.”
“Hardly what I’d call an accusation.” He leans back in the booth, easing the strain on his body. “Merely a fact- there’s the branch of the Navy, which my husband runs mind you, and the Marines report to him.” He explains, quite pleased with himself, Henry will have known all this, of course, but still. Fun.
He scowls, but Pete can tell it’s in jest. “Fine, fine. You got me there.” He waves him off.
Their waiter politely interrupts the conservation as she saddles up with a small notepad in her hands. “What can I get for you two early birds?”
Pete looks over to her. Her dirty blond hair is in a tight bun, and she wears a green apron. “A black coffee and a water, please.”
“Just a coffee, thanks.” Henry orders. “With creamer, if you would.”
She doesn’t appear to bother writing it down, after all they are the only ones in the cafe. “Sure, and here’s a couple menus for you gents.”
It doesn’t take long to get their drinks, and even their food doesn’t take long. Pete settles on the Day Break burrito while Henry gets the Farm Fresh sandwich. Without noticing, two things happen: the first, is that some how they manage to talk about anything and everything and take up over an hour. The second, is that Pete ate his entire burrito. He can’t remember the last time he’s finished a meal. It feels nice. He’s comfortably full, and the food tasted good.
Pete offers Henry a hand as they step out of the café. “It was good getting to know you, Henry. I hope I didn’t derail your morning plans too badly.”
Henry shakes it firmly with a smile. “Not at all. I enjoyed it. I’m sure we’ll run into each other again- if not text me, we can do it again sometime.”
“Sounds like a plan, boss man.” He chuckles. “Enjoy your classes.” He waves goodbye as they both climb into their respective cars. It’s a short drive home, but a little longer than before. It’s nearing seven and people are getting ready to suffer a long day at work. Those people, in particular, include his husband.
The car rolls to a stop and the door is opened for him. He gives his thanks with a nod and steps into the house. The bitter smell of coffee wafts throughout, and there’s a few lights on. Pete smiles to himself as he rounds the corner and sees his husband moving about the kitchen. One hand occupied by the morning paper, and the other with his phone. “How do you plan to read two things at once, baby?” Pete jokes and leans against the door frame.
Tom looks up, surprised etched into his face, but it melts into a soft smile. “You know I’m a talented man.” He sits both things down on the kitchen island. “Where were you this morning? You’re never out of bed before me.”
Pete nears and bumps his hip into his. “Aw, did you miss me?”
Amusement flickers in his husbands eyes, but his voice drops an octave and a hand drifts to his waist. “Desperately.”
His smile grows to a full out grin and he kisses his cheek. “I went out for a walk- actually I ran into McCord’s husband.”
Tom blinks in surprise. “Huh. Really?”
Pete nods. “Yeah, surprised me too. We grabbed breakfast together and a café near the park.”
“Enjoyed yourself, then?” Some people would think Tom to be jealous, or perhaps a little concerned, but Pete knows him well enough, that he’s just relieved Pete is out doing something.
“Honestly?” He asks. “Yeah. He was a nice guy- but properly. Not one of those asses that only pretend to be.” He digs out the sweet creamer from the fridge for Tom. “I think you’d like him. He’s an Ethic’s professor at the War College.”
“God willing his students actually take something to heart.” Tom grumbles and Pete can’t help but agree. His husband’s phone chirps and then starts to ring. Tom sighs and picks it back up. “Sorry. Have to take this.”
Pete waves him off and watches as his husband hurry to grab his suitcase and coat. He smiles to himself and finishes making Tom’s coffee and holds it out to him. He’s thanked with a kiss to the cheek, and then his husband leaves taking the life of the house with him.
He stares after him a moment too long, but then turns back to the kitchen. He picks up the little mess that was made. Pointless really, the housekeeping agency would be there later that day. Not that there was any real mess to clean.
Pete dries his hands off with the dish cloth, and resigns himself to having to take his blood pressure for Alex. Once in the morning, once at night.
He settles at the kitchen table before slipping the cuff on and letting it run its paces before it finally beeps and he’s able to take it off. 127/77. His brow furrows and he hesitates to write it in his log. It’s lower than all of the others he’s taken. In fact…he digs out the chart Alex had gave him. It’s in the normal range for his age.
Pete chews his lip and decides to retake it, only for the results to be about the same. “Odd.” he murmurs to himself before scribbling it down. Perhaps it was the walk? The early start? Or maybe the fact that he ate his fill? Just to be safe, he marks the entry with a star before putting it away.
He, rather unsuccessfully, tries to keep it from mind. The month is almost up, anyhow. Alex will have an explanation of some sorts for him. Trouble is, Pete is not a terribly patient man.
Still. His mind eventually wander back to his conversation with Henry. He had said he had felt better after finding something to do. But what is there for him to do? Nothing feels like him.
He’s on medical leave currently, and yes, that could realistically last as long as he wanted, but what comes when that ends? Does he go back to the Navy? Does he retire? But retire to do what? Sitting around the house is driving him mad enough. He’s always alone, always bored. There has to be more than this.
He could take over Top Gun per Cyclone’s offer. It’s obvious the man is purposely keeping the spot open for him. But if he took that job, he’d be across the country for Tom, and isn’t the point for them to be together now? How can he just leave?
But, a voice inside argues, they’ve been together separately before. Most of their lives really, and he could just take the job for three years while Tom finishes his stint as SECNAV. What if he doesn’t keep his word? What if he wants more still? How long will we do this for?
What do I want?
He can’t have want he wants. He can’t have the house in Nashville, for starters, he’s agreed to three years here in DC, and secondly, it’s already sold. He made the mistake of looking it up one night. He still misses what could have been.
Does he stay in DC? Work at the local base? What would he do there? What does he do here? He slumps into a nearby arm chair. Too many questions and not a single answer. He wishes he could talk to Tom about this, but he can’t. It will just be another argument. Something else that’s his fault. Another shitty position he puts them in because he can’t figure out what he wants.
He can’t accept Cyclone’s offer. Pete realizes. It would ruin all the work that Tom and him having been doing on rebuilding the trust that they both destroyed. Tom with breaking his promise, and himself with the ultimatum. The distance could doom their marriage. The only real option is DC. To stay, and try to like it, or at least, pretend not to hate it, and keep their relationship from falling apart. After almost forty years, this is not something he is willing to let go of so easily. He loves his husband, and if he can do Afghanistan and Bosnia and Iraq, he can handle sunny DC.
Three years. Pete thinks. He can last three years.
Notes:
Alrighty, so Pete has had a good morning, and finally has settled on a choice. Things are looking up health wise. Henry McCord is borrowed from Madam Secretary, you can read his wiki here if you want: https://madam-secretary.fandom.com/wiki/Henry_McCord
Hope y'all liked it! I could use some more filler ideas or just ideas in general of what you guys are wanting to happen in the story before we get to the next arch. In other news, I do have a couple chapters written out that aren't going to work out for this arch, so once I get closer to the next big plot point I'll upload them separately so you guys can read them.
Thank you to everyone who comments! I do read them all and I have saved some of yalls ideas from last chapter and I am referencing them for ideas! Goodnight!
Chapter 32: The First of December
Summary:
Tom goes to work, and gets reminded that he has a tradition to keep alive.
Chapter Text
It’s hectic the moment the elevator dings open- but not an unusual sort of hectic. The sort that’s typical in this line of work. It’s an organized chaos. Tom’s met at the door by his Chief of Staff, Bailey. A hard working woman; though you have to be to make it in DC. One of his newest hires. Slowly but surely he’s been cleaning house. As admirable as it is for McCord to have keep the staff from her predecessor, it is not a decision he is even slightly interested in repeating. Too many split loyalties, people who will have an issue to his leadership style or decisions. Keeping on the prior staff will only ensure that his job is harder than it needs to be.
“Good morning, sir.” She greets him, falling in step to his left. A few manila folders are carried against her chest. “The White House is requesting an update on our forces in the Persian Gulf.”
Tom resists the urge to roll his eyes- but it’s a near thing. “Nothing to update about. The Fifth Fleet haven’t moved an inch since the last report I submitted.” Anchored down and just sitting there at sea. Close enough to land to be seen- to let them know they are being watched.
“That’s what I told Russell Jackson, sir, but he’s insisting.” Bailey tells him. “I already had a report drawn up- it should be in your email. Just give it a read over and send it off.”
Thank god for her. Tom can’t help but think. So much of DC is formalities and mindlessness. Repetitive information presented over and over again. Simple wastes of his time and expertise. They walk through the bull pen, people stepping aside to let them past. “Any emergencies happen last night?”
“No sir, by all accounts, it was a quite night.” She gives a small shrug. “Unusual, but I’ll take it.”
He huffs a small laugh. “You and me both.” He nudges his office door open with his foot, shrugging off his coat as he rounds his desk. He’s barely had time to drape his jacket over the back of the chair before a small knock is used to announce his assistant. The younger man is dressed smartly in a dark gray pinstriped suit. Blond hair in that awkward stage of too short to stay down and not long enough to style. Too bad hats aren’t professional- maybe he should make an exception for the kid. “Pardon, Mister Secretary, you asked to be reminded that it’s the first of December.”
He pauses, fingers stilling over his keyboard for a moment. He had asked for that a while back. In truth he asked to be reminded when it’s the first of every month, just so he wouldn’t forget to spend it with Pete. Tom has to take a moment to glance over his schedule for the day, trying to choose things that can be rescheduled or canceled all together. He can’t disappoint Pete the first time they’re meant to decorate. “What is my evening looking like?”
“Should have you out of here around 7, sir.” Which really means 8, knowing how his time is pushed around. The world rarely decides to have it’s crisis’s within the ol’ 9-5.
“See if you can move things around to have me out by 5- I have plans with my husband. Let the deputy secretary know he’ll be on call tonight.”
“Of course sir.” Andrew nods. Tom thinks he hears those words more than his own name these days. “I’ll have your schedule cleared for this afternoon. Do you need any reservations placed?”
“No, no.” He placates, sorting through the several files that somehow found a home on his desk overnight. “He just likes to decorate on the first of the month. Something of a tradition.” He puts the more important files on the left. “I’m going to take him to the store so he can pick out some new decor- we left most of it back in California.”
Out of the corner of his eye he sees Bailey share a long glance with Andrew before her gaze settles back on him. “What is it?” He questions with a raised brow.
Bailey clears her throat. “It’s just…you can’t exactly go to the store. Sir. I’m sure your security detail would agree that it’s too large of a risk. Your husband may have to do the shopping alone.”
Tom pauses. Thinking about it. Imagining Pete’s reaction to it. Pete, shopping around alone in something they’ve always tried to do together. Pete’s frown that would level out into something neutral and a nod. The displeasure he’d feel but wouldn’t voice. “That doesn’t work for me.” He glances at the clock on the edge of his desk. “How long till my first meeting?”
“Oh! Fifteen minutes, sir.” Andrew tells him after sneaking a glance at his watch. “With General Popov.”
“Send Andy up, if you would. I’ll take my meeting with Popov after.” Finally, he takes a seat. “And grab a coffee for me would you? Pete’s switched us over to decaf.” He wrinkles his nose.
“Right away, Mister Secretary.”
Bailey remains. “After your meeting with the General we have a briefing with the rest of the staff over the new policies sent from the Secretary of Defense. Following that, you’re needed at the White House.”
He gives a small grunt of acknowledgment. “I should just have my office moved there for how often I’m summoned. Or live there even.” Tom busies himself with logging into his computer- may as well check and see how many emails managed to come in over the 12 hours he spent away.
Bailey doesn’t really manage to hide her laugh. “I don’t think President Dalton- or your husband would be fans of that idea.”
His lips twitch up. He can just imagine Pete’s bitching and complaining about living in the White House. His exasperation and early morning grumpiness. “No.” He agrees. “I can’t imagine they would be. Thank you, that’ll be all Bailey.”
The door closes behind her with an heavy thud, shrouding his room in silence. The only noise are the quiet clicks from his keyboard and mouse as he sorts through his email. Several from Russell Jackson, very short and to the point, which he’s learned to appreciate in this town. The man deals with no bullshit or fancy politicking- to him at least. Just orders, plain and simple. A couple more from McCord and the rest are from his staff.
There’s a few pressing matters- but thankfully none signaling the end of the world. Well. Just a step away perhaps if Russia can’t figure out how to fuck off. He can’t help but think. Tom does appreciate McCord’s willingness to negotiate and try to come to peaceful terms- anything but an all out war. But even he has to agree that they let far too much slide. Action’s that deserve to be punished or retaliated for, go hidden away from prying eyes, and nothing real ever happens. It’s all talk. Every time. Truly, he doesn’t want war. He’s seen so much of it, in truth, he’s not even scratched the surface of how much other’s have seen. After a certain point, it became just ordering from the sidelines. Not truly acting like Pete has. Like their friends.
He’s seen the dark look in all of their eyes. How sometimes on particularly stormy nights, when the thunder catches Pete unaware how he jumps out of his skin. The shifty looks, keeping track of everything and everyone. Scanning exits and weapons. When they go out always choosing the seat with the best seat of the restaurant, and away from the windows.
Tom would do anything to prevent that happening to anyone else. Would give more for his husband to never go through it again. So no, he is not gunning for a war, he doesn’t want conflict, but idealism only gets so far. Sometimes, a hammer has to be dropped. Force must be displayed. Action must be taken.
“Mister Secretary?” Andy calls, voice and knock muffled by the thick door.
“Enter.” He calls. He minimizes his browser and sits back in his seat as Andy enters and reports front and center. “I need a favor.”
He cocks his head. “Of what sort sir?”
“I need to take my husband shopping- we need Christmas décor.” Tom needs to see Pete smile. “Bailey mentioned that might be an issue due to security concerns.”
There’s a hesitant furrow of the mans brown as he considers. “…did you have a store in mind?”
He thinks about it. Off the top of his head, a Walmart or a Target- but he knows those wouldn’t work- and everything in DC is so…posh. Pete, on the other hand, is very for the multi colored lit Christmas tree. Cheesy pictures and Santa’s. Themed menorahs. (One year he even bought one that was a dinosaur for some reason. He hopes that made it into storage, actually.) Stockings and garland. A plate and mug specifically meant for ‘Santa’. All things brightly colored. Not the latest trend of bland grays and minimalism.
Pete loves with everything he has- and that passes on to holidays, too. “Not really.” He admits. “I still don’t know what’s close by, but wherever it is- don’t let it be one of those rich places. Pete would hate it. You can pick the place, just make sure it’s got plenty of Christmas shit.”
Andy huffs a laugh that he tries to mask as a cough. Ineffectively, he might add. “Yes sir. I’ll see what I can do.” He nods politely before taking his leave.
In his place Andrew slips in with a steaming hot coffee in a run of the mill white porcelain mug. He really does need to bring a mug from home up here, anything with a little more life to it- god knows they have plenty. It seems like Pete is always buying a new mug or souvenir and his sisters kids seem to default to mugs as presents.
Tom sips his coffee- a touch too sweet, but better than the decaf at home, and certainly better than the coffee the White House supplies. Unless you’re McCord or Jackson leeching off the President’s coffee. Admittedly, he draws closer and closer to crossing that line with every late night and summon.
At the very least, he chooses to be grateful that Pete is doing something to combat his high blood pressure, for a while he had thought he wasn’t going to do anything about it. And in truth, he’s been a bit hesitant to comment on it. Pete’s been…less than forthcoming about his doctor’s visits, or anything that borders on personal. He skirts around the topic, averts his gaze, and above all else, he’s fucking quiet and it’s driving him mad.
Nothing he does fixes it. Not date nights, shopping, buying him a new motorcycle, he’s even brought up the puppy again only for it to be shot down. Again.
With any luck, Christmas will help his mood. He just needs it to go right. He needs a house decorated with anything and everything Pete wants, he needs stockings and Menorahs, family and food, and most of all: time. Uninterrupted time with his husband.
In fact, it’s quite literally at the top of his to-do list.
The second thing on his list, appears with a rough rap on his door.
“Enter.” He rises from his desk, extending a hand as he rounds it.
A bulky man, gray and balding enters the room, cover secured between his arm and thigh.
“General Popov, thank you for meeting with me…”
Pete blinks, Tom watches his gaze flick to the microwave, clearly seeking the time. “You’re home early.” His husband notes as he dries his hands on the beige hand cloth.
Tom rounds the kitchen island and ducks his head to steal a kiss. “Couldn’t let you down, how are we meant to decorate with no decorations?”
It only takes a moment for Pete’s confusion to soften into a surprised smile. “You took off for this?”
“Of course.” He says simply. “I promised. Now then,” He shoos him. “Go get dressed.” His husband hesitates for a moment but gives in. It only takes a few minutes for him to change into jeans and his usual white t-shirt with his bomber jacket on.
Tom himself has changed into something a little less formal himself, ditching the suit for a sweater and scarf. The car is still running outside to stay warm, and well, it is always running according to the security protocols that apparently McCord had to have the President change hers for her HOA of all things.
It’s a short drive to the store, one including a pit stop at a near by coffee shop for a couple hot cocoas, he makes sure he gets Pete Peppermint. They talk a bit in the car, about Tom’s job- what bits of it he can share, about the bike repairs, about any news from Bradley or Cali. A warm feeling of everything being okay. Starts to settle in his chest.
It’s the most life he’s seem from his husband in ages. His hand is warm in his, and he holds it firmly as he’s dragged around the aisles. Precariously, he manages holding both cups of peppermint hot chocolate with his free hand. It’s of no surprise to him that their first stop is the Christmas trees.
“How tall are you thinking?” Tom asks, eyeballing a particularly ugly tree, it’s skinny and it’s branches are as full as an amusement park in the rain. Reminds him of Slider before basic.
Pete cocks his head as he browses. “We had a what, 10 footer back home?” He looks back to him for confirmation, like Tom knows. They bought their last tree almost a decade ago. He nods regardless.
“Our ceilings are a bit taller here, we could go bigger, if you want.” Tom uses their joint hands to gesture at a tree just to the right. Quite a bit fuller, dark green and white, meant to look like snow on the leaves and little pine cones hang from the branches.
Pete hums. “It does look better.” He agrees, eyeing it up and down. “Definitely going to need a ladder to decorate it.” Pete goes closer to the tree, reading the information about it, probably seeing what color lights it has, Tom guesses.
The idea of Pete on a ladder doesn’t thrill him. At all, not after everything, but Pete isn’t made of glass. The fact that he survived his crash at all is a testament to his resilience. “What are we thinking?”“We’re thinking yes.” Pete decides for them both. He goes to get the box himself but pauses. “I’ll let Andy handle this one.”
Tom doesn’t comment even if the lack of stubbornness cause the embers of worry in his chest to ignite. “Just as well, we don’t want to haul it around while we shop.”
He tugs his hand to head to the cart. Pete is all to happy to follow while a member of their security team handles the tree. It’s nice, spending this time with him, it feels like almost before. Just him and his husband spending the holidays together. They pick a box of ornaments- just simple ones, they did bring all their special and keepsake ones from California. They actually get three boxes, just to make sure the tree is covered. Tom picks a tree rug that has a light up Rudolph nose on it, as well as some other décor for the window sills and kitchen island. Also for the kitchen they get some themed cloths and cookie jar in the shape of a present.
Pete pauses in the stocking aisle. They both have the same ones they’ve been using for years, and the one from when Bradley was a kid. “Do you think he’s going to be able to come?”
“Yes.” He answers without doubt, because it is something he can and will ensure. Adds for good measure: “I’ve already handled his leave.” Actually on that topic, “I wouldn’t be surprised if he asks to invite some of Dagger squadron, or at least the ones that usually spend their leave on base.”
Pete hums. “That shouldn’t be an issue since the family is staying in Cali for the holidays. Speaking of which, did you book our flight out there?”
Tom watches as Pete picks out a few extra stockings, presumable for their expected extra company. “Not yet. Just waiting on all the dates to finalize before I do. Should just be later this week, apparently Peter’s and Maddy’s school lets out on different days this year.”
A few holders for the stockings go in the cart. “I want to make sure we’re there in time to see Peter’s play. The 27th right?”
He’ll keep that in mind. “I’ll double check.” He says, because he honestly isn’t sure. “We might fly out the 26th. There’s the ball at the White House on Christmas Eve, and then we’ll spend Christmas day at home with Bradley and the others.”
Pete nods, and takes his hot cocoa from him. Then pauses. “They need a baby sitter.”
Tom can’t help but laugh, but doesn’t fully disagree. “I’m sure security won’t let them burn down the house.”
“The house?” He waves him off. “My bikes.”
“My mistake.” He snorts as they round the aisle, then frowns. “My car.”
They share a glance for a moment. “Locking the garage.” They say and unison and Pete laughs.
“Might take it a step further and pull the spark plugs.”
His smile only grows. “They’re Naval Aviators, Mav. They’ll figure out the spark plugs if they’re desperate enough.”
“Fine, I’ll leave yours in then.”
“Hey-” He protests but Pete has already turned down an aisle, laughing at him all the while.
They do in fact need a ladder to decorate the tree. A rather large one at that. It also takes both him and Pete, and Andy and Trevor to get the damned thing put together and up. Tom handles fluffing the bottom half while Pete handles the top. He does admittedly keeping having to redo sections because he’s too focused on Pete not falling, but it does get done. One glance at the clock tells him they are absolutely ordering in dinner tonight, so he takes a moment to order some food on his phone before turning back to finish helping.
They spend hours getting everything put up, the tree taking the longest, and everything after goes pretty easily. There’s a Christmas movie playing in the background, and Pete is decorating the kitchen while Tom sorts through their dinner order: a large side of rice and Lo Mein, a plate of General Tao and Orange Chicken, all hopefully made with less salt, even if it means sacrificing a bit of the taste.
He makes a plate for both of them, a bit more on Pete’s plate, hoping he’ll eat all of it. “Food’s ready.” Tom says over his shoulder. “Living room?”
Pete looks up from putting cookies in the new jar. “Sure, be there in a sec.”
Tom grabs the plates, and silverware. “Grab drinks would you?”
Pete does, and takes a seat beside him on the couch. They sit close enough to touch, though after a while and after the finish the food, they adjust. Tom laying down, propped up on a pillow while Mav lays on him, head on his chest, already half asleep, but still trying to stay awake to finish the movie.
His husband seems to know it’s a loosing battle: “We’ll do the Menorah and everything tomorrow.” He yawns, eyes flutter shut.
“Alright.” Tom hums, pulling the blanket up around his husband. His hand rests on the small of his back. Too old to be sleeping on the couch. Too in love to move.
Notes:
Sorry about the wait guys, I really struggled with this chapter, filler isn't my strongest suit, but I'm trying to show some of their more day to day stuff so we get the scene and both of their point of views. There was a few different options for this chapter, but I ultimately decided they were a bit too dark to put in here. Do you guys want to read them as like an alternate route? They are pretty good chapters lmao, and maybe I'll find a home for them here but I'm not sure bc of how dark it gets.
We're getting close to a major plot event, so anything that you guys want to see while they're in DC now would be the time. Also do you guys want Hangman/Rooster to be a thing in here? I can put it in the background, idc one way or another. Regarding the wait for chapters, don't worry I'm not going to abandon it. I've actually paid someone to bind it as a real book for me once it's done (on that note I need a beta reader pls ill give u early access to chapters)
Is Tom's point of view coming across right? I'm wanting to let you guys understand is POV and why he's made some of the decision's that Pete takes pretty badly, while also not really making him a bad dude, just some bad decisions.
I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! Let me know what you all think! I love comments.
Chapter 33: The Article
Summary:
The holidays are coming- and so is Bradley. Things to do, people to see and an article to read.
Notes:
Okay this is a long ass chapter I can't lie. It's over twice a usual length, but there was no where good to split it. There is a content warning for abuse, however, so please don't read if that makes you uncomfortable. Nothing graphic, just referenced. I hope you guys enjoy!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
For once, in all the months since the crash and moving to DC- Pete has no time to be bored. There’s so much to do, and so little time. They finally have a confirmed headcount, Bradley, of course. And at Rooster’s invitation, Hangman, and Phoenix would be joining them as well. According to his son, the others are either going home, or are going to stay at an Airbnb that a few of them rented. Slider would be coming, happily escaping his in-laws, he had said, but he and Tom both know he’s just coming for support.
They have plenty of room for all of them- and more really. It’s not a lack of space that leads him to ask if he should expect for Jake and Bradley to share a room. No, it’s the fact that in every conversation with Bradley, somehow Hangman comes up in some shape or form. He knows the signs, has seen and lived them himself. He’s sorely grateful that Bradley isn’t going to have to go through the things he and Ice did. The kid can love without fear, and he truly hopes Rooster appreciates it.
The boy had stammered, blushed bright red, noticeable even through Facetime and all too similar to when he had told them about his first girlfriend, but had nodded.
Mav hadn’t asked further than that, Bradley can share what he wants, he won’t rush him. These sorts of things take time- and Bradley is grown- fully capable of making his own decisions, and Pete is rather of the opinion that Hangman is a good one. He also doesn’t want to push where Bradley isn’t ready for him to.
Things have been going pretty well so far, and he is in no rush to damage what has barely begun to grow. He’ll respect the boundaries Bradley sets, and take what he’s given.
All he does, is ask for some gift ideas, and stocking stuffers for Hangman and Phoenix. The bedrooms were already furnished and decorated- they had used some lady the White House recommended for them, and Bradley already has a room, so he had picked out a few of his things, but Pete goes a step further and ensures there’s fresh toiletries and blankets, and puts extra hangers in the closet for them both.
Natasha’s room doesn’t have to be changed much, it hadn’t been used yet, and is already stocked with expensive but bland items. Exactly what you would expect from the guest bedroom of a politician’s house or the bathroom of a five star hotel.
Still strange to think of Tom as a politician. He is one, but there’s a mental disconnect when it comes to thinking of Tom as one. Tom has always been…well, Tom. Stubborn, rule following, confidant Ice. His Tom. Speaking of Tom, he really has to pick out what to get him for his birthday. And Christmas.
He actually has to figure out what to get everyone. But as Tom’s birthday was only a few days before Christmas, he had already gotten him a watch. He can no longer really drive, so no need for a car. A new suit seems too bland to come from him- but what else does he even really need? They have everything. He’d suggest a vacation if he thought they would get away long enough to take one.
Maybe a tie clip. Or cuff links. But made special somehow. He considers it, but honestly he doesn’t have the faintest idea of what to get him yet, and he’s running out of time.
He hums to himself, hanging up the stockings for Hangman and Phoenix. They’re simple ones, one a snowman the other a gingerbread man- Hangman, at least will end up with a more personal one if his relationship with Bradley works out.
He hopes it does.
Pete looks to the clock on the wall- 14:14. He needs to get ready to go- He’s got a check-up with Alex and he needs a suit for the Christmas Ball. Tom had insisted he go and get one tailored- apparently it’s what all the Secretaries and their spouses do. He can handle suits, even if he doesn’t like them. He’s not childish enough to through a fit over some clothing. However, it is the first time that he has to get one handmade, and he certainly has never had one of the quality he’s about to experience. By the time he’ll need another suit, he’ll have to get measured again. His weight has been coming back slowly but steadily, only ten pounds shy of his usual weight. But after that- God willing- he won’t have to be measured again, hopefully not at all over the next three years. He also needs a suit for the McCord’s Christmas party, but that can just be tailored, no need for it to be handcrafted like the other one. Are they even doing suits for that? Or is it like an ugly sweater situation- because he would happily volunteer some of Tom’s sweaters for that.
At least it will be nice to see Henry again. They’ve caught up a few times, and frankly, he’s the only one who makes him feel normal in this town. Like he isn’t going insane or being dramatic. Henry gets it. Though, Pete does leave some of the story out. He doesn’t say that divorce had been on the table when Tom accepted the job, he doesn’t say that he feels like he was pressured into the move. All of that is never mentioned. He’s not going to complain about his husband to others. Their relationship doesn’t work like that. So he’s a little vague on the move, and a bit more forthcoming with everything that’s happened after- specifically adjusting to the constant security and scrutinization. The lack of control he has and how suffocating it feels.
Every moment in DC is just a reminder of how he doesn’t belong here. How he’s turned himself into someone else, someone who he some days doesn’t even recognize.
Maverick.
Rule-breaker.
Hot Shot.
Legend.
House husband.
And every following moment, he shoves those feelings down. Reminds himself that it’s for Tom. That it only has to be three years- and he’s lasted far longer on postings far worse than this.
But at least there, he felt like a person. Not someone just playing a role. Clinging to anything that makes life feel normal. Makes him feel like he’s more than…whatever he is now.
Pete has to physically shake his head to derail himself from his thoughts before they can spiral. He knows how this goes. He has to remain in control of his emotions and thoughts- he can’t let them control him. He grimaces and takes a deep breath, focusing on the not so faint smell of cinnamon and pine. Letting them ground him to the moment.
Over the years he’s learned the basics on ways to manage PTSD. Secondhand, or advice given to him by superiors and medics. Even used some himself after Goose had died. But he has always avoided the diagnosis, and fully continues to do so. Alex continues to push for him to see a therapist- and his answer remains the same. Unwavering. Instead, he supplements his knowledge. Audio books and a couple podcasts on the topic while working on his bike- and he always deletes the listening history immediately after.
He’s not stupid.
Pete keeps the headphones on during the drive there, idly wishing that he could be out riding his bike. Being free.
The car rolls to a stop in front a brownstone meticulously maintained, if the small patch of grass and the most tree looking tree he’s ever seen is anything to go by. The door opens and he’s escorted in. The store’s walls are covered in types and colors of fabric, it’s almost like looking at rows of books; there’s a few mannequins littered about with different types of suits. His eyes settle on a bald headed man, dressed in a fine suit and a polite smile. His hand is outstretched as he nears and Pete shakes it.
“Welcome in, Mr. Kazansky.” He says, voice warm and pleasant. “I’m Sam, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Pete chuckles. “That would be my husband- please, you can call me Mav.”
“Yes sir.” He nods. “Your husband’s assistant mentioned you require a suit for the Christmas Ball?”
“I do.” He confirms. “I’d usually be in my dress blues,” Ones that currently don’t fit right. A bit too baggy, but not for long. “but this time we wanted to go with a proper suit.”
Sam leads him past the illuminated island with tie swatches on its top, and towards the back where there’s a wooden platform and a tri-fold mirror. He makes eye contact with himself for a long moment before refocusing on the tailor.
“-I’ll take your measurements and then we can look at different types of suits and colors, as well as fabrics if you have a preference.” Sam hangs up his grey suit coat, pulls over a small rolling cart with some tools, an iPad and a notepad.
He’s a little familiar with the process, though not completely. He had gone through a similar situation when the dark star suit was being made. Everything about the suit had been thought out and chosen with purpose. Everything calculated for safety and efficiency. This however would be designed for looks and status.
Well, looks, even without a suit- he’s all set in that department.
Pete steps onto the wooden platform as Sam grabs his measuring tape and inputs some notes into the iPad. “Alright. I’m going to get started. Can I grab your jacket?”
Ah, he shrugs it off and hands it over to him. “Has my husband been fitted already?” He wonders idly.
“He has.” Sam says, turning back from hanging it up. “I took his measurements a few months ago. He’s requested that his be matched to whichever suit you select.” He holds one end of the tape to his shoulder and measures to his wrist. “Let me know when you need a break.”
It’s a bit mindless, standing there. All he can really do is idly listen to the classical music playing in the background, and be rather painfully aware of his body as he’s maneuvered and measured. It honestly doesn’t even take long. Couldn’t have been more than ten, maybe fifteen minutes before Sam is handing him back his jacket and pushing the cart away. “Now on to the hard part: the fabric. Did you have any preferences?”
Pete follows him to the wall. “Not really. I don’t ever wear suits. Whichever my husband usually wears will be fine.”
The bald man nods and moves them over to a different section of the wall. “His suits vary, but he has a fondness for these. For the Christmas Ball I’d recommend something other than regular black, typically a bit more color is permitted.”
He hums. He doesn’t really care about the color or the fabric, he can count on one hand the amount of times he’s worn a suit- hardly any need when they have dress blues or whites. “Any suggestions?”
“Maybe a deep green?” He slides open a drawer from the wall that has swatches of fabric. He points to one dark, forest green, and then to another. “Blue or navy will work as well.”
He glances over his options, mostly at the blues. “How do you feel about this one?” He hands over the piece of fabric. Navy blue with light accents of orange. Muted, and well put together.
Sam takes it. “Should do just fine.” He assures. “I’ll get started on the suit this afternoon and then create a match for your husband.” They walk back over to the island where the tailor pulls out a binder. There’s some drawings and fabrics in it already. He flips to an empty page and attaches the fabric. “We’ll do a test fitting when I’ve completed them, in a little over a week. At that point we can handle any last minute adjustments before I finish them.” He closes the binder. “I’ll take care of sending your selection to Mr. Kazansky and his stylist so they can select the accessories.”
Pete nods dutifully. “Is there anything you need from me?”
“Not at all, sir.” He says, shaking his head. “From here out I’ll take care of it all- you simply have to show up and collect.”
Easy enough. “I can handle that.” Pete smiles. “It was good to meet you- I do appreciate how my husband looks in your suits.”
A surprised laugh leaves the man. “My pleasure sir. You have a nice day now.”
He’s chuckling to himself as he leaves. “Alright Trevor, how about we go suffer through a doctor’s appointment?”
Suffer was the right word, in hindsight.
Despite doing what Alex had said, trying to lower stress, cutting back on salt and caffeine, his blood pressure is still high. Lower than it was, but still high.
He always watches him with such a calculating gaze, caring, sure, but certainly analytically. “I’m going to prescribe you an ACE inhibitor, specifically Lisinopril. It’ll be a low dose, one pill a day, and it’ll relax your blood vessels and lower your blood pressure. You will have to continue to monitor your blood pressure, see how low it’s bringing your numbers down.”
Pete doesn’t quite manage to bite back his sigh. “For how long?”
“Indefinitely.” Alex answers. “I know it’s not what you want to hear, but I can’t delay my diagnosis of hypertension any longer. Your bp is consistently over what it should be, and is most likely affecting your life. High bp can cause mood fluctuation, and you’ve mentioned being on edge, irritable and I can hazard a guess that it’s also worsening what you won’t admit to.” And what I won’t diagnose.
Because Alex isn’t a physiologist. He suspects, but can’t say for certain. Pete doesn’t respond to the last bit.
“Not only that, but it can cause brain damage, and your head has suffered enough. The pills are going to have to be something you get used to.”
He scrubs at his face. “Side effects?”
“Headaches, dizziness. It can drop your bp too low- do you still have the chart I gave you?” Patrov waits for his nod before continuing. “You can’t have a lot of potassium. A banana is fine, but you have to be cognizant of how much you consume.” He sits his clipboard to the side. “You shouldn’t drink alcohol with it, but due to how long you’ll be taking it, I don’t think either of us can expect you to avoid it entirely. If you drink with it in your system, you will have far less of a tolerance than you are used to. You will dehydrate quicker and be more prone to headaches and nausea.”
Pete can feel his face scrunch up of its own accord. “Sounds lovely.” He says dryly. Not that he gets drunk often- but hey, he enjoys a beer pretty regularly.
Alex rolls his eyes. “I’d rather you know the consequences of doing it so you can take care of yourself. Make sure you have Gatorade and water, as well as someone else driving. Even with only one beer in your system, you could be a danger to everyone.”
He grimaces. He hardly needs a reminder of the effects of drunk driving. Who would when your mother was a drunk who killed herself and nearly him? “That won’t be a concern.” Pete assures, hand flexing. “I don’t believe in drinking and driving.”
Alex’s eyes flicker to his hand and then back up to him. It’s not commented on. “Good. I’ll have the prescription filled at your pharmacy. Is there anything you wanted to discuss today?”
His fingers drum a restless rhythm on the plastic arm of the chair. “Do you think I’ll be able to fly again?”
Patrov lets the question settle, pulls the clipboard back over to his lap. He thumbs through a few papers, but honestly, he’s rather sure its for show. Pete knows his doctor, and knows his case has been memorized. “Your weight is almost back to where it was. A few pounds shy, but I’d say by the end of the month you should be back to your usual weight. The blood pressure, while concerning, doesn’t disqualify you, and you head has seemed to heal from it’s damage well, so far.”
He listens along. All of it is the good stuff, which means he’s going to be told something he doesn’t like. “And your hesitations?”
There’s not a hint of surprise on his face. “Even though you’re at the right weight, it’s not muscle. You need some time to build your muscle mass again- slowly.” He stresses. “A licensed physical trainer can assist with that. However, your mental state is still concerning to me, as well as your lung capacity. You need a stress test and a psychological evaluation before I’m willing to sign off onto anything.”
Everything that he’s expected. Pete gives a short nod. “How long do you think before we can do an evaluation?”
“We can do one as soon as you like.” Alex answers, “But if you’re asking how long before you pass one? I can’t say for certain. A few more months at least. Attempting the stress test before your body is ready will only set you back.” He sighs. “I know you aren’t a patient man.” A wry twist of the lips. “But you’ve been recovering well. You’re almost there. You’re cleared to ride your death trap of a motorcycle, and to increase how much you workout. Nothing more than eighty pounds currently.”
His smooths his shirt down with a hand, feeling the softness below, where his abs used to be clearly defined, and now the only thing defined are his scars. “Alright. Anything else?”
“I still think you should see a psychiatrist.” He presses on before Pete can interrupt. “I haven’t pressed, but I still believe you show symptoms of PTSD and depression.”
He swallows tightly, gripping the seat. “And have you put that in my file?”
“No.” He sighs. “Unless you are diagnosed I won’t ruin your career on a suspicion.” He chews his lip, then sighs again, almost resigned. “Off the record- you could always see a therapist that won’t report it. At least then you’ll be getting the help you need, without risking your career.”
Pete looks at him, eyes meeting for a long moment. “You’re risking yours just by saying that.” And it’s true, just as a PTSD diagnosis could ruin him, breaking protocol- going outside the military- could cause Alex to receive a dishonorable discharge, charges even laid against him.
“Yes.” Patrov agrees, both face and voice severe. “But I also happen to think there should be more support for these sorts of issues without it resulting in decades of honorable service being thrown away. I think that you are fine to serve- and frankly that it would be good for you at this point, but also that you need help that you feel like you can’t receive. If this is the only way to help my patient then I am willing to standby it and advocate for it.”
It’s his turn to sigh, even as the warm feeling of appreciation fills him. “You’re a good man, Alex, and thank you for the advice.”
“Not going to listen are you?”
“Not even a little bit.” He smiles, just the barest hint of strain visible, then stands, “But I will happily start working out more. Gotta fix this figure before my husband picks up someone else.” He laughs, a little too loud to be real. They both know it.
“Don’t over do it.” He warns again, standing too and opening the door. “Listen to your body.”
“Pinky promise.” He grins and wiggles his pinky. “See you in a month.” Pete gives a two finger salute.
Alex huffs a laugh. “Have a good holiday, Mav. Give your husband my well wishes.”
“So long as you give your family mine.” He calls back as he passes reception and his security detail take up their normal positions. The hospital is a little emptier than usual- probably people getting back home for Christmas ad New Years. It’s quiet, their steps echo just a little in the halls. Faintly he can hear the click clack of heels from a woman walking somewhere. A bit eery if he’s completely honest.
It’s not long lasting. Security has made it just out the doors before everything is loud. Flashing lights everywhere he looks. There’s hands on him moving him. Not aggressively, but certainly forcefully. Trevor’s voice is booming as he orders people to move, agents usually kept on the outskirts near and help secure a path to the waiting SUV’s.
“Pete!” One voice calls out.
Another: “Mr. Mitchell-”
“Admiral! Do you have any comments on the article?”
He digs his heels, halting their progress to the car. “What article?” He calls out over the noise.
“Your father! Do you have a comment on his death?”
His father? Thoughts flit through his mind to quick to grasp at- too quick to process. He’s saved from having to respond as he’s turned to the car and hurried in. The door slams with a note of finality and the moment he’s in the car is driving off; before he’s even seated. What fucking article?
Distantly, he’s pretty sure Trevor is speaking to him. The words don’t process, not as he’s digging out his phone and checking for the first time in a few hours. 12 missed calls. 8 from Tom. Two from Tom’s assistant. One from Sarah. One from Nick.
There’s texts too-m
Call me. Tom.
I’m working on it. I’m going to get this handled. Call me. I love you. Tom.
They’re fucking shit heads, uncle. Nick.
Fuck. Fuck, fuckfuck.
What the fuck is in the article?
His hands don’t shake as he searches his fathers name. Adrenaline is coursing through him- he’s spent too long into the military to not be able to compartmentalize. He click’s on the first article he sees.
Like Father, Like Son: The Navy’s Greatest Liabilities
By: Alene Frazier
Not much has been released about the husband of the Secretary of Defense’s husband: Pete Mitchell. All that has been released to the public has been his honorable awarding of the Medal of Honor, and some details of his past service.
I believe in full transparency from our government- and from those so close to it. In an effort to bridge the gap in our knowledge, I have spent the last three months researching and compiling everything I could so that you, the people, can know who our government supports.
Pete Mitchell, more commonly known to his peers by his call sign: Maverick, was born on July 17th, 1962 to Duke and Mary Mitchell. Tragedy struck young, when only at three years old, he lost his father. Lieutenant Commander Duke Mitchell was killed in action on November 5th, 1965. According to the report released by the US government in ‘62, Duke disobeyed direct orders and continued to engage fleeing targets- in doing so, he led two fellow pilots to their deaths, and caused his own. Despite his actions, Duke was afforded a military burial, though it was a closed casket due to the Navy being unable to fetch the remains.
Pete was three at this time, and it’s unlikely he even remembers his father- which makes it all the more interesting how similar they are— but more on that later. At 14 tragedy would strike again. August 1976, in southern California, at 10:52 at night, a 911 call was made by an onlooker, reporting a one car collision with a tree. Mary Mitchell was pronounced dead on arrival. Later, the autopsy, would reveal she had been drunk driving with her son in the passenger seat. Pete had been admitted to the hospital with a broken shoulder and mild concussion. At 14, the orphan was taken into foster care. According to the meager files I was able to glean- Pete bounced around often. The longest he had been with a family was five months before he was either given back or ran away. There’s not much known for those four years between the accident and becoming an adult- but in my search I was able to connect with one of the families that had fostered Pete: The Bakers. Jenny and William Baker-
A chill crawls over him. His entire body freezes. The Bakers.
He remembers. God- does he remember. The last foster family he had been assigned to before his eighteenth birthday. Fucking Harry Potter lived better than him. A closet under the stairs would’ve been a blessing. He lived on a pallet on the floor in the garage. There had been a bedroom- but not one he had been allowed to touch. It was only there for if a social worker had come to inspect the place. A few of his belongings- which really wasn’t much- were placed in the room to make it look like he stayed in there. The garage hadn’t been insulated, so both the winter and the summer had been miserable. Curled up in a ball, shivering and trying to conserve his warmth. Able to see his breath fog before him- like he was actually watching the life leave him.
Then there was William. To call William a drunk would be like calling his mother sober. The only thing he did was buy beer with the state funds. He drank from sunrise to sundown. Most of the time that was fine. He was amicable when drunk. Rude, but amicable. He’d demand a beer and some yard work but that would be about it. No, drunk was fine. But when the money ran low, and there wasn’t anymore beer and he was sober and in withdraw-?
He’s suffered less in the military than he did by William’s hands.
He’d get violent with Jenny too. Less often, because Jenny just avoided the house during those times. And he had stepped in. The first few times. But after, Jenny had been furious- had helped William-
Pete stopped interfering.
Counted the beers in the fridge to brace himself. Stayed after school in the library to apply for colleges. To the Academy. The librarian had always been kind to him. Helped him with applications. Let him use her address so the Bakers couldn’t intercept his mail. He never told her about what the Baker’s did- he’s never told anyone. Not even Tom.
It’s so fucking stupid- the fear in his heart. Less than worthless, even. They’ll have said whatever they think would bring them money. It’ll be something like- oh the boy was so troubled. Always getting into trouble at school. Stealing. Getting into fights.
He can’t not know what they said. Not be aware of what else is in the article. What all the world knows about him now.
-had been fostering children for years. They could only house one at a time due to the size of their home- but that doesn’t represent the size of their hearts for taking in a troubled teenager like Pete. “He was such a dark boy.” Jenny describes. “Never really talked much. He was always brooding in the corner, and who could blame him after loosing both parents and having a family that didn’t want him?”
William went on to add: “We tried to include him in the family , but he never was interested. We were always having to go up to the school because he’d been in a fight or failing another class.”
Those issues would follow Pete through his life. Despite his lacking aptitude in school, Pete went on to achieve his masters degree in Mechanical Engineering and a minor in applied engineering. He was in his university’s ROTC program and did enlist the Navy, like his father, after graduation.
His superiors would all tell you the same thing: he’s a brilliant pilot. But reckless beyond belief. He followed in his father’s footsteps, in more ways than one. Maverick was selected for Top Gun, where he would meet his now husband, Secretary of Defense, Thomas Kazansky. Pete had not been the first choice, rather the second after someone had declined to attend. It’s there, his recklessness would claim it’s first life.
On a training run, the then Lt. Mitchell lost focus, resulting in a destroyed jet, and a dead co-pilot: Nick “Goose” Bradshaw. The pair had been a team for years- friends even, and he had decided to endanger his friends life, and ultimately force him to pay the ultimate cost.
Sources from inside the Navy say that this is not a unique situation- that Admiral Mitchell continually disobeys direct orders, and that his actions often not only risk his life- but those along side him too. The Navy has already allowed Duke Mitchell to sacrifice two lives. How many will it permit his son?
Pete stares at the words on the screen. Reading them. Understanding them. Not really able to process them. It’s like all that exists in the world are the words on the screen. Are the lies and truth laid out plain without distinction.
The truth of his mother’s death. The lie of his father’s.
Everything that’s personal and his to know and keep.
His phone rings again. The call replaces the article, replaces the Bakers for Tom. He wants to answer, but his thumb doesn’t seem to agree. Just hovers over the screen, like it’s afraid to touch it. It’s stupid. There’s nothing to be afraid of- and certainly not from Tom of all people. He knows his husband. He’s likely furious if anything.
The call fades away. He still doesn’t move.
Stuck in a loop in his head.
The partition separating him from the drivers slides open. “Sir? Your husband is on the phone.” An arm reaches through, offering the cell.
It takes all of his will power to force himself to move. To take the phone and hold it to his ear.
“Pete? Are you there?” He can hear the stress in his voice. The worry. It’s rough and heavy, similar to how it had been when he had first got his voice back after the cancer.
“Yeah.” Is all he says. A miracle in itself. The words claw up his throat, a faint, fickle thing. As soft as a breath.
“Are you alright?” Ice presses. “Where are you?”
“We, uh, just left the doctor’s office.” He stumbles over his words, the numbness starting to recede a little. “The press was there.”
There’s a muffled curse. “Have you already read the article?”
He makes a small noise of affirmation.
“They had no right to write it.” He was right, Ice is furious. His tone is frigid. But it only warms him. “It’s fucking baseless and pointless. My office is already looking into the author and managing the situation. I’m going to take care of this, baby. I promise.”
He doesn’t have it in him to be angry right now. He’s already exhausted- and being angry takes everything. Pete lets out a shaky breath. “I need to tell you about the Bakers. Before the press finds out.”
A beat. He’s shared his entire life with his husband- all but those four years in foster care. He knows Tom has wondered, likely came to his own conclusions, but he has never shared. “…Only if you want to.” Tom says finally. Deliberately gentle. “Don’t let this article force you to do what you don’t want to.”
He scrubs his eyes. “If the press is going to give the Bakers and the months I spent with them more attention, it’s going to come out no matter how hard they hide it.” He grabs a water bottle from the door. “I’d…I’d rather tell you myself than for you to find out in the papers.”
A long pause. “If you’re sure.” Tom agrees finally.
He sips at the water. “I’ll be at your office soon.”
“Okay. I love you.”
He hums and hangs up. Hands the phone back through the divider.
“Take me to Tom.”
Pete numbly returns the salute offered by those he passes in uniform- which considering it’s the defense department- is quite a few. Most of his detail stays outside, or perhaps taking a break since the building is already secure. Four remain with him. Trevor, for instance, is always with him, just how Andy is always with Tom. Distantly, he wonders what their code names are. He heard from Andy the the McCord’s are set after birds, with Henry being Cardinal, and Elizabeth being Blue bird.
Fitting, honestly.
He’s been to the office a few times now. Not too often, but they’ve grabbed lunch a couple times, and he had helped him get his office organized when they first moved. All that to say, he knows where he’s going, and unlike the other visitors, he doesn’t have to go through security. He gets to go straight up to Tom’s wing of the building. There’s a few greetings sent his way, a couple waves. Andrew is waiting from him in front of Tom’s office, opening the door with a nod, and closing it behind him.
Tom’s office is a regal thing. All old wood and priceless antiques. Dark blue carpet on the floor, flags behind his desk both on the left and right. There’s some seating off to the right. A plain couch, a coffee table and two other chairs. His husband is resting on the front edge of his desk. His tie is a little askew, and there’s a tightness in his face that Pete wishes he could just kiss away. But he can’t. In fact, he’s going to make it worse.
Tom looks to him, eyes gentle as he pushes off the desk and meets him in the center of the room. “Hey.” He breathes, and then wraps his arms around him.
He lets himself have this- this comfort. His head falls against his shoulder. These strong arms that have held him for so long are just as warm and loving as they were in the beginning.
His husband doesn’t speak. Just holds him. Rubs his back for a moment, kisses his head. It takes a minute for Pete to pull away. He doesn’t look at him as he takes a seat on the couch. “I don’t really know how to tell you.” Pete admits quietly.
Tom sits in the chair closest to him. “You don’t have to.” He reminds. “You don’t owe me this.”
He’s always been understanding about his refusal to talk about it. He had pushed a little, when they had first gotten together, but had eventually dropped it. “You deserve to hear the truth from me- not whatever the media will end up releasing.” Pete pushes his hair back from where a few strays were escaping. “The Bakers were the last family that fostered me.” He begins with a sigh. “I wasn’t with any family for very long- no one wants a teenager, and in truth I didn’t really want to be adopted.”
Fingers intertwine with his own, Tom gives them a reassuring squeeze. “You had lost a lot.”
He makes a small noise of acknowledgment. “The article was right, that the longest I spent five months with a family. Usually I’d have to move two or three times a year. You’d get woken up and given trash bags to pack all of your shit in. You’d have an hour- if that. I didn’t have much. I couldn’t take everything from the house, they only let you carry so much, but I also didn’t have anywhere to store it- my mom hadn’t paid the property taxes in years, and it was being taken back. Everything I owned, everything my entire family had owned- condensed into two trash bags.”
Tom’s jaw sets, thumb brushing the back of his hand, but he doesn’t interrupt.
“Most of the families were fine. Would leave me alone so long as I didn’t cause any problems.” A bitter chuckle leaves him. “Believe it or not, back then I didn’t really break any rules. When you found a family that let you still be a bit free, you had to try to stay. Most were fine. The Bakers weren’t.”
“What did they do?” His husband asks quietly.
“William was a drunk. Like my mom. He didn’t work. Neither of them did really. Jenny would dog sit sometimes, but they really just lived off the money the government sent them. Things were fine when he was drunk. He didn’t give a fuck what happened so long as he had a beer. Jenny couldn’t handle anything in the house being out of place. Maybe she had OCD or something- but she’d have a melt down if anything was askew, so I wasn’t really allowed inside.”
A pause and then a suspicious: “What do you mean you weren’t allowed in the house?”
It hurts to swallow, from how dry his throat is. “I slept in the garage. Lived in there really. There was a bedroom set up for if a service worker came to visit, and they put some of my things in there, but I wasn’t allowed in it. They got me a mat and a blanket to keep in the garage, and I had my own dishes because Jenny didn’t want to touch them.”
Tom is still. Completely and utterly still. He’s not even sure that he’s breathing. Pete presses on, eyes locked onto a strand of fraying carpet. “I got there in February. The tail end of winter, but we had a sudden snow storm that left all the roads frozen over. William ran out of beer. He had hit Jenny. I was scrawny, but I’d never stand for that. I got between them.” He shakes his head. “He laid me out. Jenny just watched. When he was done she just yelled at me for entering the house. Told me if I did it again, she’d have William teach me a lesson.”
“They abused you.” He says faintly. “They put their fucking hands on you.” His voice grows cold. “I’ll fucking kill them. I swear to God, Pete.” Tom lets go of his hand starts to pace. “How long were you there?”
“February 7th till midnight on July 17th. I had applied to colleges all of the time I was there and I got accepted on a scholarship to Caltech. I had been talking to the director of the ROTC program there since I got rejected from the Academy. He had made an exception. Picked me up from the Bakers and took me to campus where I was permitted to live over the summer.” Pete answers. That man had saved his life. Saved him from having to be homeless for a month and a half. Gave him time to work during the summer for the first time. Never could when he stayed with foster family’s- they often didn’t like it and he moved around too much to get a grasp on anything. He had worked full time at a fast food joint right off the campus- close enough he could walk.
Pete’s never forgotten that first paycheck. He had used the money to get himself some clothes and school supplies that the scholarship didn’t cover. He had worked there on and off during the school year, saving it mostly so he would have a place to stay during the summer. A hotel that had a full kitchen and ensuite.
“How often?” Tom demands. “How many times did he hurt you?”
He sighs, leaning back into the cushions. “I didn’t keep track. Often enough, but it wasn’t everyday. Usually towards the end of the month when money ran low and he couldn’t buy anymore beer. Maybe twice a month. If that.”
Tom’s hands flex at his sides. Restless anger simmering beneath. “Did anyone know? Why didn’t anyone help you?”
“I think a few people suspected. But no one knew for certain. It didn’t happen that often.” He reaches out and takes his hand in his. “It was a long time ago. I just wanted you to know in case it ends up in the news.”
He doesn’t pull his hand away. “It shouldn’t have happened.” He says fiercely. “You were a kid.”
“It shouldn’t have.” He agrees. “But we can’t change it. There’s nothing that can be done. We’re just going to have to figure out where to go from here.”
Tom sighs, and takes a seat on the couch beside him, pressing up against his side. He kisses the back of his hand. “Well. For starters, I’m going to rain hell down on this journalist, and then find a way to discredit the Bakers so no one will view them as a credible source.”
Pete hums and presses a kiss of his own into his shoulder. “My transcripts. It’ll show I had a 4.0 and discredit their claim of me doing poorly in school.”
Tom nods. Quiet for a moment. “Does anyone else know?”
“No.” He lets his gaze roam over the office and out a window. “I’ve never wanted anyone to know.”
His hand is squeezed. “I’m going to do my best to ensure no one else does.” His hand is freed and then Tom is cupping his cheek and kissing him. “I love you.” He murmurs. “And I’ll make everyone pay for this shit.”
He believes him. Always believes him. Pete kisses him back, savoring him. Soaking in the fact that this wonderful man is his. Has been his since the day they met. Tom is a force to be reckoned with. Brilliant, a wonderful pilot, and loyal. For all the arguments they’ve had over the years- his loyalty has never been in question. Just sometimes priority.
“I love you too.” He says as he pulls away. Staring into those icy blue eyes that have always made his heart flutter. He kisses him again. “Thank you.”
Notes:
Bradley and Rooster are officially a thing! And Tom is a good husband. What did you guys think about the backstory? And the Article? Pete still isn't quite settled into DC but he's getting there.
The next chapter is an important one. I have most of it written, just working out some stuff towards the end. Thank you all for y'alls support in the story, it's very much a labor of love.
Chapter should be up in roughly a month or whenever I get excited and inspired by the comments (which does happen!)
Chapter 34: The Aftermath and The McCords
Summary:
The fallout from the article has to be dealt with, and Tom and Pete have a Christmas party to attend.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The prominence of the article fades over the next week. Both the White House and the Department of Defense have refused to comment, despite how it’s pissed Tom off, but it was an order. The White House PR person had advised nothing to be said, otherwise they’d all throw fuel on to the fire.
Tom had been getting ready to defy the order before Pete had stepped in. Had assured him that so far, the traction seemed to be dying, and there’s little point in getting in trouble with SECDEF or POTUS over it. Though. In the interest of transparency that he’ll only admit to himself: it was a bit hot to see him so protective.
He calls Nick and talks the boy off his war path, catches up and promises that they will be down for Christmas, and yes he’ll make sure to pick up the cookies he loves.
Pete hopes he never changes. He loves that boy.
Bradley…isn’t so easy to dissuade. Bradley, who Pete never told that he had been in foster care.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Hangman had graciously gone to the liquor store to get drinks for the next few days. “How could you not tell me that you were in foster care?”
Pete sighs, hanging up the cloth from drying his mug. “It’s not something I like to talk about it. Tom barely knows anything and he’s been my partner for over thirty years. Telling my son is different.”
“But I’m grown now.” He argues. “You can tell me. I can help.”
“Brad,” He gives him a fond, tired smile. “I love you. But this isn’t up for discussion. I’m not going to talk about it. You know the basics. From 14 to 18 I was in foster care and afterwards I went to Caltech on a full ride. Joined the Navy and you know everything past that.”
“Why don’t you want to talk about it? What happened?” He’s earnest. Pete knows he just wants to help. This just isn’t the right situation.
“Bradley.” He warns this time. “Drop it. Please.” He claps him on the shoulder and moves around him out of the kitchen. He changes the topic so Rooster can’t continue to push the matter. “Did you and Seresin get unpacked?”
He can tell he isn’t pleased, but he takes the hint and doesn’t argue. “Yeah, you should see the amount of hair products he has. It literally takes up the entire counter.”
A surprised laugh leaves him. “To be honest, that doesn’t really surprise me. You should have seen us all back in the 80’s- Ice especially. It was all sticky hair gel that made your hair feel like a rock.”
“I remember.” Bradley grins as he follows him upstairs. “Well. A little. It was pokey.”
Pete snorts. “Like a porcupine.” He agrees. “You got upset at him one time- you had been trying to pat his head and it poked you. You scolded him as well as anyone. He felt so bad he washed the gel out into the sink.”
The boy’s grin only grows as he laughs. “I’d have loved to see it.”
He hums. “Well, I’d love to see the list of Christmas presents for Hangman that I asked for.” Mav gives him a pointed look. “Other than hair products.”
“I was busy!” He defends, flopping onto one of the arm chairs in his bedroom. “Besides, I barely know what to get him!”
He snorts. “It’s your first Christmas together. You can’t just do a present. You gotta do something to make it special.”
“Not helping.” He gripes. “Like what? What did you and Pop’s do?”
“It was a different time then.” He reminds, shifting through the closet for his sweater and coat. “We couldn’t do everything you can.”
“Yeah,” His voice is raised so he can hear him in the closet. “But you still did something.”
Brat. A smile quirks at his lips as he eases on the sweater. The pull of his injuries is lesser, but still there. Not longer sharp and demanding. More dull, rounded. “He came over a couple days before and helped me decorate the apartment and baked some cookies so that when you came over from your moms, you’d have a proper Christmas at my place too.” Love you, Tom. “Could’ve married him just for that.”
It’s quiet for a moment and then there’s a loud groan that causes him to laugh. “How am I supposed to manage something like that?” Rooster grouses.
Pete pulls on the suit jacket over the sweater and grabs the loafers. “Well, Tom and I will be at the Ball on Christmas Eve. Cook a dinner. Take him out into the city. What you do isn’t really the special bit.” He smiles fondly, looking at him through the bathroom doorway. “He is.” He doesn’t quite muffle his laugh as he watches Bradley blush a little, but he does him the mercy of turning to the mirror to make sure he looks alright before heading into the bedroom. “You two have a goodnight. Tom left his card on the island if either of need anything or want to order food while we’re out.”
“We’re not kids dad.” He huffs. “We’ll be fine.”
“Uh huh.” He says, obviously unconvinced. “We’ll probably be out late. I’ll see you in the morning kid. Tell Jake I said goodnight.” He can hear Tom downstairs, probably grabbing the bottle of wine they’d bought as a gift. Though Pete had also made sure to buy some chocolate. Henry had said it’s wife’s downfall- and hopefully Pete’s saving grace.
“You ready?” Tom calls. “We’ll be late.”
Pete shoos Bradley out of their room and heads downstairs. “Yeah. You? Got the present?”
Tom kisses his cheek. “I do, and you look handsome. C’mon-”
“-Y’all have a nice night kids.” Bradley says, leaning against the railing on the second floor. “But not too much fun.” He wags his finger. “Curfew is at ten- and I expect no funny business.”
Pete huffs a laugh while Tom rolls his eyes. “Goodnight Bradley.” He says back, laughing and waving over his shoulder as they head to the front door.
“We’ll unlike him, I’m rather hoping for funny business.” Pete whispers conspicuously to Tom who throws his head back and laughs.
“Are you now? What a coincidence. I was too.” He’s smiling, blue eyes light and glinting from the snow as he gestures for Pete to climb in. It softens the lines on his face, the sternness the world is accustomed to. There’s no Ice in that smile, it’s all Tom and Pete’s heart swells with warm affection all the more for it.
Mav snorts, rather unsurprised and gets in. “You’re always hoping for it.”
“You can blame me? Look at who I’m married to.” His hand lays on his thigh and gives it a squeeze.
“Someone’s eager.” He grumbles as he swats at his wandering hand. “After the party.”
“Is that a promise?” Tom says, but his hand drops and moves to holding his hand loosely.
Pete rolls his eyes, unable to fight his smile completely. “We’ll see won’t we?”
They get separated pretty early on into the party. Almost immediately after passing off the wine to Henry and the chocolates to Elizabeth. (Which, he needs to thank Henry for the suggestion for he’s sure he’s in her enteral good graces for that)
It’s a more informal gathering than the one the White House will be hosting in just a few days. More sweaters than suits, though there are a few younger men dressed in them. Eager to impress, he’s sure. These gatherings have never been his strong suit- often his reputation precedes him in ways that aren’t always favorable, more than that though, is that he’s always been a man of action, not words, and these people, Tom’s people are always so full of them.
Pete charms his way through as he always does, cracking a joke with the group he winds up with. A few military officials and someone from the DOD. Talk stays comfortable light, comments about the food, the home and the hosts themselves. At points it delves a bit deeper, a few mentions of work and complaints about senators or someone similar holding up progress with their work. Pete takes the liberty of fetching a new drink from a server, a nice bubbly. He spies Tom laughing and speaking animatedly with a small group. Pete smiles to himself at that. Tom is effortlessly charming, always has something to say or a way to help the conversation keep on.
In his distraction, he misses Henry coming up to him until Henry is already right beside him.
“Enjoying yourself?” He asks with a smile.
Pete matches the smile. “I am.” He assures, “You certainly know how to host a party.”
Henry chuckles. “I can’t take any of the credit- this was all my daughter, Stevie. The only party planner my wife can’t run off.”
He snorts. “Doesn’t like parties?”
“More-so doesn’t like everything that comes with it.” He clarifies. “Despite being a politician, she isn’t really.”
He thinks it over, reflecting on their brief interactions. He hasn’t spent much time with the Secretary of State, but she’s always seemed kind, and upfront, no cloak and dagger others liked to use. “I can see that.” He agrees finally. McCord, both of them really, were far too genuine to be classified as true politicians. “She seems lovely.”
“She is.” Henry’s gaze drifts past to his wife who has joined Tom’s group. He does drag his gaze back. “I did want to check up on you- that article was rough. Are you holding up okay?”
Pete grimaces and suddenly wishes the champagne was something a fair bit stronger. Immediately he goes to brush it off, like he has for Bradley or anyone else who’s brought it up. But there’s something about Henry that makes him want to be honest. Perhaps it’s the genuine concern or that Henry is probably the closest person who will understand his feelings towards the media. “It’s been rough.” He says honestly. “I wasn’t expecting it, neither was Tom. He’s still pissed about it, but the White House doesn’t want him to comment.”
Henry hums. “Good.” He nods. “You know, Saint Thomas Aquinas once said: “He who is not angry when there is just cause for anger is immoral. Why? Because anger looks to the good of justice. And if you can live amid injustice without anger, you are immoral as well as unjust.” His tone had taken on more of what Pete assumes is his Professor voice, but Henry sounds so eager and sincere that Pete knows he means it. “Tom should be angry. Lord knows the amount of times I’ve been angry over what they’ve wrote about Elizabeth.”
He winces sympathetically, “I can only guess at the things they’ve written. I honestly never paid much mind to the tabloids. Still don’t, to be entirely truthful. Tom was largely out of the news as Commander- and our marriage was private so beyond attending some events, I was left out of it. This-” He gestures out, drink still in hand. “-is the exact opposite of what I’m used to.”
“I wish I could say you get used to it- but it still bothers me. I’ve never been one to allow my wife be insulted.” Henry says. “Your husband doesn’t seem to be either.” There’s a look in his eyes that makes Pete get the feeling he knows more about something than he’s letting on. “Ah- enjoy the party. My son is harassing the caterers again.”
And with that, Henry moves swiftly to the kitchen, shooing at a teenage boy with a flower patterned dish rag, who picks up his own and swats at his dad while running for the stairs. Pete can’t help but laugh at the sight. He heads over to Tom, laying a hand on the small of his back in greeting. His husband smiles down at him, his own arm sneaking around his waist and giving it a welcoming squeeze.
“This is my husband, Pete.” Tom introduces. “My better half.”
“Evening gentlemen.” Pete nods in greeting. He shakes a few hands. The conversation carries on largely without his input. He’s content enough just to be beside Tom. The McCord’s home is lovely. Classy and lived in. A large Christmas tree with white lights and no less than 7 different types of wrapping paper used on the presents beneath it. There’s pictures on the table tops of their family, two daughters and a son.
“I read that article the Post published.” One says, drawing his attention back to the conversation. Pete’s rather sure he never got his name. Tom’s hand on his waist tightens. “Must be brutal, to have your truth revealed like that.”
Pete doesn’t even have a moment to respond before Ice cuts in sharply. “You would know all about that wouldn’t you, Michael? Seems like you’re always in the papers having another affair. Your wife just left you didn’t she?”
It takes actual effort to stop his jaw from hanging at Tom’s sudden heated rebuke. Where had that come from? “It was certainly unexpected.” Pete tries to smooth over, though he knows it’s pointless- there’s no recovering from Tom’s words. His thumb rubs small circles on his lower back. “And more false than anything.”
Michael doesn’t deign to respond, instead glares at his husband, hand clenched at his side. Pete can’t help the mental plan that forms if Michael decides to swing. It’s ingrained in him- knowing how to take a man down. He can feel how tense Tom is under his hand- despite being a man of words, he knows Tom is gearing up for a fight. Before it can escalate any further, their host steps in as if she’s none the wiser but Pete knows she is.
Elizabeth smiles. “Michael!” She says, “I wanted you to know Senator Diaz just arrived- he was talking about the Bill you were trying to push through last session? He seems to be in a good mood- this might be your best shot at getting his support.”
There’s a war fought on Michael’s face, but self interest perseveres and he heads to the direction she gestured to. The rest of their quietly disperses with him.
“You know Diaz despises that bill.” Tom says wryly. He seems faintly amused.
Elizabeth’s smile seems a bit sly. “Must have slipped my mind.” Her smile turns to something kinder. “He really is a piece of work. Henry can’t stand him.”
“That makes two of us.” Tom remarks dryly. “Thank you for the assist.”
“My pleasure.” She laughs. “I’d rather a fight not breakout at my Christmas party. My daughter would be furious.”
Pete chuckles. “Stevie right? Henry mentioned her. I’ll try to keep Tom from getting us on her bad side.” He nudges his husband playfully.
“You could never, Pete.” She promises. “Tom on the other hand…”
“it’s not my fault she works for Russell Jackson.” Tom defends.
Pete rolls his eyes as they bicker for a moment. They stay at the party for a couple hours longer, truthfully having a good time, and not only because of the booze- though it certainly helps the lightness in his step and the heat in his body. Everything starts to wind down around eleven and they elect to leave before they can be the annoying stragglers that don’t get the hint.
Tom’s hand stays in his even as they’re seated in the car. Pete’s free hand comes up, fingers brushing his thigh, the tension between them suddenly palpable as he leans in to kiss him. “You know,” He says against his lips. “You’re really hot when you’re protective.”
Tom lets go of his hand to grab onto his waist. He groans at the feeling of him nipping his lip. “I’m always protective of what’s mine.” Their next kiss is more urgent, breaths mingling together, hands roaming the familiar expanses of each others body. Pete’s hands in Tom’s hair, Tom’s sneaking under the back of his shirt, pulling him closer.
Pete groans against him, lips traveling up his neck to just behind his ear. “The driver.” He mumbles.
“He’ll be fine.” Tom says, voice low and Pete can hear the need in it. “The privacy screen is up.” His hand squeezes his thigh teasingly. “Unless you have the patience to wait till we’re home?”
They both know he doesn’t.
Breakfast the next morning is a lively affair having both Rooster and Hangman, as well as his husband who is having a later start. Rooster manages to burn the eggs twice- causing both Tom having to open the windows and doors, as well as Hangman taking over egg duty.
“You’ve got a battlefield promotion to supervisor.” Pete quips as he passes off the first batch of pancake batter. He adds protein powder to the second, smaller batch.
Tom laughs. “Has he now? In that case I expect a full written report on my desk by 1300 on how to not burn eggs.”
He can’t help his snort as Jake laughs. “Those eggs were from the farmers market too- I think he ought to at least write, what, 2 thousand words?”
“Three at minimum.” Tom leans against the counter with an easy smile. “Maybe we should pay for him to go to a cooking class for Christmas.”
“I’m right here.” Bradley complains, throwing a paper towel ball at Tom who only bats it away with a laugh. “Aren’t you supposed to be defending my honor?” He looks to Jake.
Jake only shakes his head with a laugh, “Baby, I love you, but there ain’t no honor in these eggs. They make a well done steak look blue rare- and that’s an affront to anyone with taste buds.”
“Careful Hangman, he’s liable to make you sleep on the couch.” Pete laughs.
Rooster rolls his eyes but doesn’t disagree. He reaches for the newspaper on the counter at the same time as Tom. “I can’t believe you guys still get these.” He says, eyeing through it like it’s written in a foreign language. “I mean, do you have to pay for them? Or do they just come? How do they afford it?” He flips the paper open. “Holy shit.”
Pete looks up sharply at that, away from the griddle he has heating. “Good or bad?” Hangman also looks at him expectantly, Tom hasn’t reacted- he probably knew about whatever it was ahead of time.
“Better than good.” Rooster’s face breaks open in a grin. “The Bakers were arrested for identity fraud and tax evasion.”
Just beside him, the boys celebrate with snide comments and grins. His eyes don’t waver from his husband who meets his gaze calmly. Likely waiting for his reaction. For his questions. But none come. After a long, private moment, he gives a small nod. There’s no urge to celebrate like the boys, but there is a small sense of relief, knowing that now their word has been tainted- credibility ruined.
Pete turns back to the pancake griddle. There’s not a doubt in his mind that Tom had something to do with this, but he doesn’t think Tom made their charges up or falsified anything. Knowing them, they were absolutely guilty of those things, and Tom knew how to get them caught.
Strong arms wrap around his waist, and a small kiss is pressed into the back of his head. Tom’s cologne wafts up, somehow beating the smell of food. He pours pancake batter onto the now sizzling griddle. He doesn’t speak, just stays leaning into his husband, savoring this closeness, the muddled feelings of relief and home and gratefulness. They don’t need words. Not for this. Not after this many years together. He knows Tom and Tom knows him. Front and back. Inside and out.
Maverick hears the boys having moved on to discussing baseball, and lets it lade back into nothing. His hand not occupied with flipping the pancakes comes up and rests on top of one of Tom’s on his waist. His thumb rubs over the back of Tom’s wedding ring. He remembers buying it. He remembers the first ring he had bought, the cheaper one he bought at the airport. Tungsten, if he remembers correctly. Remembers how even though they had bought themselves nicer rings, how that one is still on Tom’s desk in a small display box inlaid with the year.
“Tom?” He murmurs.
Tom hums. “Hm?”
“I love you.”
He can feel his smile against the back of his head, and the gentle tug of his arms. “I love you too. More than anything.”
Notes:
Hope you all enjoyed the chapter! Let me know what you think and what you want to see next!
Chapter 35: The Christmas Ball
Summary:
Tom and Pete attend the White House's Christmas Ball. Things don't go as planned.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
It started as an idle passing thought. A joke from Phoenix. Now that he's here, though, he has to admit she may have had a point. Currently, his count is at 37, give or take at least five for those he missed while greeting people. Pete cranes his head to look around Tom's back. "How many Christmas trees are in this place?" He asks.
Tom snorts, fond amusement plays on his face. "Are you that bored already?"
Pete waves him off. "Phoenix and I made a bet last night. I said there would be less than 100. She thinks more."
His husband tries to fight his smile and appear more like SECNAV than he is acting now. "How many are we up to?" His eyes flick past the hallway they had walked down and towards the front doors.
"Almost forty," Pete answers immediately. "There were eleven in the entrance hall alone- and I thought I went overboard with the Christmas decorations."
"Perish the thought. " Tom says dryly. "What did you bet? "
" Told her she could meet the President. " He pointedly ignores Tom's choking in surprise. "If I win, she has to spend the next week as Hangman's wingman."
" How does that even benefit you? " He chuckles.
"It'll be funny. " He insists, squeezing his hand as if that'll convince him. "Besides, it's not like she has anything I want. "
" Uh-huh. " He straightens his tie before reaching and adjusting Pete's. "And how exactly do you intend to let her meet the President if you lose?"
He raises his chin to make it easier. "Well. You can't tell anybody- but I actually know a guy who works in the White House. "
Tom's lips quirk up in that delightful way that makes his heart flutter and makes it worse by letting his thumb brush his jaw. "Do you know? And what makes you so sure he'll help you?"Pete grins, unrepentant. "Call it a gut feeling."
Tom hums, stealing a quick kiss pressed to the corner of his lips before the doors in front of them open. They enter, followed by the SECDEF and SECSTATE, and finally, President Dalton enters last. The room is beautiful. The decor is tasteful. A tall, grand Christmas tree behind the main tables, several smaller ones lining the walls. Each glows with a soft white light and is decorated with ribbons and small, colorful ornaments. There are a couple dozen round tables with white tablecloths and poinsettias as centerpieces. He lets Tom guide them to their seats, but everyone remains standing until Dalton approaches the podium and encourages everyone to sit.
Pete's hand is warm in Tom's, and they both pay the attention the President is due as he talks about the highs and lows of the year. Of being grateful and cherishing their moments with the ones they love. Of hope for the future and the dedication of hard work to shape that hope into something. His speech closes with a wish for everyone a happy and wonderful new year.
Servers walk around with trays full of flutes of champagne, and Pete helps himself to one as he takes his seat. "Do you think they buy the expensive stuff?"
Tom snorts. "I think it's more likely that they order the cheap shit and throw a nicer label on it."
He hums, amused by the thought. "Not like I'd know the difference. "
" I recall. " Tom says with a look. "I spent four hundred dollars on that bottle of wine for our anniversary, and your only comment was that it tasted like piss mixed with expired Kool-Aid. "
" Well, if we're recalling things, I don't exactly remember you drinking it either."
He extends his neck to see where the shortest line for food will be. He's a sucker for a buffet, food in general if someone were to ask Tom. To his dismay, they're all pretty long, everyone equally eager to get their food and skip the lines. Mav does spy a brisket that may just be worth the wait. Of course, he's already sure that it won't come even close to the brisket Hollywood smokes- god, can that man handle a barbecue- but hey, free brisket is free brisket. "I'm gonna grab a plate- do you want anything? "
"I'll grab my own. " He says, a hint of a smile gracing his lips. "I'm not sure there'll be anything left of the brisket once you get some."
He grins, not denying it. "Not all of us want a vinaigrette salad with salmon. "
" Some of us tried new foods after we were twelve. " Tom rolls his eyes and shoes him away with a small laugh, standing from his seat and heading for a different buffet line.
Apparently, he's not the only one whose eye caught the brisket. In truth, he hadn't been paying much attention. To in his head about what he was about to put on his plate and how good his husband looked in a suit. But really, who could blame him there? Tom is as handsome as he had been when they first met, but there are softer parts of him now, made especially for Mav.
"Pete. " Dalton smiles, grabbing a plate. "It's good to see you- have you settled in yet? "
" Mr. President. " He inclines his head. "Just about; it helps no longer being restricted to the house. If I spent one more day on bed rest, your SECNAV may have ended up deaf with all my complaining. " Pete chuckles at his own joke, and the President joins him.
"I know the feeling- I had been on bed rest for almost a month after surgery about a year ago now. My wife was sick of me. " He grins. "So was Russell. For a man who never takes a break, he absolutely refused to let me in on any work until the doctor cleared me. "
" I wish I could say Tom and I were different- but we barely manage to go two weeks on our vacations without itching to get back to work on something. " Pete helps himself to potatoes and brisket as they walk down the line. "Lord knows how we'll survive retirement."
Dalton laughs politely. "You know, when I first offered Tom the job, and he accepted, I really hadn't expected him to stick with it after I told him to take a week to think on it. I imagine it was a sacrifice on your part- which I truly thank you for."
Pete stills, hand still outstretched with a tong full of green beans. He clears his throat, fighting against the pit that his stomach has become. "The first time."
The President hums. "He had accepted it the same day, but since this is a very public position, I wanted him to take a week to think on it. Though it seems I could have accepted his first yes."
The same day.
The same day after Pete had told him it was him or the job.
Tom had taken the job.
Chose the job.
Was willing to lose him- to give him up while he was still bedbound.
Barely out of critical condition. Maverick had just gotten fucking blown up, and Tom- his husband chose a promotion over him.
After everything- almost forty years together and he chose to throw it away for nothing. This job is fucking nothing but something to build his ego. To make him feel important- so much like his father.
Sarah would be disappointed.
Pete's…Pete is numb. A roaring in his ears drowns out the holiday tunes, singing merrily. The music sounds like it's rooms away. It takes him a moment to register that the President is wishing him a good night before he leaves to join his own table. Maverick leaves his plate on the bar. He walks a few steps away, not entirely sure where he's going or what he is supposed to do? Confront Tom? Re-enact a movie scene and throw a glass of wine at him? All of it is nothing compared to the nauseating feeling spreading through him- god, he's going to be fucking sick. Immediately he turns heel, walking- damn near sprinting- out the double doors behind him, pushing off one of them as he rounds the corner and hurries into the bathroom stall. Pain sears from his knees as they hit the tile below him, and he grips the porcelain as he vomits his lunch and the little champagne he had.
It burns his throat; frankly, he's distantly surprised he can even feel that. His breathing is ragged. Is he crying? He might be. The taste in his mouth is awful, and all he can do is heave into the toilet.
A warm hand lays on his back, rubbing gentle circles. "Easy, Mav. " Tom says quietly.
He turns suddenly, more sudden than even he was prepared for, and slaps his hand away. "Don't fucking touch me. " He glares at him while wiping the edges of his mouth with his thumb.
Tom's eyebrows raise slightly, the only sign of confusion and curiosity. "What? " His hand drops to his side, waiting.
Pete hates him for it. "Great question. " He snaps. "Want to hear another: were you ever going to tell me that you accepted the job after I told you it was me or the job? Or were you just going to let me think that this was something we decided together?"
Tom goes still. He stays crouching while Pete stands. "What? No placating me? No playing politician? " His jaw sets. "Go fuck yourself. " He shoves the bathroom door open and storms out- blatantly ignoring Tom's attempt at calling him back as he steps out the front doors and into the SUV. "Take me home. " He says to the driver. He doesn't even care to see who it is.
He's angry. It coursing through his veins. He's so angry. He's been angry with Tom before, but never like this. Never so angry that his hands tremble at his sides, like he feels like something is clawing in his chest and demanding to be let out .
He throws his coat over the back of the couch. His phone is already in his hand, dialing Cyclone's number as he stomps up the stairs to their bedroom. Not even active thoughts guide his actions; he's in pure survival mode. Every action is instinctual.
It takes a few rings, but then: "Maverick. " He's greeted flatly. If the other man is surprised by his late-night call, he allows none of it to show.
"Did Lester accept the job yet? " He bypasses any small talk or greetings- they don't have that sort of relationship. It's not needed. They aren't friends, but there is mutual respect between them. Enough that an explanation won't be demanded- Simpson saw this coming anyhow. Somehow. Did everyone?
"No. " Cyclone answers. "I gave him till after the holidays to have an answer for me."
Pete nods to himself sharply. He digs his seabag out of the closet and throws it on the bed. "Rescind it. I will take over Top Gun. "
" This won't be a temporary thing, will it? " Simmons questions, Pete can imagine him leaning back in his seat with that annoying look on his face. "I don't want to piss off Lester just to have to go crawling back in three months. This needs to be a long-term commitment."
He pauses for a moment and looks around their bedroom. Thinks back to all the things Tom wanted. You wanted three years? I'll give you three fucking years. "No. It won't be temporary."
Simpson grunts. "When do you want to start? I'll get things moving. "
" Now. " Pete answers, haphazardly throwing clothes into his bag. "Can you see about getting me a flight tonight? "
There's something in Cyclone's tone that makes it clear he's wondering whether or not to push the issue. "Get to the airport, I'll handle the rest. " He seems brave enough to ask: "Am I going to have to deal with your husband being pissed off?"
He doesn't want to lie. "Possibly. Probably. " He answers. He puts the phone on speaker so he can change out of the monkey suit he's wearing and into some sweats and a hoodie. "But you can tell him to go fuck himself. " Obviously, he can't really tell Tom that, but Pete sure as shit can.
"… I'll leave that up to you. " Cyclone evades wisely. "I'll have a car waiting for you when you land. Will you need accommodations?"
The question makes him pause, the answer is clear, just weird to think that for the first time in a very long time he won't be going home when he gets back to Cali. They no longer own it. "Yeah. For a bit. " Till he figures out what the fuck he's going to do.
"Alright. " There's some clicking of keys that filter through the line. "On or off base? "
" On for now. " Pete decides while he dumps the contents of his medicine cabinet into the bag. "But don't put me in one of the shitty ones."
Cyclone doesn't laugh, but Pete has a feeling he's a bit amused nonetheless. "You make it tempting. " He deadpans. "There's a stateroom near your office. It'll work till you figure yourself out. " The slight humor that had resided in his voice fades. "Once you're on the plane, there will be some paperwork and a contract for you to read through and sign. Your clearance will be updated immediately. Warlock will assist in training you before he leaves for his own assignment. "
" Understood, sir. " Pete answers. "I'll take care of it as soon as I'm onboard."
Cyclone grunts, then says: "For whatever it's worth, I'm sorry for whatever happened between you and Admiral Kazansky. "
Vulnerability seizes him. "Thank you, sir. " And then the call is over and Pete is left in their bedroom with his bag mostly packed. Still, he needs his uniforms and laptops- and fuck .
He has to leave his bike.
As upsetting as the thought is, he pushes it aside. He can always send for it later. Pete yanks his chargers out of the wall- too roughly, but who cares. His backpack is old and worn, but still and good condition and easy to spot hanging up. He pulls it down, throws his laptop, chargers, and the more critical, easy-to-reach documents, and stuffs it to the brim.
He slings it over his shoulder and grabs the seabag. Pete heaves it all the way to the front door before plopping it down. The security detail looks at him when he opens the door. Andy isn't with them; of course, he wouldn't be; he's Tom's head of security, not his. Despite the fury in his blood, he's mindful enough not to bite their heads off. "Put this in the car, please, and get it ready."
One agent nods and grabs the bag; the other looks at him. "Where to sir? "
" Airport. " Pete tells him before heading back inside. His mind scrambles to think of anything he's forgetting- it's hardly the first time he's had to leave a home like this. He's experienced. Growing up in foster care and then the military gets you used to quick escapes. He's gotten lax, however. Complacent. He should've known better.
Clothes, check. Medicine, check. Phone, wallet, laptop, chargers, all check. Birth certificate and social, check. But then, for a moment, a sudden fear grips his throat. All of his money is in a joint account with Tom. He could be cut off, if Tom really wanted. Or lose everything.
Tom wouldn't. He tries to tell himself. But he could.
"Pete."
He freezes in the hallway, back turned away from his husband. His breath catches. All the things he'd been prepared to say never make it past his lips. The only thing that comes is: " No. "
Tom moves closer, his hand reaching out to grab his own. It kickstarts the anger. How dare he? He seethes. He yanks his hand away and turns on him, glaring. "I said fucking no, Tom. I don't want to hear a goddamned thing from you! "
" Please. " Tom begs, his face is contorted like he's the one that's been stabbed in the back. "Let me explain."
He laughs bitterly and throws his arms out wide. "Fucking explain what? That you fucking took this job- that you chose this job over me . I know I fucked up with the ultimatum- and I've apologized and explained, and never fucking once did you want to tell me that after I told you it was retirement or divorce, that you fucking chose divorce?!"
Tom winces. He plucks his glasses off the bridge of his nose. "It was in the heat of the moment- Dalton didn't accept it. I never took an actual step forward until we settled down and discussed it. "
" Do you actually think that any of that matters? " He asks lowly, in disbelief. His heart is suspiciously quiet. "That it doesn't mean anything because your boss told you to wait ? You still fucking made the decision! You still badgered me into agreeing- which I did only because I didn't fucking want to lose you . I made the sacrifice play. I played my role. I shut up, I moved, I postponed retirement, I play goody two shoes for the press. I do everything you need me to do to make this work for you. Because I love you more than I hate being here. " He tears his gaze away, not even trying to hide the tears forming. His voice goes quiet. "But you don't love me enough to sacrifice this job. Maybe not enough for any job. "
" Pete." Tom rasps, and they both know it's not from the cancer. "Please. That's not true. I love you. " He takes a step forward, and Pete takes one back. "I am sorry. Just tell me what I can do to fix this."
The truth hurts, aches and stings. "I don't think you can. " Pete says after a moment, finally looking up to his teary husband. "I'm leaving. I'm flying back to California tonight. And you- " He holds up his hands, flat-palmed, surrendering. "Can do whatever the hell you want. Be SECNAV, be SECDEF, or be the fucking President. Whatever is going to make you happy. You can finally chase your dreams without being bogged down by me."
Tom flinches at his words, but Pete doesn't stop to see what he'll say. He walks around Tom and shoves his hands in his hoodie pockets. He can hear the squeak of Tom's shoes as he turns around. His voice is soft. Defeated. Afraid and hopeful. "Can I call you when you land?"
He pauses in the doorway. "Best not. " Is all he says, and then walks out. Leaving his husband, home and DC all behind him.
He gets an express pass through the TSA. To be honest, he never even really sees them. His detail sticks closer than usual, and he's led to a private entrance, and the most he has to do is walk through the metal detector. His security detail follows him all the way to the gate. He gets a few glares because he skips the entire boarding queue and is permitted to walk right on and into first class. Pete makes a mental note to thank Cyclone for the expense; his body will, at the very least, not be in as much pain as it would be if he were to be cramped into economy seats.
Two of his agents follow him to the first-class cabin. "We'll be riding in first row of Business class. " He's told. "We'll escort you to your destination, and then return to DC."
Pete nods. "You really don't have to fly all that way- I'll be just fine. " He knows the answer he'll get-
"It's just protocol, sir."
He doesn't push it- no energy to put towards something that certainly won't change. So he nods and goes about settling into his seat. He tosses the wrapped blanket onto the shelf and takes a moment to figure out where to put his backpack. First class is not standard in his life. He's only ever done so twice, on his flight there and back from his honeymoon.
For a mercy , or more likely due to the better attention paid to first-class fliers, a flight attendant smiles and gestures to a compartment under the TV. It's a bit of a squeeze to make his bag fit, but he manages to close it.
That done, he settles into the plush leather seat. It's soft against his tense body, relieving his aches and pains that never seem to leave him anymore. The buckle clicks close, and he pulls on it just a little to ensure it's tight. He's fallen out of enough planes, thank you very much.
Other people pass by and take their seats, but he pays them no mind. They're just blurry shapes in his peripheral. Take-off is standard- there's a safety briefing that he happily ignores, and once they're in the air, he fishes out his laptop and reviews the documents Cyclone had sent. Pretty standard stuff; security clearance being updated, new pay rate, expectations and duties, timelines- all pretty standard stuff that doesn't take more than a skim to get the gist. It takes all of maybe an hour to sort through. Which leaves him with four hours and 23 minutes with just him and his thoughts. None of which he wants to deal with right now.
Everything's too raw. There's a physical pain in his chest that he's not sure will ever leave. His emotions linger beneath the surface, begging to be addressed, but Pete knows that if he does so now, all he'll cause is a scene. So, instead he does what they all do- order a whiskey and tries to keep himself occupied with anything but Tom. Anything but tears that want to come. Anything but the life he has built that is slipping away faster than he knows how to handle. Anything but how he is never enough. Not for his mother. Not for Bradley. Not for Tom.
Notes:
Let me know what you all think- I really tried to do this chapter justice. Where do we go from here? Hell if I know.
Chapter 36: California
Summary:
Pete's made it back to Cali. What comes next?
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
By the time he wakes the next morning, his phone is being blown up. Not from Tom- for once it seems he listened about not calling him. Most are from Bradley. It’s hard to guess what Tom would’ve told him- the truth? Or some excuse that Maverick was needed somewhere? He doesn’t know. He doesn’t even know which he hopes for- or which he’ll be using when he inevitably talks to one of their friends or family. God. Today is Christmas.
He’s spent plenty of Christmas’ without Tom before. Not because of arguments just simply because of their jobs or scheduling conflicts. All things that were just a part of the life they lived. It came with it, and he’s always understood that. But even on holidays spent alone or simply away from Tom, he’s always woken to a warm, loving text, with flowers or a gift at his door. There’ll be none of that today. Or maybe ever; if he’s ready for that level of truth.
He isn’t.
Pete clicks his phone off and lets it fall with a muffled thump on the bed. Doesn’t bother to drag his gaze down from the sterile gray ceiling above him. What is there to look at? At everywhere Tom isn’t? His heart beats but it feels distant, almost as if it’s happening a few rooms down rather than right in his chest. Even his fingers and toes fill estranged. Like they belong to someone else and he’s just borrowing them.
He left his husband last night.
He left Tom.
He’s alone.
Like always.
It’s a war in of itself- swallowing down the emotion’s he can’t even begin to name. Grief, anger, longing, confusion, all coiled together, like a snake constricting around his chest. It’ll kill him if he lets it.
There’s a weight there, now. One maybe he’ll never be rid of.
He should call Bradley back. Reassure him that everything’s alright- or at least will be.
He doesn’t.
He doesn’t call anyone. Doesn’t even grab his phone from off the bed as he somehow finds the will to rise. There’s probably a lot he should be doing. Responsible things. But the only thing he can do is somehow keep himself together. To hold the raw edges of his heart together, and make a plan on what to do.
Ice is the logical one, planners and calendars kept immaculate. Pete’s never been that- but he knows what to do when the world falls apart. How to keep himself together even through the worst of anything. His father died. His mother died and almost got him killed. He killed his best friend. He betrayed his son. His husband had cancer. He left his husband.
Every time the world had ended. Came crashing down around him in a fiery hell storm that he had to weather. To figure out what comes next and what to do about it. What he won’t do- can’t allow himself to do is wallow in his feelings or the situation. It won’t do anything but weaken his will and create a pit of despair no rope could pull him out of. Not that there’s anyone to throw down said rope.
No. Pete turns on the shower and lets the hot water shoot out- too hot, but it feels good against his skin. He needs a plan. Actionable next steps.
He tilts his head back, letting the water cascade off his head and down his body with a sigh. Money. Okay, well changing his deposit information isn’t hard. A simple form sent off and it would be changed by the next cycle. But to change it he’ll need a new bank account. Banks are closed today, so going in person is out, but Pete knows nowadays he can just make one online. Easy enough. He’ll do Navy Federal or USAA. Okay. One problem down. But then that begs the question: how much should he transfer from the joint account?
Most of it is Tom’s. Either earned or from what’s left over from selling the house. Pete’s contributed, of course, but there has always been quite a pay disparity since Tom became an Admiral. Ten grand? That’s at least a solid footing. But then he needs to see how much it cost to rent something decent near the base. It’s been over thirty years since he had to rent. They hadn’t even needed to pay a mortgage since the house was paid outright.
He harbors no intention of draining the account, or taking more than is fair. Even if they’re separate- he isn’t a greedy man, and god knows he doesn’t need to cause himself any other problems. Pete scrubs shampoo into his scalp. Takes a moment to think about it, he supposes he can look online for the rates and figure out something fair. On top of that, he’ll be receiving basic allowance for housing again. God, it’s been decades since he’s gotten that. When he still lived in that shaggy little apartment in San Diego. Does he have to apply? Or does it just come automatically? He can’t recall. Pete adds it to the list to ask his benefits advisor.
Either way, he has a baseline.
Next- transport. His bikes are all at the hanger. He’ll need to get at least one brought up to him. Maybe he and Nick can take a trip. He can’t imagine it’ll be used that often- Pete knows what comes with this station, this posting. How could he not? He saw the changes when Tom rose to Admiral. He’ll have a driver now. People always with him. His job now is not flying jets or piloting developmental pieces. It’s maintenance. Training plans. Requisitions and allotments.
Focus Pete. Bite size pieces. Focus on what you can control now.
He groans in protest but makes himself listen to himself. He’ll get overwhelmed if he thinks too broadly. The job is just a job- he can do whatever it is. He will do whatever it is. All that matters is surviving.
What would he even tell Nick? What does he tell his peers? His friends? Their family? Or is it only Tom’s family now? It can’t be that- god their entire lives are entwined. They were never meant to be separated. His head falls against the cool shower tiles. Lip bit hard enough he tastes copper- it’s all he can do to fight against the pressure and pain in his chest. Little Peter and Maddy. Nick and Emily. Sarah and Darrell.
He married into the family. Would he still be welcome if he isn’t with Tom? And god he has to stop acting like they’re divorced- he doesn’t even know what they are. Just apart. That’s all he can handle right now.
Bank. Money. Houses. Motorcycles. Talk to someone.
He turns off the shower and dries off. He grimaces at the towel. He may have gotten a little spoiled with the softness of the ones at home. Pete dresses then he digs his laptop out of the backpack. He really needs to buy a new one— it’s hanging on by a thread. Not even for a second does he pretend that he has the energy or desire to fully unpack. The furthest he made it was hauling his suit case onto the desk and opening it. Even that was dreadful. Just the thought of unpacking it is enough for exhaustion to slip in.
The room itself isn’t awful. In truth, compared to most quarters, it’s extravagant. A king sized bed, in an actual bedroom- a full kitchen, an office and a small living room. It’s certainly dated, and everything is clinical gray and whites, but it’s more than enough for what he needs.
Pete pads into the kitchen and sits his laptop on the kitchen table while he searches for a plug. While his laptop boots, he browses the kitchen. Cyclone must’ve made someone go to the general store or to the mess- there’s not a lot, mind, but there’s a set of new pots and pans, a plain full set of dishes and glasses. In the fridge there’s some basics. Eggs, milk, butter, some sandwich ingredients and a six pack of beer. The freezer is emptier, and a little bit covered in frost. Just some frozen pizzas and meat. The pantry is a bit better. A box of Cheerio’s, bread, cans of soup, chips and a thing of cookies. The cookies join him on his trip back to the kitchen table. Idly wondering if Cyclone picked out the food or whoever got sent to grab it all. It’s kind either way.
It’s not a long process, making the bank account. Doesn’t even take more than five minutes. It’s all just information he knows like the back of his hand. He could’ve done it in his sleep. He happily loses the battle to restraint and rewards himself with a cookie.
But now he has to make an opening deposit.
His gut churns at the idea. Twisting itself into knots. He rolls the chair back a bit and reaches for his phone on the bed. He tries not to look at the notifications as he unlocks it. He can’t handle the flood of messages or missed calls. Everyone is going to have to comfort themselves for now. He opens Ice’s contact. God- not even a day and already texting him? Some strong man he is.
Hey.
I need to transfer money out. Just enough to get settled here. Is there an amount you are comfortable with? I don’t intend on touching it after.
He reads it. Reads it again. And once more before hitting send. He hates talking to him so soon. It feels like failing. Or like he’s conceding. But also can’t stomach the idea of taking the money without a discussion.
Almost immediately the bubble pops up showing Tom is replying.
Take whatever you need. It’s our money- not mine. You don’t have to stop using our account, but if it makes you feel more comfortable I understand.
You don’t need permission.
Glad you made it safe.
I miss you.
Pete stares at it for a long moment, a part of him already itching to actually talk to Tom. Instead he opens the bank app and transfers 15 thousand. The money hasn’t been touched or moved, the balance is the same as it was before the fight. Not that Pete really believed Tom would do that- despite his ingrained fears. Because Tom is a man of principle. Honor and integrity and a fucking backstabbing coward.
Money: done.
He scrolls on his phone until he finds Slider. His thumb hesitates. Hovers over the contact photo- Ron drunk and having drug Tom up on stage for karaoke before the cancer. Isn’t Slider Tom’s now? Is it wrong of him to call? It might be. He admits to himself. Slider is Tom’s best friend- and Tom deserves to have that. He clicks off and scrolls through his contacts. There’s always Hondo- but outside that? How has it become that Pete genuinely has to consider Bates and Simpson as his people?
For a small mercy- before he can send anyone a text- he remembers its Christmas and people aren’t going to want to be bothered by this today. It’s a happy day. Meant to be joyful, to celebrate with friends and family.
His heart aches at that.
What would his father say? It’s hard to know. He had been young when Duke died, not as young as Bradley, but young enough. He remembers strong arms giving him hugs and hands guiding him to repair his bicycle when it broke. A proud man, but a good father. A loving husband. Would he even approve of his choices? Of who he is and the fact that he may be divorcing his husband?
His mother is somehow even harder. Suzanne Mitchell had been the perfect mom. Made him snacks and cut the crust off his sandwiches. Kissed his hurts and stitched his clothes whenever he tore them. That same woman is the one who became a drunk and let him learn what true hunger is when she spent the last of their money on alcohol. Who had gotten drunk that night after a book club with her friends and their husbands, had ranted the entire drive about how it wasn’t fair Duke died, that she loved and missed him, and would do anything to see him again.
And then she ran off the road and struck a tree. To this day- he’s terrified to know if it was on purpose or not. To know if his mom had been willing to kill him too to see Duke again.
Maybe they’re the proof that he isn’t meant for relationships. That his marriage was always going to break down. A curse perhaps, on the Mitchell name. What if he had passed that on to Tom? What if being associated with him had cost Tom promotions or Bradley fair grades and better stations? What if all he’s ever done is hurt everyone?
Pete buries his face in his hands. He’s spiraling. He knows it. He has to focus on something else. Food maybe. Food always helps. There’ll be food in the mess; considering it’s Christmas they’ll have made something special like they always do. He’s always eaten in the mess when he was on duty, or sometimes even when off. It’s always felt more like him. Like people he can relate to. But god there’ll be so many people there.
Less than a typical Thursday, but still a lot. Pete turns a little in his chair and looks to the uniform hanging. Well. The two uniforms hanging. His dress blues and the khakis. Tom always wore the dress blues to Flag Mess, but typically the standards are loosened a bit for Christmas and khakis are permitted. He’s never gone to a Flag Mess without Tom. It’s only for Admiral’s and Senior Officers. A place he’d ordinary avoid like the plague. But for today, with the promise of less people and some quiet- it’s his silver lining.
His stomach rumbles in agreement, and he obeys it. Pete makes quick work of dressing in the Khaki’s- he’ll find out soon enough if he’s meant to be in Blues. Besides. Unless Bates or Simpson is there; he outranks everyone on this base.
When he arrives, there’s only three others already there. Two talking amongst each other and the other is reading the newspaper. Pete gives a polite smile to the Sailor running the mess. They don’t seem to expect much from him. Politely wishing him a Merry Christmas and loads his plate up with french toast, eggs and bacon.
If Patrov were here he’d be proud of the amount of calories on his plate. Enough to at least help him gain a pound or two. He helps himself to a coffee and wishes her a Merry Christmas as well before taking a seat away from the others. He’s not blind to the curious glances sent his way. He wasn’t expected. His position hasn’t been announced or confirmed by Washington yet. They had no reason to expect the Admiral with the symbolic promotion and husband to SECNAV would grace their mess hall this morning.
Pete doesn’t care to explain. All too happy to let his rank cause enough of a divide to make it uncomfortable for them to broach any conversation with him. He doesn’t want to explain. Doesn’t feel the need to. He can barely explain it to himself, never mind anyone else. Hell, if they ask he might just say he’s preforming inspections. Keep them on their toes a bit. Can’t let anyone get too comfortable.
He’s learned that lesson well enough.
Pete douses his toast in syrup. Healthy way to start the day. Sugar and carbs. He won’t be able to keep the others away forever. Someone will feel comfortable or daring enough to start probing. Or perhaps worried about what he’s going to tell SECNAV.
Two days ago; Pete would have been amused by the idea. Now, there’s nothing. Hell, the food doesn’t even taste like anything; and even mess hall food taste like something- bad is something. Especially in the meals served for senior officers. Almost tastes as bad as food had when he had been released from the hospital last year, when everything was ashy and grainy.
It sours the little appetite he has. He isn’t in the mood for any of this. Not the food. Not the holiday. Not the curious glances or everyone’s cheer. Christmas sucks. No wonder his foster families didn’t celebrate it.
Pete’s spent every year since being an adult with his own friends and partners and money to make holidays mean something. Because he remembers how lonely it was being a teenager and spending every holiday alone- going to school and everyone talking about their plans and decorations and family. All things Pete lost when he lost his parents. He spent decades celebrating every holiday, and for what? He’s still alone.
Fuck Christmas. And every other holiday while he’s at it. Who even cares? What has been the point of all the money and time he spent celebrating them? Like he could run from the truth; hide it behind Christmas trees and Easter Bunnies.
What a fool he’s been all these years.
Pete pushes his food around. Watching the toast leave syrup trails around the plate.
“Admiral Mitchell?”
He pauses and looks up. “Yes?” It’s an one star. Decent ribbon rack. His hair is neat- though that’s to be expected. Even if he wasn’t an Admiral. Everyone wants to look the best for their families on Christmas.
“How are you doing today, sir? Bit of a surprise to see you here- we weren’t expecting you.” Miller, his name tag reads.
“I wasn’t aware I needed to inform you of my comings and goings.” Pete says blandly. He immediately wants to slap himself upside his head. There’s little and less reason to be rude to someone who has played no part in his mood. He waves off the response he was about to get. “Forgive me. It’s been a rough morning. I’m well.” Liar. “And yourself?”
The tension that had built in the mans shoulders lessens a touch. “All good, Admiral. I should know better than to disturb a man before he has the chance to have some coffee- especially since you probably arrived last night.”
He’s fishing for information. “I did.” Pete confirms. Harmless enough. Not really opening the door for anything else.
“We’re glad to have you, sir.” He nods. He’s dark skinned, light green eyes and freshly shaven. Head tilted a little in curiosity. “Is Admiral Kazansky with you too?”
“If he were I imagine I’d be having breakfast with him.” Pete says levelly. His earlier revelation about not being rude is gone. Why can’t he be left alone? “Please excuse me, Admiral, I’d like to eat in peace. Have a Merry Christmas.”
“Sir.” He straightens- almost to attention. Pete can’t help but wonder if he’s perhaps newly promoted. He seems a bit green. The wondering only last a moment before he decides he doesn’t care. Doesn’t have the space to care about anything but what he’s going through. Mav doesn’t even acknowledge him as he takes his leave. He only manages a bite more before giving up and pushing it away.
What’s the damn point? It’s not like he can even taste it. Why is he even out here ruining everyone’s Christmas like the Grinch? The Admiral hadn’t deserved how he treated him. Pete can’t help his low sigh, grabbing his plate and putting it with the dirty ones down the bar. Obviously, he isn’t meant to be in public today. Why had he even pretended he was? It’s not like it’s hard to order in. Especially now.
His hands stuff themselves back in his pockets as he walks back to his room. He can’t help but think about what today was meant to be- him and Tom waking up together, heading downstairs early to make a proper Christmas feast for everyone. Sharing a peppermint mocha and those pancakes Ice had loved. Rooster and Hangman would’ve probably joined them after they smelt the bacon cooking. Not that they’d help. Well, Hangman probably would- he’s full of those Southern Mannerisms. Rooster would have been half asleep on the bar stool stealing pieces of food as they came of the stove. It would have been loud, and warm, and presents and alcohol. Mistletoe he’d kiss his husband under. Colorful- blue and white for Hanukkah and all the colors of Christmas through the house. Bright and warm- like a hug and a memory wrapped in one.
He can almost see it before his eyes, but the idea dies a bitter death as it falls away and he’s left staring into his bland, lifeless room. No love, no warmth or presents. No hugs and kisses. No friends and family.
Maybe this is what the rest of his life is going to look like. Maybe all that’s left is this. Him and a barracks. Just how he started. Funny how nothing changes. He was 18 and alone then. Now he’s 60 something and alone again. Somehow, it feels so much worse. Maybe because this time he doesn’t have a whole life ahead of him. He’s lived his life. Fell in love, married, practically adopted a kid, had the cookouts and dinners, and seen the world, and yet he’s still him. Nothing ever can change that. Maverick, at heart, is still Pete. And Pete always loses everything.
Notes:
Hey everyone! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I'm a little stumped on where to go from here so if you have any opinions or ideas I'd love to hear them!
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