Training Detachment

by GalahadsGurl

Summary:

The Daggers are recalled to TOPGUN for a special training detachment. Jake has his best friends on his wings, so absolutely nothing could go wrong.

Enter one Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw and his daddy issues.

Well, fuck.

Notes:

• For CharityLynn02.

Chapter 1: Day 1

- Day 1 -

Jake suppressed a yawn as he made his way across the tarmac toward the TOPGUN facilities, the early morning sun barely peeking over the horizon. His neatly pressed khakis were crisp despite the muggy California morning, though his cover sat slightly crooked on his head - a subtle act of rebellion that would have earned him an eye roll from his dad if he'd been around to see it.

The sound of approaching footsteps made him turn, a grin spreading across his face as he caught sight of Javi jogging to catch up with him. His best friend looked annoyingly alert for the ungodly hour, his own uniform regulation-perfect. Jake groaned, shoving at Javi’s shoulder as he slowed to a walk beside him. “Do you ever look human, or is perfection just the usual for you?”

"Good morning to you too, kitten," Javi chirped with a grin, falling into step beside him. "You look like something the cat dragged in.” Adopting a mockingly concerned expression, he asked, “Late night?"

Jake snorted, reaching over to mess up Javi's meticulously combed hair. "Some of us didn't have the luxury of going home to our spouses, Pup. The base quarters aren't exactly five-star accommodations."

"Your dad's offer still stands, you know," Javi reminded him, swatting Jake's hand away and then running his fingers back through curls to try and fix the mess sight unseen. "Your old room's just collecting dust."

"Yeah, yeah." Jake waved him off, though the offer was tempting. Staying at his dad's place would mean real food and an actual bed, not to mention being close enough to make sure the old man wasn't pushing himself too hard with his treatments. But it would also mean having to watch his dad struggle and see the toll the cancer was taking up close.

Jake wasn't entirely sure he was ready for that.

Not yet, anyway.

The friends reached the hanger briefing area together to find most of the other pilots recalled for the detachment already assembled. Lt. Natasha “Phoenix” Trace gave them a lazy salute from where she sat with Lt. Robert “Bob” Floyd, the newly paired pilot and WSO already deep in conversation about something technical-sounding that Jake would more than likely ask Javi about later anyway. As for Rooster, the black sheep of the Kazansky-Mitchell-Benjamin family seemed to be holding court near the back of the hanger, though his swagger dimmed noticeably when he caught sight of Jake and Javi making their way through the open bay doors.

"Looks like the gang's all here," Jake muttered, dropping into a seat at the front table. Javi had already settled into a seat, his notebooks, F/A-18 NATOPs and pen set out around him as he scratched out notes about the people in attendance for the briefing. Jake rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair with an amused shake of his head.

Some things never changed - his best friend still had to be the biggest nerd in any room.

“Attention on Deck!” a voice shouted, sending them all rocketing to their feet as Vice Admiral Beau "Cyclone" Simpson, the Air Boss at NAS North Island, strode in alongside Rear Admiral Simon "Warlock" Bates, followed by an older man in khakis and glasses that Jake only vaguely recognized. The grim expressions on their faces set off warning bells in Jake's head. Whatever this classified training detachment was about, it was serious.

"Good morning," Warlock began, his voice carrying to every corner of the room. "Welcome to your special training detachment. Be seated.”

As everyone settled back into their seats, the man continued speaking. “I’m Admiral Bates, NAWDC Commander. You’re all TOPGUN graduates, the elite. The best of the best.”

Jake grinned at the praise, which sunk when Bates continued. “That was yesterday. The enemy’s new fifth-generation fighter has leveled the playing field. Details are few, but you can be sure that we no longer possess the technological advantage. Now, more than ever, the success of your missions comes down to the man, and the woman, in the box.”

Jake glanced at Javi, catching his partner's subtle nod. Whatever was coming, they'd face it together. Just like always.

“Half of you will make the cut, and one of you will be named mission leader. The rest of you will be kept in reserve in the case of need.” Bates’ eyes lifted to something at the back of the hangar, indicating that something - or someone - had just shown up at the back of the hangar. “Your instructor is a TOPGUN graduate with real-world experience in every mission aspect that you will be expected to master. His exploits are legendary, and he’s considered to be one of the finest pilots this program has ever produced. What he has to teach you may very well mean the difference between life and death. I present to you, Captain Pete Mitchell, callsign Maverick.”

Jake’s eyebrows shot upwards, twisting to find a newly steaming Rooster at the back of the group as a familiar figure stepped to the front of the room. Maverick Mitchell had been Jake's honorary uncle since Jake and Tyler came to live with Maverick’s oldest friend and wingman, Iceman Kazansky. But Maverick was more than just their uncle and a living legend of naval aviation - Maverick was also Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw’s estranged godfather. Maverick used to fly with Rooster’s father, Goose, back in ‘86, before a training accident took the life of Maverick’s RIO and best friend. Jake didn’t know the specifics of what had happened nearly ten years ago, but Rooster and Maverick had fallen out, with the Kazanskys landing firmly on Maverick’s side in the argument.

Rooster couldn’t be happy to see Maverick here. Hell, he hadn’t been happy to see Jake, and Jake had only taken Maverick’s side because his dad did.

"Good morning," Maverick began, his piercing blue eyes sweeping over the room. Jake turned back to the front at the sharp elbow from Javi into his ribs, smirking a little to find Maverick giving the room that wonderfully disarming grin he had. One hand lifted the NATOPS, the same edition Javi had beside him, and began to address his students. "The F/A-18 NATOPS. It contains everything they want you to know about your aircraft. Now, I’m assuming you know the book inside and out.”

“Damn right,” Jake muttered along with the rest of the detachment, glancing at Javi with a cocked eyebrow to find his WSO already taking notes and shaking his head in response to Jake’s silent question.

The heavy thud of the book hitting the trash can next to the podium earned even Javi’s attention, and Jake blinked a little, eyes narrowing as Maverick smirked and announced. “So does your enemy.”

Jake could hear a soft voice murmuring from near the admirals, “And we’re off,” earning a soft chuckle from Javi beside him and a roll of Jake’s eyes. Of course, Javi would find that bit of dry humor amusing - it was precisely his style. Jake, however, kept his eyes on his uncle as Maverick scanned over the detachment and continued, “But what the enemy doesn’t know is your limits. I intend to find them, test them, and push beyond them.” He smirked a little, shoulders shrugging in amusement. “To see whether or not you’re capable of seeing impossible as only another challenge and not a barrier to success.”

He paused, letting his words sink in. "Because the impossible is the business. Impossible is what I am going to teach you to do every damn day, teaching you to push your jet and yourself to the limit.” He smirked. “I promise you this - by the time you’re on that aircraft carrier, and the mission is underway? Impossible will be just another Tuesday."

A ripple of laughter rippled through the room, the tension breaking just a little. Jake felt himself grinning despite the gravity of the situation. Leave it to Maverick to make flying into certain death sound like just another day at the office.

"So today, we're going to work on your teamwork skills," Maverick continued. "I'm going to teach you how to think as one unit. Because up there, you won't just be fighting for your country - you'll be fighting for the wingman in the jet beside you, the person in the backseat with you."

His gaze landed on Jake and Javi, something like approval in his eyes. "Some of you already know what that's like.” Head tilting, he asked, “Hangman, Twister - how long have you two been flying together?"

"Seven years, sir," Javi answered promptly. "Give or take a few months while I was in the Reserves."

Maverick nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. "And in those seven years, did you learn to think as a unit?"

"Not quite, sir," Jake drawled with an amused grin, glancing at Javi and earning an amused snort and a roll of his eyes. "I learned to let him do the thinking and trust he wouldn’t put us wrong."

His uncle chuckled, head shaking. “And that works for you?”

“We aren’t dead yet,” Jake replied with a lazy grin and a shrug. “I trust him. And he trusts me. And that’s enough to get shit done.”

Turning to face the rest of the detachment, Maverick continued, “You will learn over the next several weeks, without a shadow of a doubt, how to bring the person with you home safe. Because this mission is going to take everything you have to survive . . . and even then, survival is going to take miracles."

He clapped his hands together, the sound echoing like a gunshot. "So today, we’ll start with what you think you know. Show me what you’re made of."

Jake felt a thrill run through him at Maverick's words, the same adrenaline rush he always got before a challenging hop. Beside him, Javi was leaning forward in his seat, that familiar gleam of determination in his eyes. They were ready for this, Jake realized. Ready to put their skills and their bond to the ultimate test.

The rest of the briefing passed in a blur of technical details and mission parameters. Beside him, Javi took dutiful notes, but Jake’s mind had already taken off . . . already up in the sky, running through maneuvers and contingencies. Even as he jotted down ideas and calculations beside him, Jake could see that Javi’s thoughts were right there with him, pen flying across the page.

The briefing wrapped up and the pilots began to disperse to prep for their individual hops, Maverick caught Jake's eye, motioning for him to stay behind. Jake exchanged a curious glance with Javi but waved him on ahead. "I'll catch up with you later, Pup. Gotta see what the old man wants."

Javi snorted but squeezed Jake's shoulder as he passed. "Roger that. Don't do anything stupid while I can’t vouch for your whereabouts, yeah? Alibis only work if I have prior knowledge of your crazy."

"No promises," Jake called after him, grinning at Javi's exasperated eye-roll as the WSO made his way out of the hangar. As for Jake, he walked through tables toward Maverick, the older pilot's movements precise and economical as he gathered up his things. "You wanted to see me, sir?"

Maverick glanced up, a small smile playing at his lips. "How are you holding up, Jake?"

Jake shrugged, trying to play off the concern in Maverick's eyes. "I'm all right, sir. Just ready to get back in the air."

"I hear that." Maverick clapped him on the shoulder. "But that's not what I meant, and you know it. I’ve known your dad for a long time, and I probably knew his cancer was back even before you did. And now with Sarah buggin’ out . . ."

Jake felt his throat tighten, the old anger and hurt welling up. He'd been trying not to think about his dad's ex-wife, about the way she'd bailed when the going got tough. "Yeah, well. It is what it is. Dad's better off without her anyway."

Maverick's eyes softened. "He's lucky to have you kids looking out for him. You and Tyler, of course, but also Javi and Kate . . . Penny spends a lot of time over there, and she’s always impressed by how well Kate’s taking care of him." His smile turned sly. "I’m not sure if Tom even realizes he’d been adopted, but it’s been amusing to watch whenever I make my way by."

That startled a laugh out of Jake. "Yeah, Kate has been amazing with Dad." One shoulder shrugged. “And Javi’s keeping my feet on the ground and my head outta the clouds, which sounds like a good thing considering this mission.” Jake frowned a little as he asked, “Can you tell me anything?”

“Let’s get through today’s dogfighting exercise, and then we’ll go into further detail about the mission itself. Right now, I’m just trying to whittle down the crop to something a little more manageable. This team is not going to be easy to build.” He winked. “How’s Tyler?”

Jake snorted with a grin. “A pain in my ass. As per usual.”

"Pretty sure that’s what brothers are for." Maverick squeezed his shoulder. "Listen, Jake . . . I know this mission is a lot right now, with everything going on with your dad. But if you need to talk or even just blow off steam, my door's always open to you. Okay? No matter what."

Jake swallowed hard, touched by the offer. Maverick had always been there for him and Tyler, a steady presence in their lives even when everything else was going to hell. "Thanks, Uncle Mav. I appreciate it."

"Anytime, kid." Maverick pulled him into a quick hug, thumping his back. “And hey, try not to get into it with Rooster, okay?”

Jaw tightening, he grunted. “I won’t get into it with him if he doesn’t get into it with me. Fair?”

“Somehow, I think that’s as good as I’m going to get,” the older aviator laughed, ruffling Jake’s hair fondly. “I’m pulling for you, kid. Don’t let me down.”

A bright, beaming grin slipped across Jake’s lips as he pulled on his Hangman persona and boasted, “Let you down? Me? Never!”

"Yeah, yeah,” Mav laughed, shoving fondly at his shoulder. “Go on, get out of here. Catch up with that partner of yours before he gets into trouble."

Jake snorted. "Javi? In trouble? Not his job in this partnership, Uncle Mav."

"Uh-huh. And I'm a delicate flower." Maverick shooed him away. "Go on, get. I'll see you after preflight."

"Yes, sir." Jake shot off a sloppy salute, grinning at Maverick's exasperated headshake.

He jogged out of the hangar into the bright California sunshine, taking a deep breath of the salt-tinged air. Despite the gravity of the mission ahead, he felt lighter somehow. Ready to take on whatever challenges lay ahead. He kept moving across the tarmac before finally spotting Javi deep in conversation with Phoenix and Bob near one of the F/A-18Fs. His best friend glanced up as he approached, a small smile tugging at his lips as he teased, "There you are. I was starting to think Maverick was gonna keep you all day."

"Nah, he just wanted to check in." Jake bumped Javi's shoulder with his own, slinging one arm over his shoulder and letting Javi take his weight with a chuckle. Javi didn’t do more than grunt, bracing himself a little bit under Jake’s dead weight. "You know how he gets."

"Old mother hen, that one," Javi agreed with fond affection, head shaking for a moment before he shrugged and jostled Jake just enough he could step forward, forcing Jake to take his own weight without stepping out from under Jake’s arm. "Can't really blame him, though. With everything going on at home? This whole thing is a lot to add on top of it."

Jake sobered, dropping his head to rest his forehead against Javi’s temple. "We got this, Pup. You and me . . . we can handle anything they throw at us."

Javi's smile widened, hazel eyes warm with affection and trust. "Damn straight, kitten."

"The gruesome twosome, back at it again,” Jake boasted, returning his friend’s grin, that familiar thrill of anticipation building in his gut and leaving him practically shaking with eagerness to get moving.

Across from them, Phoenix groaned, rolling her eyes as she insisted, "God, the two of you are absolutely nauseating. Please, just get a room already."

A small twinge skipped through Jake at the joke, though his smile never faltered as he teased, “Aw, come on now, Phee. Don't be jealous. Not everyone can have a bromance as epic as ours."

"I'll try to contain my envy." Phoenix's voice was dry as the desert, but there was a hint of amusement in her eyes as she glanced toward Bob with a smile. "Now, if you two are done making googly eyes at each other, some of us have actual work to do. We have hops to prep for, remember?"

"So diligent," Javi teased with a wink. "Keep this up, and people might start to think you actually care, Phee."

"Perish the thought." Phoenix flipped him off cheerfully. "Come on, Bob. Let's leave these two lovebirds to their canoodling."

Bob shot them an apologetic smile as Phoenix dragged him away, his protests fading into the distance. Jake just shook his head, amused. Phoenix loved to give them crap, but he knew she had their backs when it counted. That's what made her such a great wingman. And while he hated to see her leave, damn, but he did love to watch her go. “God, I love her.”

“One day, you might even tell her that,” his best friend snarked, earning Jake’s elbow in his ribs and a giggle that both of them knew Javi would deny to his dying breath. “What? Do you really want me to believe you’re not still pining hard for that woman? Because I will call you a liar if you try to sell me on that bullshit.”

“You’re a menace,” Jake huffed, steering Javi along by the arm curled around the shorter aviator’s throat, “and I hate you.”

“Yes, dear,” Javi simpered, eyes already rolling and earning laughter from them both. “Come on. We have hops to prep for. Let’s go get ready.”

An hour or two later, they were in full gear, scoping out their bird, when Jake jumped at the soft smack of Javi’s hand against his shoulder. “What the hell?”

“Don’t be a dumbass, but check out my three o’clock,” his best friend hissed in a low tone, accompanied by a distinct look that clearly telegraphed Javi’s opinion of Jake’s usually less-than-subtle maneuvers.

Jake shot him a fond glare, then shifted to check the fuel intake, allowing him to rotate enough to catch sight of Rooster and Maverick talking in the middle of the airfield, their words drowned out by the sound of screaming jet engines but the looks on their faces contrasts in conflict. Maverick looked concerned and sad, while Rooster looked remote but still somehow furious.

Whatever they were saying to each other, neither of them seemed all that happy about it.

“What do you think that’s about?” Javi asked, leaning into the canopy to clip his favorite radar toy to the side of his console.

“Fuck if I know,” Jake sighed, glancing up at his WSO with a twist of his mouth. “Dad still won’t say what happened. Like, I know Bradley didn’t make it into the Academy, but I didn’t either, and neither did you, so I’m still not sure why that’s such a sore point for the idiot.”

“Did you ever ask Chicken Little?”

“Ask him what? Why he’s constantly a little shit to Uncle Mav and acting like he’s god’s gift to aviation?” Jake snarled, features twisting with frustration.

“No, kitten, that’s still you,” Javi teased, fingers reaching to smooth through Jake’s hair and soothe his ruffled feathers with practiced ease. “Deep breaths, Jake. We don’t know enough about what’s going on to be able to get involved, right? Let it go for now. Just keep your eyes on our bird, and then let’s get into the ready room to wait our turn, yeah?”

Jake took a deep breath and then nodded. “Yeah. Thanks, Jav.”

A brief side view of a grin was all Jake could see before Javi was leaning back into the cockpit, promising, “That’s what I’m here for, Jake. Can you hand me my toolkit? There’s a couple things looser than I’d like in here.”

Eyes rolling, Jake crouched to sort through Javi’s gear bag for the requested toolkit, tone dry as he teased, “Is there any way for you to not be the nerdiest thing on two-legs?”

“Pretty sure that’s a negative, ghostrider,” Javi replied, buried to the waist, with one foot tilted off the ground to help him keep his balance. “You and I both know that I’m the brains of this operation, Jake - you’re the pretty face.”

“Best of both worlds,” Jake agreed, glancing over to find Rooster storming away from Maverick at last while his uncle watched the younger man go with soul-deep sadness etched into the lines of his face. “Here. Your kit, as requested.”

Jake continued to scan over the rest of their bird as Javi fiddled with the inside instruments before calling out, “Kitten! Little help!”

Chuckling, Jake turned around to find Javi stuck in his cockpit, one foot still flailing as he tried to regain his balance and straighten up. “You really are such a nerd,” he insisted, grabbing the strap of Javi’s torso harness and hauling him upright. “You know you get stuck every time you do that.”

Javi shrugged, one hand coming up to push back the newly disordered curls before hopping down off his wing. “Yeah, and?”

Jake laughed, throwing an arm around his shoulders and roughing him up a little. “You’re such a little nerd, you know that?”

“And I’m your nerd,” Javi chuckled, bumping against him with his hip. “What does that say about you?”

“Man, I shudder to contemplate,” Jake joked, head shaking, ruffling his best friend’s hair and ruining Javi’s attempt at fixing them. “Come on. Let’s go see if Coyote saved us seats.”

“Of course, he did,” the younger aviator insisted with a scoff. “Well, saved me a seat at least.”

The spluttering protest of, “Why wouldn’t he save me a seat?!” from Jake earned laughter from Javi, when Coyote spoke up from where he had actually saved them seats in the ready room. “Brotherly privilege. He yanking your chain again, little brother?”

“No more than usual, big brother,” Javi agreed, the two stepbrothers bumping knuckles even as Javi collapsed into a seat and closed his eyes.

Jake rolled his eyes, sitting next to Javi as he insisted. “Isn’t Pup older?”

“Yeah,” Coyote agreed with a grin, “but I’m bigger.”

“Everybody’s bigger than Javi,” Jake joked, dodging the punch Javi aimed at him sight unseen. “Jav’s pocket-sized.”

“Bite me, dickhead.”

“Aww, Twister,” Jake cooed, dodging another, more pointed attempt, “you do say the sweetest things to me. Does Tyler know you want me to bite you?”

“Tyler knows a lot of things,” Javi purred in that tone that Jake had learned early was the precursor to trouble. “And I’m pretty sure if I started listing them, you might actually learn a few things.”

Unable to laugh at the teasing roast, nevertheless Jake protested, “Oi! You little shit!”

“Love you too, kitten. Now shut up. I’m napping here.”

Jake and Coyote were both chuckling, heads shaking as Javi closed his eyes and let his head rest back against the chairback. They both watched his head tilt towards the speaker when Maverick’s voice filled the space around them, speaking from the cockpit of his own plane. “Good morning, aviators. This is your captain speaking.”

The Javys snickered at the joke as Jake shook his head at his uncle’s ridiculousness. Fanboy, Payback, and Rooster were the first up during the 2-on-1 engagement, and Jake wondered how this first attempt would go. “As briefed, today’s exercise is dogfighting. Guns only, no missiles. We do not go below the hard deck of 5,000 feet. Working as a team, you have to shoot me down, or else.”

“Or else what?” Payback asked through the monitor, and Javi groaned, sinking lower into his chair.

“Or else I shoot back,” Maverick replied, laughter in his tone. “If I shoot either one of you down, you both lose.”

From behind Jake, he could hear one of the other aviators mutter, “This guy needs an ego check.”

Jake watched Javi crack one disbelieving eye open at the statement while Yale and Harvard laughed from near the foosball table in response to the announcement. The two slapped hands, with Yale insisting, “We’ll see to that.”

“Oh, this is going to be fun,” Coyote groaned, head falling back against the back of his chair.

Javi’s head twisted at the sound of Payback questioning through the radio, “What do you say that we put some skin in the game?”

“What do you have in mind?”

“Whoever gets shot down has to do 200 pushups.”

“Guys,” Rooster groaned, even as Maverick insisted, “That’s a lot of pushups.”

“Well, they don’t call it an exercise for nothing, sir.”

“All right,” his uncle insisted, amusement and laughter coating the words in a way that Jake recognized all too well, “you got yourselves a deal, gentlemen. Fight’s on. Let’s turn and burn.”

Javi jolted upright instantly, twisting to stare at Jake and drawing everyone's attention as he snapped, “I do not agree to that bet.”

“Relax,” Jake soothed, reaching out to squeeze the back of his best friend’s neck. “We’re not gonna get shot down, Pup. I promise.”

“Jake,” his best friend breathed, wide-eyed and panicked.

Knowing that if he let it get too far, they’d get pulled, Jake set a sharp glare at the rest of the room, barking, “Don’t you all have shit to do?”

There was a mad scramble as everyone fought to be the first person focused elsewhere, giving Jake the confidence to tug his WSO under his arm and squeeze him close and tight. “Hey, have I let you down before?” Jake insisted in a low undertone meant for them alone.

Javi sounded small and meek as he replied with tremulous confidence, “No.”

“Then trust me. I got your back.” Another quick squeeze, and he promised, “I won’t let anything happen to you, not even this.”

Coyote was staring at his stepbrother, eyes narrowed as he demanded in a low tone, “All right, what’s with the sudden fear of push-ups?”

Jake smoothed his fingers through Javi’s curls, coaxing him down from the rush of anxious nerves, informing Coyote in a smooth tone that sounded completely absent but was a clear “Fuck off” to anyone who knew him. “Let’s just say that tornadoes are assholes, and they can do a shit ton of damage. Even when you’re prepared for them.” He glanced at Javi, then back at Coyote, lowering his voice as he replied, “Pup doesn’t have the forearm strength for them anymore. There was an accident . . . he’s lucky he didn’t lose the hand.”

Javi yanked anxiously at the left sleeve of his flight suit, eyes still wide and breathing a little too fast. “I can’t, Jake. I can’t.”

“You won’t have to, Jav, okay?” Jake promised, tugging Javi that small inch closer and pressing his lips against his best friend’s temple, utterly uncaring about the hit he was taking to his lone wolf reputation in the process. “I got your back, brother. Just breathe with me. It’s gonna be okay. I got you.”

Javi took a slow, shaky breath before nodding. “Okay.”

“There we go,” he soothed, tugging him a little closer as he gave Coyote a quick, sharp look that he hoped his longtime wingman would be able to figure out. Considering the fact that Coyote reached out for one of the blankets on an end table and helped him bundle Javi up into it, their silent communication seemed to be better than ever. “Just breathe for me. I’ll talk to Maverick and explain the situation, but we’re not gonna get shot down. Not by Mav . . .” He trailed off, then grinned, nudging Javi as he joked, “Dad would never let me hear the end of it.”

The soft giggle that slipped free of his best friend sounded like peace, and Jake grinned, relieved to know that Javi had relaxed enough to find the humor in the situation. Javi took a long, slow breath, eyes falling closed as he slumped into Jake and tugged the blanket around him that much tighter. Jake let him get away with it, willing to stand between Javi and the end of the fucking world if he had to.

Preventing his friend from having to do push-ups?

Easiest thing he’ll have ever done.

Chapter 2: Day 2, Hop 1

Summary:

It's their turn in the air, and Phoenix isn't sure how she feels about having Hangman for a wingman.

Phoenix rolled her shoulders as she settled into the cockpit of her F/A-18F Super Hornet, trying to work out the last bits of tension before the hop. Her new WSO, Lieutenant Robert "Bob" Floyd, was going through his preflight checklist behind her with meticulous care. She'd only known him for a day, but she already appreciated his attention to detail and quiet competence.

"All systems go up here," she reported, flipping the last few switches. "How're you doing back there, Bob?"

"Almost ready," he replied, his voice calm and steady in her ears. "Just finishing the radar calibration."

"Take your time." She glanced out her canopy at the other F/A-18F sitting on the tarmac nearby. Lieutenant Jake "Hangman" Seresin and his WSO, Lieutenant Commander Javi "Twister" Rivera, were going through their own pre-flight routine. The easy synchronization of their movements spoke of years of partnership, and Phoenix couldn't help but feel a twinge of envy. She and Bob were still finding their rhythm while those two moved like a well-oiled machine.

The radio crackled to life with Hangman's drawling voice. "Hey Bob, I’ve been thinking about your callsign."

"A dangerous pastime," Twister cut in dryly from Hangman's backseat. “We’ve talked about this.”

"Shut up, Pup,” Hangman snarked, earning a blink of surprise from Phoenix at the casual use of the nickname. “Whatever, back to my brilliant idea. Bob, have you ever thought about what your callsign actually stands for? Instead of just being short for Robert?"

Phoenix saw Bob pause in his checklist. "Sir?"

"Call me Hangman, for fuck's sake. And I was thinking, maybe we should say BOB stands for something. You know, make it official."

She could practically hear Bob's confusion. "It . . . already stands for something, sir. Robert."

"Boring!" Hangman declared. "What about 'Baby On Board'? That's got a nice ring to it."

Phoenix snorted, unable to help herself. Poor Bob looked completely blindsided by Hangman's particular brand of jackassery. She watched through the canopy as Twister reached forward and smacked the back of Hangman's helmet, earning a disgruntled, “Ouch!”

"Stop terrorizing Bobby. He’s not on the menu for today," Twister scolded his pilot with an air of fond exasperation. "Bobby, just tell him he's a pretentious prick with a small dick. He can take it."

"Excuse you, Rivera!" Hangman squawked indignantly.

"I'm fucking your identical twin, Seresin. I've basically seen your dick."

"FUCK YOU!"

Phoenix burst out laughing at Hangman's outraged tone, especially since he couldn't even properly defend himself against that particular burn. Even Bob was chuckling softly behind her. "And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why they're the Gruesome Twosome," she commented dryly, earning another round of chuckles from both cockpits.

The easy banter was interrupted by Captain Mitchell's voice over the radio. "Alright people, let's get this show on the road. Phoenix, Hangman - you're up."

"Copy that," Phoenix replied, straightening in her seat. Game face on. This wasn't just any training hop - this was Maverick Mitchell, a living legend in naval aviation.

Both Super Hornets taxied into position and took off in quick succession, climbing to the designated engagement altitude. Phoenix kept one eye on Hangman and Twister's jet as they formed up on her wing, the two aircraft moving in perfect synchronization.

"Rules of engagement are simple and the same as everyone else before you," Maverick's voice came through her helmet radio clear and crisp. "Guns only, no missiles. You have to shoot me down, or I shoot you back. Hard deck is 5000 feet. Fight's on!"

Phoenix immediately broke right while Hangman broke left, splitting Maverick's attention. She could hear Bob calling out vectors behind her, his voice steady and professional.

"Bogey's at your four o'clock high, coming in hot."

She banked hard, catching a glimpse of Maverick's F/A-18E as it screamed past. The older pilot was good - damn good. He managed to stay between the two Super Hornets, preventing them from catching him in a crossfire.

"Hangman, he's coming around on your six!" she called out.

"Copy that," Hangman replied, rolling into a defensive maneuver. "Come on old man, that all you got?"

Phoenix saw Maverick's jet suddenly pitch up, climbing almost vertically into the glare of the sun. Hangman's Super Hornet started to follow but then jerked back level when Twister barked, “No! Level out!”

"Come on, Pup!" Hangman's voice held a note of frustration. “I can catch him!”

"Use your head!" Twister's voice was sharp. "He's trying to blind you. Wait him out."

"But-"

"I said wait!" There was the distinct sound of someone being smacked. "You have a brain for a reason, dumbass! Use it!"

"Ow! The fuck!"

"Kitten, I swear to god-"

"KITTEN?" Phoenix couldn't help the incredulous outburst. Behind her, she heard Bob making a strangled sound of surprise. “Did you just call fucking Hangman a KITTEN!?”

“Don’t try it,” Twister insisted with professional briskness. “I’m the only one he lets use it.”

Hangman just laughed, the sound warm and genuine in a way she rarely heard from him. "Fuck, I've missed you."

"Miss me later," Twister replied dryly. "Break right!"

Hangman's jet snapped into a hard right turn just as Maverick came screaming back down from the sun, missing what would have been a perfect shot. Phoenix watched in fascination as the two jets began an intricate dance, with Hangman somehow anticipating Maverick's moves before he made them.

No, she realized - not Hangman. Twister. The WSO was calling out vectors and suggestions rapid-fire, his voice calm and steady even as Hangman threw their jet through increasingly aggressive maneuvers. They moved like they shared a brain, each anticipating the other's thoughts and actions without need for explanation.

"How long did they say they flew together?" Bob asked quietly.

"Seven years," Phoenix replied, keeping her eyes on the aerial dance unfolding before them. "Rumor has it, they originally got paired up on accident - Hangman's regular WSO was sick or something."

"Must have been some accident," Bob mused. "They move like they were born in the same cockpit." After a moment, he straightened, tone going sharp and brisk. "Radar contact, your ten o'clock. They're setting something up."

Phoenix nodded, keeping her distance as she tried to figure out what Hangman and Twister were planning. She'd flown with Hangman before - he was an excellent pilot, but prone to showboating and taking unnecessary risks.

This looked different though.

This looked calculated.

"Pup, you seeing what I'm seeing?"

"If you're seeing an opening on his three o'clock, then yes," Twister replied smoothly. "But he's baiting us."

Phoenix didn’t think she could be blamed for sharing Hangman’s confusion when he asked, "How the hell can you tell?"

"Because it's what you would do, kitten,” Twister soothed with a chuckle, “And besides, Maverick's the one who taught you that old trick."

Phoenix watched in fascination as Hangman and Twister's jet maintained their position instead of diving for the seemingly obvious opening. Sure enough, moments later, Maverick tried to reverse into what would have been a perfect shooting position - if they'd taken the bait.

"Damn, kid," Maverick laughed over the comms. "You've gotten sharper."

"Not me, sir," Hangman replied cheerfully. "I'm just the pretty face. Puppy's the brains of this operation."

"Flattery will get you everywhere," Twister drawled. "But maybe save the sweet talk for after we shoot down your uncle? I’m hungry, damn it."

Phoenix nearly choked. "Wait, WHAT?"

The jet broke to the left hard, gunning up on Maverick’s leeward side, as Hangman cackled, "Oh yeah, didn't you know? Maverick's my uncle.” He paused, then continued with a drawling chuckle, “Well, more like an honorary uncle. He and my dad go way back."

"Your dad?" Bob asked curiously.

"Iceman Kazansky," Twister answered before Hangman had the chance. "Focus, kitten, that was a perfect shot you let get away while you were up here flapping your jaws.”

This time Phoenix did choke. "Iceman Kazansky is your FATHER?"

"Can we maybe focus on the dogfight?" Hangman asked, apparently agreeing with his WSO, though he sounded more amused than annoyed. "Unless you want me to get into the whole complicated family tree of how I ended up with the most decorated naval aviator in history as my dad and at least one of the most infamous as one of my uncles, with the sitting president as another uncle and at least two uncles for senators in there somewhere too?"

Phoenix’s jaw worked in shock, her stomach swooping when she found herself fucking out of a target lock during her moment of inattention. “How the fuck!?”

“I’m kind of a legacy,” the other aviator drawled. “I’m more than happy to tell that story, but time and place, Phee - this ain’t exactly it.”

"Rain check on that story," Phoenix managed, still processing this new information. "But I'm definitely collecting later."

“Copy that,” Twister drawled. “You ready, kitten?”

“Light ‘em up, Pup!”

Suddenly, a bright flash erupted from Hangman's jet - a flare, deployed almost right in Maverick's face. The older pilot instinctively flinched away, his plane yanking to the side with his action and breaking his pursuit for just a fraction of a second.

That fraction ended up being all the time Hangman needed.

"Guns guns guns!" Hangman's triumphant voice filled the radio. "Splash one bogey!"

There was a moment of stunned silence before Maverick's voice came through, a mix of amusement and exasperation. "Kill acknowledged. But flares in a guns-only engagement?"

"You said no missiles, sir," Twister replied innocently. "You didn't say anything about flares or other countermeasures. Train the way you fly, right?" There was a significant pause before he added, "Sir?"

Phoenix could practically hear Maverick's eyeroll. "Oh, I suddenly understand why Ice said you two were going to be trouble."

"That's the plan, sir," Twister agreed cheerfully.

"Puppy, have I told you I love you?" Hangman was practically purring with satisfaction.

Phoenix chuckled, musing. No wonder Twister calls him ‘kitten’.

"You do, and your brother is gonna be pissed. So maybe don't."

Phoenix watched as the two Super Hornets formed back up, climbing to reset altitude for another engagement. Hangman's voice crackled over the radio, full of mock outrage. "You know, Pup, I'm still processing that dick comment. That was cold. Ice cold."

"The truth hurts, kitten," Twister replied cheerfully. "Tyler's got at least half an inch on you."

"He does NOT!" Hangman spluttered. "We're identical twins!"

"Yeah, but he works out more. Better blood flow."

Phoenix couldn't help the bark of laughter that escaped her. Behind her, Bob was making choking sounds as he tried to maintain his professional demeanor.

"I cannot believe you just said that over official Navy comms," Hangman groaned. "I'm telling Kate."

"Bold of you to assume Kate wasn't the one who noticed first."

"I hate you so much right now."

"Lies," Twister teased with audible fondness. "You love me. I'm your favorite."

"Phoenix is my favorite," Hangman shot back. "At least she respects me."

“Now hold on.” Phoenix snorted. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves there, Bagman."

"Oh come ON!" Hangman whined. "Not you too! It was bad enough Rooster started that shit, and now you picked it up?"

"If the shoe fits . . ." Phoenix teased, executing a perfect barrel roll over Hangman's jet just because she could.

"Show off," Hangman muttered, but she could hear the smile in his voice. "Hey Bob, you're being awfully quiet back there. Don't tell me we've scared you into silence already?"

"Just enjoying the show, sir," Bob replied mildly. "It's not every day you get to witness a lover's quarrel at 20,000 feet."

There was a moment of startled silence before both cockpits erupted in laughter. Even Maverick's chuckle could be heard over the radio.

"Oh, I like him," Hangman declared. "Can we keep him? Pup, can we keep him?"

"Pretty sure Phoenix already called dibs," Twister replied. “Maybe if you ask her really nicely, she’ll let you share.”

“Ugh, that sounds like when Ty and I were kids and we used to have to share our toys,” Hangman grunted with a pout. “Spoiler alert: I wasn’t any better at it then than I am now.”

“As one of the toys you two like to argue about, I am aware,” Twister snarked, earning a snicker from Phoenix that she could hear echoed from Bob behind her. "Speaking of my husband, by the way, Tyler says to remind you about dinner tonight. And that if you bail again, he's going to tell everyone about the incident with the rubber chicken and the admiral's wife."

Hangman's jet actually wobbled slightly. "He wouldn't dare."

"Try him," Twister said sweetly. "You know how he gets when you skip family dinner."

Phoenix filed that little tidbit away for future reference as Maverick's voice cut through the chatter. "If you children are quite finished? Reset positions for the next engagement. Phoenix, you're on offense this time. Hangman, you're her wing."

"Copy that," Phoenix replied, already analyzing angles and approaches in her head. "Ready Bob?"

"Ready," her WSO confirmed. "Though I have to ask - what's this about a rubber chicken?"

"Focus, Robert," she chided, but couldn't quite hide her own curiosity. "We can interrogate Hangman about his embarrassing stories later."

"Bold of you to assume I'm telling either of you anything," Hangman retorted. "Some things are meant to stay in the family."

"Aw, come on Hangman," Phoenix wheedled. "I thought we were friends?"

"Family doesn't tell friends rubber chicken stories," Hangman said firmly. "Right Pup?"

"Don't drag me into this," Twister laughed. "I'm Switzerland."

"The hell you are! You're my WSO - you are contractually obligated to have my back about this!"

"I am dead certain that is not in my contract anywhere," Twister mused. "I definitely would have remembered signing something about covering up poultry-related incidents."

"I hate you so much right now."

"No, you don't."

A pause filled the comms, before Maverick spoke up, “Well, Phoenix, if Twister won’t tell you, I will.”

“Uncle MAV! The betrayal!” Hangman announced, somehow laughing through his attempt at horrification.

Phoenix grinned as she listened to their bickering, struck by how different Hangman seemed with Twister in his backseat. She'd known of Hangman for years and had flown countless missions with him in the last six months, but she'd never seen him this relaxed, this playful. Usually, he maintained careful distance - both in the air and on the ground - all cocky grins and calculated charm. But with Twister, the walls came down, and she got to see glimpses of the real Hangman underneath.

It was . . . nice. Humanizing. Made her understand a little better why Maverick had such faith in him, despite his reputation.

Speaking of reputations . . .

Phoenix glanced at her radar display, where Maverick's jet had started circling below them like a shark scenting blood. She'd heard the rumors about Hangman - hell, she'd helped spread some of them. Rooster's stories about Hangman abandoning his wingmen had colored her perception of him for years.

But watching him now, seeing the easy trust between him and Twister, the way they anticipated each other's moves and thoughts . . . She was starting to wonder if maybe she'd been wrong. If maybe they'd all been wrong.

"You're thinking awful loud back there, Bob," she commented, noticing her own WSO's thoughtful silence.

"Just . . . processing," Bob replied slowly. "You know how everyone says Hangman got his callsign because he always leaves his wingman hanging?"

"Yeah?" She had heard that rumor plenty of times from Rooster.

"I'm starting to think maybe that's not the whole story," Bob mused. "The way he and Rivera work together . . . that's not something you develop if you make a habit of abandoning your partners."

Phoenix hummed thoughtfully. "You might be right about that." She paused, then added, "Though if you ever tell Hangman I said anything nice about him, I'll deny it to my dying breath."

“Your secret's safe with me.” Bob's quiet chuckle warmed her chest. "You know what I think?"

"What?"

"I think maybe we all bought into the rumors about Hangman without looking too closely at the source." He paused meaningfully. "Or questioning why Rooster might have reason to paint him in a certain light."

“Does it matter?”

“I mean, I can tell you that Twister and I went through WSO training together,” Bob informed her thoughtfully, "I’d say we’re friends. He's also one of the most careful, methodical people I know. Real by-the-book type when it comes to safety protocols. If half the stories about Hangman were true, there's no way he'd have stayed in that backseat for six years."

Phoenix hummed thoughtfully. "Good point. Plus there's the way Maverick treats him - like he trusts him implicitly."

"Maverick's his uncle, right? Could just be family loyalty."

"Maybe," Phoenix conceded. "But Maverick's not the type to let family ties cloud his judgment when it comes to flying. If Hangman was really the liability Rooster makes him out to be . . ."

She trailed off as Maverick's voice crackled over the radio. "Alright kids, enough chatter. Fight's on!"

Phoenix banked hard left the moment Maverick called the fight, Hangman's Super Hornet sliding smoothly into position on her wing. Despite his reputation for showboating, he maintained perfect formation as they pursued Maverick's jet.

"Bogey's dropping low," Bob reported calmly. "Looks like he's trying to split our attention again."

"Not this time," Phoenix muttered. She keyed her radio. "Hangman, on my six. Let's show the old man what we've got."

"Copy that," Hangman replied, all business now that they were actively engaged. "Ready to play bait?"

"Read my mind." She grinned, pushing her jet into a steep dive. "Bob, keep your eyes on our six. Don't let him sneak up on us."

"Got you covered."

They chased Maverick through a series of increasingly complex maneuvers, the older pilot proving why he was considered one of the best. Having Hangman and Twister on her wing felt like flying with an extension of herself - they anticipated her moves before she made them, covering her blind spots and forcing Maverick to divide his attention.

"He's good," Bob commented as Maverick executed a particularly tight turn. "But his energy's bleeding fast. He can't maintain this pace much longer."

"Agreed," Twister's voice came through crisp and clear. "Phoenix, if you can force him left, we can box him in against the hard deck."

Phoenix smiled. This was why she loved flying with competent WSOs - they saw patterns that pilots sometimes missed in the heat of battle. "Copy that. Hangman?"

"Just tell me where you want me, Phee."

She pushed her jet harder, herding Maverick toward the invisible box they were creating. Hangman matched her move for move, their jets working in perfect harmony to limit Maverick's options.

"He's going to try something crazy," Twister warned. "Three o'clock high - watch for the-"

"Shit!" Hangman's curse cut him off as Maverick suddenly pitched up and rolled, somehow squeezing through a gap that shouldn't have existed. "How the hell-"

"Later!" Phoenix snapped, already rolling to follow. "Stay on him!"

The chase continued, altitude dropping steadily as they pushed their jets to the limit. Phoenix could feel sweat trickling down her spine despite the climate-controlled cockpit, her hand tight on the stick as she fought to anticipate Maverick's next move.

"Five hundred feet above the hard deck," Bob warned. "We’re gonna need to pull up soon or we’re gonna hit the deck. Let’s not pull a Rooster already."

"Wait for it," she muttered, seeing Maverick start to curve away from the imaginary barrier. "Hangman, you seeing this?"

"Oh yeah," Hangman's voice was full of predatory satisfaction. "Pup?"

"Ready when you are, kitten. Phoenix, break right on my mark."

She tensed, trusting Twister's judgment implicitly despite having known him less than a day. There was something about him that inspired confidence - maybe it was the calm surety in his voice, or maybe it was just the way Hangman so clearly trusted him with his life.

"Three . . . two . . . one . . . MARK!"

Phoenix broke hard right as Hangman broke left, catching Maverick in a perfect crossfire. The older pilot tried to slip through, but they had him boxed in perfectly - go up, and he'd bleed too much energy. Go down, and he'd hit the hard deck. Try to split the difference . . .

"Guns guns guns!" Hangman's triumphant voice filled the radio the same moment Phoenix squeezed her own trigger.

"Splash one bogey," she confirmed, unable to keep the grin off her face. "Nice shooting, Hangman."

"Nice flying, Phoenix," Hangman replied warmly. "Couldn't have done it without you."

"Well done, all of you," Maverick's voice held genuine approval. "That was some excellent teamwork. Especially that final trap - very nicely executed."

"Credit where it's due, sir," Phoenix said. "That was all Twister and Bob's planning."

"Just doing our jobs," Bob demurred, suddenly shy and quiet.

Twister chuckled. "Besides, it only worked because you two flew it perfectly. Not many pilots could have maintained that level of precision while bleeding altitude like that."

"Aw, Pup," Hangman cooed. "You say the sweetest things."

"Shut up and fly the plane, kitten."

Phoenix laughed, shaking her head as they formed up to head back to base. She glanced over at Hangman's jet, watching the easy way he fell into formation beside her. No showboating, no hot-dogging - just clean, precise flying.

"You know," Bob mused quietly in her ear, "I think I get it now."

"Get what?"

"Why people talk about them with such awe. It's not just about their flying - though that was pretty impressive. It's about balance. Twister keeps Hangman grounded and focused. And Hangman . . . he gives Twister permission to play a little. To push boundaries."

Phoenix nodded slowly. "Yeah, I think you're right. They're like . . . two halves of a whole. Each makes up for what the other lacks." She paused, then added, "Makes me wonder all over again about those rumors."

"About Hangman abandoning his wingmen?" Bob snorted softly. "After what we just saw? No way. That level of trust, that kind of partnership . . . you don't get that by being the kind of person who leaves people behind. Besides, didn't Coyote says that he's usually on his wing? No way Coyote trusts them that much if he's constantly getting abandoned up here."

"My thoughts exactly." Phoenix keyed her radio. "Hey Hangman?"

"Yeah Phee?"

"Good flying up there. You and Twister . . . you're something else."

She could hear the smile in Hangman's voice as he replied, "Thanks, Phoenix. You and Bob aren't so bad yourselves."

"For newbies," Twister added dryly.

"Ignore him," Hangman laughed. "He's just cranky because he knows I'm going to tell everyone about that thing with the flares."

"You mean the thing that helped us win?"

"The thing that definitely bent the rules, if not broke them entirely."

"I maintain my innocence," Twister sniffed. "The rules said no missiles. Nothing about other countermeasures."

"Uh-huh. Try explaining that to Admiral Cyclone."

"Bold of you to assume Admiral Cyclone wants anything to do with either of us after what happened last time we were at TOPGUN."

"That was NOT my fault!"

"You set the simulator on fire," Twisted protested, understandably incredulous.

"It was a mechanical malfunction!"

"You spilled your coffee on the control panel."

"Because YOU startled me!"

"Children," Maverick's amused voice cut through their bickering. "Save it for the debrief. Phoenix, you have the lead. Take us home."

"Copy that," Phoenix replied, already lining up for landing. She couldn't quite wipe the smile off her face as Hangman and Twister continued to snipe at each other goodnaturedly over the radio.

The Gruesome Twosome, indeed. But watching them work together, seeing the way they brought out the best in each other while smoothing over the rough edges . . . Phoenix was starting to think that maybe that nickname wasn't the insult she'd originally meant it to be.

Maybe it was more like a badge of honor. A recognition of something rare and precious - a partnership that transcended the usual bounds of pilot and WSO to become something greater than the sum of its parts.

And if she was a little jealous of that connection? Well, that was between her and the sky.

However, judging by the way Bob seemed to anticipate her thoughts and movements during that final engagement, maybe she wouldn't have to be jealous for long.

"Ready to call the ball?" Bob's calm voice broke through her musings.

Phoenix smiled, already feeling the tarmac rising to meet them. "Ready as I'll ever be. Let's bring her home."

Chapter 3: Day 2, Hop 2

Summary:

Jake and Javi get a bird's eye view of the chaos Rooster can create in the air, when they play wing to Rooster in their second hop against Maverick.

--- Day 2, Hop 2 ---

Jake drummed his fingers restlessly against his thigh as he waited for Rooster to finish his pre-flight checks, tension coiling in his gut like a rattlesnake ready to strike. The afternoon sun beat down on the Miramar tarmac, heat waves distorting the air above the concrete. His own F/A-18F sat ready and waiting, Javi already settled in the backseat, running through his own preparations with practiced efficiency.

"Would you stop that?" Javi's voice came through his headset, tinged with fond exasperation. "You're making me twitchy."

Jake forced his fingers still. "Sorry, Pup."

"Want to talk about it?"

"Not particularly." Not that Jake thought his WSO would let him get away with the deflection. Javi had always been able to read him like a book, even before he'd married Jake's twin brother.

"You're thinking about what I said earlier, aren't you?" Javi pressed. "About asking Rooster what actually happened between them?"

Jake blew out a frustrated breath. "Maybe."

"It's not a bad idea, kitten. You've been carrying this weight around for years. It may be time to get some answers.

"Yeah, because Rooster's always been so forthcoming about his feelings," Jake muttered, even as he accepted that Javi had a point. Ever since their successful hop against Maverick that morning, Jake hadn't been able to stop thinking about everything that happened all those years ago.

About family and loyalty and the reasons why everything had fallen out between Rooster and Maverick all those years ago.

Hell, Jake still remembered the day he and Tyler had arrived at Ice's doorstep, shell-shocked thirteen-year-olds reeling from the sudden death of their Aunt Meg. Tom "Iceman" Kazansky had taken them in without hesitation, giving them a home and a family when they'd had nothing left. Maverick had been there too, a constant presence in their lives along with his on-again, off-again girlfriend, Penny Benjamin.

But Rooster . . . Bradley Bradshaw had already been gone by then, rushing through college before diving into flight training with the Navy after receiving his commission. Jake didn’t have many memories of him from before whatever happened, but he remembered him during visits to Uncle Mav's place before they came to live with Ice. Visiting the Kazansky’s with Aunt Meg back when he and Tyler had been kids, but those memories were hazy at best.

By the time Jake would have really gotten the chance to know him, the damage had already been done and whatever had happened between Rooster and Maverick had carved a chasm between the two facets of the family which even now seemed all but impossible to bridge.

"Time to mount up," Javi's voice broke through his brooding. "Rooster's ready to go."

Jake glanced over to see the older aviator climbing into his own F/A-18E, his movements sharp and precise as he prepped the one-seater to get into the air. Even from here, Jake could see the tension in his shoulders, the carefully controlled anger that had been bubbling at a steady simmer since the start of this training detachment.

There was a small, notably uncharitable, part of Jake that hoped Rooster would wash out, just to spare the rest of them the drama.

"Copy that." Jake reached up to settle his helmet more firmly on his head before finishing the last steps of his own pre-flight sequence. "You good back there, Pup?"

"Always." There was a pause, then Javi added more softly, "Hey Jake? Do us all a favor and try to keep a level head up there, yeah? Whatever's going on between Rooster and Maverick? That’s not our fight right now."

Jake snorted. "Tell that to Rooster. Pretty sure he thinks the whole world's against him most days."

"Yeah, well, maybe there's a reason for that." Javi's voice held a note of something Jake couldn't quite identify. "You ever think maybe there's more to the story than what Ice and Mav told you?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, Bradshaw was what . . . eighteen? When whatever happened went down? He was barely more than a kid.” Javi paused for a moment, then shrugged. “From what little I've managed to piece together from what everyone says, it sounds like quite a few decisions got made about his future without much input from him."

Jake frowned, considering that. He'd never really thought about it from that angle before. "Since when are you on Rooster's side?"

"I'm not on anyone's side," Javi replied patiently. "I just think maybe it's worth trying to understand where he's coming from. Especially if we're going to be stuck flying with him. Clearly, your dad thought he needed to be in on the training, or he wouldn’t be here, not with us and definitely not with Mav. Let’s just . . . take things as they come. Okay?"

“I’ll do my best.”

“All I can ask for, kitten.”

Before Jake could respond further, Maverick's voice crackled over the radio. "Alright, gentlemen, let's get this show on the road. Same rules as this morning - guns only, no missiles.” He paused. “And Twister? No flares, either.”

Jake chuckled at the soft snort Javi let out at the admonition, both of them locked in as they moved their jet into position to tax off the ground and get up into the air where Jake had always felt at home. Maverick continued laying out the rules as though he hadn’t deviated. “Hard deck is 5000 feet. You have to shoot me down, or I shoot back. Simple as that."

Jake keyed his mike. "Copy that." He glanced over at Rooster's jet. "Ready when you are, Bradshaw."

"Let's just get this over with," Rooster growled back.

Both Super Hornets taxied into position and took off in quick succession, climbing to the designated engagement altitude. Jake kept half an eye on Rooster's jet as they leveled out, noting the slightly aggressive angle of his wings. Something Javi had apparently seen as well, a soft sigh humming through Jake’s comm as Javi commented over their private channel, “He's already on edge. This could get interesting."

"When is it not interesting with Rooster?" Jake muttered back, but he knew what Javi meant. There was a tension in the air that hadn't been present during their morning hop - a sense of something brewing just below the surface, ready to explode at the slightest spark.

The two jets circled for a few minutes, all three of them on the lookout for Maverick, waiting for the older pilot to declare the call the start of the fight. Gnawing on his lower lip behind his mask, Jake could feel the questions burning in his throat, Javi's earlier suggestion starting to echo louder in his head. Maybe Javi was right, and it was long past time to try and understand what had actually happened all those years ago.

"Hey, Rooster," he said finally, keeping his voice carefully neutral. "Can I ask you something?"

"Would it matter if I said no?" The response felt sharp, words curt and suspicious about Jake’s motives.

Jake's jaw tightened in frustration before he blew out a breath, trying to keep his cool like he'd promised Javi he would. "What actually happened between you and Mav? I mean, I know the basics - something happened with your application to the Naval Academy.” Jake paused, wondering if he had done the right thing, before asking, “But there's got to be more to it than that, right?"

There was a long moment of silence, broken only by the steady hum of jet engines. Then Rooster's voice came back, cold and hard as steel. "You really want to do this now, Seresin?"

"When else are we going to do it?" Jake shot back. "It's not like you stick around for family dinners anymore."

"Family dinners?" Rooster's laugh was bitter, cutting. "Is that what you call it? Playing happy families with my father's replacement?"

Jake felt his temper flare. "Hey, no one was trying to replace anyone. Mav loved your dad -"

"Don't." Rooster's voice cracked like a whip. "Don't you dare talk about my father. You didn't even know him."

"No, but I know Mav," Jake pressed. "And I know whatever happened, he must have been trying to protect you. He . . ."

Jake jolted a little, his wings bobbling at the roar through the comm as Rooster barked out a bitter laugh that left a chill running down Jake’s spine. "Mav? Trying to protect me? Is that what he called it?"

Rooster's voice began to rise over the comms, the carefully banked anger ripping through Rooster’s usual devil-may-care attitude. "Maverick ruined my life! I had a shot at the Academy - a real shot! And he took that away from me, just like he took my father away-"

"That's not fair!" Jake snapped in immediate defense of his uncle. "Goose's death wasn't Mav's fault!"

"THE HELL IT WASN'T!"

"Both of you, knock it off," Javi's sharp voice cut through the brewing argument. "Save the family drama for when we're back on the ground."

Jake took a deep breath, forcing himself to unclench his hands from the stick and the throttle. Javi was right - this was neither the time nor place for this conversation, especially since the two men were angry and apparently airing out their family’s dirty laundry over the radio.

The radio that the entire training detachment had spent every hop so far clustered around, listening to everything taking place overhead.

Shit, fuck, damn, though. Rooster always had known exactly how to get under his skin.

"Speaking of being on the ground," Rooster said after a moment, his voice tight with barely controlled emotion, "where the hell is Maverick? Or did he decide to wash out on this hop, too?"

The words had barely left his mouth when another voice - Mav's voice - came over the comms with a kind of hurting calm that made Jake's hands flinch on the stick.

"I've been here the whole time."

Maverick's F/A-18E came up between the two aviators from where he’d been hovering below them, executing a perfect barrel roll that inverted him directly over top of Rooster's jet. The two stared at each other through the canopies, and Jake groaned a little to see Rooster’s features twisting around the mask obscuring the majority of his face.

“Here we go,” he breathed, even as Maverick addressed Rooster directly. "Come on then," Maverick sounded tired, clearly as frustrated by the continued opposition with Rooster as Jake was eager to know what had caused it. "Let's get it over with."

“Fight’s on!” Rooster shouted, slamming his jet into motion.

What happened next was like watching a train wreck in slow motion. Rooster immediately broke hard left, forcing Maverick overhead to do the same. But where Maverick’s plane moved with the stealth and confidence of its pilot, Rooster’s movements proved jerky and uncontrolled - chaotic emotions clearly overriding the other aviator’s training.

"Shit," Javi muttered. "He's already lost his head."

Jake hummed, staying up and out of the way as the two aviators played a deadly game of cat and mouse, the two swirling together in the beginnings of a cobra maneuver aimed straight for the ground.

"What the hell are they doing?" Javi asked, voice tight with quiet horror.

"Fuck I wish I knew," Jake replied, keeping his distance from the aerial ballet unfolding before them, even as he kept one eye roving between the jets and the ground they were arrowing toward. "Jesus Christ," Jake breathed, watching as the two aircraft continued spiraling toward the ground, playing a dangerous game of high-stakes chicken. "They're going to kill themselves."

"Altitude!" Javi barked into the hop-wide comm. "Mav . . . Rooster, pull up! You’re dropping below the hard deck!"

Jake could only watch helplessly as Maverick and Rooster continued their deadly dance, neither one willing to give an inch. They ripped through 5000 foot hard deck like it wasn't even there, both of them still locked in their spiral.

"Pull up," Jake muttered, his heart in his throat. "Come on, pull up . . .”

Finally, mercifully, Maverick broke away first, his jet leveling out with only a few hundred feet to spare. Rooster followed a moment later, and for a brief second, Rooster had the perfect shot on Maverick's six.

Except Rooster wouldn't take it.

“Take the shot!” Jake barked through the comm, following the two from his higher altitude just to make sure neither of them died.

“It’s no good,” Rooster grunted through the comms, weaving through the canyon behind Mav as he tried to find the perfect shot, hovering behind Maverick like he was waiting for an engraved invitation.

"What the hell is he doing?" Jake demanded. "He's got the shot!"

"Same old Rooster," Javi said quietly. "Too busy second-guessing himself to seize the moment."

Seconds later, they all could hear Maverick’s frustration as he announced, “Too late. You had your chance,” before using Rooster's hesitation against him. In a move that seemed to defy physics, he somehow managed to flip his jet up and around in a tall, flat spin that put him behind Rooster before the other pilot could react.

"That’s a kill," Maverick's voice was calm, almost sad. “Now knock it.”

“Damn it!” Rooster cussed, hitting hard against the canopy beside him.

They could hear the heavy sigh that slipped free of Maverick as he ordered Rooster, “Go see Hondo about your pushups, lieutenant. Hangman, take you both in.”

Maverick pealed off from the two, leaving both aviators behind to grapple with the reality. The silence over the comms felt deafening, and even from 4000 feet over the other aviator's head, Jake could feel Rooster’s fury all but radiating from the jet below as the two turned back toward base.

"Well," Javi said finally, "that could have gone better."

Jake snorted. "You think?"

They landed without further incident, but Jake could tell from the way Rooster practically threw himself out of his cockpit that this was far from over. He watched as his sort-of-brother stalked across the tarmac, looking like he wanted to put his fist through something.

Or someone.

"Here we go," Jake muttered, climbing down from his own jet. He turned to help Javi with his harness, but his WSO had already climbed out without Jake’s help and was halfway to Rooster, a dangerous glint in his eyes that Jake recognized all too well.

"Lieutenant Bradshaw!" Javi's voice cracked across the tarmac like a whip. "Just what the hell did you think you were doing up there?"

Rooster spun around, his face twisted with anger. "Back off, Rivera. This doesn't concern you."

"The hell it doesn't!" Javi closed the distance between them in a few quick strides. "You went below the hard deck! You could have gotten yourself killed - and taken the rest of us with you!"

"I had it under control-"

"Bullshit!" Javi shoved Rooster hard, sending him stumbling back against the F18 behind him with wide, startled eyes. "You let your emotions override your training, and you put everyone at risk because of it!"

"Who the fuck do you think you are?" Rooster snarled, shoving back.

Javi barely shifted, standing his ground - every inch the senior officer despite being half a head shorter than Rooster. "I am the Lieutenant Commander who just watched you try to commit suicide by fighter jet!" Javi's voice had taken on that deadly calm tone that Jake knew meant serious trouble. "I don't give a shit if you want to kill yourself, Chicken Little, but when you put MY pilot and MY plane in danger, then it becomes MY PROBLEM!"

Jake watched the confrontation unfold with a mix of concern and grudging admiration. He'd seen Javi angry before - hell, he'd been on the receiving end of that anger more than a few times over the years they’d been flying together. This, though, felt different. This was Javi in pure overprotective mode, a kind of rage shivering through him that always made Javi seem twice his size despite consistently being the shortest person on the flight deck.

"Your pilot?" Rooster sneered, clearly missing the warning signs Jake could read so clearly. "Since when did Hangman become your personal property?"

"Since the Navy assigned me to his backseat seven years ago," Javi shot back. "And unlike some people, I take my responsibility to my pilot seriously."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that when you pull stupid stunts like a cobra maneuver with another pilot below the hard deck? You're not just risking your own neck!" Javi's voice rose with each word. "You're endangering everyone in the air with you. But I guess that's just par for the course with you, right? Too busy nursing your grudge against Maverick to think about anyone else?"

Rooster's face went an alarming shade of red. "You don't know what you're talking about-"

"Don't I?" Javi cut him off. "I've read the reports, Bradshaw. I know exactly what happened during your first run at TOPGUN - Jake and I were there, remember!? How many times did you almost get your backseater into trouble before they finally put you in a one-seater because you were too focused on trying to prove something to Maverick?"

Jake winced. That might have been hitting below the belt, even if it wasn't entirely inaccurate. Though the rumors didn’t follow Bradshaw like the ones dogging Jake’s own heels, most of the aviators in that TOPGUN graduating class had heard the stories whispered behind hands throughout Rooster's time at TOPGUN.

Pushed too hard.

Took too many risks.

Snug on his perch.

Too busy thinking.

Not enough doing.

All in an attempt to prove . . . hell, Jake didn’t even know what he’d been trying to prove. That he was better than his father's ghost? Goose had been a RIO, not an aviator. And while Goose had died in a tragic accident, the Navy had investigated the incident thoroughly and come to the conclusion that it hadn’t been anyone’s fault. Except, to hear Jake's own father tell it, it might have been his fault.

Iceman Kazansky had never truly been able to forgive himself for the jetwash that Maverick's F-14 had been unable to avoid, which caused the stall to begin with.

It had been an accident.

An accident that, based on his reaction in the air, Bradley Bradshaw didn’t believe had been an accident at all.

"You want to talk about getting people killed?" Rooster snarled, taking a threatening step toward Javi. "Why don't we talk about your perfect pilot's track record? How many WSOs has Hangman gone through in the last nine months? How many people has he left hanging when things got tough?"

Jake felt his stomach drop. He'd known those rumors would come up eventually, but hearing them from Rooster's mouth still hurt. Before Jake could defend himself, though, Javi let out a derisive laugh that could have stripped paint. "Oh, that's rich coming from you.” Lips twisting into a sneer, Jake’s weapon’s systems officer snarled, “You want to know why Jake's gone through so many WSOs since I went into the reserves? Because none of them could keep up.”

Those grey-green eyes looked as hard as jewels when Javi jammed two fingers into the center of Rooster’s chest and caused the taller man to flinch back from the hard stab. “Not a single one of them had what it took to fly with one of the best damn pilots in the Navy. I was the only person in Jake’s backseat for seven fucking years before I went reserves, and there isn’t a CO, XO, Air Boss, or otherwise who doesn’t know that! But please, tell me more about how he leaves people hanging while you're sitting up there on your perch, too scared to take a shot when you have it!"

"Fuck you, Rivera!"

"No, fuck you, Bradshaw!" Javi jabbed his finger into Rooster's chest again, this one earning another flinch along with a pained grimace. "You want to know why Jake and I work so well together? Because we trust each other. Because when I tell him to do something, he listens. When I say wait, he waits. When I say break, he breaks. That's what being a team means!"

Jake found himself nodding unconsciously. That trust had been hard-won over years of flying together, of learning each other's rhythms and quirks. Javi knew exactly how far he could push Jake, and Jake knew without a doubt that Javi would always bring him home safely.

"Must be nice," Rooster spat. "Having a WSO who thinks you walk on water. But some of us live in the real world, where actions have consequences."

"You want to talk about consequences?" Javi's voice went deadly quiet. "Let's talk about what would have happened if you'd burned in during that cobra if this had been a real dogfight. About what would have happened to your wingman, your adversary, and everyone else up there in the air with you.” His jaw hardened before he bit out, “Or maybe let's talk about what your loss would have done to your Aunt Penny, to Ice, to Maverick!"

"Don't you dare bring any of them into this!"

"Why not? They're already in it! They've been in it since the day you decided to blame Maverick for everything that's gone wrong in your life!" Javi was practically vibrating with rage now. "You think you're the only one who's lost someone? The only one who's had dreams ripped away? Grow up, Bradshaw! The world doesn't revolve around your pain! We all have pain choking up from the past! Those of us with maturity carry theirs close to their hearts, but we don’t use it to justify our own bad behavior!"

Jake saw Rooster's hands clench into fists and took an instinctive step forward. Before any of them could move another inch, though, a sharp voice cut through the tension.

"That's enough!"

They all turned to see Maverick striding across the tarmac, expression thunderous. Behind him, Phoenix and Bob were hanging back near their jet, trying to look like they weren't avidly watching the drama unfold. “Lieutenant Bradshaw, I seem to recall telling you to go see Hondo about your pushups,” Maverick bit out, glaring at Rooster and sending the taller pilot scuttling away like a kicked Rottwieler with its tail between its legs.

Jake reached out to grab his WSO’s shoulder as Javi’s narrowed eyes followed Rooster across the tarmac towards the Warrant Officer waiting for him on the other side of the asphalt. Both of them turned back as Maverick blew out a frustrated breath through his nose. "Lieutenant Commander Rivera," Maverick insisted after a moment, voice carefully controlled. "A word, if you please."

Javi straightened to attention, though Jake could still see the anger simmering in his eyes. "Sir."

"The rest of you hit the showers," Maverick ordered. "We'll debrief in an hour."

Jake caught Javi's eye, silently asking if he was okay. Javi gave him a tiny nod - he could handle Maverick. After all, this wasn't the first time Javi had gone to bat for Jake against another pilot. Whatever Maverick had to say wouldn’t be anything he hadn’t heard before.

Phoenix and Bob came forward to stand with Jake as the other two moved off, already speaking in low, urgent tones meant for each other’s ears and no one else’s. “Come on, Bagman,” Phoenix teased, the hated nickname no longer quite so harsh as she reached to touch his arm. “I think we could all use some distance from this mess.”

“Yeah,” he agreed with a sigh, shoving his free hand back through his hair, even as the fingers of his other hand tightened against the metal of his helmet. “Yeah, let’s head to the showers. I definitely need one.”

As Jake approached where Rooster heaved under Hondo’s stern regard, he could hear the still-angry pilot muttering under his breath, "Even his WSO gets special treatment."

He skidded to a halt, head falling back as he genuinely considered whether or not to engage. After a moment, he sighed, glancing toward Hondo for permission, before turning his attention onto Rooster at the older man’s nod. "You know what your problem is, Bradshaw?" Jake demanded, tone hot with barely held rage. "You're so busy looking for enemies that you can't recognize when people are trying to help you."

He shook his head. "Javi wasn't wrong - you are going to need to grow up. Because this chip on your shoulder? It's going to get someone killed someday, and more than likely? That day is coming sooner rather than later.” He crouched in front of Rooster so that these two estranged members of the same complicated family could look into each other’s eyes, and Rooster could see how deadly in earnest he was. Jake tilted his head, blowing a hard breath out through his nose. “And if you don’t grow up? When that day finally comes? I hope, for Uncle Mav’s sake, that the person dead in the end? Isn’t you."

Without waiting for a response, Jake pushed himself back to his feet and headed for the locker room without a single look back, the steady company of Phoenix and Bob filling the space on either side of him. He felt tired like he’d never felt before, and there was a yawning pit growing in his belly, widening with every step he took away from his WSO and uncle.

Somehow, Jake had a feeling this debrief would be interesting, at the very least.

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 3 of Pup & Kitten: A Tale of Complicated Flyboys