Chapter Text
Bradley stared into the coffee cup he was holding, waiting until the rest of the Dagger squad assimilated the information he'd just shared.
It was morning now, bright sunlight slanting in through the windows of the rec room.
Bradley still felt tired. His sleep had been fitful, interrupted by nightmares of Mav dying, crashing and burning in the belief that he'd given his life for someone who wished him dead.
It had only been Jake's reassuring presence that had kept him from sneaking down to the medbay several times.
Sleeping in the bunk above his, the younger aviator had apparently been able to tell each time Bradley had jerked into wakefulness, the terror of a nightmare hot on his heels.
Each time, a steady Texan drawl had reassured him. That Mav was alive and recovering in the medbay. That they'd work it out, no matter if their Captain got his memory back or not.
Now, blinking against the bright morning light, Bradley still felt drawn, but somewhat more human after a shower, a change of clothes, and some breakfast.
It had been no surprise when the Dagger squad had cornered him after their meal, dragging him off and demanding explanations.
During their training, all of his team members had formed a deep attachment to Maverick. They all cared about the older aviator who'd risked his career and his life to make sure they had the best chance of making it back from their suicide mission.
Now, five faces were staring at him in various combinations of shock, horror, and concern.
"What do we do?" Coyote asked eventually.
Payback and Fanboy exchanged worried glances. Bob bit his lip. Jake looked at Bradley, eyes wide with sympathy.
"We help him, of course," Phoenix said, determined. "We only made it through because of him. He’s the only one who cared if we came back from this. He needs us now."
"Is there anything the doctors said we could do for him?" Fanboy asked.
Bradley shrugged. "I'm not sure. They said not to overwhelm him. To let his memories come back by themselves. I don't know. Seeing you guys might help?"
Phoenix hummed. "We’ll try that then. We'll go down to the medbay as soon as they let us to see Mav. And while we're there, we should give him a crash course to the 21st century."
Bradley stared at her, along with the other members of the squad.
She noticed their surprised looks and rolled her eyes. "Guys, he thinks it's 1986. He doesn't know anything about modern technology — phones, the internet, computers. Of course we'll do everything to help him get his memory back. But until he does, he'll have to cope somehow. And I think it's better if we explain the most important things to him, rather than let him struggle on his own."
Along with the others, Bradley nodded in assent. He wanted to smack himself upside the head. He hadn't even thought of that.
Between struggling with his own guilt and seeing Mav's grief, he'd been more focused on their personal drama than the fact that his godfather would have to navigate the 2020s.
He recalled dimly how reluctant the older man had been to get on board with any new technology that wasn't aviation-related. The internet. Text messages. Freaking DVDs. He'd had to use his best puppy dog eyes just to convince Mav to get a cell phone so that they could stay in touch more easily when he was deployed.
Bradley could only imagine what it would be like for him to have to skip straight to smartphones and social media.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, fighting an oncoming headache.
Not to mention how much society had changed. How much the world had changed.
Quickly, Bradley ran a mental tally of all the major events that they'd have to catch the older aviator up on — the collapse of the USSR, the Gulf War, the fall of the Berlin Wall, 9/11, the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. To start with.
Shit, that would be a long conversation. But —
"Yeah, we should definitely do that," Bradley said hoarsely. "But right now, I think what he's struggling with most is losing my dad. For him, it just happened. It's like he saw him yesterday."
Swallowing hard, Bradley went back to staring at his coffee. Anything to avoid meeting his teammates' eyes. He could still hear his godfather's anguished sobs from last night, could still feel his trembling fingers dig into the fabric of his shirt.
Eventually, Phoenix broke the silence. "How did he deal with it last time?"
Bradley shrugged helplessly. "I don't know, I was four at the time. I think it was pretty bad for him, though. Mom told me once he almost gave up flying until his CO talked to him."
"Do you think we could get hold of the guy?" Payback asked.
"No idea. He's retired, for sure. Stateside, probably. If he's still alive. The only other one I know helped Mav at the time was Iceman. And he —" Bradley broke off, unable to finish the sentence.
"Yeah, he's not an option anymore either," Hangman sighed. "Shit, does Pops know that his best friend is dead yet? That's got to be the icing on the trauma cake."
Bradley snorted because, yeah. That summed Mav's situation up nicely, if irreverently. "No, he doesn’t. Mav and Ice only got close after my dad died. This Mav won't miss him."
Small mercies.
———
Eventually, the Daggers decided to visit their Captain as soon as they got the green light. And to gently try and jog his memory — as much as they could without the doctors throwing a fit.
Fanboy, Payback, and Coyote had headed for the gym, after extracting a promise that Bradley would call them as soon as they could visit the medbay. He'd nodded in assent. If he weren't so god-damn tired, he'd also try to work through some of this with the help of physical exercise.
Phoenix and Bob had drifted off towards a table in the corner of the rec room. He could see them drawing up a list of things on which they'd have to get Mav up to speed. Bradley almost snorted in amusement at the sight — Phoenix pacing back and forth, Bob diligently jotting down the curriculum she devised on a worn legal pad.
"Roo," a voice beside him said gently.
Right. The others had gone. That left him with Jake.
Bracing himself, Bradley turned to face the younger aviator. Like so often in the past few days, his trademark smirk and air of cockiness were conspicuously absent. Instead, Jake was looking at him earnestly.
"Look, I wanted to —" the other man started, then broke off. There was uncertainty in his tone, and that alone was enough to leave Bradley reeling. He'd never heard Hangman sound like this.
"What?" he prompted gently.
Jake looked away and ran a hand through his hair in frustration.
Bradley looked at him expectantly.
"Shit, I wanted to say sorry!" he exclaimed eventually, not meeting his eyes.
If Bradley had been shocked before, this was nothing in comparison. Hangman apologising? With actual words?
"Look," Jake eventually went on, mistaking Bradley's stunned silence for scepticism. "I was there last night. I wanted to talk to you when you were done with Mav and I overheard when you told him —"
Suddenly, Bradley thought he knew where this was going.
"I heard when you told him how your dad died. And how he reacted. Shit, I didn't mean to eavesdrop, I swear. It was just —" Jake broke off, frustrated again. He seemed genuinely miserable.
"All I could think of was how shitty it was of me to bring up your dad during training. I wanted to rile you up to get you to fly faster, but I never thought what it would mean for Mav."
Stunned into silence, Bradley stared back at Jake.
The smaller man was a picture of remorse. His shoulders were hunched, lips pressed together, a deep furrow in his forehead. His eyes remained firmly fixed on the floor at Bradley's feet.
Bradley sighed and considered the apology, clumsy as it had been.
The thing was, looking back, he got where Jake was coming from. And he hadn't been wrong.
Holding onto his grudge against Mav had made him dangerous. Unpredictable. His flying had been too cautious, and he'd refused to accept the older aviator's criticism. Even though he'd only been trying his utmost to make sure they made it out alive.
Bradley knew Jake cared about him, under his mask of arrogance and superiority. So he'd tried to push him in the right direction the only way he knew how — by pissing him off.
At the time, he'd been too furious to get it.
But it was hard to stay mad at someone who'd disobeyed orders to save his hide. And Mav's. And who'd been nothing but supportive since Mav had ended up in the medbay.
"It was an asshole move, Jake." Bradley said eventually. "But you didn't know the full story and I get why you did it. So we're good."
The smaller aviator nodded gratefully and seemed to slump with relief.
It was instinct, more than anything, that made Bradley step forward so that Jake's forehead ended up on his shoulder.
Instantly, he felt the other man tense. They were standing toe to toe now, closer than they'd been since the day of the almost-fight. Bradley could feel confusion and insecurity radiating off Jake.
Hesitantly, he brought his hand up to rest at the nape of Jake's neck, trying to reassure him. It worked. Almost immediately, the other man leant into the touch, tension bleeding out of his body.
"That's me, though," Bradley said in a low voice. "If — When Mav remembers, you should probably apologise to him too."
He could feel Jake nod into his shoulder.
Then, two hands came to rest on his waist. The touch was hesitant, tender.
Bradley closed his eyes and sighed.
It reminded him of the few moments of genuine connection they'd shared back at Top Gun. After a hop had gone sideways. When Bradley had been torn down by one of their instructors. One night at the Hard Deck when Jake had gotten absolutely wasted after a call from home.
"I missed you, Roo," Jake breathed into his shoulder.
Bradley hesitated, then drew Jake closer. "Me too," he murmured.
And it was true.
He still couldn't figure out the exact point when their tentative relationship had spiralled into the fierce rivalry it had been become. Whether it had been Jake's ego that got in their way or Bradley's own manic drive to prove himself as pilot. Probably a bit of both, in retrospect.
But Bradley would be lying if he said he'd never thought of Jake throughout the years. Or that he hadn't been torn between slapping and kissing that smooth smirk off his face that first night back at the Hard Deck, before settling for verbal sparring instead.
"Do you think we could give it another shot?" the man leaning into him asked in a low voice. "Us?"
Bradley blinked and thought hard.
He couldn't guarantee that the two of them wouldn't end up at each other's throats again within the week. The first time around, he'd been amazed that neither of them had ended up charged with homicide after things had ended.
But they were older now and — not necessarily wiser, maybe. But they'd definitely been through some shit. Shit that had exposed their priorities. Keeping each other alive being the highest-ranking of which.
"I'll think about it," Bradley responded eventually. "It's just that there's a lot going on right now. Mav —"
"I get it," Jake interrupted, murmuring into his embrace. "Take your time. Whatever you decide, I'll be there to help you with Pops. If you want me to."
Bradley felt his heart rate pick up in response. He didn't say anything, just brought his other arm up around Jake and drew him close.