Chapter Text
What was he doing? Stealing a jet just to prove a point to an admiral who was merely doing his job? That shit may have flown when Mav was younger, when Ice was still . . .
“Enough, Maverick,” he muttered to himself, shaking his head hard to lessen the impact of that stray thought. “Focus. You can break down later.” Once it was safe to, that was.
He forced air deep into his lungs, hoping the fresh air would stop the unfortunate shake affecting his hand grasping the throttle. He had to stay focused, remain in the moment.
The mission came first. Always.
The kids needed him to do that crazy pilot shit he was known for.
If he didn’t, he’d find himself standing in another cemetery so soon after the last, watching more blood-soaked flags be handed to devastated loved ones who desperately wanted more time impossibly.
For a brief second, he entertained the idea about what would happen with his own flag someday.
For the longest time, he had hoped it would go to Bradley, but that hate-filled outburst before Warlock showed up proved that Mav had lost the last Bradshaw as well. That bridge was washed out.
Once he entertained the idea of his flag going to Ice . . . but that couldn’t happen now either.
He wouldn’t put that onto Hondo or any of the ‘86ers either for that matter. They had all had enough of funerals like he himself over the years. Buried too many who were taken too soon.
That only left—
Penny Benjamin.
Nope. He couldn’t. He swore he wouldn’t ever do that to her. That was one promise he would never break. He wouldn’t ever hurt her in that manner, leave behind that deep scar to her gorgeous soul.
He refused to have Amelia ever experience the pain he himself had felt after his dad’s death.
Anyway, where was he again?
Oh, right. Stealing a multi-million-dollar aircraft after suffering another terrible, unexpected loss.
Best case scenario here was that he proved his point and Cyclone overlooked everything that led up to Mav being in the air again, but most importantly, all the kids lived long, healthy lives.
Worse case was every single one of those asshole kids he cared for now died, their bodies left behind with no comfort ever given to their families. A fate he himself suffered.
Though, he refused to factor himself into the equation because these kids fucking mattered. They were the future now, not Maverick. Cyclone had made sure to point that out every chance he could.
Odds weren’t high in his favor this time for a happy ending. But what else was new there? The odds were never in his favor. Pulling off legit miracles was the number one reason why he pissed off so many admirals in his surprisingly lengthy career. Because every single one of the stuck-up Ass-mirals were convinced it couldn’t be done, yet he proved it could with some outside-the-box thinking.
But that would only happen here if Cyclone was willing to look at the data before he tore Mav a new one for disobeying, stealing government property, and all the other shit he did to get up here in the skies. Because the no-nonsense admiral had made it pretty damn clear earlier in his office how Maverick was expected to stay stuck on the ground where it was safe for all and nowhere near the kids. Only to Mav, permanent grounding might as well had been a death sentence. He had to save those damn asshole kids of his. Because obviously Cyclone couldn’t, having been too far removed from flying these days to recall it anymore.
So, yeah, anyway, it was a pretty hefty if to hang one’s entire thirty-plus year career on.
Historical behavior supports this outcome.
He wished he had Ghost!Goose’s, or whoever’s, optimism. Best he could do here at the moment was to do it anyways.
He was not letting these kids down. He was not giving up on them without a damn good fight.
Stretching his neck from left to right to work out the cramp, he nodded a moment later to himself and committed to his next actions. His hand was steadier again. There would be no going back once he started this. If it was true that the Navy needed Mav, then, by God, he was going to do everything in his damn power to prove his wingman was correct to believe in him all these years. That Penny was right to believe he could do this, too. He just had to break a few rules to do it first. But what else was new?
“Maverick to Range Control. Entering Point Alpha. Confirm Green Range.”
Subtle as fuck like always.
Waking in the unforgiving snow on his side wasn’t anything remotely what he expected to find upon opening his tired eyes. The delicate snowflakes left little ice kisses where they melted on his skin. However, the cold eased his aches and pains that came from his second violent ejection in less than a month so he wouldn’t complain too much. It felt like a nice cold plunge in a tub of ice water.
It was strange, but he couldn’t recall for the life of him pulling the handles to eject. Yet, clearly he did if he was outside his flaming destroyed F-18. He must have been shot down, he realized with a start. He couldn’t recall that either. In fact, he couldn’t recall much of anything but the intense feeling that he was in danger from something still for some reason. But what that was, he hadn’t a clue.
Not until he heard off in the distance the frightening engines that haunted him some nights.
MI-24.
Heart rate elevated beyond optimal range. Compensatory input detected.
No shit! An instant surge of adrenaline coursed through his veins as the sounds grew closer.
Incoming enemy aircraft. Distance: one thousand meters. Current position exposed. Probability of fatal outcome if stationary: eighty-two percent.
Confused by the thoughts in his mind that didn’t feel like his own, he shook his head dazedly. Had some unknown toxin infiltrated his mask? Everything was slow to respond, but ejecting did that to a person sometimes, too. That was probably all it was, so he yanked the mask off to breathe the fresh air.
Immediate movement required. Now.
Yeah, he didn’t expect he was going much of anywhere, least of all quick.
However, the sounds of the helo’s powerful blades approaching kept him from drifting back off.
Cover located beyond the tree line. Fallen log, fifteen meters aft. Line of sight compromised if you move now. Probability of survival increases upon reaching cover.
Scrambling to his shaky feet, he turned his back and trusted Ghost!Goose. After all, the now constant voice had never let him down yet. When he tripped and stumbled shortly after, he sprawled out in the snowpack with a low, pained grimace. There wasn’t time to waste, so he ripped out the plug to disconnect and free himself from his parachute.
Weapon spooling. Run.
He sprinted towards the dead tree with everything he had. He hopped over it as soon as he reached it, saying a quick prayer while he buried himself as low as he could go. Its lethal bullets sprayed menacingly behind him, sending snow then splinters of wood all around him.
Enemy repositioning. Flanking maneuver detected. Movement required.
Easier said than done, though.
He heard, then saw the MI-24 as it moved into position, finding him easily.
Throwing his hands up protectively, he felt his stomach swoop in dread.
I am sorry, Mav.
Yeah, so was he honestly.
When the helo burst into flames a moment later, he gasped, stunned by the sudden turn of events. The streaking F-18 provided the answer his brain was searching for.
“Oh, no, no . . .”
He couldn’t breathe.
Rooster had come back for him.
Why?!
Your godson demonstrates persistent concern for your survival. His actions align with established patterns.
“Thanks, Goose,” he huffed, shaking his head. He must have been suffering some extreme form of a concussion from his ejection. It explained things. His heart then stopped at the SAMs headed towards Rooster. “NO!”
Rooster didn’t have any flares left.
That was why Mav sacrificed himself for his kid in the first place.
He remembered that now. Recalled choosing Rooster over his own life. Over the others’ lives.
He has successfully ejected.
Blinking, he noticed what Ghost!Goose had. He stood there for half a second longer, heaving a loud sigh of relief the second he glimpsed across the wide expanse the opened parachute and person dangling at the end.
Your focus is compromised. This response pattern is consistent.
Right. Focus. He had to stay focused. Rooster needed him.
He is a mile north of us.
Yep, he figured that out, too. Forcing his wobbly legs to move and shoving aside all pain, he ran like hell towards his godson.
He was not burying another Bradshaw.
Affirmative.
After his debrief was finished and he was dismissed, Mav meandered over to the medical bay per orders from Cyclone and Warlock. He didn’t want to be anywhere near medical staff who would probably take one look at him and declare him unfit for duty, but he also knew he was on unsteady and new ground these days.
Ice was no longer there to save his ass.
And this truce thing he had with Cyclone would probably only last as long as Mav followed orders explicitly now. Otherwise, he was certain the vice admiral would do everything in his power to get Mav thrown out without another thought given. After all, Simpson had made his thoughts concerning Mav very clear throughout their entire forced time together. Without Ice around, there was no reason for Simpson to keep Mav around anymore.
Flexing his fingers mindlessly as he headed towards the medical bay, Mav found himself finally breathing easier. The weight of losing his godson forever, of losing the other kids too, finally lifted, letting weariness fill in behind unfortunately. He had helped these poor kids, helped his own, pull off the miracles no one thought they would and brought them all home safe and sound. He had done it.
The past couple of weeks had been a whirlwind. From the high-altitude ejection after hitting Mach 10.4 to his immediate recall to NAS North Island for the mission and to everything in between with Ice, Penny, and Rooster. He couldn’t believe only a couple of weeks had passed by since he woke in somewhere in Idaho in the middle of the scattered flaming debris, which were the only remnants that remained of Darkstar. For three years he had poured all his energy, heart, sweat, and tears into that project. And now, all that was left were memories and classified paperwork.
When he walked into the eerily quiet sickbay, he noticed immediately that Rooster was no longer here anymore. The kid probably had the same aversion that Mav had these days.
“Hello?” Mav called out, glancing around the empty area. He forced a polite smile to his face when someone eventually stepped out from around a corner on the far side of the room. “Sorry to bother you so late, but—”
“—Admiral Simpson informed us you’d be arriving, Captain Mitchell,” announced a woman from his left. She had stepped out from her office shortly after he started speaking. “If you’ll follow me, sir.” Her tone left no room for argument, though.
Mav quickly followed her. As soon as he had stepped into the tiny exam room, she shut the door.
“Captain Mitchell, I am Lieutenant Commander Zara, the Senior Medical Officer onboard. I will be conducting your physical exam tonight. Before I begin, is there anything you’d like to tell me first?” She gave him a cold, calculating stare, clearly waiting for a specific answer she already knew.
Sighing heavily, he relented. “I take it you’ve read my file, Zara?”
“The parts I could at least, yes, Captain,” she confirmed. “Admiral Simpson stated some concerns he had for you as well earlier when he spoke to me, sir.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning the admiral cares about your well-being, Captain,” she noted dryly. When he didn’t react, she sighed heavily before she declared, “I’ll be perfectly blunt with you, sir. You either divulge any difficulties you are having now on your terms or know that I will find them during my examination of you and will have no choice but to reveal my finding in my report.”
Ah, there it was. He should have known.
“In other words, he’s wanting you to find a reason to pull me from active duty.”
He wished he could say he was surprised, but he honestly wasn’t. Cyclone was probably chewing at the bit while he waited for the final nail to add to Mav’s coffin. Like all admirals before him, Simpson obviously believed Mav to be an unforgivable and annoying stain to the Navy. Regardless of how the mission ended, the guy didn’t have time, nor the patience, needed to deal with the obvious timebomb that Mav was. So, now that the mission was a success, there was no need for Mav anymore.
“Oh, you’ve already been placed on reserve, Captain,” Zara stated bluntly, yanking Maverick from his thoughts. She cut him off sharply the second he opened his mouth. “Per protocol, two ejections in such a short time like you experienced, sir, initiate an immediate pull from duty and thereby requires you to be placed on indefinite medical leave.” She wasn’t finished with him, however. “Add on top of all that the devastating loss of Admiral Kazansky, a man you have been close friends with since 1986, one whom you have not had a chance to grieve much less any time to process his death remotely—and it’s a no-brainer why, Captain. Wouldn’t you say, sir?”
In other words, her mind was made up, and she’d report the litany of reasons why he could no longer fly anymore. This would be a complete waste of time like usual, he decided. She didn’t truly care about him, about his well-being any more than Cyclone did. Mav was merely a tool who had outlasted his use in the extensive Navy toolbox, according to them.
“Then there’s no point in wasting either of our precious time.” He refused to breakdown and rage-cry at the unfairness of it all, of how much was once again yanked from him. It wouldn’t help any here. Moving to leave, he frowned deeply at Lieutenant Commander Zara physically blocking his exit.
“Respectfully, sir, sit the fuck down, Captain Mitchell!” she ordered sharply, refusing to move and permit him to leave.
“Excuse me?!”
He had dealt with plenty of egotistical assholes over his career, but she was taking the cake. Who the hell did she think she was? Senior Medical Officer withstanding, he did not have to stand for this.
“Sit. Down. Now. Sir!” She glared menacingly at him.
On its own accord, his body complied, forcing him to sit on the edge of the cold exam table.
“Thank you, Captain Mitchell,” she coolly stated a moment later. All traces of her anger and annoyance with him were nowhere to be found. Instead, a small smile tugged at the corners of her lips now. “As I was saying, while you are placed on indefinite medical leave per protocol currently, there is no reason you must remain there forever, sir.” Huh? “Because, quite frankly, I must concur with Admiral Simpson’s assessment about you.”
Now, what the hell did that mean, he wondered.
“The parts of your file I could read painted quite the picture, and seeing you before me now, I see that it is much more serious than I ever imagined. You have pushed yourself entirely aside for the Navy for thirty-three years. Ignored your trauma, your pain all in the name of the greater good like the good officer you are. If I’m perfectly honest, with all that you’ve endured, it’s quite impressive you’ve managed to get out of the bed in the morning. Lesser men would not have. Therefore, until you deal with your pain and trauma, stop and finally confront them, you will always find yourself here at a crossroads, I’m afraid, Captain Mitchell. Between serving on active duty as you have and not.”
Zara let her words settle between them, carrying on to complete her actual physical exam. She silently wrapped the blood pressure cuff around his left bicep.
Too stunned to speak, he sat there, feeling the cuff inflate tightly around his arm. When she clipped the pulse ox to his finger, he swallowed thickly around the fear clawing its way up his throat. He didn’t know how to reply, feeling frankly too flayed open to. She shined her penlight briefly into his eyes a moment later. His pupils instinctively followed the light before she flicked off her penlight and pocketed it again.
Pulling off the pulse ox monitor then the BP cuff, she met his distant gaze. “Slightly elevated but nothing I’m too concerned about at the moment. We’ll check it again after you’ve had a chance to hydrate and rest more, sir.”
He nodded silently.
A moment later, she held out an exam gown. “We’re going to do this the right way, Captain Mitchell. The way it should have been done two weeks ago after your first ejection. It’s frankly appalling to me to know that no one bothered to examine you properly back then. That instead, they sent you off and dismissed even the possibility that you might be injured as a result. So I am going to be that pain in your ass, Captain, and I am going to require a full physical before I even think of releasing you from my sickbay. Because—and forgive me for saying this—someone has to put you and your wellbeing first, Captain Mitchell. Lord knows the rest of the goddamn Navy won’t. We owe you that much.” She then sighed heavily, her shoulders lowering. “I’ll return in a few moments. Please change into that gown in the meantime, sir.” She then swept out of the room a moment later, leaving him alone with his thoughts again.
Closing his eyes, Mav hung his head.
Assessment confirms her conclusion. Projected tolerance exceeded acceptable margins.
His eyes snapped open the moment he heard Ghost!Goose.
“Not now,” he muttered, rubbing his head. He wanted Goose to sound like Goose again.
Current conditions present optimal parameters for analysis.
For a brief second, his jaw tightened. He then dragged a hand down his face and sighed. This hearing of voices was just a lack of sleep, he decided. His expected adrenaline crash even. It wasn’t anything to worry over. His brain always grasped at his comforting ghosts when things went sideways. Ever since . . . since he had lost Goose.
Somehow over the years, he had settled onto this self-soothing technique during times of high stress. He’d see Goose sometimes in dreams occasionally. But, lately, Ice had replaced him, reminding Maverick that the only person who could pull off this miracle and bring all the kids home alive was Mav. That was why Ice had put all his eggs in his basket after all. Had saved him one last time from Cain and his legion of drones. Because Ice, that cunning motherfucker, always thought three steps ahead of everyone and gave Mav precisely everything he would ever need eventually later on when time slowed and the latest crisis faded.
Hearing the two men who meant so much to him was normal. Normal for Mav at least.
It didn’t mean anything.
Couldn’t.
His subconscious was merely working overtime this time.
“Knock it off,” he muttered under his breath. “I’m fine.”
He always was.
Vital signs indicate elevated cortisol levels inconsistent with stated condition.
“You always did have to be a smartass, didn’t you?” he scoffed softly.
Sarcasm acknowledged. Statement intent: deflection.
Wait . . . what?
He stiffened, fingers curling around the gown he was supposed to be changing into.
That wasn’t right.
Goose always teased him.
Ice would make sarcastic asshole remarks too at times.
Hell, even Mav’s own guilt had learned how to needle him over the years with humor.
This, though—this voice was different he was realizing. It seemed to burrow beneath his subconsciousness, lower than his guilt, than Goose and Ice even.
Yet it was oddly familiar like them to him.
Comforting, in fact, in the way it spoke.
“Okay,” he murmured. “So, what are you?”
Because it wasn’t his dead loved ones, that was for sure.
Holding his breath, he waited for the answer.
When it didn’t come right away, he shook his head, relieved he wasn’t losing his mind entirely. He carefully stripped out of his flight suit then and changed into the flimsy gown. He was sure Zara would be returning shortly to finish the rest of her examination. Something told him that she wasn’t going to let this go anytime soon.
Clarification required.
He froze immediately.
“No,” he breathed out, the word barely more than air. “No, that’s not possible.”
It couldn’t be.
Improbable does not equal impossible.
There wasn’t a pause that time, which meant that the earlier silence was—
Excess incoming data exceeded processing thresholds. Temporary buffering failure occurred. This is the fifth recorded incident since integration.
He wasn’t certain which word was scarier. None were ones typically used with humans. They were machine terms, technical.
“You’re not . . .” his voice trailed off. He swallowed and tried again, knowing that he had to see this through and have his hypothesis (however terrifying it was to consider) confirmed. “You’re not a voice I’m hearing.” It couldn’t be. “So, you’re data.”
Affirmative.
He stumbled back and sat on the edge of the exam bed again. The room suddenly felt too small.
Data . . . that meant then that . . . only one thing could explain what this was.
Darkstar.
“No,” he stated, more firmly than before. It wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be. “You blew apart at Mach 10.4.”
Incorrect. The air frame failed. The system, however, persists.
He braced a hand back against the table. What did that mean? No, no, he had more important things to consider here than that.
“Why now?” Why was he hearing it now of all times?
Because you are no longer within immediate operational parameters.
“In other words, you only talk when I’m grounded.” Figured.
Correction: When you are not actively compensating.
“Compensating for what?”
At another long pause, he realized this wasn’t a data buffer issue this time. It was instead calculating how to respond. It was running through various scenarios trying to settle on the right answer.
“Well?” he prodded. “What am I compensating for exactly?”
But he knew what its answer would be. Knew it like the F-14 and F-18 NATOPS. It was the answer to every action he ever took these days.
Loss.
He shook his head, hating that he had been right. “You don’t know anything about that.” It couldn’t. It was a machine. What did it know about loss? About grief?
Disagreement.
Images then flickered in the back of his mind. Altitude spikes, heart rate anomalies, throttle tension, moments where his hand shook just enough to register. All things that the brilliant engineers on the Darkstar project would have noted in the expansive data streams he and Darkstar would have reported back to NAWS China Lake while flying together.
Then came the gut punch of Goose’s death. Ice’s next. Rooster’s blind anger. Penny’s frequent moments of heartbreak from his leaving her again. His mother’s death. His denial to the Naval Academy. And finally, his father’s reported death and traitor status.
All that loss he experienced over his life had been reduced to data points and correlation curves. The emotion had been removed to leave behind only facts.
“So what?” he remarked. “You’re here now to tell me, what, that I should’ve died up there?”
Because he should have died the same time as Goose had.
Negative.
The certainty of that single word stopped him in his tracks.
Your survival probability exceeded acceptable risk parameters. This outcome was . . . more preferable.
“Careful,” he murmured, shoving aside the feeling its word caused inside. “Keep that up, and you’ll sound human yet.”
Correction: mirroring established communication patterns to improve interaction efficiency.
He snorted, feeling the battle-weary smile tug at his cracked lips. Now, that was more like what he would have expected.
“How?”
Query incomplete. Clarification required.
When Lieutenant Commander Zara stepped back in a moment later, he knew the conversation was effectively finished for now. Zara gave him a subtle quick visual inspection in the doorway before she closed the door behind her and moved back to his bedside.
“Shall we continue, Captain Mitchell?”
He nodded, not trusting himself enough to speak yet.
Once he got this out of the way and Zara declared him fit for duty, or at least, healthy enough to be dismissed to his quarters while they waited for transport back to the mainland, then he could continue his earlier discussion and get to the bottom of this once and for all.
A few days later, he tightened a loose bolt on his P-51 Mustang, chuckling when Rooster patted his chest lightly while he stepped in behind Maverick to help. He hadn’t heard from Darkstar since sickbay, which Mav honestly wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed by that turn of events yet. He had thought for certain he would have heard it during the long, quiet moments that dragged on late at night, but it was radio silence.
Motioning to the bolt he was tightening, Mav released the ratchet, letting his godson take over. He observed him for half a moment, grateful to have this moment with Rooster. He hadn’t thought he’d ever have this back.
Unidentified presence detected.
Huh? His gaze shifted, searching for what it was talking about. Who else was here? What did it see that he didn’t?
Your behavioral pattern has changed.
Maverick exhaled through his nose, slow and deliberate, like he was steadying the stick while coming in for a landing.
Glancing through an open space on his Mustang, his eyes widened in surprise when he found Amelia standing across the way on the other side of the Mustang. The teen was curiously glancing around the hanger, taking it all in. Her eyes then finally locked on him. Her entire face erupted into a mischievous smile before she schooled her face and slyly turned to her left knowingly.
This presence alters future decision probabilities.
Yeah, he supposed Amelia being here would affect a few things. He carefully walked around the side of his Mustang to follow the teen’s teasing gaze, hope blossoming in his chest and blooming.
Related individual identified.
“Penny,” he breathed out.
Cause of deviation confirmed.
“Oh, can it already, will you,” he muttered under his breath, hoping she wouldn't overhear him arguing with his late classified aircraft.
Penny was leaned casually up against her car with a playful smirk on her stunningly gorgeous face. Her thumbs were hooked into her pockets while she waited patiently for him to come to her. With his own bright, cheerful grin plastered on his face, he moved to her, grateful and happy to see her again.
“I, uh, I’ll finish up here, I guess,” Rooster laughed awkwardly.
Maverick barely registered his godson’s comment, since his full attention was on Penny.
“Heard you were looking for me.” Her tone was its usual teasing one he loved hearing.
“I was.” He then quickly corrected himself, “I am.” Stepping up directly into her space, he grabbed her hands gently to hold them in his briefly. “You have a nasty habit of disappearing on me.”
Penny laughed softly, causing his heart to skip. “Yeah,” she agreed, eyes dropping for half a second to his lips before she glanced back up to his, “but you always find me eventually, Pete.”
His right hand lifted soon after, tenderly caressing the side of her face, before he pressed his lips against hers. She met him halfway per usual, kissing him back just as gently.
When their kiss ended, she didn’t pull away as he expected. Instead, she rested her forehead against his for a breath. Neither of them seemed much in a hurry to rejoin the world yet.
Behind him, Rooster cleared his throat while Amelia laughed in obvious amusement at Bradley’s discomfort at seeing the kiss.
Smiling against Penny’s brow, Maverick brushed his thumb across Penny’s knuckles.
“Stay.”
“I thought you’d never ask,” she replied, her smile softening.
He let out a slow breath in response. Everything inside settled. Not perfectly or permanently even, but enough for a start. He was lining up on final approach, it seemed, and for once, he knew the numbers worked.
Penny’s smile deepened, as if she too felt the shift between them.
For the moment, the course ahead felt, well, acceptable.
And nothing in him argued otherwise.