Duke bit his lip, eyeing all the flashing indicators and trying not to cringe at the screeches of the machinery, informing him again and again that his plane had been hit. Any other sane pilot would already be on their way back to base. But he had surely established by now that he was no ordinary pilot. If he quit now, the enemy would win. His plane might not be at peak performance, but he would be damned if he didn't try to make sure no man was left standing – flying, rather. He could take them, even if it meant his own demise.
Somehow, as he consciously brought to mind the very likely possibility he would die in this plane, he realised the permanency of what he was about to do. He would be leaving his wife and son behind. Oh, God, Pete. Duke had always known it was likely he would die in action, leaving his son fatherless at a young age. But he wasn't just thinking about that; he was also thinking about how, if they made him out to be a hero, it would only make Pete more eager to follow in his footsteps.
"Duke, what the hell are you still doing here?" Viper called worriedly through his comm.
"I've been hit, bad, I won't make it back to the base."
Duke swerved through the air, dodging the direct line of sight of the enemy plane. They were trying to get him on all sides, for which he praised their teamwork. But he wouldn't let them have this. Duke was a stubborn man, and nothing pleased him more than the thought of dying out of spite, just to prove that he could take them even with the handicap of his malfunctioning plane.
"Then come as close as you can and eject. They'll come looking for you."
"And leave all the glory to you?" Duke said sarcastically, dodging another flying missile. "I'm not running like a coward. If I'm going down, I'm taking them with me."
"Duke…"
"I need you to do me a favour."
Deep down, he worried whether this was a mistake. Rumours had circulated about Viper for a very long time. The man was an enigma. People went to Viper for favours, and no matter what was asked of him, he always managed to achieve it. However, things never quite seemed to work out too well for them; there was always a catch. Some said he had shady criminal connections, others claimed he was somehow inhuman. The latter seemed ridiculous, but Duke couldn't deny that being in Viper's proximity evoked a visceral reaction in him. There was something about Viper, he just couldn't figure out what, and, frankly, he doubted he would have the time.
Duke had never asked Viper anything, scared of the consequences, as most other pilots. But he wasn't delusional; he knew he wasn't going to survive this dogfight. He had nothing to lose, and everything to gain from making a request.
"Anything," Viper agreed, as usual. Duke had never heard of him turning anyone down, no matter how big or seemingly impossible the request was.
"My son, Pete. He wants to be a pilot, just like me."
Duke made a rapid nose-dive to narrowly dodge the jet in front of him, the awareness that he would never see his son again bringing tears to his eyes and making him lose focus. There were only three enemy planes. He had barely enough ammo left to take them all. He needed to concentrate. Three precise shots were all he needed to make. And, really, the first one was the hardest since it had two wingmen to protect it. If he could get this one, he could certainly get the others.
"Do you want me to stop him from becoming a pilot?"
Duke just smiled, doing his best to move back on a trajectory that would align him with one of the planes, while keeping an eye on the other two. "My son is stubborn," he said with a proud chuckle. "I don't doubt that even if you forbade him, he would find a way around it. I don't want to stop him from being a pilot: I just don't want him to get hurt. I want to protect him. Can you do that for me?"
He locked onto one and fired, the missile perfectly hitting the centre of the plane's body. He did his best to evade flying shrapnel and debris, and to his luck, a large piece of wing managed to strike the front of one of the other jets. It dazed the pilot long enough that Duke could take advantage and lock on, taking it out, too.
"By now, you know that nothing is as it seems," Viper said. "I can guarantee protection for your son until he dies of natural causes at a reasonable age, but unfortunately, this protection comes at a price," he explained. "Messing with the rules of fate and time has consequences."
The last plane seemed to have learned from its dead partners, rapidly trying to escape the site of the explosion, heading downwards. Duke just followed as diligently as he could, but his plane was struggling more and more. If he had had an iota of hope of making it back, it was certainly gone now. One more. He could do this. He had to. If he was going to sacrifice himself, he wanted to go out with a bang and do this right.
"But it'll work, won't it?" Duke asked, aware time was not on his side, desperately trying to keep up as the plane beeped even louder in protest. "Pete will be protected no matter what?"
Viper sighed. "Yes."
Duke narrowed his eyes slightly, cognisant of the hesitancy in Viper's voice. It was like he wanted to say something, wanted to stop him from accepting his offer, but couldn't. It confused him. But it didn't make him change his mind because, after all, he wasn't going to be around for this supposed price to present itself. He was already dying, what difference would it make?
"Do it," Duke said desperately. "Protect him. Whatever you have to do, just do it, please. Look after my little boy."
Now, he was really on his last legs, aiming vaguely in the direction of the final plane and rapid-firing. He couldn't lock on at this distance but he could sure as hell try to aim correctly. The plane shuddered with the impact of firing, smoke clouding his window more and more. Finally, the remaining engine sputtered, and Duke knew time was up. The plane started falling with a whistle. The altitude was too low for Duke to even consider ejecting, and he wouldn't, not until he knew he had succeeded.
A blazing ball of fire started to fall beside him. He had done it. He had taken out the enemy. It felt like everything was going in slow motion. Memories flashed before his eyes. Everything went dark and quiet. He wasn't even sure if he had felt the plane crash, or if he was already floating.
The last thing Duke saw in his mind was his wife and Pete, assured that he would be safe.
It wasn't supposed to be like this.
Ice had only told him the cancer had returned a couple of days ago. Maverick guessed he had known for longer but had kept that from him to not make him worry. He had planned it perfectly, Maverick had to give that to him, taking advantage of him being stationed out in the Mojave. While Maverick usually drove or flew back to Miramar every weekend, lately, he had only visited every other weekend or even every three since Ice had started claiming he was busy, or tired, or worried someone would start noticing how often Maverick came to stay at his house.
Maverick should have known something was up the first time Ice had said that; their relationship was the navy's most badly kept secret and had been for decades now. Officially, they weren't anything, of course, which was why Ice's sister Sarah was being handed the American flag at the service. But they had planned on making it official one day, and the thought of that never coming to fruition broke his heart.
That was their problem: they thought they would have time. They had had it all planned out, how they would retire and would no longer have to care about appearances. Ice had told him about a place he wanted to move to with him, somewhere isolated and quiet, but cozy, a place where they could finally be together. The location, he had kept secret, saying it would be a nice surprise, something for Maverick to look forward to.
And now they would never go there. Maverick would never even know where that place was. They had waited around for a happy ending that would never come.
Maverick tried his best to remain stoic, shedding only a few polite tears of respect as the coffin was carried. He couldn't weep for him, not yet, not like this. For someone who had been to so many funerals, witnessed so many tragedies, it still eluded Maverick why the grief hit him so hard every time. He had lost enough people, so why hadn't it made him stronger or at least desensitised? Why did he feel the pain in his heart, his soul, weighing down his body in such an intense way?
A part of him insisted that what he and Ice had was different, but he knew it wasn't stronger or more significant. He still thought about Goose every time he was in the air, and the same went for his father. No, he wouldn't try to put the people he lost in some weird hierarchy of most to least painful; each one hurt, day after day. It seemed the pain only got worse, not better.
It was his fault for getting attached to people. Everyone around him died, so he should know by now to drive people away when they try to get close to him. It was what he had tried to do with Bradley and the reason he and Penny hadn't worked out the first time. Although it had been such a joy to see Penny again, he was still terrified that she would be next after Ice, and he couldn't have that, couldn't go through that loss again, couldn't put that on Amelia, either.
The proceedings were no different to any other navy or military funeral. But everyone could tell there was an aura of respect and admiration here. Ice had not been an ordinary pilot or commander. His death would leave a permanent, gaping hole in the navy that nobody could ever fill or replace. Nobody would even try. The hole would be there as a reminder of one of the greatest men to serve their country, and people would try their damndest to honour that in their duty.
As the twenty-one gun salute fired and Maverick punched his wings into Ice's coffin, something caught his eye. He blinked a few times just to confirm it wasn't a weird trick of the light or a result of the tears blurring his eyes. But then Maverick confirmed what he was seeing: a recognisable old man standing in the shadows of the trees, clad in his Navy whites. This wasn't right. He was losing it. His mind was cruelly reminding him of others he had lost, but to some degree, this felt a little random. Why Viper? He supposed Viper had died similarly to Ice, peacefully, although Viper hadn't been ill. Viper's death was arguably the most normal and least surprising out of all he had grieved through. Viper had died a happy old man.
But even as Maverick tried not to focus on it, he couldn't deny how the apparition seemed to be staring back at him, too. It couldn't be real. It just couldn't. But why couldn't he make it go away?
The confusion began to consume him, like he knew seeing Viper wasn't just a coincidence. Against his better judgement, when the funeral proceedings were over and he saw Viper quickly make his way to the nearby forest, Maverick started running after him. Nobody followed him, likely wanting to let him grieve on his own. But Viper soon gave chase, and Maverick tried his best to tail him. For an old man, he was certainly still fit.
Maverick struggled to keep up until he was quite sure he had lost Viper for good, now feeling incredibly stupid for running through a forest, especially since the sun was setting, darkening his surroundings. It would be a miracle if he got back to the car in time. His heart was pounding. It wasn't unlike the adrenaline rush he felt when he flew. But he had a cold sweat, the hairs on the back of his neck were standing up, and he felt a timid vulnerability in his body. He was scared. It was a rarity for him to be scared like this, but he couldn't deny that was what he was feeling.
"Maverick…" a voice called from behind him. He wasn't sure if he should consider that a sign he was right, or simply even more delusional than he thought.
He turned around, feeling his hands shake, finding Viper looking exactly as he had the day Maverick last saw him.
Viper just smiled. "It's been a long time. I know."
He said it so simply, as if they just hadn't seen each other in a while. As if Maverick and most other pilots he trained hadn't been at his funeral.
"Are you– Is it?– Is it really you?" Maverick asked in disbelief.
He nodded.
Maverick felt like his knees were going to give out. He wasn't speaking to Viper. He couldn't be. He had probably just collapsed in the middle of the forest, and now he was dreaming. They would send a search party out for him, and he would wake up to see Penny's worried face.
"I can explain," Viper offered.
"Please do."
Viper sighed, like he didn't know where to begin. "I faked my death because if I hadn't, people would have started questioning why I wasn't aging."
Maverick just chuckled mirthlessly, his voice laden with sarcasm. "Oh, that sounds a lot more plausible. It all makes sense now."
"I have to do that periodically. I don't age because I'm not human."
Again, Viper said this like it should make sense, like it was something he learned in grade school and should be able to recall easily. For Maverick, the possibility that he was not conscious seemed even more likely now. "I must have hit my head so hard…" he muttered.
"Oh, you're awake alright, Maverick," Viper said, as though reading his mind – at this rate, anything was possible. "I've been keeping an eye on you for a while," he went on, "but today I'm here to apologise."
Maverick furrowed his brow slightly. "Apologise for what?"
"I was in the air with your father when he died."
"You told me that, yes." Was there more to the story? Was Viper involved in his father's death? And if so, why tell him now?
"Before he died… your father asked a favour of me."
That made Maverick stiffen, an awful sensation creeping through his body, deep in his bones. He couldn't be dreaming. This was too intense of a reaction for him to be making this up. This had to be real. The rumour had circulated for as long as Maverick could remember: Viper made deals, he could make anything, anything, happen, but people often suffered as a result. Cougar came to mind. How he had walked around so proudly, claiming he had called in a favour and was about to be selected for TOP GUN, which he had been, but then everything had gone wrong for him.
Had that happened to his father too? Was Viper the reason he had died? And what would he have traded his life for? What could have been so important?
"Why would he do that?"
"He knew about what I did, if that's what you're asking," Viper stressed.
"What did he want?"
"He wanted to keep you safe," Viper explained, pity creeping into his expression. "He knew you'd want to be a pilot just like him. At the time, he was sure he was going to go down as a hero, and he did, for the handful of pilots that heard the true story – although we both know that's not what most people heard about him." His expression softened in a way that reminded Maverick just how much of a surrogate father figure Viper had been for him. "He knew you'd become a pilot, one as reckless as he was, and wanted to know you wouldn't die in the air. I could give him that."
"So, it's just a coincidence he died right after?"
"He knew he was dying anyway and I agreed his plane was in no condition to return to the base. He could have run for his life and likely not made it, or stayed and taken some of those bastards down with him. At the end of the day, he thought he had nothing to lose, so he made a final wish."
"What are you talking about?"
Viper sighed. "When someone makes a pact with me, there are consequences. Your father knew that, but his plane was going down whether he made the deal or not. We both thought he would get off scot-free, that he had found a loophole. We never would have thought you would inherit those consequences–"
The more he went on, the more Maverick could sense a tangible darkness in the air. It all came together, on a subconscious level then as a simple thought: Viper was responsible for every bad thing that had ever happened to him. He was apologising, he had come out of hiding, all to tell him that, after losing so many people, there had been a rhyme and reason to all of it. It hadn't been a cruel fate; it had been a consequence of something he had guaranteed. He couldn't help but also feel a crushing sense of realisation that maybe he wasn't quite the Maverick people had painted him as. For every bit of dumb luck that had saved him from getting killed in the air time and time again, someone had suffered or died as a result.
"What… what are you?" Maverick asked, his voice hardened with fury. He wasn't afraid of Viper, even if he had some kind of laser beams he could shoot out of his eyes and kill him with. No, he wanted a God-damned explanation for why he hadn't intervened earlier, undone some of his magic bullshit, anything to stop this cycle. He wasn't worth all these lives. He wasn't worth protecting, not anymore, and the knowledge that people would certainly keep dying around him made him fear deeply for Bradley.
"Me? I'm a salesman, a trader. I give people exactly what they want. And for that, they pay a price," Viper said, his voice stern, like he was ready to prowl, defend his honour.
Maverick folded his arms. "Is that what you tell yourself? That it's their own fault?"
Such a fitting name for him: Viper. A treacherous snake, sly and deadly, just waiting for someone to take one wrong step so he could bite.
"It's the only way I sleep at night. Well, we don't really need sleep the way humans do, figure of speech and all…" He smiled, as if he hadn't just confessed he was the reason every person Maverick had ever loved had died violently.
He wasn't going to let Viper make light of this, like it was all just work to him, like human lives meant nothing to him.
"But I do mean it when I say I'm sorry for your bad luck–"
"Don't call it that!" Maverick insisted, his cheeks flushed with anger. "I thought it was bad luck– I've spent my whole life thinking it was just coincidence, bad luck. You cursed me!"
"I didn't know," Viper defended. "For the longest time, I didn't know. When your mother died, I thought that was the result of the pact, yes, but as his wife, not as your mother. That and confidentiality meaning your father's name got dragged through the mud, so no one could ever really know the truth; I thought that was the full extent of the consequences."
Maybe it was because he had just gone to a funeral, but it was hard for those memories to not come flooding back. He remembered being held by his grandparents, kissed and given condolences by every aunt, uncle, cousin, and Marine in sight. He remembered not being able to cry, somehow feeling like his tears hadn't regenerated after losing his beloved father. It had only been a few weeks after the funeral when his relatives had been digging through his mother's belongings, deciding what to donate, sell, or dump, and someone had tried to take one of her favourite scarves. He had screamed in protest and insisted on keeping it. To this day, he still had it somewhere. He refused to part with it, even if it brought him great pain to look at it.
Yet Viper talked about it as if it had been just another day for him.
"When Goose died… I started to suspect you weren't as immune as I thought," Viper went on, his expression sober, making Maverick believe he was still apparently capable of emotions. "It was a combination of too many things going wrong at the same time, yet you came out unscathed."
"Unscathed? I lost my best friend! There isn't one day that goes by that I don't feel his absence. Don't tell me I came out unscathed."
Viper looked like he had nothing to say to that, nothing that Maverick could accept. He didn't need to go on. Maverick could fill in those gaps pretty easily now.
"You knew. That's why you told me it was going to happen again." He huffed. "You did this. Carole, that was you, too. You're the reason a kid who lost his father at four was an orphan by sixteen!" His voice broke. "You didn't just ruin my life; you ruined his, too!"
Viper looked away. "I didn't know about her."
Maverick scoffed. "Why would you? She was no one to you, unimportant, just another faceless name to add to a never-ending list of people who died because of you."
"I never forced Duke into–"
"Then Ice," Maverick could barely say his name. He wondered if he ever would. "Ice, who had gone into remission, suddenly relapsed and died before anybody could save him." His bottom lip started to wobble as he pointed a shaking finger at Viper. "Do you have any idea how hard it was to watch him go through that? How happy we were, how hopeful, when he went into remission? We had plans, we had– and now he's gone. You took him from me!"
It was at that moment that Maverick could not, would not, take this bullshit anymore. He had the man responsible for all of his loss right in front of him, and he would not allow him to go on unpunished.
With his body fuelled by righteous rage, he charged at Viper, tackling him to the ground and managing to get a few punches in. But Maverick was disappointed that Viper didn't bleed, didn't bruise, didn't appear marred in any way. He would have gotten the same result from punching a marble statue, and his knuckles hurt about the same.
"You can't kill me, Maverick," Viper said, not with a sneer or to make a point of it, but to urge him not to waste his energy. "Stronger men than you have tried."
"Take this back," he demanded, still leaning over him. "At least, just stop this from getting any worse. Please. I never wanted this."
"You don't know what you're asking for," Viper responded, making Maverick scoff. Enough with the cryptic riddles already.
He squared his jaw. "Like my father didn't know what he was asking for?"
Viper seemed to want to reply to that, but then changed his mind, knowing there was nothing he could say to defend himself from that accusation.
"Your flying has always been more luck than technique, from day one. You said it yourself, you don't even think when you're up there," Viper pointed out, and if he wasn't grieving, the blow to his ego would have hurt a lot more than it did. "If you take away your miraculous luck by undoing your father's deal, you'll die the next time you're faced with the enemy. Or maybe for the first time in your life, you will truly experience bad luck and it'll just happen during a training exercise. If you undo this, you will put yourself at risk every time you're in the air."
Maverick knew he was right. Everything made sense now, and with his protection from physical harm, he was the only one who could fly that mission and hope to come back alive.
"But if I don't, Bradley dies in the air, or a car crash, or a mugging gone wrong, or cancer again, or whatever else you could throw at him," Maverick summarised plainly. "I've lost enough family, Viper. I can't lose him, too. I can't live with myself letting Goose and Carole down like this. The one thing I promised them was that I would look after Bradley. So don't let me become more of a disappointment."
"You're not going to let this go, are you?" Viper said, as if he should have expected anything else from him. How many times had he been told that, to let things go, like they were trivial? Viper had said it to him after Goose died. Ice had said it to him about letting Bradley fly right before he died. God, was there a pattern to it? Every time someone told him to let go, something happened that made it even harder for him to do so?
"No, I'm not," Maverick said sternly. "You should know by now that when my mind is fixed on something, I don't stop until it's over. So right here, right now, you're going to undo that deal."
Maverick wasn't sure what was worse: the torrent of guilt hitting him as soon as he got home or the newfound existential dread from learning about why his life had been so marred by death. It felt suffocating to be in his house. It was too easy to look at the picture frames, few as they might be, in his living room, or simply remember every moment he had ever shared with Ice here. Ice was already haunting him.
But he wouldn't have to put up with it for long, because he had convinced Viper to undo his father's deal. He was sure he would get in the air soon enough, and this would be over. Bradley would be free of his bullshit. Everything would be okay, and he would be reunited with Ice.
For now, though, he was alone in that big empty house. The bed — unmade, and still indented with the shape of Ice's body on his side — felt even bigger without Ice laying next to him. His smell still lingered in the air, and Maverick found himself crying quietly, finally allowing himself to break down in the privacy of their home.
He somehow managed to sleep, perhaps out of sheer exhaustion from everything he had just been through physically, mentally, and spiritually. Viper's presence had felt so intense that Maverick felt strange now being away from him. His nightmares resurfaced; they always did after funerals and difficult times, but some of the self-blame had now been alleviated. He didn't see those memories as cruel reminders of how he could have saved someone; no, now they triggered a deep, painful anger, the anger he had felt when Viper had confessed everything. However, Maverick still held responsibility. He was a harbinger of death, even if he hadn't known for all this time. He wouldn't use this as some excuse to absolve himself of everything.
It was no surprise to anybody that Cyclone plainly told him he would be removed as instructor the next day. Things were business as usual. There was no time to mourn or reflect, not when they had a deadline. It was hard for Maverick to accept, just as it had been all those years ago with Goose, that everybody was expected to move on and pretend it wasn't affecting them. He remembered wanting to scream and ask everyone how they could be so heartless.
Maverick couldn't care less about anything anymore. He just wanted this to be over. However, he would be lying to himself if he said he didn't mind how he died. He still felt a need to go out with a bang. And he wasn't a fan of the way Cyclone was intending to run the mission. Maverick might not be particularly motivated to honour his duty anymore, but he was still driven to prove him wrong.
The idea came to him easily. It was perfect, really, he would be doing one last classic Maverick thing: steal an absurdly expensive plane and hopefully, prove that the mission could be flown. The universe at least owed that much to him, one last hit of good luck before he went.
Getting on the plane was a lot easier than he thought: he just had to act as if he had authorisation and nobody looked at him twice. He made his way to the area designated for training, realising his flying didn't seem to have worsened as drastically as Viper had implied it would. He was grateful for the training area, he realised. He would get to go out with a bang but without the risk of injuring anyone else.
At the back of his mind, a voice reminded him that he didn't have to kill himself like this, that with the curse already gone, this wasn't going to make a difference. But he wasn't just doing it to martyr himself. He believed he had made enough of a life for himself that his time could end now. All the people he loved were gone, and although he didn't want Bradley to lose another parental figure, he still felt a need to protect him by keeping his distance. He also recognised that even if he did leave and return to testing planes with Hondo, dying in that prototype would mar its reputation, because nobody would trust the manufacturer of a plane that killed the unstoppable, incredible Pete "Maverick" Mitchell. He almost died to let Hondo and everybody else keep their jobs for another few years and maintain funding. He wouldn't undo that hard work.
But as he started flying the course, things seemed to go suspiciously well. Every corner felt easy. It was like he actually had a talent for flying after all, contrary to Viper's belief. He supposed maybe the deal wouldn't vanish in an instant but fade away gradually. That had to be it. As time passed, he couldn't help but feel a little proud of himself, and he was actually happy by the time he finished the whole course, with a little time to spare, too. He knew that was just the encouragement the kids needed, and he was grateful to have had the opportunity. He was ready now. He didn't make it so obvious, just flew in circles as though jumping for joy and hoped for the wind to change in a way that would make his death quick and painless. But nothing happened.
He took it as a sign that maybe, just maybe, his time hadn't quite arrived.
Soon enough, he was on the ground again, not in a body bag or in pieces, but completely safe. It hurt, getting out of the plane. He had stepped in, convinced that in a matter of minutes, he would be reunited with the people he loved the most, and had to hold back tears as he made his way into Cyclone's office at the thought of that reunion being delayed.
As expected, Cyclone wasn't happy about what he had done, but wasn't angry enough to fire him either. In all honesty, he looked like he wanted to kill Maverick with his bare hands, and Maverick just might have liked that. But as Cyclone went on with his speech, Maverick couldn't believe his ears; the admiral was offering him his way out on a silver platter. If he thought that dying while proving the mission was possible was good, this was even better.
He was going to be flying the mission as team leader. He could die a hero.
Maverick stared at the crashing ocean waves, somehow finding them relaxing when they should be anything but. It gave him something to focus on, to ground himself, to time his breathing with. It was something of a ritual for him, by this point. He remembered the first time he had looked out at the water after losing Goose. He remembered that awful feeling in his gut, the creeping chill down his spine, that voice in his head telling him to run away. But Maverick was nothing but stubborn. He recognised every day that he had chosen to go back into the air, to keep doing what he did best because he refused to let that fear win. It was spite in its purest form, yet it enabled him to keep going. Goose wouldn't have wanted him to give up, and Ice certainly wouldn't, either.
He had debated his final team with more care and rumination than ever before. Well, most of the team hadn't required much thought, just his wingman. There was as much merit for having Bradley in the air as there was for keeping him on the ground. It wasn't a matter of skill level; the kid could do it, and he believed that objectively. It was a matter of what Maverick could tolerate. Could he stay focused if his paternal fears over Bradley were at the back of his mind? Or was the knowledge that he was entirely safe on the ground, even with seething resentment, necessary for him to keep a clear head? Initially, he told himself it didn't matter if Bradley hated him, that he would rather die knowing he had protected Bradley. But then he reminded himself that Bradley was not a child, had not been a child for some time, and would end up living with the guilt of his last moments with him being tainted by anger and hurt. He didn't want Bradley to have to grapple with that on top of his grief. He also knew that Bradley had a promising career ahead of him and deserved a chance to make a name for himself, to surpass his father in a way that would make him so proud.
So Bradley was coming with him. Maverick would communicate his decisions later, but he figured he could break the news to him directly, alone. Maybe they could even talk a little.
He walked down the decking to where Bradley was similarly looking out over the ocean, although he was fiddling with his dog tags. Maverick had to wonder whether Bradley was doing as a fuck you to his fear the same way he had for so long. Goose would be so God-damned proud of him.
"Bradley…" Maverick called quietly. Most of the others were just arriving. He made a point of calling him Rooster or Lieutenant in professional settings. But right now, he felt a need to make it clear this was a personal conversation, too, a real man-to-man.
Bradley turned to him, his eyebrows slightly raised with surprise, like Maverick had startled him a little.
Initially, Maverick planned to give it to him straight, tell him that he would be his wingman and that he believed in him. But the more he looked at Bradley, the more he felt Goose and Carole's presence, tears springing to his eyes. This would likely be the last time they ever spoke like this. It couldn't be so cold. He didn't want to distract or worry Bradley, but he felt a desperate desire to tell him everything and make sure that things were left right.
"If anything were to happen to me…" Maverick started. "Would you rather hear it over the radio or see it happen?"
"What are you talking about?"
"I want you on the team, but there's a possibility I might not make it back. I need to know if you're ready to potentially witness that."
Bradley stiffened. "You sound like you don't want to make it back," he said plainly.
Maverick wasn't sure how to reply to that, so he fell silent as Bradley looked at him with worry. "I've seen this before. Mom sounded just like that after Dad died. She gave up on life. She lived like she was just waiting to be with him again. That's what's happening to you, too, isn't it?"
Maverick couldn't answer that. There was truth to what he was saying. Really, he had pinpointed his current state of mind, but he wouldn't tell him that. But maybe he didn't need to, maybe Bradley was smarter than he gave him credit for. He knew exactly what was going on.
"This is about Ice," Bradley realised, his expression conflicted. "I… I understand that you two were close, but–"
Maverick shook his head. He couldn't even think about Ice now, or he would break down. He had to focus on the mission, on saying his goodbye.
"Believe me, Bradley, if I could, I'd never leave you. I know what it's like to lose so many people, and I wish you didn't have to lose me, too. But I have a feeling, a certainty, that I'm not going to come back from this, and I need you to know I am so sorry about that."
Bradley looked lost for words, afraid, like Maverick was being prophetic and not just overprotective.
"When your father died, a man I trusted, an instructor, told me there would be others, that if you fly long enough, sometimes that happens, and I had to let it go." Maverick shook his head. He might have believed those words once upon a time, but not anymore, not now that he knew the truth. "I know I told you the same thing when Phoenix and Bob crashed, and I need you to know that he– that I was wrong. It doesn't have to be like that. After I'm gone, it won't be like that anymore. There won't be others. Not for you. You've suffered enough already."
He went to speak, but Maverick kept going, insisting on making his point.
"I know it won't be easy, it never is, and it won't get any easier this time. But you're strong, and you don't need me–"
Bradley looked at the floor. "Maybe I do."
"You really don't. You and everyone else will be better off without me."
"I don't like how this sounds, Mav," Bradley said worriedly. How long had it been since he had called him that? Memories came flooding back from when Bradley was younger, and his heart broke for this kid who would lose yet another parental figure. But he had to do this. He had to die, or Bradley would lose God only knew how many more people.
"I want you to have these," Maverick added, taking off his dog tags.
It was against every protocol to do that. There was a reason pilots and soldiers wore those dog tags: to make it possible to identify their bodies. But Maverick already knew that it would be highly unlikely that, if his body even stayed in one piece after a crash or a missile hit, they would ever get it back from the enemy. He didn't care. If anything, no tags made him unidentifiable. The enemy would have no way of proving even his nationality; it would give the navy plausible deniability.
But that wasn't the reason he was giving them to Bradley now. No, he was doing it because when he had gotten Goose's, he had thrown them in the ocean, hoping for something cathartic, rather than leaving them to his wife and kid as he should have.
It seemed to only hit Bradley that Maverick was serious about giving up as he held his tags in his hands, clutching them tightly, feeling their warmth. He knew what that meant, and the finality of that gesture made him shiver. He knew now there was no changing Maverick's mind – was there ever? He had already made his decision.
Both of them went to speak again, but they soon found themselves in a fierce embrace, both sniffling and desperately trying not to break down, especially as more people came on board.
"I love you so much," Maverick said thickly. "You're the closest thing I've ever had to a son, and your parents would be so, so, proud of you."
Bradley just squeezed him back, less composed now. "I love you, too," he whispered. "I… I know I've said some things that I shouldn't have. But you've been like a father to me, and I'm so grateful for everything you've done for me."
He wanted to say more, really pour his heart out, not give a shit what anybody might say if they could see, but then Warlock called his name, somewhat sympathetically, and they soon parted. Maverick cleared his throat, furiously wiped his tears and came over, putting up his facade and remembering what he had to do. He was in charge of these pilots, and he would not, could not, let anything happen to them.
They went over everything one last time, and as Maverick caught Bradley's eye, knowing he would not have the chance to talk to him again, he could be content knowing that he had said what the kid needed to hear so he could die at peace.
Maverick had never been more grateful for his team. He could say with certainty that the next generation of pilots was more than ready to face what the world had to give them. The manoeuvres were performed smoothly, the SAMs were avoided on the way in, the bombs were dropped with precision. They had gotten their miracles.
Then the dogfight tested everybody's limits.
Nobody could have anticipated just how aggressive the enemy would be. Even Maverick struggled, but really, it made sense that this wasn't a walk in the park now that divine luck was no longer on his side. It affirmed to him that he certainly had some talent, but he wasn't getting out of there alive and he didn't care.
What he did care about was that he had dragged Bradley into this, too. He hadn't anticipated just how bad things could get, hoping maybe that destroying the enemy runways would have bought just enough time for the rest to make it back. But wherever he looked, he could see flares being deployed, missiles powering towards him, smoke in the air, and the comm in his radio was a cacophony of voices and beeping alarms. For the second time in his life, he felt afraid in the air.
It was chaos all round. He could barely keep up himself, let alone check in on his fellow pilots, whose voices were a clamour of adrenaline and fear. He multitasked as best he could but knew the clock was ticking.
"Shit, I'm out of flares!" Bradley's voice rang clear above the others.
"Rooster, evade, evade!" Maverick instructed.
"I can't shake them! They're on me, they're on me!"
Maybe he had been wrong to select Bradley, after all. He thought he could have protected him, but this was far too close for comfort. Now, Bradley was out of flares and being chased by the enemy's far superior aircraft. He was out of time. If he was going to sacrifice himself for the kid, the time was now.
Everything happened so fast. One second, he was flying up to shield Bradley, the next, he was sitting… in his hangar? He had not expected the afterlife to look that way, especially not with all those details, the calendar still marked, his bike on the hoist, his Polaroids pinned to the corkboard…
"It changes to reflect places where you felt happier," a voice said.
Maverick looked up to see a silhouette standing at the entrance, directly against the sunset, so Maverick couldn't see him properly until he took a few steps inside. It had been so long since he had last seen him, and he had been so young that his memories had faded, but he could still recognise him.
"Dad…"
"Ours was the old house back in Miami," his mom said with a smile, wearing her scarf like she used to.
They both looked so happy, the way he remembered them, particularly before his dad had passed. When he hugged them, it felt like it healed his inner child, all that turmoil he had carried for so long. It wasn't just that, though; the whole place seemed to make everything lighter and easier. Everything was peaceful, but not without its charm and character. It wasn't a generic utopia; it felt like home.
"Maverick, get your butt over here!" someone called. He hadn't heard that infectiously cheery voice in so long.
Carole and Goose stood at the door. Carole wore one of her bright sundresses, while Goose's Hawaiian shirt matched perfectly. They looked as in love as they had all that time ago, frozen in a snapshot of the happiest time of their lives. It hurt a little that seeing Goose at this age made the resemblance between him and Bradley more striking than ever, but he wouldn't let that put a damper on their reunion.
He ran towards them, as did they, Goose hugging him so hard his feet came off the ground. They laughed heartily, like nothing could get better than this.
"You're looking pruny, Mav!" Carole pointed out.
"Yeah, you old fart," Goose added, setting him down again so Carole could hug him, too, kissing his cheek.
Nobody was surprised by their tears since, as wonderful as this was, it was hard not to remember that their family was not quite complete.
"We're so lucky you've been there for Bradley," Carole said gratefully. "He couldn't have had a better father in his life."
Maverick's chest clutched. It was one thing to hear it from Bradley, but to hear it from Carole and Goose made it more meaningful. Maverick couldn't quite accept the honour, though, not when he needed to tell them something much more important.
"I… I'm so sorry for everything."
Both of them looked at him with confusion.
He didn't know where to begin, his voice racing as he started trying to explain. "I– My father made a pact before he died. It put a… a curse on me, well, not me, everyone around me…"
It took him some time to get through it all, his father filling in the blanks, but just as surprised as the others as Maverick eked out an explanation about why they were all here too early, too young, too tragically.
"Mav… Mav, it's okay," Goose said, grabbing his shoulders. "It wasn't your fault. You didn't know. And you undid the deal to protect Bradley, that… that means the world to us. You sacrificed yourself to keep him safe. What more could we ask for?"
Maverick blinked a few times, not quite realising that he was being forgiven, that everything was okay. His breaths shuddered as he absorbed those words, acknowledging that he didn't have to hold onto this guilt anymore, that he had done the best thing he could have to prevent the curse from affecting anybody else.
"Son, if there's anybody to blame, it's me," his father said solemnly.
Maverick turned to him and shook his head. "No, Dad, it's not your fault. Besides, if I hadn't had this curse, I never would have been able to meet Goose, or fulfil my duty, or have the life I had–"
He wouldn't say he wouldn't quite change anything, but, for the most part, it had been a good life. And more than Goose or Carole, if he hadn't made it to TOPGUN because Cougar quit, he never would have met–
"Just goes to show I was always the better pilot," a wonderfully familiar voice stated proudly behind them, making Maverick turn around.
"Ice!" He couldn't remember the last time he had heard him speak with such ease, no hoarseness, no pauses between short sentences to catch his breath again. And if Maverick had thought Ice sounded good, he looked even better. Gone was the shadow of himself that he had been ever since the first diagnosis. Ice was back to standing with no difficulty, the same old grin on his face that Maverick had missed.
"You were good at flying because of a Faustian pact that made you invincible. I was good at flying because I knew what I was doing. I'm the better pilot," Ice beamed.
Maverick didn't hesitate to walk over, pulling him in for a hug and patting his back. He felt so real, so strong, so tough, younger than his years. He was perfect in every way. Their lips crashed together, every memory coming back with so much vibrance.
He faintly heard Goose gasp. "I told you, Carole. You owe me twenty bucks!"
"Really, Goose?" Carole protested. "What would you even do with money here?"
"God, it's good to see you," Maverick whispered to Ice, unashamed of his tears and ignoring their audience. Nothing existed to him but Ice.
Ice hummed in assent, squeezing him back tighter. "Can't say I expected to see you here so soon, but I'm not complaining."
Their embrace seemed to last forever, like time didn't matter up here, but then Ice pulled away, hands on Maverick's shoulders.
Ice motioned with his head. "Come on, get your bike, I have a place to show you."
Maverick did as he said, quickly saying goodbye to Carole, Goose, and his parents. They would have all the time in the world to reconnect later. For now, he was Ice's.
"Where are we going?" Maverick asked, pushing his bike outside.
"Wouldn't be a surprise if I told you, would it? Keys," Ice demanded, palm open and waiting. "It seems we all have our happy places up here. Yours was the hangar?" he asked, surprised.
It had been surprising, even to Maverick. For years now his favourite place had been the house he shared with Ice more often than not. But then he recognised why he might not have wanted to end up back there; the last time he had been there he had barely been able to look around without it sending bursts of pain through his chest, Ice's absence so evident.
The memory almost threatened to make Maverick tear up again. But he just looked to his side and found Ice standing there, easing the discomfort. Maverick took his hand and pulled him in for a gentle kiss.
"What was that for?"
Maverick smiled, his eyes crinkled. "I missed you."
"I've only been gone a few days."
"I've missed seeing you like this," Maverick qualified.
Ice grinned. "We'll make up for lost time once we get there. Keys," he insisted, and Maverick gave them to him. He got on the back of the bike after Ice, wrapping his arms around him, now strong and muscular again as he had once been.
They drove down the great open road, the sun beating down on his back and the wind through his hair in a way that made him feel so alive. He really had no idea where they were going, and it thrilled him. He wouldn't let Ice be so mysterious, though.
"Alright, Ice, come on, you have to give me something!" Maverick shouted over the wind. "Where are you taking me?"
"The place where I wanted us to retire," he answered. "Somewhere we can be together."
The thought of an eternity with Ice in a place he knew was curated for them was better than he could have imagined. But, frankly, it didn't matter what that place ended up being.
Because no matter where he was, having Ice with him was what made it home.