I Want to Fly and Put Back All the Pieces of This Broken Heart Tonight

"Jack," George called, making him stop in his tracks.

He had hoped he wouldn't have to deal with anybody trying to stop him. But as it turned out, George's near miss with fatal radiation poisoning had had something of a Christmas Carol-style effect on his conscience. Instead of being snarky and cynical, he seemed to have a brighter outlook on life. Jack didn't expect it to last, but it was at an all-time high right now. He had the drive and determination of someone who actually gave a shit about their job. It was almost sad how jarring it was compared to his usual demeanour.

Jack turned to look at him. "What?"

"You're not doing this."

"I told Palmer that I'm doing it, so yes, I am," he replied coolly.

George rolled his eyes. "For God's sake, Jack, I'm not letting you martyr yourself," he said firmly.  "I… I know someone we can call. Someone who can do the job without dying."

Jack shook his head. "They said it wasn't possible."

"If anybody can prove them wrong, it's this guy."

"We're running out of time," he pointed out. "By the time you get this guy here and debrief him-"

"He doesn't live far from here. He could be here in half an hour, tops."

He huffed. "George, since when do you give a shit about me? You know I don't have anything left, why can't you just let me-"

"You have a daughter-"

"Who doesn't want me in her life!" he snapped, loud enough that a few people turned to look.

George sighed, speaking very solemnly. "I let my son walk away, and for that half hour this morning when I had to wait to know if I'd been exposed, all I felt was regret. I was a shit husband and a shit father, and I thought it would be better for them that way, but the fact is, Jack, I've been lonely. The middle-aged bachelor thing is not as fun as it looks. It's not all sports cars, strip clubs and trips to Vegas. All I do is sit there and think about how I'm going to die alone and that maybe if I had made some better choices, I'd still have someone besides a bottle of Jack Daniels at Christmas." He took a few steps closer. "Don't be me. Right now, Kim's hurting and might not want anything to do with you. But one day, you're both going to realise that you should cherish the fact that you still have each other."

He was a little taken aback. He had barely ever considered George a friend, and after the Darcet incident, he hadn't really trusted him, either. But when he met his eyes, he realised he was speaking from the heart, fighting with everything he had to see if there was another way. George wouldn't lie just to save his life. No, if this pilot existed, then Jack should let them try, not just for the sake of this crisis but also for himself. Despite the harshness behind Kim's words and actions, he knew deep down she was in agony. She was pushing him away, and he was letting her. But George was right: it wouldn't last forever. And he needed to be strong enough to support her on the day she decided to let him back into her life.

"Alright, what's this guy's name?" Jack asked, noticing how relieved George looked.

"Pete Mitchell. He's…" Something in his expression fell, making Jack realise that he should have assumed there was a catch. "He's on probation right now, but two months ago, he was a Navy lieutenant. A very good one. So good that he's referred to by his callsign nearly everywhere he goes."

The name sounded vaguely familiar. Perhaps the callsign would ring a bell. But he was less focused on that and more focused on the other fact.

"Is his status going to be a problem?"

George shook his head. "He has an impeccable service record, which President Palmer should be aware of. If not… the Pacific Fleet Commander will make sure he does."

His eyebrows rose. "We're going to have to get him here, too? George, at this rate-"

"He and Maverick are close, and by that, I mean one, Ice always bails Maverick out and lifts whatever restrictions he has, and two, they live on the same street. It'll be fine, alright?"

Maverick was indeed a familiar figure to him. They both seemed to be regarded as loose canons in their relative fields, so there wasn't much he could say in protest. Jack supposed that even though this wouldn't be as seamless as George had initially made it out to be, he clearly had every intention of making it happen. His stubbornness and insistence on flying the plane himself would only delay things.

"Then get them both down here right away."

—

Maverick woke to the sound of someone knocking on his door. There was only one person it could be, but at this hour, he couldn't imagine it was to catch up for a beer. No, this had to be a work call. He wiped his eyes with the heel of his hand. He hadn't been on probation for very long. However, he had lost the ability to adjust his sleeping patterns for spontaneous midnight missions. The adrenaline from the urgency of whatever situation he was about to be thrown into would do the trick, though. That sensation was what made him feel alive. It was why he struggled so much every time he was reprimanded for just getting his job done. People in charge didn't like the way he bent the rules — or flat-out broke them — but at the same time, appreciated that that rebellion was the reason why he could always be counted on. His response to bureaucratic bullshit really hadn't changed over the last twenty-odd years: a smart-ass comment and a reminder that although he might not have chosen an orthodox method, he had still gotten the job done, and that was all that should matter.

When he opened his front door, he was greeted by Ice, who had thrown a Rams hoodie over his pyjamas and looked just as happy to be awake at this hour as he was. But the solemnness of his eyes told another story.

"What do they want me for now?"

Ice smiled mirthlessly. "You'll like this one. It's not the Navy: it's CTU."

His eyebrows rose. "CTU? They get billions of dollars in funding every year. Couldn't they ask for a pilot who's on shift and not on probation? Oh wait, let me guess:" He made air bunnies, beginning an impression of some non-descript bureaucrat: "Maverick's the only pilot who can do this mission."

He chuckled. "Pretty much." His expression then sobered again. "But this is time-critical, so let's get in the car, and I'll debrief you on the way."

Maverick got dressed, feeling an increasing sense of worry. He had never been called in by CTU before, so he had to believe there was more exigence here than usual. It also put more pressure on him to do this job right. This couldn't just be about ensuring a foreign power stayed within their territory or intercepting a dangerous cargo flight. He was surely going to be stopping a terrorist attack of some kind. If he messed up… it wasn't just his life on the line. While this was a bigger deal, it changed nothing about his motivation. He did this job because he cared about serving his country and doing the right thing. No matter how many times a panel board told him you will never fly again, he took satisfaction in keeping people safe. For most missions, that was his fellow pilots. Here, it was likely he would be alone, so it was the thousands, if not millions, of innocents on the ground.

After locking up, he got into Ice's car. Ice said they were headed for Norton Airfield.

"What's the mission?"

"There's a nuclear bomb. It can't be disarmed, so it needs to be detonated somewhere safely in the Mojave. They've already located the ideal position." Ice sighed. "There isn't much reinforcement for the bomb, and you won't be flying anything particularly sophisticated. There isn't much room for error, either. If you miss the spot, the wind will carry the fallout out to the city."

Maverick stiffened as Ice elaborated further. He had suspected over the years that the Navy was looking to get rid of him, that he was as much of a liability as an asset. Although CTU didn't personally have it out for him, he couldn't shake the feeling that this would be awfully convenient for the Navy.

"So, it's suicide."

Ice shrugged vaguely. "For anyone else, except you. I looked at the details. The manoeuvre's tough, but I still believe you can do it and be far away enough before it detonates."

He wondered how much time he would have. This was an eleventh-hour request — literally. It also explained why Ice was driving particularly quickly. Of course, that need for speed ran through their veins, but he was clearly trying to maximise how much time he would have in the air. Maverick hoped whoever was in charge of CTU was smart enough to save the paperwork for later. It sounded ridiculous, but there had been times when something administrative had delayed a critical mission despite the protests of everyone around them.

"Who at CTU thought to bring me in?"

Ice laughed a little. "Your reputation precedes you, for better or for worse. I'm willing to bet nobody wanted to volunteer for a suicide mission, so they thought to bring in the one guy who defies every expectation placed on him."

Maverick grinned. "I'll take the compliment then."

—

Tony watched Ryan stand near the railing at the top of the stairs, supervising the bullpen like a hawk. Given Ryan's tendency for stubbornness and shutting things down if he didn't like the way they were running, Tony was trying to stay on his good side — really, it was for the benefit of the country.

His phone rang, and he was confused to see it was Jack. Just a little while ago, he had called to inform Tony that he would be flying the plane with the bomb. What had saddened Tony beyond the knowledge that his good friend was about to die was that he hadn't even sounded particularly upset about it. It made him think about the past eighteen months, how, despite his best efforts to support Jack, he had slipped further and further into his depression. He had checked in on Kim, too, who, on the outside, seemed happy with her new occupation. But deep down, she was probably using the job as avoidance for her own grief and strained relationship with Jack. No wonder Jack had practically leapt for the chance to die a heroic death.

"Almeida."

"Tony, it's me," Jack answered. "They found someone who might be able to fly the plane without dying."

Tony hated that Jack almost sounded disappointed but was otherwise pleased by the news. He was also intrigued as to who could possibly be so talented at flying that they could apparently complete a suicide mission and live to tell the tale. The absolute audacity and defiance made Tony believe that this pilot and Jack might have a lot in common.

"Who is he?"

"His name is Pete Mitchell."

Tony's eyebrows rose. The guy was a living legend. "Wait, they got Maverick? How'd they manage that?"

Jack then told him that, since he was in charge of CTU while George was here, he would have to sign off the paperwork and ultimately allow Maverick to do this.

"Send them through," Tony encouraged. "I don't want to waste any more time. Thank God, it's me, not Ryan."

He snickered. "Yeah, you got that right. The papers should be on your computer."

"Alright, I'll sign them off. Thanks for letting me know."

As soon as he hung up, the feeling of relief was quashed by the sound of a familiar man clearing his throat. Tony turned to see Ryan standing with his hands on his hips. The tension was palpable. People had fallen silent.

"Something I should know about, Tony?"

"I have to authorise a request to change the pilot," he explained levelly.

Tony tried moving to go back to his desk, but Ryan stood in front of him. "And why is it so important that you're the one who does it, Tony?"

"The pilot's name is Pete Mitchell. Callsign Maverick."

There were a few mutters. People clearly knew who Maverick was, but Ryan, apparently, did not. This realisation made the situation all the more amusing, and people were now struggling to contain their smiles, which Ryan was very aware of.

"Well, while you go sign off on these papers, I'm going to read up on this Pete Mitchell and find out why he's such an interesting point of conversation." He turned to look at everybody else. "Get back to work."

He got to his station quickly, skimming the paperwork before adding his signature and sending it back to Jack. As he looked up from his computer, Ryan seemed rather interested in what he was reading. Tony knew now that the primary issue was no longer detonating the nuclear bomb but dealing with Ryan's inevitable outburst.

"For every medal of honour or commendation, there are about five broken codes of conduct and laws." Ryan huffed. "For God's sake, this man's as bad as Bauer!"

—

Maverick reminded himself to breathe. This might not be a fast-paced mission, but the stakes were high nonetheless. He looked at the radar and map display in front of him again, ensuring he was perfectly on track for the divot. Ice and Bauer were on his comm, checking in regularly to ensure that the estimated conditions matched reality, which they did. He might be flying a light plane, however, the pressure of the mission and the consistent tick of the bomb felt like a brick in his stomach. This wasn't quite the adrenaline rush he had hoped for. It was more like a slowly building sense of dread. The rush would come after he confirmed the bomb had been placed correctly and tried his best to get the hell away from the desert. He was still racing against the clock but couldn't fly any faster if he wanted to nail his landing — and he really had to nail it.

He descended slowly, endless dunes of sand surrounding him. It was eerily quiet, which only further emphasised the damn beeping of the bomb. He was right on track. His finger hovered over the button to release the payload. He was frankly more than a little freaked out by the bomb and was too tempted to drop it early, hoping to distance himself from it, but he knew he couldn't. With every passing second, he felt more aware of his responsibility here.

"Talk to me, Goose," he said to himself. It was almost like a prayer at this point. Something about it just made him feel at ease, even when he was in a life-and-death scenario, as being in the air usually was for him.

Particles of sand started flying up around him, indicating that he was very close to the ground. He didn't even want to look at the relayed timer display. But he knew from his mental calculation from departure that time was nearly up. The bomb was fitted with a tracking device, so once it was dropped, CTU could verify that it had been placed correctly. If it was too high, his order was to land the plane on top of it, helping to push it into its correct position and better shield the detonation. In other words, if he didn't get it right on the first try, it was suicide. He didn't want to die. His life might be a lonely one, but he lived for flying. He did it to honour Goose and every other pilot he had lost, including his father. He wanted to survive if only to be given another mission likely to guarantee his death. He believed the only reason he was still alive was because his talent meant being able to save lives and protect people. If he wasn't meant to be relied upon time and time again, he wouldn't be here.

When he saw the deepest point, his thoughts quieted, instead allowing familiar instinct to take over and guide him in his task.

—

All was silent as the mushroom cloud slowly blossomed in the sky. A chill ran down Jack's spine, his mind too easily able to think about the alternative, what could have happened if they hadn't found the bomb in time. He hated to be so pessimistic, but after so many years in this line of work, thinking about every possibility, including the most abhorrent, was unfortunately second nature. They had confirmed the bomb was placed correctly, which was already a relief. But as he looked around, especially at Ice, everyone was holding their breath, waiting to hear Maverick's voice through the comm. Although Jack and Maverick seemed similar in their work ethic and ability to think outside the box — that was, break every rule necessary to get the job done — Maverick almost had a following behind him. People cared. People wanted to know that he was alright. They honoured him like some kind of naval god. But Jack doubted he did this for fame. No, he had seen in Maverick's eyes that he cared about serving his country and doing it in whatever way was necessary, which Jack highly respected. 

"This is Maverick, do you copy?"

There was a collective sigh of relief. 

Ice particularly seemed happy to hear his voice. "Loud and clear. You alright, Mav?"

"I definitely pushed this baby to its limits. Hope you don't need it for anything important because I don't think it'll be airworthy by the time I get back." He chuckled. "Would have been nicer to do this in an F-18!"

In the distance, the plane could be seen. Pushed to its limits was correct: the plane had gotten a good headstart. It looked like Maverick had certainly evaded radiation exposure, but he would still be checked by a doctor when he got back.

When Jack turned to look at George, there was a satisfied smile on his face. He was quite sure he had never seen him so happy. Truth be told, Jack couldn't help but be happy, too. He wasn't one to believe in omens, but he had to at least recognise that maybe there was a reason he was standing here right now. He was alive. The city was safe. What more could he ask for?

After verifying that everything was okay and that Maverick was en route, Jack walked closer to George. "Thank you." He sighed. "Not just for calling Mav, but for kicking my ass. You were right… I was looking for an easy way out, and I'm glad you didn't let me take it."

"You're welcome," George said before his smile shifted into a more familiar smirk. "But you're going to have to be there with me when Ryan blasts us. Deal?"

He laughed through his nose. "Deal."