Three Miracles - thesanctuary - Top Gun (Movies) [Archive of Our Own] (2024)

Chapter Text

“We’re almost there, kid, just hang on, just stay with me,” Maverick pleaded as he flew like he’d never flown before, swallowing down the panic in his throat.

“Trying,” Rooster gasps back, his voice weak and gravelly.

Maverick winced in sympathy as he rolled the F14, trying to ignore the pained grunt he heard from Rooster. He could tell the kid was doing his best to stifle his groans but Maverick knew… only the primal instinct to survive and get them both back to the goddamned carrier kept him going, kept him from blacking out.

He had to stow away the images he’d seen of the shrapnel embedded in Bradley’s body from that damned SAM hit, too many wounds to count, and oh God the blood—made worse by Rooster being unable to catch himself when he hit the ground in his parachute, pushing fragments deeper and opening the wounds. He’d laid in the snow until Mav had found him; Rooster’s face pale and his breathing labored…his breaths wheezing, and Maverick could hear the unmistakable and faint whistle of a punctured or collapsed lung.

Maverick had bound the wounds as best he could, and it had taken hours to get to the ruined airfield, Maverick having to support Bradley as they slowly walked mile by treacherous mile through the trees. It was dark by the time they reached the edge of the airfield, which did work in their favor. But getting Bradley into the co*ckpit was difficult, and Maverick knew the kid was probably running on adrenaline alone at that point.

But against all odds, they’d done it — they’d stolen the F14 and Mav had flown as fast as he could, muscle memory jumping into action as he opened the throttle on the Tomcat.

He was well beyond frustrated with himself; if he’d only been better then they’d be back on the f*cking boat and his kid wouldn’t be bleeding to death in the backseat while he chased down the bandit.

The backseat where Bradley’s father had been when— oh…no….

No, not now, he thinks to himself. Get him back to the ship, then you can freak out about that. Not now, Mav, come on.

The supposedly last bandit is shot down and he can breathe for a second, or at least exhale the breath he’d been holding. There was some relief but he couldn’t relax until they were back and someone told him the kid was okay.

He’d been fully prepared to give his life for his kid, he thought he hadwhen he’d taken that SAM hit, and his thoughts were of Ice and Rooster before he blacked out — and now it seemed like it was all for nothing if the kid didn’t make it—

No! Not an option! His brain demanded.

God, he wished Ice was here; if not flying with him then reassuring him in his ear at least. He wished Ice was on the boat, because what if Bradley didn’t make it and never had a chance to say goodbye to his Papa…

Oh f*ck.

“Mav…” comes the quiet wheeze over the comm.

“It’s okay, Bradley. We’re almost back now. You just gotta hang on.”

“I’m… sorry…”

Maverick has to swallow hard and use every ounce of control to push the tears back. “I’m sorry too, kid. So unbelievably sorry. But we’ll talk about this when we get back to the boat, okay? You just focus on saving your strength right now.”

His voice is shaky, he knows it and can hear it but hopes it’s reassuring at the very least.

Bradley is persistent though; darkness is taking over his peripheral vision, and it’s so hard to stay awake now. “Mav… love you…”

Maverick gasps out an anguished breath, pushing the F14 beyond her limits. “I love you too, Bradley,” he replies simply, because if he says anything else he’ll start crying hysterically, and now they need every ounce of his energy is focused on getting them back.

The missile alarm?! Where the hell was the other bandit??

sh*t! He’s on our nose!

To have come so far… to be so close to the boat… he’s out of ammo… has to gain altitude…

“I’m sorry Goose…God, I’m so sorry…” At least if they got to the carrier Bradley had a chance to survive… being shot down like this however…

A bright light appears along with the sound of an explosion.

What?! Oh…Hangman!

Jake greets them in a jovial tone but Maverick is all business. “Rooster’s wounded! We need to get back, I need medical on deck!”

Jake confirms and lands ahead of him, then Maverick braces as they come to a screeching halt in the net on deck. The landing was bad enough with no landing gear, but this… he could feel the pain of a probable broken rib worsen, but his immediate concern was his kid. He hadn’t heard a word from Bradley since he’d said he loved him, not even a groan during their rough landing, and—

He unbuckles the second the jet grinds to a halt, tossing off his helmet, standing and turning—

He pulls the kid’s helmet off and oh GodBradley is so paleand so clammy-looking and oh my God there’s blood everywhere… he’s unconscious (he’s just unconscious, Mav) and his head is lolled back, his body limp and unresponsive.

Hondo is up the ladder in a second, all business, a frown set in his face as he leans over to swiftly unbuckle Bradley.

It’s all a blur to Maverick as Rooster is quickly assessed and then moved to a gurney, still not moving, still totally limp.

Was his chest moving? Maverick couldn’t tell.

He was in dumb shock, his legs giving out the second his feet touched the deck. He can’t tell if he’s breathing. It doesn’t matter, does it? Not if Bradley is—

Oh God, oh no, no nonononof*ck

“Mav…come on…”

He’s not aware of Hondo holding him across the chest, keeping him upright, and then guiding him off the deck and down to medical, his feet stumbling as he’s tugged along; he’s oblivious of the kids trying to come with him but being gently stopped by Warlock.

Hondo’s arm around his waist is the only thing holding him up and keeping him going.

He can’t breathe. His lungs burn.

Bradley!

He wants Ice. He just wants Ice to be there… he needs Ice to be there with him, and suddenly he can’t think about anything else besides calling his husband, but his mouth is full of cotton, and his head is swimming, his vision blurry, and somehow he’s staring at the ceiling in the infirmary all of a sudden.

When did he get here?

He had the sensation that he’d actually been in sickbay for longer than it seemed but…

Where was Rooster?

He heard an awkward throat-clearing next to the bed and his eyes slowly tracked to the left. Moving his head didn’t seem to be much of an option, but whether from injury or shock he wasn’t sure.

Cyclone looked like he’d aged twenty years since Maverick launched with the Daggers hours (days?) ago. The Vice Admiral sat down on the edge of the bed, and Maverick would have been shocked by that action if he’d felt capable of any emotion besides the blind panic seizing his chest.

Nothing mattered until he heard that Bradley was alright. He couldn’t have had a hand in the death of his godson, of another Bradshaw. He couldn’t.

His breath was stuttering in his chest, his heart pounding so hard it was almost deafening.

Simpson’s eyes were creased in sympathy, and he even reached a hand out and covered one of Maverick’s with his own tentatively, as though he was afraid his touch would crumble the panicked captain in the sickbay bed.

The touch of his CO’s hand made Maverick’s blood freeze and drain out of his face; the gesture spoke multitudes before Simpson himself could speak.

“Maverick, I’m so sorry, but… Lieutenant Bradshaw didn’t make it. He succumbed to his injuries and…Captain, I am so, so sorry for your loss,” Simpson told him quietly.

There was nothing but dumb shock at first, Mav’s eyes wide and his breathing rapid and shallow until—

“No,” Maverick replied, firmly.

“Captain…”

“No, you’re wrong, he’s not, he can’t be! Tell them to check again!” He realized after a few moments that he was shouting, hysterical, but he didn’t care. “Tell them to check him again!”

“Maverick—“

“No! You tell them to check him again!” He tried to get up, to find Bradley and prove them wrong because there was no way in hell he was just f*ckinggone—

A firm hand pressed down on his sternum; hands from the other side of the bed grabbed his shoulders as gently as they could. Voices were trying to calm him, but he could not stop fighting them off as he shouted at them to leave him alone, to let him see Bradley, ignoring his own injuries and the pain that didn’t matter now, that didn’t hold a candle compared to the pain in his heart.

They must’ve gotten him somewhat held down, because he heard someone say something about a sedative, and then his eyes opened hours later in a darkened sickbay, the blanket tucked around him once more, his head throbbing with the worst headache he’d had in recent memory, his breaths heavy and wet in his chest.

He exhaled a loud, shaky breath, slowly piecing together everything that he’d been told. It seemed like a dream, none of it was real was it?

Was Bradley dead?

He tried to wet his cracked lips and raised a hand to his face, surprised to find his cheeks and eyes dry. But then he sniffled as the heavy realization nudged his mind again.

“Mav?” A deep voice questions, and someone comes into view. It’s Hondo, of course, who had been a sentinel as Maverick slept. He squeezes the foot rail of the bed. “Hey, it’s Bernie. I’m here, Mav.”

“Hondo… what happened?” Maverick croaks out.

Hondo sighs and sits on the edge of the bed like Cyclone had. “Bradshaw had severe internal damage from multiple shrapnel wounds from his plane being shot down, a collapsed lung, burns, broken ribs and clavicle, fracture of the ulna, a skull fracture—“

He stops when Maverick lays a hand on Hondo’s arm, Mav’s other hand covering his eyes as he begins to shake and weep softly. Not the emotional explosion Hondo knows will happen soon, but at least Maverick might be beginning to process and understand the awful truth.

“I’m so sorry, Mav. Truly.”

Maverick can only nod as a sob tears through him. He doesn’t want to think about his boy suffering the way he must have been in the back of the F14, or as they made their way through the woods.

A name slips out of lips. “Tom…” he whimpers and Hondo sighs, checking his watch.

Come on, Admiral…

Hondo squeezes Mav’s hand. The other man is now mostly non-responsive again as he weeps softly, like he’s in disbelief (he is), and not trusting himself to fully give in to the awful reality.

Somehow Mav drifts off to sleep again, his unconscious mind attempting to protect him from the trauma of it all, the brain toying with the thought that this is all just a horrible dream, that it’s all a mistake…

This time as he wakes there’s a different hand holding his tightly. It’s a bit warmer than Hondo’s, and more familiar. He cracks his eyes open again and sees the most beloved face in the universe, Tom’s blue eyes pinched in pain and worry, his mouth a set line as he sits in a chair beside Maverick’s bed, leaning his elbows on the mattress.

“…Tom?” Maverick whispers, his throat thick and choked as he tries to sit up a little. Ice nods at Maverick and shifts to sitting on the bed, one hand still holding Mav’s and the other cupping Maverick’s cheek and stroking it with his thumb.

Ice looks terrible, Mav notices, like the man hasn’t slept in days (he hadn’t); like worry and stress and grief have been the governing emotions for quite some time (they have).

So why does he look so bad? Is something wrong? Did something happen with his treatments?

“Tom…what…”

And then it hits him, and hits him fully, because Ice wouldn’t be here if Bradley was alive, would he? Wouldn’t have ordered an immediate transport to the carrier if he knew he’d see Mav and Rooster safe and sound in a few days, wouldn’t have hurriedly packed a bag and sent an urgent text to Slider to meet him on base ASAP… wouldn’t have risked it with his cancer and—

Maverick felt wetness on his cheeks and absently wondered why his chest hurt until he realized he was shaking and sobbing, teeth chattering, his eyes locked on to Ice’s as he completely fell apart and tears streamed down his face.

Ice’s own cheeks were wet, and he sighed and pulled Maverick into his solid chest, Maverick now screaming and sobbing into Ice’s jacket, clutching at his husband like a lifeline, a tether to keep him from going off the brink as agony ripped through him. He shoved his face into Tom’s shoulder, crying so hard his entire body was shaking uncontrollably.

Ice didn’t bother trying to shush him, just held him tight and stroked his neck and hair and back, rocking Maverick a little, eyes closed as he periodically planted a soft kiss in Mav’s sweaty hair or on his temple.

Slider watched from the corner, arms folded across his chest as he stood to the side in case he was needed, his face a stony mask as he shoved his own emotions and grief down. He glanced at the door, relieved that no one had heard the screaming; well, that or they were obeying orders to not come to this part of sickbay unless they were called. It didn’t take a genius to know this would be Maverick’s reaction, and they’d prepared the staff as best they could, given the circ*mstances.

Maverick was still clinging to Ice, gripping his shirt, his knuckles white, body curled, as he shook and cried and wailed and Ice continued to just hold Maverick as best he could, offering his silent strength as his own tears ran unchecked.

Even if Ice had been able to speak, he’s not sure what he’d say. He knew more than anyone what this would do to Maverick, and here on the carrier the only thing he could do was stay right by his husband’s side and never let the man out of his or Slider’s sight.

They’d probably have to sedate Maverick again, Ice realized as the man in question continued to scream his grief into the air and into Ice’s chest, clinging to him, as he begged and pleaded with the universe to just PLEASE bring Bradley back!To make it all just a bad dream.

The way he had when Goose died and he was put in a room at the base hospital, curled up in that bed, knees tucked to his chest as he cried into the pillow, his back to Iceman who was sitting across the room, cautious about how close he could get to the grieving pilot even as he’d longed to comfort the younger man, his heart breaking as he’d heard Maverick beg God to bring Goose back to him.

And now it was much the same, except of course Ice was holding Maverick close, gripping his husband as tightly as Maverick was grabbing him, soaking his shirt in tears and snot, grasping at Ice’s shoulders and arm and wherever he could to attempt to ground himself.

Nothing made sense. Nothing was real to Maverick in that moment except the feel of Tom’s arms around him, his raspy voice trying to soothe him but barely getting through. Bradley couldn’t be dead, because if he was then Maverick had failed again, had failed to keep a covenant promise to his best friends… it was like Goose dying all over again…

Not Goose…but his son…no…!

When the screams became frantic and wild, and Maverick no longer seemed aware of Ice’s presence, Ice sharply looked over his shoulder at his best friend, who gave him a curt nod and immediately went to find a doctor.

Within a few minutes Maverick was unconscious again, as much as it pained Ice to have him sedated, but the man was clearly having a (totally understandable) mental breakdown. He carded his fingers through his husband’s dark, sweaty hair, sighing heavily. Maverick’s reaction did not surprise him in the least, but it was still incredibly painful to witness; totally heartbreaking, knowing there was nothing to be done except just hold Maverick in his arms and hope Mav felt his presence and strength.

He ran a hand down his face, his shoulders sagging, and he felt Slider’s hand heavy on his shoulder. His best friend knew better than to ask if Ice was okay, so instead he simply said, “I’m so sorry, Tom. I don’t even know what to say, just that… I’m so sorry.”

Ice simply reached up and held Slider’s hand where it lay on his shoulder, squeezing it for a moment and then letting go, taking one of Maverick’s hands in both of his, his head hanging down, chin to chest. The pain of his and Bradley’s unresolved conflict weighed on him heavily, even as he reminded himself that he’d tried, had reached out to Bradley when he was chosen for the mission; told the kid that it was he, Iceman, who’d picked them personally, that he believed in Bradley, and had received back a simple Thank you, sir.

And then again just before the detachment had been sent here to the carrier, a text to Bradley to be careful, and a reply of yes, sir, I’ll do my best.

Ice’d had a quick debrief from Simpson, who explained how Maverick had taken a missile for Rooster, and then Rooster had likewise taken a missile hit when he went back for Maverick. They’d saved each others lives, and that they’d worked like hell to get back in one piece.

Except…

Ice swallowed down the lump in his throat, this one from emotion and not the cancer. The pain in his heart was stabbing him brutally; it was hard to take a good deep breath anyway and now with this… a quiet sob escapes his lips and Slider has both hands on his shoulders, now, staring down at Maverick over Ice’s shoulder, letting Ice weep quietly for a little while.

Eventually Ice turns his head slightly, enough that Slider notices and leans down a little.

“I…want to…see…him…” Ice rasps out, and Slider nods, his own heart heavy.

“Alright, Tom, I’ll be right back.”

A few minutes go by, and Slider is back with the CMO on his heels, who assures the admiral that Maverick won’t wake for several hours before leading them to the morgue. Tom - he’s not Iceman at the moment, his grief is too heavy to wear that mask - notices the CMO’s hand tremble as he pulls the drawer open slowly, glancing at both men apologetically over his shoulder as he does so.

“Take all the time you need, Admiral,” the man states quietly before he gives them their privacy.

Oh, Bradley… their boy lies before him, still and pale and cold, bruising and cuts evident everywhere, and Tom notices where the skull fracture must be, where part of Bradley’s skull looks swollen, and he dares not look under the sheet to see the rest of the damage.

Instead he reaches out a shaking hand tentatively, as though his touch would damage Bradley, or harm him, before his fingers run through that familiar brown hair, and he huffs out a shaky breath, and then another, and then tears blur his vision.

He tries to say Bradley’s name but it catches in his throat and comes out as a pained grunt, and then his eyes close and his fingers tighten in Bradley’s hair and the other hand grips the boy’s cold arm, and then the next thing he knows he’s sitting in a chair in the corner, shaking, and Slider is rubbing his upper arms and trying to speak soothingly.

“Tom, hey man, I’m here,” Slider is murmuring to him, down on one knee on the deckplate. Tom can’t do anything but shake, it seems, because while he knows Maverick will blame himself for this, it’s really his — Tom’s — fault, isn’t it? He approved the mission. He chose the pilots.

It had pained him to choose Rooster but he knew — he knew — that Rooster was… IS… a good pilot, and he knew the mission had the potential to be the thing that brought Maverick and Rooster back together.

Had he been successful? Anger had simmered in him when Maverick had come home, more dejected and wounded than Tom had seen him in years, and told Tom what Bradley had said, that no one would mourn Pete Mitchell when he burned in, and Tom had yanked Pete into his arms, holding him close and pushing all his love through that embrace, doing his best to prove Rooster’s declaration wrong — that Maverick would be mourned…

And now…

Tom can’t do anything but try to breathe through his grief, he’s barely hearing the soothing words Slider is speaking, and so at first he doesn’t notice at first the soft footfalls across the room, and then the soft intake of air as the person realized Admirals Kazansky and Kerner were in the morgue, then tried to retreat, but Ron called out and the person stopped and - sheepishly and slowly - came back into the room, head down and hand swiping at his cheeks.

Tom recognized him of course - the faces of the aviators he’d chosen for this mission continuously swam in his vision every time he closed his eyes - as Lieutenant Jake Seresin.

“Sorry, sir,” Jake was muttering, trying to look them in the eyes and failing. “I didn’t know you were here, I…I just…” he had to inhale a deep, shaky breath before he could continue. “I just wanted to see him, sir,” he explained to Tom quietly.

The older man’s eyes were pinched in pity and understanding. He’d suspected this young man and Bradley were… connected… but never had real proof. Seresin’s reddened eyes and puffy nose were all the proof he needed, however; Seresin obviously cared for Bradley if nothing else.

Slider’s posture had relaxed, and he kept a hand on Ice’s shoulder, knowing his friend likely couldn’t stand yet. “It’s alright, Lieutenant,” Slider said softly, answering for both of them; even without the cancer Tom likely wouldn’t be able to speak anyway. “It’s a tough time for all of us.”

Seresin nodded and wiped his cheeks and nose again, unable to tear his eyes away from Bradley. “I just… I just can’t believe it, sir. He… when Maverick said they needed medical, it didn’t even occur to me that it would be this bad,you know?”

Tom inclined his head at the young man as Slider prodded: “do you know anything about what happened, Lieutenant? We’re not one hundred percent sure of what happened after they were shot down.”

Jake shook his head, arms wrapped around himself as he continued to gaze at Bradley. “Not really, sir. I don’t think I know anymore than you do,” he replied quietly, his posture still hunched.

Neither Slider nor Ice could blame the man, and neither of them bothered to remind him to stand up straight. They weren’t there as higher-ranked officers talking to a lower-ranked one, they were just a group collectively grieving the same man.

Jake was glancing back and forth from the floor, to Bradley, to Ice, and so on, until Ice put his hand in the air and moved it in a circle.

Out with it, kid…

“Sir… can… Can I approach him? T-touch him?”

Ice nodded, and Seresin tentatively approached the body, his eyes welling up with more tears immediately, and it hurt Ice’s heart to see it.

“Oh, Bradshaw,” Seresin whispered, his voice barely audible. “What have you gotten yourself into now?” A loud sniffle and throat clear, and then, “The one time you fly like your ass is on fire, and this happens…f*ck…”

Ice didn’t really know what to make of that comment, except that Bradley had a tendency to be a cautious pilot.

“We were going to finally talk about this - about us - remember? When we got back…” another loud sniffle and hiccup. “I—I can’t blame you for trying to save him, Rooster, I can’t, but… damn it…” and here he couldn’t continue, and covered his face with a hand while the other rested on the top of Bradley’s head, fingers curling in his hair.

He was trying very hard not to totally breakdown in front of his superiors - in front of the goddamn COMPACFLT - but he failed, and curled in on himself as he wept, trying to muffle his sobs in his hand.

Tom and Slider both sighed heavily, and Tom reached an arm out to Slider, who helped him up to a standing position. Tom went around the metal table to tentatively place an arm around Seresin’s shoulders, not quite hugging him - because Tom wasn’t sure how much more comforting he had in him in that moment - but supporting Jake nonetheless, and also staring down at his adopted son’s dear face, seeing him throughout the years…

After a minute Hangman straightened up and ran both hands over his cheeks and eyes and nose, taking a small step back from Rooster and glancing sheepishly first at Tom and then at Slider. “S-sorry, sir, I’m just…I…I loved him, sir.”

Tom just inclined his head - that was a pretty obvious statement.

“And…I’m so sorry for your loss, sir. Both of you, and…” he sniffled again and looked between Tom and Slider for a moment, eyebrows raising as if realizing something. “Is Captain Mitchell alright, sir?”

Tom closed his eyes in pain as Slider stepped towards them. “Frankly, Lieutenant…no. Not at all. He’s sedated, in fact.”

Jake’s eyes widened just a touch as he nodded slowly. “I wish I was too, to tell you the truth.”

The door opened then and a tall, dark-haired lieutenant walked in, shoulders dropped in relief at finding Hangman and then suddenly snapping to attention when he noticed Tom and Slider. “Jake! Jesus — oh! Sir!”

Tom returned the salute half-heartedly and motioned at the young man to be at-ease.

“Hey, Coyote,” Jake whispered despondently.

“Dude,” Javy hissed, then his shoulders dropped once more and he stepped forward to place a hand on Jake’s arm. “We’ve been looking for you…” his voice trailed off when he fully noticed Bradley’s still form. “Oh…I, uh…” he swallowed down the lump that had immediately appeared. “I’m sorry, I…oh…Jake, I’m so sorry, you too, sir,” Javy murmured, directing the last bit towards Tom who simply inclined his head in acknowledgment.

Coyote shifted his feet awkwardly, unsure of what else to say or do except put an arm around Jake’s shoulders. Slider muttered something about telling the doctor they were done in the morgue, and the two younger men straightened up - almost unconsciously - as Tom slowly stood to full height, squaring his shoulders.

The man was still imposing, even in a rumpled duty uniform and with grief etched on his face. But in that moment he was not there as COMPACFLT but as a grieving parent, and he stepped forward to again stroke Bradley’s hair and drink in his face, seeing the little boy he once was.

He stepped back as a nurse came in with murmured condolences as she gently pushed the drawer back into the wall (Bradley was SO afraid of the dark after his father passed, is he afraid now?) and the four men stared at each other in the small room.

Slider finally sighed and placed a hand on Tom’s shoulder and looked at the two younger men, nodding at Coyote. “Take good care of your friend, son. I’ll take care of mine.”

Coyote nodded back, rubbing at his eyes. “Yes, sir, we all will.” He still had his arm around Jake’s shaking shoulders. “C’mon, Hangman, the team’s worried about you,” he muttered quietly as he steered a sniffling Jake out into the corridor, and Slider did the same with Tom as they made their way back to Maverick.

Slider could feel Tom’s muscles trembling under his hand as they slowly walked back into the private bay, Maverick blessedly still out cold.

Tom returned to Maverick’s side, holding his limp hand in both of his, kissing it before pressing Mav’s hand to his forehead and sighing heavily, two tears racing down his cheeks. He got as close to Mav as he could before he laid his head down on the mattress, surprising himself and even Slider when he eventually drifted off to a fitful sleep.

Slider resumed his spot in the corner, lost in his thoughts for over an hour until he heard the door open and slow, measured footsteps approach him. He glanced up, unsurprised to see Beau Simpson, hands behind his back and staring at the two sleeping men.

“Hello, sir,” Slider murmured, not wanting to disturb Tom or Mav.

“Kerner,” Simpson greeted him simply. “Got a minute?”

Slider nodded and followed Cyclone out into the corridor, leaning back against the bulkhead and resting his head back against it as well, arms folded and eyes closed in exhaustion.

Cyclone cleared his throat. “How is he?”

“Which one, sir?”

“Both of them, I suppose.”

Slider dragged a hand down his face. “Iceman is grieving and torn up over the loss of their son and his own guilt over choosing Rooster for the mission. Maverick is… heavily sedated, if that tells you anything.”

Cyclone nodded, staring at the deckplates, at the tops of his boots. He’d heard Maverick’s terrible wailing and screaming, as he’d been about to enter sickbay at that time. “I know. I was about to go in there when I heard it all start. I, ah…” he trailed off, shaking his head. “I’m assuming Admiral Kazansky is going to want to transport back ahead of us. If that’s the case then I’ll make the necessary arrangements.”

Slider nodded. “We need to get Maverick out of here. He needs to be at home, away from all of this.” He sighed and closed his eyes again. “He lost one Bradshaw in the backseat of an F-14 in 1986…and now he’s lost another one thirty-three years later,” he breathed out shakily. “And…Beau…” he whispered, dropping all formalities. “This really may kill him. I’m…I’m trying not to think about it, but it really might. And if Maverick goes, Ice—“ and here he had to stop and swallow hard, shoving down the fear that had clawed its way up his chest.

Simpson sighed and shifted his weight. “I would be lying if I said I hadn’t had the same thoughts, Ron,” he replied quietly. He opened his mouth as if to say something else but then they both heard a heart-wrenching sound pierce the air from sickbay, and Ron hurriedly wiped at his face before he rushed back in without another word or a dismissal from the Vice Admiral. Simpson sighed heavily and went to see about getting the transports ready for them, and for Bradley’s body.

When Slider returned he saw Ice now fully laying in the bed with Maverick and clutching the smaller man to him as close as he could, rubbing Maverick’s back and neck and head, rocking him, as Maverick wailed into Ice’s shoulder, fingers bunched in whatever fabric he could get a hold of. Maverick was crying out for Bradley, crying that he was so sorry, begging Goose and Carole for forgiveness, and Slider couldn’t retain his stoic mask any longer at hearing that, his own tears escaping.

He tentatively sat on the edge of the bed behind Maverick and placed a large, warm hand on the man’s shaking back, offering quiet support and strength.

Ice’s face was scrunched up in his own sorrow, pressed into the crook of Mav’s neck, feeling as helpless as he had all those years ago when he’d watched Mav’s jet plummet to the ocean.

God what he wouldn’t do to have Hollywood and Wolfman there in that moment. Or even Viper.

Then Maverick surprised them all by pulling back and meeting Ice’s gaze, both of them still shaking and trembling and crying, and Maverick gasped out, “Tom! I’m so sorry! I’m SORRY! I couldn’t protect him, I… I failed again…!”

And Tom simply shook his head roughly and yanked Maverick against him, both of them weeping, and Slider was totally overcome and had to get up and pace around, debating on calling the doctor back in to sedate Maverick again.

Cyclone made good on his word and two transport helicopters were made ready, as Ice didn’t want Maverick traveling with Bradley’s body if they could help it, and a few hours later they were on deck and Ice was directing Maverick up into their transport, with Hondo there as well.

Maverick hadn’t said anything since crying with Tom in the bed; he was now in more of a catatonic state - somewhat responding physically to questions and touch but not verbally, and he climbed the ladder without a word, listening to Hondo’s low voice offer words of comfort that he only acknowledged with a squeeze of Hondo’s shoulder before disappearing inside the chopper, his face frighteningly blank.

Iceman turned to Slider, who had offered to ride in the other transport with Bradley’s body. Not really necessary, as the needed personnel would be on board, but it was the principle and symbol of it all. Ice patted Slider’s arm twice before gripping it tightly.

Thank you, old friend.

Slider wasn’t usually one for public affection but he hugged Tom then, he couldn’t help it really. Tom sank into it for a moment before pulling back and smoothing his features, the Iceman mask fully in place, at least until he boarded the other helicopter and they were on their way.

Ice patted his friend’s shoulder before turning and climbing the stairs into the transport, and Slider sighed and boarded the other, taking final watch over his friends’ son.

*****************

Iceman knows what shell-shocked looks like, especially when it comes to Maverick. Mav’s face is terrifyingly blank, with dark circles under his reddened eyes, his mouth a thin, set line. Ice has ordered only minimal personnel aboard, and they all know to leave them be.

He sits next to his husband and doesn’t do anything at first, doesn’t even touch him or talk to him, merely sitting beside Maverick with his mask fully in place, the way they used to sit on transports or in meetings when DADT was still active: not touching and only acknowledging the other on professional and friendly terms.

They’re in the air fairly quickly, and Maverick doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move, doesn’t react to anything. Ice can hardly blame him.

It’ll be hours and hours before they’re back to Miramar, and Iceman is patient. He keeps an eye on Maverick in his periphery, not touching or speaking to him yet because as blank as Maverick’s face is is how active his mind is — self-destructive and hateful thoughts were swirling in there, Ice knows, and he knows he has to wait a bit before he can reach out to Maverick.

Besides, his own thoughts are a mess as well, his own heart broken.

Oh, Bradley… this is why Carole had made her request, wasn’t it? To keep her son safe?

And now…

He can practically feel Maverick’s guilt, knows it’s eating away at his husband, encircling him like a boa constrictor squeezing the life out of its prey. Once again, though, Iceman shares the guilt over the death of a Bradshaw, and the weight of it is unbearable.

All he wants is to just get them home so he and Maverick can lay together and cry and hold each other because that all Ice has the energy for.

It’s been an hour, so he reaches over and lays his hand on Maverick’s right thigh, squeezing gently, just a reminder that Ice is there, that Maverick isn’t alone.

Ice is tense, though, wondering if the gesture will get through to him or if Maverick will recoil from him, or worse, lash out in anger.

But Maverick is present enough — just barely — to recognize that it’s his husband next to him, and he leans over so their shoulders are touching, his own gesture just as hesitant, but Ice takes it for what it is and, putting an arm around Mav’s shoulders, pulls his husband to him, turning him slightly so Mav’s face is in Ice’s neck, and Maverick begins to cry again immediately as their arms wrap around each other.

Ice sighs and holds Mav tight, hating the crying as much as he knew how necessary it was, and how much better it was than the catatonic state. He calms a little quicker than he had the last time, and pulls back slightly from Ice, shifting to get a little more comfortable before settling onto his husband’s shoulder again.

Ice simply reaches down and gently wipes Mav’s tears off his cheeks, stroking his face gently, trying to keep his breathing even so that Mav’s breaths would also be calm and steady. He hears some shuddering sighs, some shaky breaths, but Maverick seems to be staying with him mentally as much as he can; Ice can feel Maverick trembling under his hands.

“Ice…I’m sorry…” Maverick begins, his voice thick and as raw as Ice’s, his breath hitching in his throat.

“Shhhh,” Ice whispers, kissing Maverick on his forehead once, then twice. “No need to apologize, baby. It…wasn’t your fault…”

“I failed him again. I failed him…Ice, I failed, I failed…”

“You didn’t, my dearest. You didn’t. You did the best you could.” He resisted the urge to offer the usual words like “it’s okay” because it wasn’t, it wasn’t at all. “It was…an accident…Mav…” he replies gently, wincing as he realized those were the same words they all used to soothe him after what happened to Goose.

It was an accident, Maverick, it wasn’t your fault they’d all tell him; Ice and Viper and Carole and Slider and…

“It’s so stupid,” Maverick sobbed into Tom’s neck. “He shouldn’t have come back for me… why did he come back? Why…why didn’t he just let me die?” Maverick cries as the words come out in punched-out, shaky breaths. “He should have just let me die! Then he’d be safe and not… not…”

Cold panic grips Ice’s heart at the thought of Maverick abandoned and left for dead, injured in enemy territory, or worse — actually dead — and as awful as it is that Bradley is gone, Ice can’t help but be thankful to their adopted son that he’d gone back for Maverick, that they weren’t both lost to him forever.

“I don’t…I don’t deserve to live, Ice! It should have been me!” He cries, his words still punching out on a sob each time, and Ice tightens his hold on him. “Why wasn’t it me, Ice?”

“No, Mav, you…you can’t think that way, baby,” Ice breathes into his ear, kissing him under the jaw. Maverick only shoves his head further into Ice in response, which in Iceman’s mind is better than Mav being shut off and distant.

Maverick just cries against him, and Ice can do nothing more but hold his husband close until Maverick blessedly succumbs to his exhaustion and falls asleep on Tom’s shoulder.

Ice wishes he could sleep, but his tortured mind won’t allow it. He wonders if he’ll ever sleep again, really, because the grief is so heavy and so intense and he knows his guilt is nothing in comparison to what Maverick must be feeling.

This is it for Maverick, he knows. Knows he’ll be medically discharged, knows Maverick probably won’t be able to fly ever again, as much as it pains him to think about, but even aside from his position as COMPACFLT, as Pete Mitchell’s husband, Tom knows Pete won’tfly again, nor will he allow it. He’ll turn in Mav’s papers himself, and then probably his own shortly after.

And then…who knows…

They’ll have to plan Bradley’s funeral, and Ice makes a mental note to contact Lieutenant Seresin once they’re home and in the mindset to actually talk about the service. Well…actually Ice wonders how much Maverick will be able to participate in that planning…

He makes another mental note to call a mental health professional as soon as he possibly can, someone who specializes in deep, multiple traumas. For both of them, in all likelihood.

He kisses Maverick’s hair, still unable to process much, not even allowing any more grief to sink its claws into him. He has Maverick to care for, to help, to keep alive. He has to make plans, he has to prepare for all possibilities, because if he didn’t then he’d fall apart just as hard as his husband. He chose them for this mission, after all, and so he— no…

Eventually the planning won’t be enough to keep the sorrow at bay, but it has to be enough for now.

It has to be…