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It's a perfect day in Mav's opinion.
The weather is chilly but sunny which means the hangar is neither freezing nor boiling as it's prone to being. He has plans to surprise Penny, Amelia, and Bradley with a home cooked meal later that night, and currently, Bradley is providing a free musical show on the electric keyboard Mav had picked up from a garage sale the other day.
Hangman is also there for some reason (as he has been on an increasingly frequent basis), though it’s certainly not unusual for Rooster to bring one or more of the other Daggers around while they are all pending final approval on their medical and psych evals. The blond seems to have a natural talent for just generally being a nuisance (‘I think that’s called karma, Mav’ is what he gets as a response when he makes the mistake of complaining about it within earshot of Amelia), but he sticks to orbiting within a five-foot radius around Bradley, so as long as they stay away from the planes, Pete doesn't really mind. It's nice actually, to see them getting along. He never really got to the bottom of their antagonism, too focused on his own baggage with Rooster, but he's glad whatever it was is in the past now.
Stealing a glance at the two younger pilots from where they sit in front of the keyboard, Mav feels his eyes crinkle with a smile as he watches Seresin interrupt "Forever in Blue Jeans" with a discordant note and get a shove and a laugh for his antics.
"Keep fucking up my songs, Bagman, and find out if you can still fly with two broken hands."
The taunt lacks heat and Hangman has already recovered from the shove, lightly crashing his shoulder into Rooster's and immediately reaching for a random key again.
No longer concerned over them killing one another anymore, Mav enjoys watching them interact. He especially loves watching them fly together now that the official competition is off. To date, they are the only team to tone lock him. Even though all the Daggers are really only flying at this point to show the Navy none of them have the yips before their next assignments, Mav is still impressed enough to cover their tabs for the night and puts in a recommendation to Simpson that pairing them up at some point wouldn’t be a bad idea. In the skies and on the ground, they are electric and compatible in ways most people can only dream of with the way they circle, crash, orbit, and snap back together.
They remind him of magnets. Or binary stars.
Or him and Ice.
.
Oh.
As soon as that thought crosses his mind, it screeches to a halt with all his subsequent thoughts crashing into it like a twenty-five car pile-up.
Oh.
Well that would certainly explain a lot of things. Random disappearances for noticeable stretches of time only to reappear five minutes apart from each other. Sideways comments from the other pilots he had written off as standard banter. The striking amount of physical contact and lack of personal space while taking verbal snipes at each other like they're two schoolboys with a crush they don't know what to do with.
It definitely explains an exchange at The Hard Deck two nights ago involving Bradley unplugging the jukebox in the middle of "Piano Man" (Pete hadn't seen who had put it on, but now he has his suspicions) and playing "I love Rock 'N Roll" (an odd choice for the piano but certainly helped by Phoenix, Fanboy, and Bob's stomping and clapping along) while Hangman stood posted against a nearby wall, eyes focused intently on the other man, barely moving save for the flick of the ever present toothpick between his teeth.
Now that he can see the picture on the box, Mav can finally put together a puzzle he didn't even realize he was doing. And Jesus Christ, it makes him feel so incredibly dumb. The taunting, the teasing, the serenading? It's all pulled directly from the Pete Mitchell handbook.
(Mav is willing to take this as irrefutable evidence ghosts don't exist because if they did, he's positive Carole would be strangling him right now, hissing in his ear 'I asked you to teach him about safe sex, not how to pick anyone up with a charming smile and a wink' while Goose hooted with laughter and egged her on.)
He focuses back on the plane in front of him to avoid getting caught spying (although it's his hangar, but whatever) and listens to Bradley rapidly run through a few bars of different songs from what sounds like the Dirty Dancing soundtrack before finally settling on and belting out "Cry to Me". Pete rolls his eyes; the kid is showing off. From the glance he catches of Hangman, the other pilot is completely soaking it up, happy to let Rooster play uninterrupted so long as his efforts are for the blond's benefit.
(And speaking of ghosts, he'd endure any number of spectral stranglings if it meant he could nudge Tom and ask 'They remind you of anyone?')
Hangman eventually leaves, citing his final psych eval; Bradley follows him out with a flimsy excuse about having left his jacket in Seresin's rental car. He is gone for half an hour.
Mav takes the opportunity to call Penny and grill her about this development, and she takes the opportunity to laugh at him.
"You really didn't know?"
"They were being friendly! I didn't want to question it."
"I'm sure they're very friendly."
Maverick groans good-naturedly and it earns him another laugh.
"I really thought you knew, considering."
Considering, indeed.
Pete feels a lot of things—almost too much—when he thinks about it. Sadness, obviously. Over Ice's death, but also their decision to end things for the final time back in '98. Anger over the same things. Gratitude for Penny who is and has always been so understanding. Happiness for Bradley and Seresin (should he start calling him Jake now?). Love for all of them.
He chuckles but his words still sound sad to his own ears, "It's what tipped me off actually."
Penny makes a sympathetic noise; apparently, she heard it as well. "There's a shot at a happier ending this time around."
"I don't know. I think this one's pretty happy too."
"You charmer."
Penny, angel that she is, lets him steer the conversation to something lighter, and he spends the next fifteen minutes flirting wildly while deflecting her questions about what he’s planning on making for dinner.
He hangs up just as Bradley finally rounds the corner to the hanger (a stupid smile stretched across his face and notably sans jacket) and Mav declares himself done with work for the day. Their dinner plans aren’t for a few hours yet, so Mav makes the executive decision to crack a beer, passing one to Rooster as he sits on the couch opposite of him.
Maverick opens, "So, lots to catch up on." It's a common opener between them these days and the accepted responses are either "another time, maybe" or:
"Fire away."
Pete tries his best to pretend like the question is not crowded behind his teeth, racing to be asked, so he waits a few seconds, acting like he's thinking of a good one.
"You seeing anyone?" Ok good, that sounded casual he thinks.
The corner of Rooster's mouth ticks up in a half smile. "I am actually. It's...good. It's very good."
Mav raises his eyebrows at the kid and internally berates himself once again for not noticing how fucking obvious they are. "Well, you're welcome to bring them around to dinner tonight if they're a fan of risotto."
Bradley laughs freely, "I'll ask. I'd pay so much money to watch Amelia cut him down to size."
"I'll get in on that. I'd like to watch her roll her eyes at someone other than me for a change."
After all, there are no four-star admirals in the world as adept at taking cocky bastards down a few pegs than unimpressed teenage girls.
They're silent for a few minutes, just sipping their beers. Maverick's thoughts are briefly sidetracked by how glowingly happy he is over Bradley and Amelia quickly taking to their roles as surrogate siblings. He's even further sidetracked by the idea of making that an official thing—like him in a suit and Penny in white official. Bradley clears his throat and drags Mav’s attention back to him before he can get too far down that particular path (though he makes a mental note to come back to it later).
"So you know it's Hangman, right? We don't have to keep pretending you have no idea who I'm talking about?"
Mav puts on his easiest smile, bent on overselling just how in the know he really was. "Yeah, kid, I figured it out."
The snort he gets in response tells him his attempts are for naught. "Took you long enough. Nat wanted to put bets on it, but Jake nearly had an aneurysm over that." He rolls his eyes fondly. "He wants to impress you so bad."
"He saved my life. It's hard to get more impressive than that."
"Yeah, believe me, he knows that. Never shuts up about it," Bradley shrugs, "but you're, y'know, important to me, so I think your approval is important to him."
"For starters, he can pretend to like my watery risotto and spare me a few hours of Amelia telling me how 'basic' I am."
He nods, amused, "Duly noted," and then Rooster is suddenly awkward in a way Pete hasn't seen him since he was a gangly teenager, biting his lip, fingers restlessly alternating between tapping the glass bottle and peeling the label.
"Something else on your mind?"
"My dad knew about you right?"
Ah. Mav cracks an easy smile, genuine this time, "He did."
"And?"
"And when he found me in an alleyway with a hand down some guy's pants, he just asked if I needed a lookout." Pete laughs lightly at the memory. "Jesus, I was scared shitless, convinced I was gonna get slapped with an undesirable discharge before I even got my wings, and there was your dad ribbing me because of course I wouldn't just limit myself to breaking women's hearts."
The amused smile that grows across Bradley's face melts the tension. "Yeah, that sounds like you."
Mav stretches his leg to kick him gently in faux reprimand.
"I'm glad though, uh, obviously it's nice to know, y'know."
"Happy to help, kid."
They both swig their beers and sit in silence for a few seconds.
"Hey, Mav, one more thing."
Pete hums in response.
"If you let the risotto simmer a little longer between adding the broth, it should-" Rooster cuts himself off with a squawk as he dodges the throw pillow Mav lobs at his face.
"Tell Seresin dinner starts at seven."
A laugh and a mock salute. "Aye aye, Captain."