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Well fuck, Maverick thought.
He’d figured out by now that he had not been going in a straight direction like he had planned, because there on the ground were the remnants of his parachute he’d left behind after landing. The whole area was dense with forest and astoundingly similar looking rocks and trees, but he’d thought he’d at least been going more or less one direction. Probably didn’t help that he’d hit his head on some tree branches on the way down. Maybe or maybe not a concussion, but his head was absolutely killing him right now, and realizing he’d walked himself in essentially a circle for hours was making it throb in time with his heartbeat.
It was well into the afternoon now, and he didn’t really anticipate a rescue or getting himself to civilization any time soon, so needs must. He found a fairly sharp rock and started tearing along the stitching of his parachute, folding up the fabric to carry with him. It, like his flight suit, was a bit more singed than he’d really like it to be.
He was pretty sure there were some more human-made paths in this forest to try out. When he’d first landed, he’d waited a while for search and rescue before deciding it wasn’t coming and picking a path at random, hoping it was a man-made trail to lead him to people who would hopefully have a phone, or at least some water and food. Less than an hour on it and the trail had disappeared into thick trees and heavy undergrowth. Now he was back where he started, and no closer to any survival necessities, save the parachute fabric. At least he would now have a blanket or shelter if it got cold and rained overnight. He picked a path in the opposite direction of the one he’d taken earlier and headed out. Hopefully this one wouldn’t lead him in circles too.
At least another hour had passed by his estimates when the path widened into something that was definitely made by people, but the sun was getting close to setting. He had no flashlight or phone to light the path with, so he either had to get lucky and find a real road or town, or find somewhere to bunk down for the night and try again in the morning. He hurried up the pace a bit, still aching from the ejection despite resting after landing.
Just when he was about to give up finding anything, he saw a weirdly rectangular black shape ahead in the trees. Approaching it determined it was actually the window of a hunting blind wrapped in camouflage and covered in leaves and vines like a ghillie suit. This was probably as good as he was going to get for the night, and at least it had a roof and a floor. It didn’t even have a true door, just an opening only barely framed out, but it did have half a case of bottled water on the ground. No food, but dehydration would kill him first if he wasn’t found or didn’t make his way out of this goddamned forest in the next couple of days.
Looking around, the only sign he could see of recent human visitation was the water left behind. Not much to do now but settle in for the night. He was glad of the parachute he’d brought with him, because the temperature was dropping with the sun, and not that much heat had been making it past the tree canopy in the first place.
He drank a full bottle of water and got halfway through the next before a sudden wave of tiredness hit him like a bus. He shuffled outside to clumsily drape one part of the parachute over the blind in case anyone came looking for him while he slept. Thank God the ones for test pilots were brightly colored to make them easy to find in case of ejection, because the muted darks of combat chutes he’d had to use in the past would blend right in with the environment, especially in the fading twilight and coming dark. Within minutes of reentering the blind and laying down on its rough-hewn floor, he was deeply asleep.
-
Ice was not having a good day. As soon as he walked through the door, he was nervously informed that the Darkstar test had not gone to plan, to say the least. FUBAR was what he thought privately. Admiral Cain himself had called, speaking in a voice that betrayed his apprehension of Ice and annoyance with but grudging respect for Maverick. Maverick’s friend Hondo had also called and left a voicemail explaining to Ice exactly what had led up to the total loss of the jet.
Now he was getting updates every hour on the hour of the search and rescue effort, but things were not going well. So far, they’d found pieces of the jet, cratered into the earth like meteorites. He was trying not to let that phase him, but he dreaded every report reaching his desk like it was the one that finally told him Pete Mitchell was dead. The test flight had begun right around sunrise Pacific time, Maverick and the crew trying to outrun Admiral Cain’s arrival, and eight hours later they still hadn’t found the jet’s fuselage.
Maverick had flown northward, originally, but even the calculations done by the crew based on how long he had spent at each speed were giving search areas of hundreds of square miles, especially since the electronics had gone haywire once he reached hypersonic. The explosion had happened over Washington state, they thought, but where exactly had been hard to tell. And at such high altitude, he could’ve landed miles away from where he’d ejected, if he’d even ejected at all.
Ice had other duties to attend to, but his preoccupation with Maverick's situation left him listless as he half-heartedly filled out paperwork and answered emails. He kept checking his cell phone in shorter and shorter intervals, hoping for the miracle that maybe Maverick really ejected and had found himself well enough to walk for help. The radio silence was unnerving. They hadn’t even seen each other in person for weeks, and now…Well, he didn’t want to dwell on that thought for too long. He pulled himself back to semi-focus on his computer and tried to push the more pessimistic thoughts out of his head.
At 4:13 in the afternoon, a messenger came into the room nearly panting. Ice abandoned his email immediately to focus fully on the man in front of him who had clearly rushed to bring the news. He delivered a message Ice didn’t particularly want to hear. It wasn’t the worst news he could have brought, but it wasn’t hopeful either. Search and rescue had found the largest remains of the jet, but it was inconclusive whether Maverick survived or not. The plane had gone out in such a blaze of glory they really couldn’t be sure. Truly, it had started melting before it even exploded in the air, the investigators speculated, and then burned so hot after crashing nose-first into the ground that it was barely recognizable as a jet at all, nevermind the distinctive silhouette it had been that morning. The plane was so warped and destroyed that they wouldn’t be able to tell in the field if the ash inside was from the jet itself, the trees and animals it killed in the forest it landed in, or the worst case—human remains. It would have to be carefully collected and analyzed in the labs.
Ice’s hopes were not faring well against the evidence presented to him. Ever since Maverick had saved him over the Indian Ocean, Ice’d had faith that Maverick would come back. Always. Pete had sworn it in their vows. Ice was hoping this wasn’t the “til death do us part” coming up instead.
Still, he kept checking his phone, barely pretending anymore to bother with work. The phone moved from his pocket to the desk in front of him, Ice pleading with it to ring with every passing moment. More young men kept coming in and out of the room, bringing meaningless updates about the data collected from the flight, or search and rescue’s efforts turning up nothing.
After the most recent update, which was more or less a no luck spoken with a grimace, Ice started resigning himself to the fact that the last time he’d seen his husband was really the last time. They’d discussed years ago what they wanted to happen in the event of their death, but Ice didn’t really think he’d have to use it anytime soon. Not now that Pete was test piloting instead of flying active combat.
Bradley would have to be informed. Maverick had a lot of friends, but only a few really close people he considered family, especially with both Bradshaw parents predeceasing him. Hondo already knew, Penny could be informed with a regular phone call, along with most of their ‘86 class, but Bradley was on deployment. And hadn’t spoken to Maverick in more than fifteen years. Bradley had been very politely distant the few times he’d had to be in Iceman’s presence since, and acknowledged no familiarity between them. Ice had acted the same, which he sometimes regretted. He was never quite sure if he’d been respecting the kid’s wishes to never see them again, or freezing Bradley out for how he’d left when he stormed out for the last time.
Now Ice was going to have to call the kid to try to get him to come to Maverick’s funeral, and Ice really wasn’t sure if Bradley had regretted their schism at all, or if he wouldn’t care less that his godfather was dead. He dreaded getting an answer to that question, and decided to put it off until there was hard evidence. No point in bringing up old wounds until he was sure the funeral was even happening.
It was only early evening, but Ice stood from his chair and made his way to mess to find some dinner before returning to wait the rest of the night in his office for news. He didn’t anticipate going home tonight, not when they were still receiving updates about the crash just down the hall from him. He spent another couple hours waiting for good news but hearing nothing substantial.
Now more than twelve hours without contact or any signs of life. Search and rescue had covered the area they thought Pete might be in from the skies by now, and had sent in men on the ground to look for him. Still, no news. Finally, Ice put his head down on his arms at his desk and gave in to the grief that was taking over. He wouldn’t let himself cry here in his office, but closed his eyes and tried not to shake apart. When the next messenger came in with another update of nothing, Ice was asleep.
-
A little after eight Pacific time the next morning, Bradley was called into his commanding officer’s office with little warning.
“Phone call for you,” she said. “I’m sorry, son.”
He took it automatically, bewildered at her leaving her own office to let him take a phone call.
“Bradshaw speaking,” he said.
Whatever the voice at the other end of the line said didn’t process for him beyond the phrases “missing in action” and “presumed dead.”
He must have sputtered out some form of acknowledgement, because the voice hung up with quick condolences for his loss. He left the room in a daze, nodding absentmindedly to his CO as she took back her office. Finding himself back in his bunk, he laid down and stared at the ceiling with unseeing eyes.
Fifteen years ago he’d been furious at Maverick for pulling his papers, and it still made him angry to think about now. But he didn’t actually want him to die. There was a sense of security that Maverick was still out there, flying like a madman with Ice by his side protecting him. Unkillable, he seemed. Until now, Bradley guessed. It didn’t feel real. He’d heard what the call had said about Maverick’s jet crashing and burning, the likelihood that he was dead after twenty-four hours with no contact or signs anywhere that Maverick had made it out of the plane before it hit the ground and nearly started a forest fire.
He’d learned early in life that parents were not immortal, but Maverick had always come back. Even after their fight, Bradley learned in flight school and from colleagues about the gritty details of the deployments Maverick had been on during Bradley’s childhood, coming home seemingly no worse for the wear. He knew now that Maverick had been seriously editing the stories and hiding injuries to make sure Bradley didn’t worry like Carole did. Every new thing he heard about Maverick’s career made him grow in his hatred and awe of the man. Awe that this man had loved him and done those things to come home to him, and hatred that he even felt that awe in the first place, that Maverick had done his best to take away Bradley’s chances to do the same things.
The grief wouldn’t process yet. He was still in denial that anything had even happened, which left him room to get mad at Ice. If Maverick had been missing-presumed-dead for twenty-four hours, then Ice definitely knew and hadn’t informed Bradley. He ignored the fact that he’d told Maverick and Ice to never contact him again. He’d meant it, but matters of life and death were definitely important enough to override something he’d said in anger fifteen years ago.
He opened a contact he’d never yet sent a message to on this phone, typing in angrily, So you weren’t even going to tell me yourself? You were just going to wait for the DOD to send their “condolences for my loss”?
Infuriatingly, the only thing Ice sent back was two short sentences: My cell is low on battery. Please call at 858-555-8934.
Bradley clicked on the number to call immediately.
Ice answered on the first ring, “Rooster?”
Now it was hitting him. Bradley had never heard Ice sound that tired or defeated. Hearing him on the other end of the phone made tears well in Bradley’s eyes and his throat close up. He wasn’t ready to let Maverick back into his life with full permissions, but he wasn’t ready for him to be gone forever either. He’d been coming around lately to the thought of some reconciliation after Maverick explained why he’d betrayed Bradley like that. He’d run scenario after scenario in his head of the blowout fight they would have, but he never pictured the confrontation not actually happening because one party was no longer there to have it.
“Um, I–” his voice gave out and he had to clear his throat to continue. “Is he really dead?”
The question and the voice it was asked in sounded childish to his own ears, begging for a parent to come make things right. He had kind of hated Ice right along with Maverick, but he’d still loved them both underneath it all. Even when he didn’t like them, he’d still thought of them as an unbreakable pair, able to overcome anything the world threw their way.
Ice cleared his throat as well, sounding somehow both sleep-mussed and sleep-deprived.
“They haven’t found a body yet,” he offered.
It was quiet and gentle, but that was almost worse. Bradley couldn’t handle false hope.
“But they expect to?” he asked.
“More or less, yes.”
“What does that mean, exactly?” It wasn’t a harsh question, its edges tempered by the pain passing between them both.
“I’m not sure how much they told you about the crash,” Ice said, “but there is a possibility it burned so hot that it took everything with it. We won’t know until we find something outside the jet, or the lab processes everything at the scene to look for biomaterial.”
Bradley took a shaky breath. That hadn’t been explained on the phone, just vague phrases thrown around to hide that the jet had been highly experimental and its pilot now gone without a trace.
“So, they are looking for something outside the jet?”
“Air search turned up nothing, and the ground crews came back once it got dark. They’re out again now this morning, but it’s a huge area to search and they aren’t confident.”
Bradley heard the hitch of Ice’s breath, hesitating like he wanted to add more.
“Ice?” he prompted when nothing else came.
“Will you come for the funeral? I can get you bereavement leave for at least two days.”
Oh. Ice had given up. It was really over. The tears that had subsided since they started talking came back in full force, and Bradley struggled to respond.
“Yes,” he said firmly. “Yes.” His eyes slid shut to try to block the flow of tears, but nothing helped. Bradley’s voice broke as he tried to speak again.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t call earlier. I’ve been thinking about what I wanted to say to him for years and I never did and now I don’t have the chance.”
“Bradley,” Ice choked out.
“No,” Bradley broke in, “I’m not gonna let it happen with you too. You call me again when they find things out for sure, and you get me extended leave some time soon, because I’m coming to visit and I’m not leaving until we’re okay again.”
“Okay,” Ice conceded.
“Okay, I’m gonna, I’m gonna–” he ducked his head away from the phone and cursed under his breath. “Love you,” he said, and hung up before Ice could answer. He didn’t think he could stand it either way if Ice said it back or didn’t.
He threw his phone onto the bunk and followed after it. He didn’t even care that he could feel it pressing into his hip uncomfortably as he curled up into the sheets and pressed his face into the pillow to cry. Luckily his bunkmate would be out doing his duties for the day and not watching Bradley fall apart over a man he couldn’t admit even an hour ago that he still loved. He assumed he’d been taken off the duty roster since his CO knew about the phone call he’d gotten, but even if he hadn’t, he didn’t care. They’d have to drag him out of this bed, and even then nothing could compel him to do anything but weep silently.
He lost track of time, but was roused from his misery by a knock on the door. His friend Miller pushed the door open to peer inside.
“Hey, bud,” he called from the doorway. “Heard the news from Captain Mendoza. You need us to get you anything?”
A muffled “no” emerged from where he still had his face pressed into the pillow.
“Okay.” Bradley could hear the pity in Miller’s voice and resented him for it. “We’ll come check on you again around lunch. If you don’t get some yourself I think we can get one of the guys to bring you something easy.”
Bradley grunted his acknowledgement and was glad when the door closed back up and Miller left him alone. He flopped from fetal position to his back, staring up at the ceiling and lamenting losing three parents before he even hit forty.
His phone buzzed underneath his hip and he dove for it, but it wasn’t Ice’s cell or the office number Bradley had called. Some random number from a town in Canada he didn’t recognize. He pressed the power button to make it stop ringing and laid it on his chest to wallow again. A minute later it pinged with a new voicemail alert.
It was probably a wrong number call, but he let it sit open and transcribe the message for him anyway. Hey Bradley, read the first line. Wait a second, what the hell? Clearly it wasn’t a misdial because they knew his name, but who the hell did he know in “Beaverdell,” British Columbia?
He raised it to his ear to listen and heard the best sound of his life.
Hey Bradley, he heard in Maverick’s voice. Don’t even need to know it’s me before you deny the call huh? Maverick huffed out a laugh at his own joke.
Sorry to call you, but Ice isn’t answering our home phone or his cell, and yours is the only other number I have memorized.
He had Bradley’s number memorized? Bradley had changed numbers twice since leaving and yelling at them to never talk to him again.
Anyways, I crashed my jet pretty bad yesterday. Didn’t even find any other people until this morning, but they’ve been very nice. Gave me free water and food and everything.
Maverick was starting to ramble on in the way Bradley had heard twice before when the man had concussions or other head injuries.
Uh, you’re kind of my last hope, though I doubt you’ll even hear this. If you do, can you call Ice or your commanding officer or someone to come get me? I’m not even sure where I am, but I’m sure they can trace this number and find me. Okay, well, lo-. Thanks.
It kind of sounded like Maverick was going to end his message with “love you,” but Bradley didn’t bother to replay it, he just redialed the number instantly.
“Mom’s Good Food Diner, this is Kelly speaking,” a woman’s voice answered.
“Hey,” he said desperately, “Did you just let a man use your phone to call for help?”
“Yessir,” she answered. “Do you want me to put him on?”
“Yes, yeah, please.”
“Okay, hon, one second, he’s eating at the counter right now.”
“Hello?” Maverick’s voice came through loud and clear.
Bradley let out a sob of relief. “You’re alive,” he cried.
“Bradley?” Maverick sounded surprised that he was the one at the other end of the line. “Yeah, I made it. Are you okay? You don’t sound great.”
“No, I just. I got the DOD call this morning and here you are perfectly fine at a diner in Canada.”
“Canada?!” Maverick exclaimed.
Bradley could hear faint conversation as Maverick pulled the phone away to talk to Kelly.
“We’re in Canada?” he asked in disbelief.
“Yessir, Beaverdell, British Columbia,” she answered promptly.
“Huh,” Maverick said back to Bradley. “Well, can you tell Ice to bring my passport when they come to get me, then?”
“God, you asshole, me and Ice thought you were dead! And here you are cracking jokes in another country!” He tried for anger, but all that he could really feel was bone-deep relief that this nightmare was over. It felt like a rebirth. No more missed opportunities, no more imagined arguments for the rest of time.
“No, hey, Bradley, I’m okay,” Maverick reassured him. “Might have a concussion, and I twisted my ankle hiking around in these woods but I won’t die. I promise you that.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure. Just need to catch up on some food and water and I’ll be right as rain.”
“Okay, I’m gonna call Ice. Are you good? Do you need anything?”
“No, I’m okay here. Kelly’s taking good care of me, don’t you worry.”
“Okay. I love you too, by the way.” He ended the call, hanging up on Maverick the same way he hung up on Ice. He could admit it to himself now, and to them, but only if it was on his terms. When they finally had the conversation about how to move forward after more than fifteen years estranged, he needed to be on more solid emotional ground than after the supposed death and miraculous rebirth of his father figure.
He took a few shuddering breaths to recenter himself before pulling up Ice’ contact to call. The phone only rang once before getting him Ice’s terse voicemail message. He didn’t bother to leave a message, just ended the call and found the landline number he’d called earlier. That one was answered immediately.
“Admiral Kazansky,” he heard.
“Hey, Ice, it’s me,” he said.
“Bradley, listen kid, I’m sorry, we still don’t have anything. The team on the ground is still looking though, so don’t lose hope.”
“No, no hey,” Bradley said. He spoke in nearly a laugh, a hysterical, buzzing energy filling his chest. “Ice. He called me.”
“What?” There was still an edge in Ice’s voice, but now it was tinged with urgency instead of despair.
“Yeah!” He really did laugh this time, unable to contain the rush of euphoria. “Yeah, he called. He said he tried you guys’ home phone and your cell first but you didn’t pick up.”
“My phone’s dead,” he said almost absentmindedly, “Didn’t bring a charger to the office with me, what do you mean, did—what, did you talk to him? He’s okay?”
“Yeah, he’s maybe got a concussion and a sprained ankle, but get this—he’s being taken care of in some mom and pop diner in Canada.”
“What the fuck, he crossed the border? We were looking in the wrong country?”
Ice sighed, but it didn’t sound annoyed at all.
“Leave it to him to cause an international incident on a test flight.”
“He was joking around too, saying you needed to bring him his passport when you came to pick him up.”
“If I didn’t love the man, I’d have probably killed him by now with all the stress he’s caused me. Where did you say he was exactly?”
“Maverick didn’t even know he was in Canada at all, but my phone said it was ‘Beaverdell, British Columbia.’” He rattled off the phone number of the diner so Ice could follow up to coordinate rescue.
Ice breathed out, releasing all the tension he’d carried since yesterday morning when he was informed of the crash.
“Okay, Bradley, I’ve gotta go. Gotta go talk to the Canadians and round up a ride home for the idiot.”
“Wait, Ice–”
“Yeah, kid?”
“Do you think you could still wrangle me some leave? I wasn’t kidding about working things out.”
“Won’t need it, Bradley. There’s something new coming down the pipeline that’ll get you to us soon enough. I’ll see you in a week.”
“A week? What do you mean a week? My deployment doesn’t end for months.”
“You’ll see,” Ice said. Bradley swore he could hear the smirk in his voice.
“And Bradley?”
“Yeah?”
“I love you too.” He hung up before Bradley could say it back.
Damn Ice for taking his move. He loved that petty son of a bitch.