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It's Hangman who notices first.
He didn't intend to see Mav and Rooster on a day off out in Miramar, but he sees them anyway. Technically, he hasn't seen Maverick yet, but in recent days, where there's one, the other is probably close by. Considering how much they argued during the mission prep, it's certainly a 180.
Jake sits outside the local coffee shop, enjoying the sunshine of a beautiful morning and the continuation of his leave. And, just across the street, in his natural habitat with a Hawaiian shirt intact, is Rooster. By 'natural habitat,' he means the farmer's market. He seems to be taking his sweet time poring over a selection of apples, peaches, or maybe apricots. Jake can't tell from where he is. Rooster's a good distance out, but Jake could pick Rooster's disastrous color palette and that stupid mustache out of a conga line.
The joys of 20/20 vision.
Idly, Jake wonders if his teammate frequents the farmer's market. At the academy, though he was a year ahead, Jake happened to notice he was one of the few guys on the campus who bothered to cook his own meals. Or, rather, he was one of the only ones who knew how. Jake would've died without the mess hall and ramen noodles, and he freely admits it.
Then, before he can question much else, he hears a high whistle swooping down, up again, and ending on a note somewhere in between. Rooster perks up and pays for his fruit, scampering deeper into the market.
Well.
That was weird.
Jake slurps his coffee, glowering up at a cloud as it blocks the pleasant sunbeam he was sitting in. Is it too much to ask for a little heat? It's early and chilly. Jake never did quite grow out of seeking comfort however he could get it. At least sunlight isn't too hard to come by in San Diego.
And, yes, Javy, Jake will complain when the weather gets hot and he'll go hide inside where it's cold so he can cuddle up in a blanket and get warm.
The whistle from before rises on the air again, closer this time, and Jake looks up. To his surprise, standing just outside the market now is none other than Maverick. Jake should start a betting pool on how many times out of ten he can guess Mav's proximity to Rooster.
Mav holds a bag of groceries in his hand and peers up at the sky. A few seconds pass before Rooster appears, once again drawn by the strange whistle. The two of them check down a list, an actual paper shopping list, because Maverick's fucking old, before seemingly declaring their outing a success. Jake has no idea what they're talking about, but Rooster makes an animated gesture and Mav grins at him, reaching up to ruffle his hair. They take off down the sidewalk, Rooster walking a half-step behind and to Mav's left as they keep chattering.
Jake now has several more questions.
*******
The second person to notice is, unsurprisingly, Phoenix. Aside from that one weird happenstance for Jake, she spends the most time with Rooster otherwise.
Phoenix prides herself on being observant and picking out details; however, the only detail she currently gives a shit about is the fact that Bradley follows Maverick everywhere. On-base, off-base, out to the hangar: wherever Maverick hangs out, she's sure Bradley has been there. They're all on an extended six-month leave courtesy of the Navy— Sorry we sent you to die. Glad you lived. Here, party hard and come back soon for another round— and she completely understands feeling attached to the guy who saved his life. That said, there's attachment and then there's attachment.
Now, slightly tipsy and a tad vulnerable, Rooster quickly abandons their table to go hover near Maverick at the bar. Phoenix blinks. Never once did Bradley ever seem like a nervous drinker, but since the mission, he lets himself feel his emotions a little more rather than shutting down.
After years of being so closed-off that she didn't even know his middle name, it's kind of refreshing. Confusing, but refreshing.
Maverick, for his part, takes Rooster's presence in stride, tugging a bar stool out for him and letting the younger aviator rest on his shoulder. Phoenix's brow furrows. Rooster told her Maverick pulled his papers, but not much else. He didn't have a reason why, and he never expounded upon their relationship, but it clearly runs deeper than any of them know. From griping and arguing one minute to cozying up the next, their interactions changed for the better. It still sits weirdly with her. She wants to know what Rooster isn't telling her, but he's always been private about his life.
She won't deny feeling a little left out of the loop. When he was locked down tighter than Alcatraz, Rooster still knew he could come talk to her. Now, Phoenix can't help wondering who exactly Maverick is to him.
"Stare at 'em any harder and they'll combust, Phoe-Phoe."
Phoenix shoots Hangman a half-hearted glower.
"Hey, you ain't the only one who noticed they're unusually copacetic these days." Hangman glances at their other friends, all loitering around other areas of the bar. "It's a trip after two weeks of nothing but push-back and antagonism, huh?"
"What have you been seeing?"
Jake shrugs. "Nothin' much. Just... certain traits. They spent a morning at the farmer's market last week."
Phoenix cocks a brow. "Stalking them now, Bagman? That's a new low, even for you."
"I did no such thing. I was enjoying my coffee, and I just happened to spot Bradshaw across the street. Turns out, he and Mav were there together."
"You said traits, though. What kind of traits?"
Jake smirks. "More like mannerisms, I suppose. When Bradshaw plays piano and sings, he bobs his head. Guess who else does that? Or when they walk together, who's always right behind Mav? Who does he walk like, and say certain words like? I've been tryin' to figure this thing between them out since day one. It's interesting, mighty interesting, how many of those traits he and Pops seem to share."
"You think Mav might've raised him?"
"I think that when I got a rise out of Rooster in class, he didn't come at me when I brought up his old man. He came at me when I implied Pops was responsible."
Phoenix glares. "Bringing up a dead parent at all was a dick move."
Something flickers across Hangman's face before getting shut behind the wall of cocky swagger. If Phoenix were a betting man, she'd lay money on guilt. He's not about to show that to her, but given the opportunity, she thinks he might apologize to one or the other.
"Just keep an eye out, and you'll see what I mean about 'em," Jake says, sliding out of their booth just as Fanboy and Bob slip in.
As Maverick calls it for the night, he gets up from the bar and says goodnight to Penny. Rooster throws Phoenix and the rest of them a quick wave before falling in step behind him. It's like he didn't even think about it, just saw Mav move and it was instinct to follow.
Well, if she didn't think there was a chance Mav raised her best friend, she'd certainly believe it now if he told her.
*******
Fanboy has never in his life seen one human preening another human's hair, but now that it's happening in front of him, it's fucking hilarious. He stayed over at Mav's last night after an excursion to the Hard Deck, and the hangover is worth witnessing this.
Rooster sits on a stool, a look of utter frustration on his face while Maverick cards through his hair with a popsicle stick. He made the grave mistake of going camping with Hangman, Phoenix, and Bob, and now they're all suffering for it. The others sit on the couch nearby, waiting for their turn. Hangman looks about ready to shave his scalp for how much he's squirming to keep himself from itching.
"Hurry up," Rooster whines. "It's still so itchy."
"You guys wouldn't be itchy if you'd gotten a tent. This is why we don't sleep on the ground underneath trees. Always go for clearings when you don't have a tent, otherwise you get outrageous numbers of mosquitoes and ticks, and then I get the honor of checking to make sure you didn't pick up Lyme disease."
"It was Hangman's idea."
Hangman doesn't even bite back, jaw clenched and his eyes closed. Bob looks okay, but Phoenix sits beside him with tension in her shoulders while she stares at the wall ahead.
Fanboy winces as Mav drops tick number eight into a glass jar.
Setting the popsicle stick aside, Mav scrubs his nails through Rooster's hair in a thorough final check for more ticks. Rooster leans into the touch and hums in sheer relief. After another quiet minute, which Fanboy suspects is to make Hangman squirm more, Mav declares Rooster clean.
"Go shower. Scrub, don't scratch, and when you're done, bring the tea tree oil back with you and I'll doctor your scalp and the mosquito bites you can't reach."
Rooster slinks off to the bathroom.
Phoenix taps Bob's leg, prompting him to take his turn. Maverick starts the process all over again. The movement of the popsicle stick through Bob's hair is slow and methodical, very unlike the Maverick they're all familiar with and more like a patient parent. Fanboy knows for sure he's not the only one surprised Maverick has no children, because he certainly knows how to handle them.
Bob only has two ticks, and an impressively low number of bug bites.
"Somebody zipped their sleeping bag last night," Mav says.
The smug look on Bob's face is subtle but there all the same. He hops off the stool and lets Phoenix go. Hangman chews at his lip, every second of waiting pure agony to his frayed aloofness. Phoenix's long hair takes a good bit of time. Mav combs through it three extra rounds just to make sure he didn't miss any ticks within her dark locks. Phoenix sits perfectly still throughout the entire process, the picture of elegance under pressure, or, in this case, agitation.
Rooster joins them in the living room just as Mav finishes up with her, and, because Bob is a gentleman, he lets her go first in the shower. He's not all that itchy compared to the rest of them.
Fanboy watches Rooster curl up in Mav's armchair under a handmade quilt. He halfway expects Mav to say something about it, but the older aviator's attention is on Hangman. His expression softens with sympathy. "Come on, Jake. Your turn."
Hangman, for all his twitching, doesn't seem all that eager to let someone mess with him.
"Jake," Mav murmurs, wincing as he looks at his student's scalp. "I think you might be allergic to ticks."
"Oh," is all Hangman says in return. He almost sounds relieved, as if he thought his heightened state of discomfort was the result of something far more serious than an allergy. No wonder he held out until last. He was probably freaked out about what Mav would find.
Mav picks up the pace a little, unwilling to let him suffer more than he already is. Rooster joins in, blanket still wrapped around him even as he swabs Jake's skin with tea tree before he himself has been treated. The two work shoulder to shoulder as a unit, prying ticks from Jake's inflamed skin and soothing the burn of treatment with a light application of anti-itch cream.
They only find five ticks to Rooster's eight, but the relief on Jake's face says everything about how much worse he felt.
"You've never been camping before, have you, Jake?"
Hangman flushes. "I... thought it'd be fun."
Rooster pats his shoulder with a soft huff. "Well, I can admit we were having a good time right up until we woke up bug-bitten and miserable this morning. Next time, we'll bring a tent."
"Next time?" Hangman asks, peering up over his shoulder at the two of them.
"Well, yeah. Mav has a pretty big tent we could all fit in, and he's got the best campfire stories. Portable camping stuff, too, because he's like half a step away from living in his damn hangar."
Mav glowers playfully. "Don't be jealous."
"Jealous? I have hot water and a real shower. Why the fuck would I be jealous?"
Fanboy arches a brow when the two start bickering, Maverick gently combing through Jake's hair with his fingers the entire time. Jake meets eyes with Fanboy and Bob, not so much seeking an escape as expressing his exasperation with his current situation. Until Mav says he's good to go, Fanboy has no doubt in his mind Hangman will stay exactly where he is.
Their argument ends with Rooster suddenly pausing. "Wait a minute. That's perfect. Fuck trees. We can just camp out on the airstrip. Not a tick in sight! And you've got those citronella candles for the bugs."
Maverick chuckles. "If that's what you want, kiddo."
Fanboy sees Hangman's wheels turning when he hears the term of endearment, and he chances a look at the blond's caretakers. They wear matching smiles, eyes glowing with excitement and eagerness. Huh. Now that Fanboy thinks about it, Rooster and Mav have been spending an awful lot of time together.
Oh, well.
That's really none of Fanboy's business.
Camping, however, "Can I come?"
*******
Payback wanders the halls around the base, glancing at his watch as he checks around the building. He wanted to meet up with Cap- well, Admiral Mitchell, now, to discuss the results of his psych, because the older aviator promised to help with anything they were struggling with. Payback isn't really struggling, but he saw no harm in just having a chat with his CO. Mav said the door was always open.
That said, Maverick was supposed to be in his office as of twenty minutes ago. Payback hasn't seen head or hide of him since two days ago. Reuben opens the door to the gym. It sits empty, but he hears faint voices echoing down from the second floor.
He pads up the stairs and rounds the corner to the wrestling mats. There, both dressed in shorts and a flimsy tank-top while they tussle, are Maverick and Rooster. Both are red in the face from exertion, but the smiles on their faces speak to the good time they're having. In fact, Payback isn't sure he's ever heard Rooster giggle. He giggles a lot, jerking away whenever Mav purposely pokes him in a ticklish spot. The two of them roll around and fight for control.
As Mav turns the tables, Rooster squeaks in pain. The older aviator stops immediately, letting him turn over and feeling along his arms and ribs for any damage he might've caused.
"Fooled ya'," Rooster laughs, wrapping around Maverick and rolling them over. "Gettin' soft in your old age, Mav. You'd never have fallen for that twenty years ago."
"I'll show you old, you brat."
Rooster squawks in protest when Mav gets an arm free and goes straight for his sides. Payback watches, transfixed by the sight of their CO wrestling a fellow aviator with six inches and a good forty, maybe fifty pounds on him and winning— fighting dirty, sure, but still winning. Since playing dogfight football, Payback was under no illusions that Maverick was out of shape, but comparatively, Rooster is huge. He's impressed.
"Bet you thought you could take me now that you're all grown up, huh, Roo?"
An annoyed growl is Rooster's response. "Why are you still so fucking squirrelly?"
"Slider had to wrestle with someone over the years, kiddo. Doesn't matter how big you are as long as I've got leverage. If you want up, figure it out."
Rooster pouts.
Payback stares blatantly. Rooster is pouting like a seven-year-old, staring up at Maverick imploringly with the most effective puppy eyes he's ever seen.
Maverick relents with a sigh, leaning down to press a quick kiss to Rooster's forehead before getting up. "Come on, baby goose. Let's go get some food."
Baby. Goose.
Payback bites back a smile with all his might and flees the gym. Rooster is finally bonding with the team's favorite captain after, apparently, spending a long time being angry at him. Who is Payback to stop them?
*******
"You sick or somethin', Rooster? You've been twitchy all afternoon."
Rooster shakes his head, but he never lifts his eyes away from his phone. "M' not sick."
Hangman's brow furrows as he eyes his teammate. "Then why are you looking at your phone like you're waiting for someone to call and tell you they ran over your dog?"
"May as well be." The words come out of Rooster croaked and strained.
His seriousness throws Jake for a loop, so much so that he forgets to be annoying like he wanted to be when he first saw Rooster looking all glum and sad. "What's going on?"
"Mav."
Jake blinks. "He okay?"
Rooster huffs out a soft, humorless laugh. "Hell if I know. I had to rush him to the hospital and they took him in for surgery. Emergency appendectomy, but I had a psych appointment today, and he made me promise to keep it before they sedated him. I know he did it so I wouldn't be pacing around the waiting room losing my mind, but.... Now, I'm-" He cuts himself off and shakes his head. "I'm too much of a fucking coward to go back. Too scared that they'll tell me he's gone and I didn't get to say goodbye because of a fucking psych appointment."
That's... a lot.
"He asked me to, but I just-.... I just left him there. What kind of son does that make me?" Rooster murmurs, dashing a tear off his cheek before Jake can see it. It doesn't stop his voice from wobbling. "Every time I try to get myself to move, my hands start shaking, and I know Mav would die of guilt if I got in an accident. I need to know he's okay, but every time I've ever been in a hospital with a family member, I never saw them alive again."
Jake clenches his jaw. He wanted to know what was between Rooster and Maverick, and while he suspected ever since the mission, hearing it laid out like so carves out a raw longing he thought he buried years ago. Jake never had a parent he loved enough to be scared they would disappear. In fact, he'd have been thrilled more than once, depending on which foster home he was in. Maverick is the closest he's come to having a respectable authority figure since he was a kid. Yeah, he modeled his career after the Iceman himself, but Maverick landed in his lap, human, fallible, attainable, and so very good. He makes Jake want to be better.
Jake is getting there. "Come on, Bradshaw. I'll drive you."
Rooster wobbles when Hangman helps him up, proving how very off-kilter he must be feeling. It's probably a good thing he didn't force himself into the driver's seat. Jake steadies him.
"Thank you."
Although the words are barely more than a whisper, Jake tamps down a swell of warmth and leads his teammate out to his pick-up. The ride isn't a long one, but with Rooster breathing carefully in the seat beside him, it feels like an eternity.
When they arrive, Rooster walks right up to the front desk and asks after Maverick.
"Next of kin?" the desk clerk asks, his expression bland with the exhaustion of a long day.
"Bradley Bradshaw. I'm his emergency contact, and we're his sons," Rooster says.
"Oh. I believe we were just about to call you. They've got him settled in his room and the anesthesia should be starting to wear off."
Rooster huffs. "Knowing him, it's probably already mostly worn off. Come on, Jake."
Jake doesn't even have time to process the idea of Rooster lumping him in as family before they're being directed to the second floor. They find Maverick's room with little issue, the man in question laying placidly in the big hospital bed in a paper-thin gown. Rooster stands in the doorway listening to him breathe for a long while.
"Dad?"
Maverick turns his head, breaking out into a lazy smile. He's obviously still somewhat dazed by the anesthesia, but he recognizes Rooster on sight, so that's a good sign. "Hey, sweetheart."
Rooster steps up to the bedside and leans down to hug Maverick, careful not to make him stretch. "You scared the shit out of me."
"I'm okay, buddy. Takes a lot more than a ruptured organ to kill me."
"Still scared me."
Mav takes Rooster's hand, giving it a few gentle squeezes. It takes him a second to formulate a response. "Sorry. I see you brought some company, though."
"Uh, yeah. I was... having a rough minute. He drove me. Didn't want to waste time at the front desk explaining whatever the fuck you are to our squadron right now, so I just kinda told them he was your kid, too." Rooster shrugs, glancing at Jake over his shoulder. "They basically are, anyway."
Jake stares, utterly shameless. There is no way Rooster meant that.
Maverick, however, simply smiles and lifts his free hand. "You gonna come say hi, son?"
Almost on autopilot, Jake steps into the room and moves to stand on the other side of the bed. That's where he stays for the next two days while the doctors monitor Mav's condition, a lump almost constantly in his throat because Pops sleeps better when someone holds his hand and Rooster says it'll keep him from trying to escape if the two of them take both his hands. Seeing as he stole a jet, Jake probably shouldn't be shocked Mav qualifies as a flight risk.
When they bring Maverick back to his house, Rooster picks up takeout along the way and Jake stops off his housing to grab a few things to keep him occupied. He doesn't often have a lot of time to read, but with their long leave ahead, he's been catching up on the collection he built.
"What're you up to, kid?"
Jake snaps his book closed. "Nothin'. Just.... It's not important. What do you need?"
Mav arches with a strained noise, trying to get comfortable without pulling his stitches. "I'm on bedrest here. Bradley made sure I ate already, and I've been to the head. What I need is to not be bored out of my skull, because Bradley would kill me if I snuck out. So, what're you up to?"
"I was reading."
"What about? What do you like reading?"
No one ever asks Jake about his likes and dislikes. No one besides Javy ever got close enough for that before the mission. At first, Jake doesn't know where to start, but when he talks about his favorite genres, Maverick listens intently. He doesn't look bored or exasperated the way Jake's parents always did. He looks invested. For all Jake expects him to, Mav never tells him to shut up, instead letting him babble on and on about literature.
It's with sudden clarity that Jake realizes why Rooster was so afraid to lose Maverick—why he follows him so closely whenever they're together. Rooster trusts him, depends on him to be an anchor even after all the bullshit between them, because Maverick is truly invested. He cares.
Loath as he would be to admit it aloud, Jake needs that.
If, in the coming days, Maverick has not one, but two kids following him around and keeping an eye on him, then that's nobody's business.
After all, imprinting is crucial to the safety, growth, and development of baby geese.