Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Knock-knock-knock.

Pete and his mother turned to the front door. It was a strange interruption; they don’t usually get visitors. Any of those came with his father’s squadron being stateside.

They were fighting a war way across the world.

“Stay here, honey. I’ve got it,” she said, standing up from the small coffee table to answer the door.

They were putting together a puzzle. It was three hundred pieces, the biggest one Pete had ever tried! He couldn’t even count to three hundred…

Pete was only four. He had just learned how to read books—his mother said he was one of the smartest kids she’d ever met.

The puzzle was from his dad; a picture of his plane. An F-4 Phantom, he called it. Maybe Pete would fly one someday, so he could be with his dad in the sky. They could be partners! Or…what did his dad say again? Wingmans?

He was trying to find the last corner piece for the outside—his mom said that making the outside made the inside part easier. But where was the corner piece?

“Hello?” he heard his mom say. Her voice sounded scared. “Yes, that’s me. Please tell me everything’s okay.”

“Mrs. Mitchell, I’m so sorry…” Pete tuned out the voice from the visitor, looking for the small piece. Rummaging through the pile they’d spilled the puzzle pieces into, he turned every one over to the picture side. He swore he had checked every one.

His mom was crying over there , he noted. He was about to turn to look at the front door when something hit him in the forehead.

He looked up quickly, only to find the missing piece lying in front of him. Someone had thrown it at him.

But there was nobody else in the house.

He turned to find where it was thrown from—who threw it at him and was met with a sight.

Hello .

His father, standing right in front of him.

“Daddy?”

…sorry, his dad said.

“What for?”

His dad was not…quite right. He wasn’t normal. He looked more like a shadow. Tell…mommy…love her.

“The United States Navy owes you a debt we can never repay,” Pete heard one of the men outside say.

“Why can’t you tell her, daddy?”

Pete…can’t tell her...

“Okay,” Pete agreed. “When will you be back?”

Tell…mommy I love...

The door shut. Pete’s mom fell to the floor in despair. “Mommy?” He walked over to his mother to sit with her. He didn’t quite understand what this was all about, but he could finish the puzzle later.

“Pete,” his mom spoke after a while, her voice distorted through the tears. “Your dad is never coming home. Not anymore.”

“But he’s right…” Pete looked to the spot where he had just talked to his father.

He was gone.

“Oh.”

“What are you talking about, honey?”

“Daddy told me to tell you that he loves you.”

Later in life, Pete would say she stopped crying out of hysteria. She stopped completely and stared at him in disbelief. “What?”

“Daddy loves you, that’s what he said.” Pete didn’t get it, what was so confusing about his statement?

“Go to your room.”

_________

Pete didn’t like school, but middle school was by far the worst.

All the other kids were finally growing some sort of conscience and once they discovered his dad’s clusterfuck of a death, it was over for him. Of course, he knew the truth.

Over the years, his dad explained it to him through Pete’s dreams. It wasn’t his fault or any of his squadron members’ fault. The Navy sent them across enemy lines to fight, and they lost. Not only the fight but a life.

His dad was a hero. He sacrificed his life to save his squadron. However, acknowledging that would mean that the Navy would have to admit they’d messed up.

He had brief visions of the Navy. Hiding the truth, filing away any proof of the real story. All the documents were placed under a high classification. His dad’s feelings were clear and Pete felt something akin to heartbreak every time he was shown it. The only way Pete would uncover the truth (despite what he saw) was by getting cleared to view it. He would have to join the Navy to access it.

Despite all of that, Pete couldn’t go around yelling about how he saw the true story in his dreams—people would call him psycho. So, he would have to endure the harassment from his peers about how his dad was a deserter…or whatever the Navy said.

“He’s a traitor, Mitchell!” A boy from his third period yelled across the hall. His name was Jason Smith…Pete’s main headache. Jason made it his mission to torment the short and scrawny Pete Mitchell, who just wanted to get through sixth grade in one piece.

It was lunchtime, and everyone was heading to the cafeteria to be first in line to grab the school lunch. Especially today, because Fridays were pizza day. Pete didn’t hurry to get in line, because any time he got a good spot, Jason and his friends would kick him out of line anyway. Plus, all the pizza tasted the same, so who cares if you were near the back?

After five minutes, Pete found a secluded table to eat undisturbed. Skillfully placed across the cafeteria from his greatest nuisance, he would enjoy his time eating today. He found this really interesting book on how planes worked and was almost finished—he needed to return it to the school library today or he would be paying a fine.

Lunch was only twenty-five minutes long, but it was enough time for Pete to multitask through eating and reading. Successfully finishing the book with no pizza-grease stains on the pages, he threw out the lunch tray and went to the bathroom to wash his hands.

The bathroom was silent and empty, as it usually was since the majority of kids forgot to wash their hands after eating. As he was doing that, he looked into the mirror to fix his hair but stopped dead. He whipped around only to find nobody there—like he expected.

He turned to the mirror again, to lock eyes with that figure again.

He could recognize his mother anywhere.

Even discolored, shadowy, and two-dimensional looking. It wasn’t about the who, though, it was the why.

Why was he seeing his mom like he saw his dad?

Was this some cruel trick Jason was playing on him? His breath quickened. He knew it wasn’t. Nobody knew about what he saw.

Was she…dead?

The bell rang for the kids to go back to class. Pete didn’t move. He needed to go home .

In a haze, he managed to sneak out a side door without drawing attention. He was sure to face punishment for that on Monday, but he didn’t care. He needed to know if she was okay.

Ever since Pete had said that his dad talked to him that day, his mother limited the conversation about his father. She didn’t want to hear it because she couldn’t confirm it. Pete knew she was being ridiculous, he saw his dad continuously shaking his head in bemusement at her avoidance of the topic sometimes.

She never took stock of his comments on the matter, always telling him that he needed to get over his dad’s death and that he was never coming back. No matter how many times he tried to explain, she told him to stop because he sounded delusional.

She would never do this…would she?

He made it home in record time, taking every shortcut he knew. He pulled the doormat aside to grab the house key. When he touched the doorknob to open it, a voice muttered in the back of his mind.

Bathroom. Blood .

“No,” he spoke aloud despite knowing it made no difference. “Shut up.”

He heard the water running down the hall. From the bathroom. His forearms stung badly, but when he looked down at them, nothing was there. He wasn’t stupid. He knew what it meant. When he turned the corner to walk to the bathroom, he saw water seeping out from under the crack in the door. He wasn’t stupid. He knew.

He knew.

He crept towards the door. He didn’t want to open the door, but who else was going to do it?

He regretted it immediately after, slamming it shut and backing up. He couldn’t think. The smell was metallic-y and awful, but that wasn’t the worst part.

Forever would that image be engraved into his mind like a permanent marker on printer paper. He had no words to describe it, but the sight spoke for itself.

“ 9-1-1, what’s your emergency? ”

When had he dialed the cops?

“I—uh, uh. 5308 Parker Street.”

“ What is the emergency? Do you need police, ambulance, or fire? ”

“My mom is dead.”

Dear Pete,

I’m sorry everything ended up this way. Just know that it wasn’t your fault and that I love you so much. Even if I never talked to you about it, I know how special you are. When you said you could speak to your father, even after death, it hurt to know I could not. Maybe we will talk again soon, but just know I am happy that I get to see your father again. I love you so much.

Mom ♡

________

Adoption was never going to happen. However, that didn’t stop them from trying. And failing…miserably.

First, he was too old. Any parent would want a baby—a young child at the oldest—so that they could raise them as their own and not worry about the emotional baggage that came along with being an orphan. It was cruel, but a fact nonetheless.

Next, if he ever got the opportunity to be fostered, it would quickly end due to his “odd behavior”. 

Reason: Child shows eccentric behavior, foster parents are unequipped to handle it.

Reason: Child is presenting with signs of delusions.

Reason: Child cannot let go of his biological parents, foster parents couldn’t form a connection.

Reason: Child was heard talking to a wall.

…You get the idea.

He understood why these foster parents were freaked out by his…spiritual connections, since he had never explained it to any of them in fear of being thrown in a psych ward, but how hard was it to love a kid?

However, this new pair of foster parents...they got it down-pat.

They didn’t care where he was, as long as he returned home every night, went to school, and did what they asked. In return, Pete wouldn’t bother them for much and stay out of their way. It was a working system and it led to no real problems.

They didn’t ask him to pretend to be their kid, they didn’t ask that he pretend they were his parents. They got their check from the government, and he got to be left alone. 

He even got a job, which was cool. He was the cashier at the local grocery store, which paid decently given that he was only fifteen years old. He started dual enrolling at the local community college in exchange for being at the high school for less time. He was on track to have an Associate’s Degree before he graduated.

However, on more otherworldly topics, he was learning quite a lot.

Untrue to her suggestion, his mother never had shown up to see him but his father was still here. He felt his presence the majority of the time. It was a gamble on whether he would actually see his spirit or not.

Spirit was a new word for him as well. He had gone to the public library to find some information about what he could see, and at first, it was full of researchers saying, “ghosts aren’t real” over and over again.

Pete’s not saying that ghosts are real. What he sees is different from what is portrayed in movies and TV shows. He can feel a disturbance when spirits are around. On the off-chance he actually can see something, it’s like seeing it through a distorted camera that doesn’t function properly.

Spirits could channel their thoughts through him, their feelings, and their own experiences. More than once had he woken up from a dream because he experienced something that happened to somebody else. Once, he was walking around town when he passed a graveyard. An old man’s spirit slowly approached and he felt as if his insides were going to explode. Later on, he learned that the man had died from a burst appendix.

Pete had seen, felt, and heard too much to be skeptical anymore. And plus, his dad would frown at him for being cynical.

When he saw a spirit with his eyes, it usually was when the dead person desired it so badly that they made themselves known. It wasn’t often, but when it happened, it was a strange experience. Thankfully, he had never encountered entities with bad intentions…or whatever it was when the spirits tried to do harm from beyond.

It was during one of these times that he met his first friend.

It was late, he should’ve been going home. However, this desolate field was luring him. His curiosity got the better of him that night.

The rumors about this place in particular were that it was “haunted”. Pete wasn’t sure if it was an exaggeration or not. Apparently, every so often, you could hear screams during the night. The fact that he was coming here at night wasn’t promising.

Just as he was going to walk further into the grass, someone stopped him.

“Hello?” A voice said from behind him and Pete jumped in surprise.

“Oh, jeez, you scared me,” Pete replied after catching his breath. 

“Oh, my bad man,” the boy replied. Pete took in the other’s appearance. He was blond, lanky, and very tall. Not like himself, who was brunet and short, unfortunately. “Just wanted to let you know that people advise against going out there.”

“I know,” he replied, and the boy looked taken aback. “Felt like coming out here.”

“I’m not looking forward to you going missing and the police making me their prime suspect.”

“You can come along,” he suggested. “Fair warning, people think I’m freaky.”

“Freaky? You?” the taller one asked jokingly. “Yeah, no, I’ll take my chances with you. Where are we going…” he trailed off. “What’s your name?”

“Oh, sorry,” he realized he had never mentioned that. “Pete Mitchell.”

“Nice to meet you, Pete Mitchell. I’m Nick Bradshaw.”

“Same to you.” After a moment, Pete turned on his heel and left his new acquaintance to hurry up.

“Oh—uh, we are leaving now, I guess.”

They walked into the depths of the field in relative silence, occasionally interrupted by a few comments from Nick, who Pete quickly realized would never shut up.

“So, uh, how old are you?”

“Fifteen.”

“Nice,” Nick said. “I’m seventeen.”

“Cool.”

…

“D’ya have a flashlight?” Nick asked. “It’s getting a little dark out here.”

“Yeah.”

“Ok.”

…

“So, what are you doing out here, anyway?”

“Exploring,” Pete half-assed the truth. He didn’t need to scare off this poor guy.

“What for?”

“Just because.”

“Oh, okay,” Nick’s voice raised a pitch. “Local boys go missing after entering a scary field “just because”, more at—” Pete suddenly froze.

“Shut up.” Nick had to stop quickly to avoid bumping into the other.

“Wow—hello—”

“Shut up, I’m serious.”

“Oh.”

They stood in silence for a moment before Pete spoke up. “Hello?” he said carefully.

“Hey?” Nick replied in confusion.

“Not you.”

“I—what—okay.” Nick looked around, trying to see what Pete was looking at.

“Hi,” Pete said again. “I know you know I can see you.”

“See who?”

“Tell you in a second.”

“Huh…”

“Do you wanna try to talk with me?” Pete pulled out the flashlight from his back pocket and placed it on the floor. “You can turn the flashlight on and off if you want.” He didn’t turn to look at Nick, who was probably confused and worried for his sanity. “Do you want to try?”

Nothing happened.

“Pete, I don’t think anything’s gonna—”

The flashlight turned on.

“What the fuck?” Nick blurted out in shock, stepping back instinctively. The flashlight turned back off.

“Stop, you scared her.”

“ Her ?” Nick asked. “Who is her?”

“Tell you in a minute.”

“Am I dreaming?”

“No, stop talking.”

“Damn.”

Pete returned his attention to the spirit. What he said was true; this spirit was very reluctant. He might even go as far as to say she was scared. “Sorry about him, he’s slow. He won’t hurt you.”

“Hey!”

“I’ll wait for you,” Pete said. “You can take your time.” The atmosphere around him gained a slight chill to it, which made him grin. “It’s okay.” This time, Nick stayed silent. The flashlight gave a flicker before turning back off. “That’s it. Are you okay now?”

It flicked on. “Thank you. Do you mind if I ask a question?” The light stayed on. “Are you the one that people hear screaming sometimes?” The light continued to shine and Pete got the idea that he was right. The cold air lingered but he wasn’t bothered, it was almost comforting.

“Why is it so cold?” Nick whispered from behind him.

“Energy,” Pete dubiously answered.

“I…okay…”

…died, a feminine voice answered in the back of his head.

“Oh,” he said. “Are you screaming for help, then?” The flashlight turned off and back on. So, like, maybe?

Pain .

“Ah.”

“What is happening?” Nick asked. “And I’m asking in a nice way, not like…condescending or whatever.”

“She’s the woman who people hear screaming at night,” his new friend’s eyes widened in recognition. “She told me that the screams were because she was in pain.”

“So, she was killed? Or is it something else?”

K…ll…d.

“Yeah,” he confirmed. “She just said “killed” to me, so pretty much. I’m sorry that happened to you, miss.”

Justice .

“Justice…” he echoed.

“She wants justice for whoever killed her? Well, how do we know who did it?”

“If she wants to tell me, she can,” he offered, turning forward again. The flashlight flickered off and the warmth returned again. Pete frowned. “She left, I think.”

“Oh.”

“Eh,” he shrugged, gathering the flashlight and turning to Nick. “Wasn’t too bad—could’ve gone worse, to be honest.”

“Could’ve gone worse ?”

________

And that’s how he’d met Nick.

At first, he thought that the older boy would get bored of him and find better company, but as time went on, Pete learned otherwise. For as long as they’d known each other, they were attached at the hip—Pete, because he had no other friends, and Nick because he liked Pete more than everyone else—and they were practically inseparable. It’s no wonder how they both ended up as aspiring Naval Aviators.

Pete had unintentionally convinced him to join the Navy. Nick was seventeen and happened to be at the right point in his high school career to apply for a congressional nomination. He got it, of course—his academic performance was spectacular and anyone who’d ever met him loved him.

They wanted to be pilot and RIO together, but the two-year difference was going to cause issues down the road. You still had to attend the Academy for four years, regardless of how many college courses one had already taken. However, they’d find a way to work around it—Pete was sure of it.

“Pete, you have mail.”

He looked up at his foster mom as they tossed a couple of envelopes on the table as he was eating breakfast. His eyes widened as he registered the nature of the letters—they were his college admissions.

He had applied to other schools, mostly for fun and to see where else he could get in and then brag about it later. He quickly grabbed the Annapolis envelope and opened it in anticipation.

Dear Mr. Mitchell,

Thank you for your interest in joining the United States Naval Academy. Unfortunately—

Fuck.

He slowly put the letter down and turned his gaze to his Stanford University admission letter. Thankfully, after he opened it he knew how to reroute his life. First, he needed to write to Nick.

Dearest Nicholas Bradshaw,

Didn’t get into USNA!! Honestly, I should’ve expected it, my life is too crazy for something to go right. It’s whatever, Stanford has an NROTC program and if I do it right, I might graduate at the same time you do, since I’m going to have my AA when I graduate high school.

I don’t know, maybe this will work? It might even be better since I’ll be in flight school faster? (assuming everything else goes to plan)

Talk to you soon, come home safe,

Pete

To the Amazing Pete Mitchell,

I’m sorry, that sucks. I was really excited to introduce you to some of the friends I’ve made. But, maybe you’re right. Maybe this will work better than your original plan. Plus, I can just tell you stuff that we’re learning here in Annapolis.

Also, congratulations on Stanford! It’s hard to get in…which makes me all the more confused about how you didn’t get into USNA, but there’s nothing you can do about it now. Regardless, we’ll celebrate your accomplishment when I get home.

See you soon!

Nick

“Was it something to do with you?” Pete said in the silence of his bedroom as he stared up at the ceiling.

Pro…bly.

The soon-to-be eighteen-year-old turned to look into the empty area. The room was practically packed away into boxes, and the move-in date for Stanford was approaching quickly. He stared at the dubious figure of what was his father’s spirit. Duke was hardly visible, but Pete could tell where he was nonetheless.

To be completely honest, he was surprised that he was getting coherent answers from his dead father. The communication was never the best when it came to Pete’s “abilities”.

You…okay.

Words wouldn’t pass through completely and phrases became hard to decipher. Through years of practice and fine-tuning, he slowly learned how to fill in the blanks. He learned how to tell if a spirit was positive or negative, what said spirit was doing or saying to him, why they showed up all of a sudden, and the list goes on.

There had been too many times when Pete had accidentally channeled a spirit’s feelings when it wasn’t the best time to do so. Eventually, he found ways to separate himself from that, but there are some moments where it’s too overwhelming and…

Point is, he had to learn. Sink or swim.

Smart .

And hey, if the result of learning how to communicate meant he got to hear his father telling him how intelligent he is, he’ll take it…and it was a cool party trick.

Nick always indulged him in his endeavors. Whenever a spirit came by, he was always interested in how Pete communicated. In special cases, if the spirits were high-energy, Nick would get to see things fall off shelves, stuff moving around, doors opening, and floors creaking. He always got a little freaked out, but Nick’s always like that with things he doesn’t completely understand.

Pete always thought that Nick liked him so much because he provided some adrenaline combined with mystery. 

Nick said it was because he’s a good person. Whatever that meant.

Chapter Text

Now, how did they get here?

“Welcome, Lieutenants, to TOPGUN.”

Maverick and Goose sat front-row to their introductory meeting. Addressing them was the Viper, the same one who became the first winner of TOPGUN. As Jester—their other instructor—had said, the six-time MiG killer and one of the best fighter pilots in the world.

There were sixteen of them in total—split into eight flight groups, each vying to be first place. Eager to win the TOPGUN trophy, handed to them by Viper himself. Unfortunately, Maverick and Goose were here to take that blessing from them without a struggle.

“You all are the elite, the best-of-the-best. TOPGUN is here to make you better because your job is pretty damn important,” Viper said. Maverick took a moment to analyze their competition while their instructor tried their best to intimidate them. “You’ll fly two combat-simulating missions per day, and be evaluated in-between. Your classes will be rigorous, so slackers will be left behind.”

This was when Maverick locked eyes with a particularly interesting person. An assumedly tall man with frosted tips for hair, chewing on the end of his pen. However, that wasn’t what made him intriguing to Pete.

He could sense a presence hovering behind the man. It wasn’t too obvious, but Maverick just happened to be looking in that direction when he thought he saw someone raise their arm…except nobody did—well, no living body, anyway.

He couldn’t tell who it was supposed to represent, the spirit was so vague to him, so he turned to focus back on Viper just as the other man began to stare back.

“In each sequence, you'll face a different combat challenge. Every combat session will get more difficult. We'll teach you to fly right to the edge of the envelope.” Just out of curiosity, Maverick turned to look back at the man, who smiled coldly in return. Maverick lazily rolled his eyes and turned to the front again. “In case anyone doubts my words…On August 19, 1981, two enemy fighters attacked. Naval aviators met and downed them. The battle lasted under 60 seconds. The maneuvers that downed those attackers were learned sitting in these chairs. Both naval aviators were TOPGUN graduates.”

Goose bumped his shoulder gently. “What are you doing?” he hissed as quietly as he could. “Looking back there like that?”

“Just…wondering…” Maverick trailed off.

“In case anyone’s wondering who’s the best,” Viper cut off their almost nonverbal conversation. “The plaque on the back wall tells you everything you need to know. Do you think you’ll be up there?” their instructor asked, staring down at Maverick.

Not what I meant, but I’ll humor you…

“Yes, sir,” Maverick replied. It’s not like he was lying, per se, he did think highly about their chances.

“​​That's a pretty arrogant attitude, considering the company you're in,” Viper told him, accompanied by a couple of bouts of laughter from the rest of the class.

“Yeah, but doesn’t everyone in here think the same?” Maverick asked. “Unless, of course, they’re not confident in themselves, and isn’t that half the battle?” Viper shrugged at his words.

“I guess,” Viper humored him with a grin. “You have to think you're King Kong to want to try to land on carriers. Just keep in mind, when the battle out there is over, we're all on the same team.”

“Of course,” he said. “Why should I think differently?” At his words, Viper hastily moved on. Did I hit a nerve?

“Remember,” Viper continued “There are no points for second place. Dismissed.” At their new instructor’s word, the boys all started to get up and leave the small room, some of them stopping to view the TOPGUN plaque, full of the names and call signs from the past winners. Maverick wanted more than anything to see his name on that next empty nameplate. It would be so rewarding after fighting tooth and nail to make it here.

Maverick turned back to look at the front of the room where Viper was mulling over papers and other things he couldn’t identify. But that wasn’t what surprised him, no—it was his dad hovering over the man’s shoulder. His mind raced at the possible reasons for why that was.

“The plaque for the alternates is down in the ladies' room,” a voice shook Maverick out of his thoughts as he looked down at the source. It was the blond pilot from earlier. He had no better response than a shake of his head and a roll of his eyes.

Goose let out an obnoxious shriek of laughter, the sarcastic tone obvious to anyone who could hear. “Oh, you kill me, you really do,” he said, gently pushing Maverick to leave the room.

“What was that about?” He asked his RIO as they walked away, the door shutting loudly behind them.

“Tell you later,” Goose replied, waving off any concern from the other. “What were you looking at during the introduction? You were distracted practically the entire time.”

“The guy that you will ‘tell me about later’ has a spirit or something hanging around him,” he explained quietly. “I couldn't tell who it was so I tried to look again and…yeah. I guess that dude thought I was trying to size him up or whatever.”

“Hah!” Goose laughed out loud. “Size him up, ha…”

“You…are infuriating.”

___________

“So…this is an atmosphere,” Maverick muttered to Goose as they walked in at the local bar that apparently, TOPGUN members frequented during their session.

“Yeah, I bet all the other guys are here,” Goose told him. “Most of them were at the Academy with me and we got along.”

“Enlighten me, then,” Maverick suggested as they neared the bar.

“Okay. You wanna know who's the best of the best, yeah? Iceman, the dude you’ve been making googly eyes at all day, is your competition. Flies like his call sign: “Ice cold, no mistakes,” Goose explained. “It’s not like he doesn't know it, either. Graduated top of our class. Smart as hell, flies like he’s been doing it for decades—straight out of a textbook.”

“Ah,” Maverick realized. “So I’m his target, then?”

“I’d consider that a compliment, if anything.”

“Who’re they?” Maverick asked, pointing at two tall guys who looked like they were arguing.

“Oh! Hollywood and Wolfman. They’re pretty good as well—not as good as you, of course—but they’ll be up there. Don’t get deceived by the arguing, though, they fight like an old married couple.” As he finished answering Maverick, one of the guys turned to see them staring.

“Oi, Goose! How’s it been on the Big E?”

“Great, nice to see you again, Wood,” they shook hands jovially, like two friends reuniting. “How’re you two, got married yet?” he joked.

“Goose, I’m gonna punch you one day and you’re gonna deserve it,” the other one, Wolfman, entered the conversation. “Good to see you, dude. Good luck against us, we’ve been going crazy lately.”

“We do not need to worry, trust me, gentlemen. Maverick and I are walking out with that trophy,” he grinned, pulling Maverick into the conversation with a stiff arm on his back.

“Are you the one that buzzed the tower and got Jardian all pissy?” Wolfman exclaimed in recognition. “We heard all about that the other day,”

“Maybe,” Maverick shrugged his shoulders. “Why are we asking?” The other pair laughed.

“See you idiots around,” Hollywood said, patting Maverick on the back. “We’re gonna…mingle a bit.”

“Don’t let us stop you.” As the other pair walked away, Maverick scoffed and shook his head in disbelief. “Is there anyone in the Navy you don’t know?”

“You forget I am a Bona Fide Ringknocker . Oh—wait,” he grabbed a man by the shoulder as he walked by, gaining his attention. Maverick recognized him as the man who was sitting next to Iceman earlier. If he was right, this would be the RIO. “Slider! They let you into TOPGUN?” he joked.

The other—Slider—let out a chuckle. “Goose, whose butt did you kiss to get here?”

“The list is long but distinguished,” he proclaimed. Maverick stood there awkwardly watching the conversation. 

“So’s my Johnson.”

“Where’s Iceman?” Goose asked.

“That’s Mister Iceman to you, sir,” Slider replied, turning his head to signal to his pilot. Maverick analyzed the scene. The man had his aviators on, a drink in hand, and a girl hanging off his shoulder. As he excused himself to walk over to the other three, Maverick steeled himself for a confrontation.

“You think you can get it up twice a day to stay in the sky with us?”

“I think, yeah, we'll stumble along.” Maverick was minding his business, turning around to look at the rest of the bar in curiosity. He was so lost in his own thoughts that he missed Slider’s questioning glance at him.

“Oh, yeah,” Goose said, patting Maverick on the shoulder in an attempt to regain his pilot’s attention. “This is Pete Mitchell, he steers the thing.”

“So I heard. Steers it pretty close,” Iceman responded skeptically, finally joining the conversation. Maverick sighed but wasn’t paying much attention to the three of them, pretending to look at a girl directly over Iceman’s right shoulder. In reality, he was looking at the presence hovering behind the other.

He could tell someone was there, but they weren’t prominent enough for him to make any guesses as to who…

“Sorry to hear about Cougar. He and I were like brothers at flight school. He was a good man,” Iceman addressed Maverick, who turned his gaze back to him.

“Still is…” he trailed off suspiciously. Why were they talking about Cougar? It’s not like he was the reason he gave up his wings.

“Yeah, that’s what I meant,” the taller man backtracked. “...You figured it out yet?”

Maverick raised an eyebrow. “Figured out what, exactly?”

“Who’s the better pilot?” At the other’s question, he sighed and rolled his eyes. 

“I can work that out on my own, thanks.”

“I heard that about you,” Iceman told him. “You like to work alone?”

“Aww, were you interested in me?” He joked sarcastically. “Cute.” Iceman was momentarily taken aback, looking at his partner in confusion. Slider and Goose were avidly watching the conversation unfold, stunned by the behavior of the two that they’d separately known for so long. “I've heard about you, too. You like to mess with people's minds.” They made eye contact, and neither wanted to be the first to chicken out and break it.

“You must have soloed under a lucky star, First, the MiG, then you slide into Cougar's place.”

“Wasn’t his spot, it was ours,” Maverick assured. “Say, who did you hear that from? ‘Cause if it wasn’t the man himself, I would hold off on engaging in petty rumors.”

“Guys fly their whole career without seeing a MiG up close…You're lucky and famous,” Slider butted in.

“You mean notorious,” Iceman corrected, finally breaking eye contact with Maverick and walking away.

Maverick turned to Goose, who just shrugged. “Must be competitive. Didya see the thingy again?”

“Sure, Goose. I saw the thingy .” Maverick rolled his eyes. Goose had never really softened up to the whole ‘talking to dead people’ thing. “Did someone close to him die recently? That’s like…the only reason I can think of it not showing up clearly. It’s like they either don’t want to be seen or don’t know how to.”

“I don’t know, obviously, but I’ll see if I can find out for you. If that’s what’ll calm you down.” Goose leaned back on the bar. “It’s my turn, isn’t it?” He asked.

“For the bet? Your turn.”

“Ok…let's see. Sooo…The bet is twenty dollars. And the gag is: You gotta' have carnal knowledge—of a lady, this time.”

“Booo,” Maverick joked.

“...On the premises.”

Maverick stood up straight with a surprised look. “ IN the bar? Goose, what the hell!”

“A bet’s a bet.”

“Whatever,” he muttered, turning to scan the bar area. “I hate you.”

“So-so,” Goose joked back with a grin. “Twenty dollars!”

Maverick spotted a girl sitting at a table. She was pretty—had short, curly blonde hair. Even better, she was reading a book about planes. Maverick could do planes. However, as he was about to approach her, another officer walked up and offered his hand, to which she declined. He backed off for a moment, rethinking his plan.

From the looks of it, he wouldn’t be getting anything of the nature that Goose wanted from her, but if he played his cards right, she might vouch for him. She looked intelligent, based on what she was reading, so he decided to give it a shot.

“Hey,” he said, sliding into the booth on the other side of her table. 

“Sorry, not interested,” she replied quickly, giving him a nod.

“Neither am I,” he answered truthfully, successfully grabbing her attention. “Well, at least, for what you’re thinking of. Whatcha reading?”

“I’m reading about the F-14A,” she told him. “Say, you know anything about planes?”

“Actually, I do,” he gave in to her unsubtle probing. “I fly the F-14.”

“Ah,” she nodded, looking interested. Maverick assumed it to be a ruse, she was treating him like he was going to talk down to her. He wasn’t stupid, though; she knew what she was talking about.

“What’re you reading about?”

“Maneuvers,” she answered. “Ever performed an unsanctioned maneuver?”

“Should I be telling you that?” She laughed, leaning back in her booth, away from the book. Maverick considered that a win.

“Of course not,” she said. “So, what brought you over here?”

“Honestly?” he asked. “A bet.” She raised her eyebrow, a motion to continue. “My buddy said twenty dollars if I could get carnal knowledge of a lady.”

“Oh,” she put her elbows on the table and her hands under her chin. “And what makes you think I’ll get you that?”

“Nothing,” he told her. “I was hoping you’d cover for me, I’m not really in the mood. But, a bet’s a bet.”

“So, you’re a liar.”

“Really?” She laughed.

“Eh, I’ll see if I feel like it,” she looked back into the crowd. “Unfortunately for you, my friend has arrived. Stick around, though.”

“Hmmm, okay,” he nodded to her, getting up. “Thanks for entertaining my idea.”

“No problem.” Maverick nodded to the man she was meeting, wondering if he knew the man from somewhere. He looked like he worked on the base. He walked off with a grin, returning to Goose. 

“Where’d you get off to?” the RIO asked.

“Somewhere…”

“Unless you got proof, no money.” Maverick shrugged, looking back in the girl’s direction. It wasn’t until now that he realized he didn’t ask her name.

“She’ll be around.”

And sure enough, a good twenty minutes later, the girl in question walked by them swiftly with a single comment: “Your friend was magnificent.”

Goose turned to him with wide eyes, taking in Maverick’s smug grin. “Are you serious?”

“Oh yeah, baby.”

______________

The first class was hilarious, for a couple of reasons. Most of them involved Charlie.

At least Maverick knew her name now.

“​​You will be trained and evaluated by a few civilian specialists as well. These civilians are here because they are the very best sources on enemy aircraft.” Clicking footsteps echoed down the center of the desks. Maverick turned to see the girl from the bar yesterday walking down. In shock—and gratefulness that he didn’t try and make a move on her—he turned back to the front. Goose side-eyed him with a shocked expression and Maverick tried not to smile. He still doesn’t know that nothing happened, and Maverick got his twenty dollars.

Viper continued his spiel. “Charlotte Blackwood—code name Charlie—she's a Ph.D. in astrophysics. She's a civilian contractor, so you don't salute her, but you'd better listen to her because the Pentagon listens to her about your proficiency. Is that clear?”

After a chorus of “Yes, sir”s echoed through the room, Charlie began to speak to them. “Hello. We will be dealing with F-5s and A-4s as our MiG simulators. As most of you know…”

Maverick tuned Charlie out. Was it rude? Yeah. Did he care? Not really. His dad was close to Viper again, giving him the idea that they were closer than he thought. He wondered if his instructor was close to his father when he died—of course, he assumed so, but he couldn’t be too sure. Spirits, and the messages they attempt to convey, are horribly cryptic. Viper could be someone who his dad didn’t like or butt heads with during his life.

Something was telling him that wasn’t the case, but he had no concrete proof…well, he never did with this stuff. It was like a guess-and-check thing.

“...problem with its inverted flight tanks. The MiG-28 won’t do a negative-G pushover.” Maverick snapped his attention to Charlie at the front. It hit him that the information she was talking about was wrong, but she didn’t know that. He slowly turned his head to face Goose, who he could tell was thinking the same.

“You gonna tell her?” Goose whispered as quietly as possible—it was like he was mouthing the words. Maverick shrugged. “You’ve gotta tell her,” he said, to which Maverick shook his head.

“Is there something wrong, Lieutenants?” Charlie interrupted their conversation.

“Uh…” Goose stuttered, and Maverick sighed.

“The data on the MiG is inaccurate,” he told her, to which the rest of the class stared at him in disbelief, or maybe because he had the audacity to say something back. He saw Viper straighten up in the corner of his eye and Jester glared at him. He was wasting their time.

“How’s that, Lieutenant?” Charlie asked.

“Uh,” he turned to look at Goose. “We…saw a MiG do a 4G negative dive.”

It was clear to anyone watching that Charlie didn’t believe him. She walked closer to the two of them, crossing her arms. “And where did you see that?”

“Um,” he looked at Viper and Jester, curious if she was allowed to know. She probably was if she interacted with the Pentagon, but he wasn’t about to get chewed out for blabbing. “It’s classified.”

That was the wrong answer. Jester went rigid and Charlie looked taken aback. He could feel the nervous energy of the room and tried not to look flustered. “It’s what ?”

“Classified,” he said again, doubling down and trying to turn this into a bit. “I’d tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.” Thankfully, that did the trick, drawing a few snickers out of some of the aviators behind him.

“Lieutenant, I have a Top Secret clearance. The Pentagon sees to it that I know more than you.” Maverick nodded in acceptance, leaning back in his chair. “So, where were you?”

“Started on his six, then I moved in above him,” he stated, simple and to the point. 

She raised her eyebrow at his statement, ready to lock in for the kill. “If you were directly above him, how did you see him?”

Thankfully, he wasn’t ashamed about going above the rules. “Because I was inverted.” He heard Iceman bust out into laughter behind him, but not because he was funny. He was clearly mocking him, but Maverick didn’t have the patience for him.

“You were in a 4G inverted dive with a MiG-28?” She said, buying into the story. “At what range?”

“Two…” he trailed off, eyeing Goose, who was fighting back a grin.

“Two what? Two miles?”

“Twoooo…meters?” He heard laughter from multiple people around him. He tried not to grin at his own stupidity.

“It was one and a half, actually,” Goose piped up. “I have a Polaroid. It’s a great picture.”

“You take the best pictures, honey,” Maverick joked.

“Lieutenant,” Charlie spoke flatly. “What were you doing there?”

“Keeping up with foreign relations,” he quipped back quickly, to which she stared at him, waiting for a better explanation. “I was, you know…giving him the bird.”

Charlie looked unimpressed, so Goose decided to give a demonstration. Of course, the rest of the class liked Goose more than him and laughed at his joke rather than at him. “I know the finger, Goose.”

“Sorry,” he muttered, pressing his other hand over his middle finger. “I hate when it does that.” She glared at him. “Excuse me. Sorry.”

Jester tapped his watch, interrupting their banter. “Come on, we’ve got a hop to take. The hard deck for this hop is ten thousand feet. No engagement below that altitude. Go get 'em.”

________________

“Maverick.” Maverick stopped in the corridor at Iceman’s voice. He looked to the side to see him sitting against a pole, slightly out of sight.

Iceman hopped off the ledge, not looking at him until he got right in front of the shorter pilot. “Tell me, who was covering Cougar while you were showboating with this MiG?”

Looking up into Iceman’s glare, he smiled and tilted his head. “What do you mean? He was doing just fine.”

“Forgive me, but I’m curious,” Iceman didn’t let him walk away. “After this…incident, Cougar lets go of his wings. That’s not exactly…normal, is it?”

“No, it’s not,” Maverick conceded. “Sometimes, a man decides his family needs him more than the sky calls him. Is that a crime?”

“Of course not,” Iceman agreed. “But, here’s the thing. Cougar loved to fly—it was a part of him. You’re telling me that it was a sudden epiphany that made him throw away everything he’d worked so hard for?”

“I’m not here to disclose Cougar’s business,” he told Iceman. “If you’re so curious, why don’t you call him, like I suggested? Don’t call me a liar when you clearly don’t care enough about the truth.”

“And what if I already did?”

“Don’t give me that bullshit, I know you didn’t.”

“How would you know?”

“You wouldn’t be here, talking to me like you know better than me,” Maverick shook his head in disbelief. “I’ve never met you before—why are you standing here, talking down to me?”

“People talk, Maverick.”

“And are they people you’d trust to save your life if it came down to it?” he accused. “You guys love Goose so much, why don’t you take his word that I’m not your enemy?”

“What is going on here?” They both turned to see Viper, of all people, standing in the same doorway Maverick had walked through.

“I—nothing. I don’t even know,” Maverick quickly stuttered out, turning on his heel and walking out. “Get me out of here.”

 ___________

“Well…gentlemen you had a hell of a first day. The hard deck on this hop was ten thousand feet- you knew it, you broke it.” Maverick and Goose stood at attention, staring straight forward. The pose didn’t hide their embarrassment. “You followed Commander Heatherly below the hard deck after he called “no joy”. Why?”

“Sir, I had him in sight, he saw me move in for the kill, and then he went below the hard deck. We were only below ten thousand for a few seconds. I had the shot—there was no danger—so I took it,” Maverick explained carefully. Viper gave Jester a look that could’ve meant a hundred different things.

Viper gave a long sigh, turning to face them and away from the window overlooking the tarmac. “The Top Gun rules of engagement exist to protect you and your team. They are not flexible and neither am I, You either obey them or you are history. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir,” Goose and Maverick chorused. 

“Dismissed,” Viper said, and the two Lieutenants hastily made their leave. However, Maverick held Goose back from walking away as the door to the office was closing. Before Goose could ask why, he heard Viper ask Jester, “He got you didn't he?” followed by silence and a laugh.

Maverick released Goose and they both began walking away. “Ding ding ding!” He knocks Goose’s side with a laugh.

“Sure, Mav,” Goose muttered with a grin. “Hey, the boys were wondering if we wanted to join them on the beach for some volleyball after class.”

“Sure, why not?”

“Enlighten me to something,” Goose added, and Maverick motioned for him to continue. “Slider came up to me earlier talking about how you and Iceman got into an argument. And Viper found you two in the middle of it?”

Maverick groaned, rolling his eyes. “Iceman thinks I freaked Cougar out enough to turn in his wings. He thinks I left him for dead out there with the MiG.”

“Ouch,” Goose replied. “Why does he think that?”

“There’s definitely some people talking about what happened. And like everything I’m involved in, I must’ve been the reason he doesn’t want to fly anymore,” he said. “I hate people.”

“Well, he hasn’t gotten to know you yet. Don’t worry, I’ll change that.”

“How will you do that, exactly?”

“Magic, obviously. You don’t know what’s coming.”

___________

“Match point for Maverick and Goose!” It was a true July summer. It felt like the sun was trying to melt everyone’s skin off and every breeze that went by was a blessing.

Slider intercepted Goose’s spike, setting it up for Iceman to hit back. He sends it straight at Goose, who sets it up for Maverick to spike it over the net. Aiming for Slider’s left, Maverick drills it into the sand. The other missed the ball and fell short, giving Maverick and Goose the win.

Maverick cheered and Goose whooped, jumping up and down excitedly. They shared an intense high-five before Maverick walked off to grab one of the beers delivered by Hollywood and Wolfman.

“Where are you going, Maverick?” Slider yelled from the other side of the net.

“I’m thirsty! Give me a second!”

With nowhere else to be, Maverick and Goose got ready to play one final game against Iceman and Slider to win the game. It was best out of three, and they each had won one. This friendly game of volleyball had become more than that—it was a representation of the fierce TOPGUN competition. Whoever came out on top here would be one-upping the other pair.

Maverick analyzed the other side of the net. Iceman and Slider were planning their next move, but he was too distracted staring right behind Iceman again. That same spirit—he just knew it was the same one—was back hovering over the man’s shoulder. It was like the spirit was obsessed with him. When the two turned to face them again, Maverick swiftly looked away.

“You good?” Goose asked.

“Yeah,” he replied. “Keep getting distracted by Iceman’s little…attachment.”

“Well stop getting distracted for at least twenty-five more points.”

“Sure, yeah, whatever.”

The game was neck-and-neck the entire way. They would score, and then Slider and Iceman would tie it. This pattern continued the entire way until they were both tied at twenty-three.

It was Iceman and Slider’s turn to serve, and then Goose bumped it over to Maverick who spiked it over the net. Slider hit it to Iceman, who spiked it back over, sending it straight at Maverick’s face.

He barely had any time to react, but he moved his shoulder in the way and the ball smacked it hard. It hurt a lot, this was a ball that the beach threw out here to let random people play—it wasn’t anything professional.

The ball hit the ground before either of them could even register what had happened. Goose was staring at Maverick slack-jawed, and the other was standing there in disbelief. “Ow.”

“Are you okay?” Goose asked worriedly, walking over to check his shoulder.

“Um, yeah, think so,” he replied, trying to brush off the concern. “Just glad it didn’t hit my face.” He looked over the net to where Iceman and Slider were standing awkwardly. “I’m alright, thanks for asking!” he shouted, voice full of sarcasm.

“Wouldn’t kill them to say sorry,” Goose muttered, picking up the ball.

“Except I think it would.”

Goose sighed, shaking his head. “Are you good to play a couple more rounds?”

“Yeah, I guess. It’s whatever, honestly.”

They lost. He didn’t want to sound like a sore loser and blame his shoulder, but it really did hurt. Not bad enough to worry too much about it, but when you get hit in the right spot, sometimes it catches you off guard.

As a silent apology, they guessed, Iceman and Slider suggested they all go to the O-Club, and against their judgment, they accepted. Throughout the time they hung out, Maverick couldn’t help but watch the spirits—his dad and whatever was following Iceman. 

His dad did not like the other spirit.

Liar , his dad kept repeating, and Maverick could almost feel his dad’s anger. It almost felt suffocating.

“So, Maverick,” Wolfman began and Maverick stopped paying attention to the dead people. “You look pretty young, how’d you get here?”

“I’m twenty-four, twenty-five later this year,” Maverick answered. “I didn’t go to the Academy, I got my Associate’s Degree out of high school and went to Stanford. Got my Bachelor’s and joined the Navy.”

“Ah, okay. So you’re smart,” Hollywood replied. “What’d you major in?”

“Aerospace engineering with a minor in mathematics.”

“Nerd,” Goose muttered.

“You know you love me.”

“What happened with the MiG, then?” Another person—Sundown—asked, someone who Maverick hadn’t interacted much with.

“It was a surprise, really,” Goose said. “Maverick and I, as well as our friends Cougar and Merlin, were out on regular patrol and they told us that we had unknown contact.”

Maverick took over. “We found a MiG a couple of miles out, and Cougar went to I.D. and we hung back to watch his back. Honestly, we thought it was just one, but that was a stupid mistake. There was a second one that tried to go after Cougar, so Goose and I went after them.”

“And MiG-23s aren’t supposed to have radar missiles, so imagine our surprise when they get a lock on Coug and Merlin. And then we realized that they weren't 23s, but MiG-28s. Maverick locks on our MiG, they bug out. But Cougar’s MiG is trying to engage him and Commander Jardian is yelling at us to not fire unless they do,” Goose told them. Some of the others' eyes widened. “I’m all like, “holy shit, nobody’s ever been this close before, we have to get a look in the cockpit,” and Maverick is all like, “Yeah, okay, give me a minute”. So while the MiG is distracted, he inverts and flies over them.”

“He got scared and left after that.”

“So what happened with Cougar, then?” Slider asked. Iceman was oddly silent, but Maverick was glad.

“He realized that he could’ve died out there and he would’ve never gotten to meet his daughter,” Maverick answered. “Don’t know what else to say about that. It’s a respectable reason.”

Ass…le . Maverick tried not to turn to stare at his father’s spirit. Who was he calling an asshole?

Son , a new voice muttered. Oh?

As Goose talked about the Polaroid, Maverick turned to ‘analyze the bar’. In reality, he was staring at Iceman’s…father?

If Maverick was right, that voice was the same one that was attached to Iceman. And if that made any sense, the son comment was him declaring that Iceman was his son.

The spirit was older, and Maverick tried to pull anything from the mysterious man. The spirit was showing himself for a reason. He couldn’t properly communicate without alerting the other table members, so he was at a standstill.

As…ole, his father repeated.

Tra…tr.

He tried not to give any signal away that he was hearing voices. His dad repeated the same words, followed by traitor from…presumably Iceman’s dad..? He felt like he was unlocking a part of a puzzle that he didn’t need to know yet. Maverick had a slight idea, but now was not the time to mull over that.

H—d th… t…uth. Cl—ss…f’ed.

What was Duke saying? This was the most his father had said at one time in a while.

“Maverick, what’s got you so distracted?” Hollywood’s voice pulled Maverick out of his thoughts.

“Uh, I don’t know, really,” Maverick tried to act normal. “I guess I’m just thinking about the rest of TOPGUN—like, what to expect.”

“Expect to lose, that’s for sure,” Slider laughed out, followed by Iceman’s chuckle.

“I’m getting a bit tired,” Goose announced, nudging Maverick. “I’m gonna head back to my housing. Mav, you coming?”

“Yeah, sure, see you guys,” Maverick agreed, following Goose out of the bar after they said their goodbyes.

“What were you doing?” Goose said immediately after they were alone. “You were like…in another world. What were you picking up?”

“My dad was saying a lot of stuff,” he tried to explain. “I think the dude hanging on to Iceman is his father and my dad does not like him.”

“Huh,” Goose wondered.

“It was a lot,” Maverick muttered. “My dad was really pissed. I could feel it, it was so weird.” He shuddered.

“You said before that that doesn’t happen a lot.”

“No, it doesn’t,” he confirmed. “He was like, really angry—I don’t know. I think he was just really pissed off at Iceman’s dad—or whoever—and his energy was nuts.”

“Are you okay?” Goose asked. “Seriously, you looked like you were in a different universe.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m good. Seriously.”

“Where’s your dad now?” Maverick shrugged, looking around.

“Honestly, I don’t know. He’s not here,” he hopped onto his motorcycle. “He needs to cool down, anyway. That was a lot.”

Goose sighed. “See you at the house, Mav.”

Several blocks later, the two of them were at their shared house. They got ready to turn in for the night and found themselves in the living room, lounging on the couch and chair.

“So, tell me what you’re thinking,” Goose said and Maverick looked at him curiously. “Don’t give me that look, you’re clearly not over what happened.”

Maverick gave a loud sigh. “Fine. So, he and who I'm guessing is Iceman’s dad are near each other because Iceman and I were close together. My dad said “liar” and “asshole”, and I’m confused because I don’t know what was going on. And then the one with Iceman just says “Son”.”

“Ohh,” Goose realized. “So you think it’s his dad because there’s no way in hell Ice has a kid.”

“Exactly,” he replied. “So, my dad didn’t like that and called him an asshole again. His dad calls my dad a traitor, which is when I couldn’t stop paying attention to them. My dad said something like, “hid the truth…” bla bla bla, I don’t even know.”

“I didn’t even know Ice’s father was dead,” Goose revealed. “He was alive when we were at the Academy together, it must’ve been recent.”

“What do you know about his dad, exactly?”

“He was an Admiral. Used to be a naval aviator, so that’s why Iceman is so good, apparently.” Maverick bit back a gasp. “What?”

“I have a theory,” Goose raised his eyebrow, and Maverick continued. “I don’t want to say it, it’s way outta left field.”

“Just say it,” Goose pleaded. “I’m a sucker for gossip.”

“Ugh, fine. But it’s not really gossip—well, I guess it could be if it was true—but I don’t know!”

“Tell mee,” Goose whined. 

“Okay, okay!” Maverick conceded. “I think my dad and Iceman’s dad were on the same mission where my dad died.” Goose gasped, similar to how Maverick did a minute earlier.

“Shut up, you’re crazy for that.”

“I know, I know,” Maverick put his hands over his face. “But what if there’s a way to see if that’s true?”

“Maybe not a way, but a person,” Goose suggested. “You said something about your dad hanging around Viper, too.”

“Ohh, you’re good, Goose. You’re really good. But there’s no way I’m going up to The Viper and asking if he saw my dad die.”

Goose laughed. “Of course not, you idiot. You’ve gotta be subtle and get the answer outta him before he even knows what you did.”

“You’re cute, I’m not that good.”

“We’ll find a way, don’t worry.”

Chapter Text

“Jump in here anytime Charlie.”

“...The F-14 performs a split S? That's the last thing you should do. The MiG is right on your tail—freeze there—the MiG has you in his gunsight. What were you thinking here?” Charlie asked the room. She doesn’t know whose simulation she’s looking at, but everyone else does.

Everyone turned to stare at Maverick, who just sat there with a long face. “I wasn't thinking. You think and you're dead.”

“Big gamble with a thirty-million dollar plane, Lieutenant.”

“Are you a fighter pilot?” he snapped, annoyed at her telling him off.

“No, but you won’t be either when you get blown out of the sky,” Charlie sniped right back, accompanied by the low whistles of some of the other TOPGUN students in the room.

“Charlie, Lieutenant,” Viper cut off their impending argument. “Regardless of its sensibility, the maneuver worked; the MiG never got a clean shot. Maverick makes an aggressive vertical move here, comes over the top, and defeats the bandit with a missile shot. The encounter was a victory, but we've shown it as an example of what not to do.” Viper changed the simulation. “Ice is next.”

Hollywood leaned over to Maverick. “Gutsiest move I’ve ever seen,” he whispered.

“Thanks, Wood,” Maverick muttered back appreciatively.

“This is a perfect example of a textbook maneuver,” Charlie told them. Maverick frowned and leaned back in the chair annoyed.

“Is there a problem, Maverick?” Viper asked, catching his expression and calling him out. Charlie stopped and so did everyone else.

“I have a question—and it’s a genuine question, I’m not trying to be rude. Why is the goal to be predictable?”

“Elaborate, please,” Viper urged.

“Okay, well…if you instruct every U.S. fighter pilot to do this exact maneuver in this exact position, don’t you think that we’ll become predictable?” He questioned. “I mean, the enemy’s not stupid or we’d not still be in a war with them. I think eventually, they’d find a pattern to our offensive and defensive responses.”

“Ain’t that a thought,” Wolfman muttered, garnering a few snickers from around the room.

“I see your logic here, Lieutenant,” Viper slowly responded, unsure of what to say. “You know what? Stay after and I’ll tell you what I think.”

Maverick shrugged. “Sure.”

After another half-hour, the class was dismissed and Maverick stayed seated. Viper motioned him to stand up and he did.

“You say that we’re too predictable if we do the same thing every time, yes?”

“Yes.”

“You told Charlie that, “You think, and you’re dead”.”

“Yes, sir?” Maverick didn’t know where he was going.

“Honestly, I agree with you.” Maverick’s expression hid none of his surprise at Viper’s response. “Don’t look at me like that. I think you’re right.”

“But, you’re here teaching everyone to think too much?”

“Not everyone’s like you, Maverick. You have raw talent that the Navy doesn’t find that often. People like Iceman, for example, are refined. He has taken his abilities and his knowledge and made himself into the textbook pilot. The Navy likes that kind of talent.”

“And me?” he asked.

“I think you already know that answer,” Viper said. “You took the raw talent you have and built upon that because you knew that your mind was the only thing you needed up there. Some people are comforted by a right and a wrong way. You don’t have that limitation set in your mind.”

“Are you insulting Iceman?” he asked curiously, to which Viper scoffed with a grin.

“Of course, I’m not,” he debunked. “Iceman’s a one-in-a-million, like you. Just a different kind. Iceman has the discipline you wish you could take to, easily. You have the flying abilities he wished he had from day one.”

“So, what does that have to do with being predictable?”

“You’re thinking that every pilot is just like you, Maverick. That every pilot can see patterns and adapt as quickly as you. You assume that the pilots on the other side have the same raw and unrestrained talent that you do.” Viper looked at Iceman’s simulation left on the screen. “There is only one other person I’ve met that’s like you.”

“My dad?” he offered.

“I’m not going to question how you knew that, but yes,” Viper confirmed. “I was there when your dad died. His raw talent was the reason there was only one casualty that day.”

“Oh.” Maverick had a lot to think about later, but he had one more question. “I’m sorry, one more thing.”

“Yes, Maverick?”

“Did Iceman’s dad fly with you two?” Viper’s eyes widened slightly and he stood up straight.

“I—yeah, how did you know?” he asked his student.

“A hunch,” he answered cryptically. “Did he…you know, lie about my dad?”

“This is a conversation for another day, Lieutenant. You need to have that conversation when you’re not in the thick of it all.”

__________

“So, yeah.”

“Yeah, what?” Goose asked.

“Iceman’s dad totally had something to do with my dad’s label as a traitor.”

“Did Viper tell you that?”

“It’s more what he didn’t tell me,” Maverick explained. “He was all like, “This conversation doesn’t need to happen right now,” and all the stuff that adults do when trying to keep the kids out of the loop.”

“Do you think Iceman knows?” Goose wondered. “It’s a tossup to me, but if he does, I don’t think he cares as much as you think.”

“I’m still debating that, but I’m more curious about why Iceman’s dad is hovering over him all the time,” Maverick said. “You say he was an Admiral, he could have control issues…or he really wants Iceman to reenact his Naval career. Both of which are really weird.”

“Could be both,” Goose suggested. 

“It could, it could…”

“Nick!” A voice shouted, and the pair looked up, startled.

They were at the San Diego Airport, sitting at the gate of the flight Carole and Bradley—Goose’s family—were arriving on. And, by the sound of it, they were here.

“Carole!” Nick shouted back, standing up and running to meet his wife and kid. Bradley, bless his soul, was sleeping on her shoulder and got jostled awake by all the fuss.

“Hey, buddy,” Maverick spoke gently to the toddler, taking him away from Carole so the married couple could have a moment. He spotted Slider and Iceman a couple yards away greeting what was hopefully Slider’s wife.

Why was he hopeful about that?

“Hey, Iceman!” he shouted, grabbing the man’s attention. “You all wanna go to a beach bar with us?” Iceman turned to the other two, who shrugged in agreement.

And that’s how they ended up here, at this random bar, Carole and Maverick slightly drunk and Goose…being Goose. Iceman, Slider, and Slider’s wife were at the table with them while Goose was charming the bartender to grab a couple of free beers.

“Does he ever embarrass you, Mav?” Carole asked.

“Goose? Never,” he admitted. “Well…uh…there was that one time with the—”

“Bisquayne sisters,” Carole interrupted and Maverick went wide-eyed.

“He told you??” Maverick almost shrieked.

“He tells me about all of them,” Carole informed him smugly. “How my little angel, Goose, goes home early for church. But you always go home with the hot women.”

Maverick grimaced, quickly exiting the table. “I think that’s the most flustered I’ve seen him all TOPGUN,” Slider confessed.

“I'd like to be able to warn you off about Maverick, but I love him to death. He is decent and kind. Once you get to him, he folds so fast, believe me.”

“Really now?” Iceman asked skeptically.

“Really,” Carole assured. “He’s the sweetest boy I’ve ever met. If you knew him before the Navy got to him, you’d wonder where he went,” she sighed. “Goose, you big stud! Take me to bed or lose me forever!”

“I’m coming, dear!” Goose shouted back, pulling her out of the booth. Before they made their exit, Carole planted a kiss on Maverick’s mouth, taking Bradley from him. “See you around!”

“Bye, Carole!” Maverick waved them off, sitting in the booth that Carole had just vacated. “If you all want me to get out of your hair, I can go.”

“No, no,” Slider’s wife reassured. “You seem like good company. I’m Cassidy,” she introduced.

“Pete Mitchell,” he replied with a smile.

“Nice to meet you. You weren’t around in their Academy days, were you? That’s how I know Nick,” she explained and Maverick nodded.

“Oh, no. I didn’t go to the Academy, but I’ve known Goose for almost ten years. We planned to be at USNA together, but shit happens for a reason, I guess.”

“Yeah,” she nodded. “Twenty-four, I heard.”

“From who?” Maverick raised an eyebrow, looking at Slider and Iceman in curiosity. She glanced at Iceman which was everything Maverick needed to know. “Ah. Interesting.”

“I also heard—forgive me—that you’re a bit risky,” she began. “Call me curious, I want to hear more.”

Maverick raised his eyebrows at the clear indication of Iceman and Slider gossiping about him. “It’s all…raw talent, some people might say. I trust myself a bit too much, it seems.” Iceman scoffed. “What? It’s true.”

“Yeah, okay,” Iceman muttered but tried to play it off as a joke instead. “Does that ‘raw talent’ involve being distracted every minute of the day?”

Maverick hummed. “Yes, actually,” he informed them, trying to sound as serious as possible. Well, he wasn’t lying, was he? It was a talent of his to talk to dead people and in turn, it made him look distracted all the time.

“Like at the O yesterday?” Slider pressed. “Your focus was ways away, it was almost hilarious.”

Yeah, it would be hilarious, but Maverick was reminded of the burning-hot anger he felt as a result of his father. He couldn’t just tell them oh yeah, I was so distracted learning about how Ice’s dead dad framed my dead dad for attempted desertion. Come on. “That’s a secret you unlock with a Level-10 friendship with me.”

“And what level are we, then?” Iceman asked curiously.

“Zero.” Cassidy choked on her beer at his blunt response. “Honestly, what did you expect? Dumbass…” Slider tried not to laugh outright at Iceman’s face.

“How can he get it up, then?” Slider said.

“Chocolate-covered pretzels, every day,” he replied jokingly, standing up from the table. “I’m gonna head out, big day tomorrow.”

“Two weeks until graduation,” Slider told him as he headed for the door. “That trophy is ours, short stack!”

__________

It was sunrise. The first hop of the day. Hop 31.

“ The TOPGUN trophy is still up for grabs, every point counts, ” Jester reminded them over the comms.

“You ready for this one, Maverick,” Iceman goaded him. Maverick looked over to his right at his greatest opponent. It was just the two pairs up here for now, and it was anybody’s game.

“I see ‘em,” Maverick called over the radio. “Tallyho, right two o’clock. I’m in,” he told Iceman, guiding his plane over to where he saw the F-5s.

“ I’m in,” Iceman teased. Maverick ignored the banter and made his way after one of them, expecting Iceman to follow. Maverick was the one in the lead on this hop, so unfortunately for Iceman, he should follow.

Except, he didn’t.

“That son of a bitch just cut me off!” Maverick shouted to Goose, amazed by the audacity of the other. It was annoying because he could take the shot right here, but Iceman was in the way. “Come on, come on! Take the shot or get out!”

“Come on, Ice! Get out of there,” Goose, ever the reasonable one, tried to convince him. Of course, they didn’t listen.

“I can’t get the angle—I’m too close for missiles. Switching to guns,” Iceman said.

“Oh, my god! Ice, fire or clear!” Maverick shouted. “Look at this, Goose. I could take the shot right here!”

“I need another twenty seconds, then I’ve got him.”

“You don’t have twenty seconds!”

It was pointless, they all knew Iceman was only there to block Maverick from getting the shot and winning the points. They all knew it.

“I’m moving in,” Maverick announced with no sign of changing his mind. “I’ve got the shot.”

“Come on, Mav! Let’s get in there,” Goose replied, backing him up.

“He’s getting impatient, Ice,” Slider warned. “Come on, take the shot!”

“Come off high right, I’m in!” Maverick told Iceman impatiently. “I’m right here!”

“Five more seconds!”

“Come off high right, Ice!” Maverick couldn’t see Iceman that well, but if he just did what Maverick said—

“I’m off, shit!”

His plane shot between the F-5 and Maverick’s F-14 with almost no room. Maverick narrowly missed a collision with Iceman and Slider, but any relief was short-lived as their plane passed straight through their jetwash. Maverick yelped as he was pinned forward in his seat, almost slamming into some of the controls.

“Oh shit!” Goose yelled, realizing what they had just gotten into. One of the main drawbacks of the F-14 was that if you did it right, it would start maneuvering into an unrecoverable flatspin. Neither of them could see straight, the unstable nature of the fighter jet jostling them around. “This is not good!”

One of their engines flamed out, then the other followed. “Goose, I can’t—I can’t control it. I can’t control it,” he panted. “It won’t recover.”

“Altitude eight-thousand!” Maverick tried to regain control—this plane couldn’t go down. Not like this. “Seven-thousand!”

“I’m pinned! I can’t reach the ejection handles!” Maverick shouted over their radio frantically. “You’re going to have to punch us out!”

Goose was able to move to pull the handles due to the G-forces in the center of the plane being less taxing. “I’m trying, I’m trying!”

Just before Goose got a hold of the ejection handles, Maverick yelled out, “Watch the canopy! Goose!” 

He could only watch as Goose shot out and slammed into the canopy. He heard his neck snap. Maverick’s scream of horror was cut off as his ejection sequence began.

He would forever thank Goose for saving his life. Even if he didn’t mean to do it, hitting the canopy moved it out of Maverick’s way, protecting him from the same fate as his RIO.

He didn’t need to make it down into the water to know that it all went wrong. He didn’t need to see Goose floating down to know it was over. He could feel it, and that was the first time he hated his gift.

Goose was dead. Nick Bradshaw was dead. His first-ever friend was dead.

“No!” he screamed into the vast emptiness of the ocean. “Nononono!” He smacked down hard into the water, saltwater filling his mouth. But he only cared about keeping his friend afloat.

Maybe he was wrong. Maybe Goose was still alive…maybe he was close to dying, but not dead. He could be wrong, but he knew he wasn’t.

Maverick felt like this was all fake. It felt too surreal, like a twisted fever dream. He knew it was real, but it didn’t feel so. 

He couldn’t breathe. Nothing felt real, and he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t catch his breath. “Goose! Please!” 

He pulled his friend out from under the water, using their parachutes to hold them afloat. He rested Goose’s head on his chest, taking in the bloody picture. He laid back, floating on the water, trying to breathe before he blacked out too. “I’m sorry. Please, wake up.”

He didn’t know what else to do but hug him and not let him go. He stared emptily up into the sky—he didn’t have it in him to cry, not yet. It was silent, deathly silent. 

It was another few minutes before he felt it. He took in a sharp breath and turned to look to the right. He couldn’t see him, but he knew Goose was right there.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

…not your fault.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated.

Love you.

“Come back here,” he commanded shakily. “Now.”

I can’t.

“Come back!” he yelled at his friend’s spirit. “Come back!” he cried, dissolving into sobs.

I’m sorry.

“Fuck!” he screamed out in anguish. “Fuck!”

This was all his fault. If he wasn’t so impatient, if he didn’t pressure Ice into moving out, maybe they would’ve been okay. If he hadn’t been slow enough to let Iceman get ahead, maybe they’d be back at the base, watching the next group go from below. Maybe if he had told Goose earlier to watch out, they’d be floating in the water, thanking fate that they survived. But he didn’t. 

He messed up. It was all his fault. Everyone was waiting for him to mess up, now he was finished.

It was at the expense of a life—his best friend’s life.

He regretted wandering into that field late that night. He regretted entertaining Nick’s thoughts and not pushing him away. He regretted hanging onto his friendship for dear life. He regretted telling him he wanted to join the Navy and he regretted letting Nick come along. He regretted ever letting Nick in his backseat. He regretted everything.

As the Coast Guard came to rescue him, he gripped onto Nick’s body for dear life, like this would be the last time he ever saw him—it probably would be. The next would be in a casket.

“Let him go, sir,” someone said to him. He didn’t listen, hugging Goose closer. “Sir, it’s all right. Let him go.” He glared at the man trying to take Goose away, but reluctantly let him go. He didn’t know if it was worse holding Goose while he was dead in the water or watching his lifeless body get dragged up into the helicopter.

The rest, he couldn’t remember.

All he can deduce is a blanket getting wrapped around his body and Goose attempting to comfort him from beyond. He can’t tell if he considered it comforting.

He wished he had never seen his dad that day, because this would never have happened.

Chapter Text

Beep…beep…beep…

“...Board of Inquiry people…on top of it,” a voice said, out of focus and sounding too far away. Like he was submerged.“...asked them to expedite…graduation.”

Their footsteps became distant.

Beep…beep…beep…

Maverick’s eyes opened slowly. He didn’t recognize his surroundings at first, staring into the bright, fluorescent lights. He sat up wearily, trying to make sense of his new environment.

Beep…beep…beep…

His head turned to find the noise—a heart rate monitor.

He was in the hospital.

Then, he remembered everything. He thought it was a dream until he met eyes with Goose’s—very visible—spirit. He let out a shout before he could stop himself. “Holy fucking hell,” he groaned. “I wasn’t ready for that.”

The door opened to his hospital room, and Maverick tried to look like he didn’t just see a ghost. To his embarrassment, Viper appeared in the doorway looking concerned. “Everything okay here?” he asked after a moment.

“Uh, sure,” he answered his instructor. “Nothing happened.” 

Viper raised an eyebrow, giving Maverick the indication he didn’t believe his words. “How are you doing, kid?”

“Oh—um, I’m all right.”

“Goose is dead.”

“I know,” Maverick replied too quickly.

“I’m not going to question how you know things you shouldn’t, but okay,” Viper mumbled, more to himself than his student. As Maverick lay down on the bed again, he continued speaking. “You fly jets long enough, this stuff happens.”

Maverick took a long breath in before replying. “He was my RIO, my responsibility. How do you move past that?”

Viper looked at him like he was staring into his soul. “That’s a conversation for another day,” he said, echoing his statement from a few days ago. “But, for now, when one dies you have to pick yourself up eventually. You gotta let him go.”

Before Viper could walk out and away from him, he stopped him. “Seriously?” he spoke. “Seriously, just…let him go like he never existed?”

“Don’t twist my words, Maverick,” Viper rebuked. “You’re allowed to mourn, but you’ve got to separate it from yourself when the time comes.” After those words, his instructor walked out, shutting the door behind him.

Maverick turned back to look at where Goose was still standing in his misty form. Now that he was getting a good look at him, Goose was really detailed for a spirit. He wasn’t wearing his flight suit, but rather the clothes he had been wearing the night before when they hung out at that random beach bar.

Goose apparently knew what he was thinking about, and muttered, stuck with you.

“You said that like it’s your worst nightmare.”

___________

He never ever thought he would be here, packing up Goose’s stuff. His mind had returned to an empty state as he placed thing after thing in the box. His civilian clothes, his walkman, a radio, and other things. Everything he picked up, no matter how insignificant, he held for a moment because, at one point, Goose had held it too.

W…lkm’n .

“You want me to keep the walkman?” he asked, bewildered, picking it out of the box.

Yes.

“Alright…” he tucked it in his pocket and picked the box up, walking out of Goose’s room. 

…

Carole was there, her gaze as empty as Maverick’s as she looked at him. The TV was silent, but nobody paid that detail any mind as she stood up to take the box from him. Bradley was none the wiser, playing with some toys as they grieved behind him.

Maverick was reminded of a similar scene from his youth.

“God,” she spoke after a long moment of silence. “He loved flying with you, Maverick.” She looked at him with tears in her eyes and Maverick tried not to follow her. “But he would’ve flown anyway—he would’ve found a way.”

Maverick blinked a couple of times, warding away the tears. “I don’t know…”

“Don’t say that.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. He had been repeating those words a lot lately. In his head and out into the world. “Goose, uh, told me to keep this…by the way.” He showed her the Walkman. She looked at it for a moment before returning her gaze to him. His words were a bit obscure and for good reason—he had never had a real conversation with her about how he could talk to the dead.

And it isn't happening now, that’s for sure. He thought back to his mom and how she pushed him away when he didn’t know any better.

“When did he say that?” She asked out of curiosity. It wasn’t accusing, but it felt like it nonetheless.

“Long time ago,” he answered without any further information. “It’s a long story. I’m gonna go.” He didn’t want or need that conversation, and if it was up to him, she’d never find out that Goose was standing next to her the entire time.

He had felt detached from reality for the last few days—ever since the accident. Sometimes he felt like an outsider to the story of his own life, like he was watching a movie but kept falling asleep during the boring parts. It was like his mind was trying to convince him that this wasn’t him—that he wasn’t actually going through all this. Like he’d wake up one day and this shit would’ve never happened. And he was starting to believe it.

Nobody and nothing was convincing him otherwise. Everyone was so mellow and felt detached, he felt unemotionally available to himself…Nothing was convincing him that this was real. He would wake up tomorrow and this would all be a twisted nightmare that played on everything he’d ever feared.

Even Goose’s ‘spirit’ wasn’t that present—none of them were. His dad wasn’t here and Goose’s must be made up because he’ll wake up tomorrow and go about his day like he never dreamed all this.

Maybe a spirit was trying to show him something…maybe to warn him of the future. It’s all good now because he’ll wake up on the morning of hop 31 and know to let Iceman take the shot. He’ll do it, he just has to wake up first.

___________

This was a long dream.

It’s funny—Maverick found dreams funny. They could feel like years had passed, but when you woke up, it had only been a couple of hours. The mind was a special place. He was waiting to wake up.

He felt like he was underwater.

“...flat spin was induced…”

He couldn’t recognize his surroundings—he didn’t think that was a good thing. He doesn’t remember getting here or standing at attention.

“...disruption of airflow…starboard engine.”

He recognized the American flag behind a tall desk, then the Naval flag crossed on the other side. Then, he flicked his eyes to the side. People sitting down, watching the man in front of them.

“The flat spin was unrecoverable.”

That sentence triggered him back into existence.

“There was no way Lieutenant Mitchell could either see or avoid the jet wash which produced the engine stall. Therefore, the Board of Inquiry finds that Lieutenant Pete Mitchell was not at fault in the accident which occurred on the twenty-ninth of July.” 

Wait. He was in a hearing?

“Lieutenant Mitchell’s record will be cleared of this incident and is restored to flight status without further delay.”

Oh, well…not anymore. What was even going on? Whatever…

This was a dream. Surely, he’d wake up soon.

Yeah, he’d definitely wake up soon.

…

Wait. How did he get to the tarmac? He froze as soon as he realized that he had suddenly changed locations.

“Maverick?” someone said, trying to ruse him out of his thoughts.

“Yeah?” he replied robotically—like he wasn’t saying anything with real thought behind it.

“You coming?” Oh, he recognized this voice; it was Sundown.

“Mhm,” he began to walk again with Sundown before he paused again. “Wait—you’re going up with me?”

“Yeah?” Sundown answered with a questioning tone in his voice. “We just went over all this.”

Absolutely not. There was no way in hell that anyone was going to sit behind him again. No way would anyone trust him like Goose did again—that just got people killed.

“Yeah,” Maverick said, pretending like he knew what Sundown was referencing. “On second thought…I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you “don’t know”?” Sundown asked, turning to face Maverick completely. “You’re Maverick, dude—you’re the most self-assured pilot I’ve ever met.”

Maverick grimaced. “Yeah, I was self-assured last week.” Sundown winced, instantly understanding what he was talking about.

“Well…we gotta go—Viper and Jester want you back in the air. Not like we have a choice.”

Touché.

Maverick sat down in the front of the F-14, looking around oddly. It felt so foreign. It all felt like a dream again because as Sundown said…he was Maverick, of course, he would know the ins and outs of the plane he had been flying for years. Yet, the controls had never felt so far away from him.

He was further convinced that this was still a dream.

Surprisingly, the Tomcat made it into the air with no issues. Maverick made his way above the hard deck somehow, despite barely recognizing his right from his left.

“There’s a bogey, ten o’clock low,” Sundown told him. Maverick looked down and saw what the RIO was talking about; an F-5 soaring below. “You’ve got the perfect angle, that’ll be a piece of cake.”

And yeah, Maverick agreed. He felt a little better when he realized that he could get the win on this hop. His face adopted a slight grin to it—he could do this, it was like any other day.

Suddenly, the bogey gained altitude and swerved in front of him and all bets were off. The smile wiped off his face and he turned the stick to send the F-14 in the opposite direction. “Hey—what, hey!” Sundown shouted, startled by the change in pace. “Where are we going?”

“It…uh, doesn’t look good,” Maverick rushed out, heading back to base to land this plane as fast as he could.

Other than a groan from the back seat, neither of them said anything as Maverick landed the F-14 and they climbed out. He wanted to be anywhere other than here—away from these stupid death machines and in his bed, to simply lay there and rot.

He walked away quickly, but not before Sundown could get a word in.

“Hey, man. We could’ve had him,” Sundown told him. As if he didn’t know that, but that was the last thing Maverick was worried about.

“Come back here,” he commanded shakily. “Now.”

I can’t.

“Come back!” he yelled at his friend’s spirit. “Come back!” he cried, dissolving into sobs.

I’m sorry.

“Fuck!” he screamed out in anguish. “Fuck!”

“I said,” Sundown stole his attention away from his flashback. “We could’ve had him!”

Maverick whipped around so fast that he could’ve gotten whiplash. Sundown stopped in his tracks at the aggressive move from the other. He dropped his helmet on the ground to grab Sundown by the shoulders, shaking him around a bit for good measure. “I will fire when I am goddamn good and ready!” he shouted, not caring if people on the tarmac stopped to watch the spectacle that was a traumatized pilot finally losing it.

He turned around after releasing the other and picked his helmet up before walking away, this time uninterrupted.

…

Now, he was in the locker room. His duffel bag was open on the bench between the rows of lockers and he was packing his things.

He wanted nothing more than to never fly again—not in an F-14, and not with someone trusting his ability to land the plane safely. He loved to fly and he would for the rest of his life, but maybe he’s not cut out for this anymore.

His focus was straight ahead because if he turned his head slightly to the right, he would stare at Goose’s locker. And if he did that, he might not stop. 

People were coming and going from the room as he transferred his stuff into his bag, emptying out his locker one by one. The door slammed shut, but he paid it no mind. He heard shuffling from behind him, but he didn’t dare stop minding his business.

“Mitchell.”

Maverick stopped. He knew who was talking to him, and he wasn’t sure if he could deal with that right now. Not if it was like most of the other conversations they’d had in the past. And even if it wasn’t, he didn’t want to hear the pitying words from his greatest competitor when they would mean jack shit. At the end of the day, Iceman would go on to stand in front of the entire class at graduation with that TOPGUN plaque in his grasp and would gratefully shake everyone’s hands like he was meant to be there.

And it would be at the expense of Goose. Without their competition, Iceman and Slider would have zero competition.

If Iceman said anything that sounded like pity, Maverick just might repeat what happened on the tarmac…however long that was ago. He’s not sure how long it’s been. He gripped the door to the small locker, waiting for Iceman’s eventual response.

“I’m sorry,” Iceman eventually said after he didn’t get a response. “About Goose.”

There it was—exactly what Maverick didn’t want to hear. He didn’t know what kind of comment would’ve been the best in this situation, but frankly, he doesn’t know much about anything right now. He whipped around, a snide comment already brewing in the back of his throat.

Before he could get it out, however, he saw a bag of…something in Iceman’s hand. The taller pilot nervously held out his hand to give him the bag, but Maverick didn’t reach for it. “I—What is that?” he asked suspiciously.

“Someone told me that to become better friends with you, I’d need some chocolate-covered pretzels.”

Maverick blinked. Then again. It’s like his brain went and did a hard restart.

And then, everything came rushing back to him all at once. All the gaps he’d been missing over the last couple of days—the moments he couldn’t quite put together.

Him getting released from the hospital with no long-term injuries. Charlie taking him home. Her asking if he was okay, saying it could’ve been worse—he could’ve been dead, too.

Him shutting the door to his base housing and immediately locking himself in Goose’s room and crying himself to sleep on his RIO’s bed.

Putting Goose’s dog tags around his neck, Goose’s spirit smiling softly at him during his gesture.

After Carole and Bradley left the base housing, him curling up on the bathroom floor, inconsolable after looking at Goose’s now-empty side of the sink.

Him preparing for the Board of Inquiry’s inspection. Putting on the pristine, white uniform that he and Goose had worn to the Officer’s Club together not long ago.

The Board of Inquiry asking him if he had been intoxicated or on drugs at the time of the accident. His insulted denial immediately after.

Viper and Jester gently telling him to suit up, and that him and Sundown would be going up together to reacclimate him to the plane.

Wiping away tears as he walked away after attacking Sundown.

“Oh,” he muttered weakly, staring at the bag in amazement. “I—uh—oh.” He didn’t know what to say between the kind gesture and his memories finally catching back up to him. It was overwhelming in the worst ways.

He felt bad for yelling at Sundown, the man was doing his job. He felt bad for not being able to snap back into his ‘Maverick’ facade, and now Viper and Jester couldn’t count on him to engage anymore. He felt bad for his short responses and closed-off demeanor to Carole and Bradley when they were the family of the man that Maverick had killed.

He realized none of this was a dream. It was as real as this current scene was, with Iceman’s stare at him hiding none of his concern, and Maverick stunned into silence.

None of this was a dream.

Goose was actually dead, and his life was continuing on like nothing had ever happened.

He looked up from Ice’s outstretched hand, taking in not only his presence but Goose’s to the left of him and his dad somewhere on the right. Iceman’s father was a couple of feet away, overlooking the two of them, slightly ominous from his perspective. He could practically feel the concerned energy from almost everyone—dead or alive.

Everything coming back to him at once was incredibly overwhelming, and he didn’t know what to do anymore.

“Oh,” he repeated.

“...Are you okay?” Iceman asked slowly, unable to keep the concern out of his tone.

That was a stupid question, of course, he wasn’t.

Maverick looked Iceman in the eyes and shook his head, trying to keep his tears in his eyes, where they belonged.

“I…I—” he stuttered out, not really knowing what to say. Iceman didn’t know what to say either if the emotionally constipated look on his face meant anything. However, Ice’s actions spoke louder than his words, because the taller man stepped over the bench and wrapped his arms around Maverick in a hug.

Why was he getting so messed up over a sad-ass apology and some chocolate-covered pretzels? He knew why; it was the fact that Iceman not only remembered that stupid piece of information but cared enough to see he was going through a hard time and went out of his way to try and help him feel better.

It meant a lot to him because he could count on one hand the amount of times someone had done something like that for him. Maybe this was a symbol that things could change—that he could move forward eventually.

He turned his head slightly to stare at Goose, almost to ask him if this was okay...if he was doing it right. Goose moved closer and Maverick tried not to flinch when he felt the cold energy of a spirit’s touch on his back, to not scare Iceman away.

Maybe he could do this. 

He was feeling more real now than he had in the past…however many days had passed since Goose’s death. This could be one step forward.

Maybe he could do this. After all, it’s not like Goose was completely gone, he was just intangible…and invisible to most.

Maybe he could do this.

Chapter Text

Maverick shyly knocked on the door.

This wasn’t just any door, though. This was Viper’s—his instructor’s—house. His family lived here. He felt out of place for simply being on the property.

He saw someone’s shadow peek through the small window at the top of the door before it swung open. An older woman who Maverick guessed was Viper’s wife stood in the doorway and welcomed him in. “I’m assuming you’re looking for Mike, then.” Maverick nodded and followed her as she led him to where his instructor was.

She opened a door on the left side of a hallway, and inside was Viper in what looked to be his home office. “Hey, Maverick,” Viper greeted casually as if it was normal for a student to come to his home uninvited.

“Sorry to bother you,” he replied.

“No worries,” Viper brushed off his concerns. “However, if you don’t mind, give me a minute to finish this up.”

“No, not at all,” Maverick said, opting to use the time to look around his instructor’s study. There were pictures, plaques, and certificates all around the room. He sensed his dad’s spirit hanging around a certain area and walked over to investigate. Looking at all the pictures, he saw the one his dad was there for. It was a picture of Viper and another man—except it wasn’t just anyone; it was his father. Duke Mitchell, in all his glory.

Oriskany, he heard from his father.

“Huh,” he muttered aloud.

“I served with your old man,” Viper spoke from behind him, having stood up when he wasn’t paying attention.

“I figured,” he replied. “On the Oriskany?” he asked, feigning curiosity.

“Indulge me for a moment, Lieutenant,” he replied instead of answering the question.

“Yes, sir?” Maverick tried to wipe away his smile at Viper’s poorly-masked confusion.

“How do you know all these things you shouldn’t? Did your mother tell you about Duke, did you read something about Iceman’s father, and did you just happen to know that your dad and I were on the Oriskany together?” Maverick cringed at all the examples of his blatant use of his ghost-seeing abilities. “And be honest—no answer will surprise me.”

“Alright, if you say so…” Maverick trailed off, determined to make the man eat his words. “I see dead people.”

Viper stared at him, trying to discern if this was a joke or not. “Are you—”

“And before you ask, “Are you joking?”, the answer is no. Duke is standing right next to you.” He pointed to Viper’s right.

“Really?” Viper questioned after a moment of silence. “You can see dead people.”

“Yes. I also know what actually happened when he died and that it’s classified to hell and back. And, to add on, I also know that Iceman’s dad was a big reason for why that happened.”

“I—okay. Wow.”

“You said no answer would surprise you.”

“I consistently underestimate you.”

“And before you ask, yes, I can also see Goose. Where is he? I don’t know. Last time I saw him was at the base,” Maverick thought about his dead RIO’s whereabouts for a moment, before adding, “Actually, he’s probably with Carole and Bradley. He’ll be around eventually.”

“Is the pain easier to manage, then? If you can see him, I mean,” Viper clarified and Maverick frowned.

“I…don’t know,” he said, subdued by the topic change. “I can’t tell if it’s easier because I can still technically communicate with him, or if it’s harder because I can’t talk about it with anyone.”

Viper didn’t respond immediately, pondering over his response before he spoke. “Why not?” he asked.

“People will call me crazy, sir,” he shook his head, closing this topic of conversation. “That’s not why I’m here.”

“So, why are you here?”

“I want to fly—to keep flying,” Maverick explained. “Just…I don’t know if I can have someone sitting behind me anymore. I don’t think I can do that again.”

Viper stared at him as if he was trying to stare into his soul. “And what do you propose as a solution?” he questioned. “The Navy wants the solutions to problems, not problems they have to solve.”

Maverick knew that; he wasn’t stupid to introduce a problem and force someone else to solve it—especially one who didn’t plan on it. His solution, though, wasn’t one he thought the instructor would be able to help him with. “So, uh. I heard they finally let those fancy Hornets into action last year.”

Viper started laughing at his hesitant suggestion, making Maverick frown. “Oh, kid. You really are something. I almost thought you were going to ask me to make sure you got a nice, easy deployment somewhere,” the older man shook his head good-naturedly. “Of course, you’d want to just…switch planes. God bless America.”

Maverick smiled after he realized that Viper wasn’t laughing at his suggestion but at the unexpectedness of it. “I just heard there were one and two-seater variants and, well… I know there are not many naval aviators who want to ditch their RIO after all the shi—stuff they’ve done together,” he reasoned, shrugging his shoulders. “And also, I’m willing to do it.”

Viper nodded, seeing how Maverick’s logic led him to where he was now. “Okay. Well, I understand where you’re coming from here, but I’m not sure how easy that transition will be. I can definitely find out if it’s a real possibility for you, though. However, you’ve got to promise me some things.”

“Yeah, sure,” Maverick readily agreed, feeling lighter about his future in the Navy having a chance. 

“Come to TOPGUN tomorrow. Do your classes, do the work, and I’ll let you look into that option a little more.” Maverick nodded. “You have more than enough points to graduate without going on another hop, you just have to stick through it.”

“There’s only a couple more days,” he said.

“Yes,” Viper agreed. “Just show up. You’ll be okay.”

Maverick left Viper’s house feeling lighter than before. Between that and Iceman, maybe things were starting to get better.

It still ached, though, that it had to be at the expense of his longest friend.

___________

Goose still sat in the same seat in the classroom. Safe to say, Maverick was a little distracted. 

He didn’t have a good enough idea of why Goose decided to haunt him sometimes and disappear the others. Those answers would come in time, he knew that, but everything was still so raw that the need for an answer was insatiable. 

“Everyone, get ready for your hop. Hollywood and Wolfman, and Chipper and Sundown, you’re first.” The clear dismissal by Jester made them all stand to leave. “Maverick.”

He turned at the call of his name, walking to Jester in acknowledgment. “Yes, sir?”

“Viper told me about your suggestion,” his instructor told him and he nodded. “They’re setting up a simulator for the F-5 so you can learn how to fly alone. The plan is to send you up in the next two days to measure your capability.”

“Yes, sir,” Maverick repeated. “When do I start?”

“Now,” Jester said. “Even though we don’t use them much, I’m assured you know where the simulators are.”

“Thank you, sir.” Maverick nodded, turning to leave. 

As he made it to the door, opening it to leave, Jester cleared his throat making him pause. “And Maverick,” he turned to face his instructor once more. “I’m impressed. I know you don’t need to hear it from me, but not just anyone bounces back like you have.”

Maverick gave a small smile at the compliment. “Thank you.” It felt good to have someone acknowledge how hard he was trying. He knew that realistically, people were surprised he was back here despite his RIO's physical absence, but to say it meant a lot. 

He made his way to where the simulators were located, just past the locker room. As he passed the door, it opened and he was caught by Hollywood and Wolfman leaving for the tarmac. 

“Hey, dude,” Wood greeted. “How ya been?”

“Been better, obviously,” he tried to joke, the unfortunate circumstances making it fall flat. He sighed at the awkward air that he created. 

“Come on, man. That was stupid,” Wolfman muttered to his partner.

“I was being nice!” he defended. 

Married, Goose muttered, making Maverick grin.  

“Seriously,” Maverick cut off the impending argument. “I’m fine. Goose always said you two argue like a married couple, gosh.” He rolled his eyes jokingly, walking away from the pair. 

He entered his destination, seeing Viper and another instructor—one for the RIOs—setting up what he assumed was his F-5 simulator. As he entered, Viper looked up and greeted him with a smile. 

“Here you are, Lieutenant,” Viper said. “Jester told you about the F-5?”

“Yes, sir.”

“This ain’t no F-18, but it’ll get you by for now,” the older man told him. “Get used to it, fly around with it for a little while, then start the simulator.”

“How long do I have?”

“Eh…” Viper trailed off, tilting his head a bit to think. “I’ll come and get you.”

…

So maybe he lost track of time, juuust a bit. 

Maverick loved to fly. The simulator training reminded him of flight school. There was almost no pressure to be perfect yet, so he could figure out the limits. Of course, it was all hypothetical, but it was pretty accurate. 

He had run through the simulation Viper asked him to a couple times already. It was on his fourth turn that Viper re-entered. 

As he finished, he was startled when his instructor spoke up. “Nice going, Maverick. You look like you’ve had fun.”

“You’re back already?” he asked. 

“It’s been almost two hours.” Maverick’s eyes widened. “We did all the hops and everyone’s debriefing in ten minutes.”

“Oh.”

Stupid.  

His quick but poorly hidden reaction was caught by his instructor. “What was that for?”

Maverick looked around, trying to figure out what spirit said that. “Someone just called me stupid,” he replied, offended. “They left, what a coward.”

Viper huffed out a laugh, not knowing how else to respond. “Do you know who?”

“No,” he answered. “Sometimes random spirits passing through like to say hello. I mean…it could be my dad or Goose, but neither of them would say that…probably someone I don’t know.”

“Interesting,” Viper muttered loud enough for him to hear. “That’s really interesting.”

“Sometimes it’s a little creepy.” He got up, leaving the F-5 simulation. They both walked to the other classroom they used to debrief after hops. 

“There they are,” Jester announced, making everyone’s head turn to watch them walk in. He noticed Charlie was the only person absent. Well—other than Goose, he supposed. 

He didn’t pay it much mind as he sat in his normal spot in the front, listening to Jester’s lecture. 

“Oddly enough, nobody got any points today,” he began and Maverick raised an eyebrow, turning to look at Hollywood and Wolfman behind him. Wolfman shrugged at his questioning glance. “I’m not going to question the why, but we are going to look at the how.”

Maverick knew it was important for him to pay some sort of attention, but he couldn’t focus. It’s like his brain was hyper-aware of everything supernatural going on around him. Iceman’s dead dad was annoyingly overbearing—not just on his son, but Maverick’s attention span. The spirit was more negative than normal today and was making no moves to be any bit concerned with him knowing. And being ever so nosy, he wanted to know why.

Spirits could tell when someone could sense them from the living world; it was like he was a magnet for spiritual encounters because they wanted to communicate with anyone they could find. Iceman’s father knew he was aware and wanted to make his feelings known.

His father seemed really…domineering, almost. Maybe…could he be upset that Iceman didn’t win the hop? Imagine having a toxic parent from beyond the grave. Not like he would know what that was like. Duke barely knew what he looked like before he gallivanted off to…wherever he ended up burning in.

He can make these jokes. His father will survive…or not.

Haha. Knee slapper.

At least he got some charisma points out of all his traumatizing childhood experiences.

“Lieutenant Mitchell,” his mind snapped back to reality, focusing in on Jester as he continued. “What went wrong here?”

“Uhhh…” Maverick stared at the virtual example on the board, quickly trying to find a solution. “Nothing with the maneuver, per se…it just looks like the pilot hesitated halfway through instead of committing all the way through.”

“Good,” Jester confirmed. “Yes, that’s what got most of you today. As soon as you get in that cockpit, it’s all-or-nothin’. No half-assing anything at that point; it makes the difference between any old pilot and a TOPGUN graduate.”

“Any pilot knows how to fly the thing, but not everybody can fly it like a seasoned veteran. That’s you guys,” Viper chimed in. “In a couple of days, you all will be the newest group of TOPGUN graduates, you’ve got to finish strong. Reconvene here in an hour…with some mindset that’s better than, well, whatever that was.” And with those words, they were dismissed.

“That was my hop,” a voice said from behind Maverick, clearly addressing him. The others walked around them as Maverick turned to face Iceman.

“Oh,” he said, not too surprised. “Sorry.”

“That—” Iceman breathed in. “That’s not why I said that,” he finished.

“Uh, well. Okay…” Maverick trailed off, unsure as to where this was going. The silence between the two was loud. He turned to look around and realized that everyone else had left.

“I—uh,” Iceman stuttered, trying to produce a coherent sentence. Maverick’s concern grew at that alone, not counting the way the taller man was holding himself. “How do you just…ignore it all?”

Maverick’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Ignore what, exactly?”

At his expression, Iceman backtracked. “Not like—ignore as in you don’t care, but…uh…”

“Er…” Maverick was more than worried for him at this point. This was the most, if not the only, time he had seen Iceman stutter and stammer like this.

Annoying.

His eyes took a quick and unnoticeable glance over Iceman’s shoulder to gauge if that came from the man’s father or not. It did, and he frowned. Why would his father say that about his own kid?

“Like…act like it doesn’t bother you?” Iceman finally got it together. “Not that it doesn’t, or shouldn’t, but…”

“I know what you mean,” he cut the other off, not wanting to send the guy into a never-ending spiral. “But I don’t think I am?”

“You’re not letting it affect you, though.”

“Is this about the fact that you did that in your hop, which is supposed to clue me in that you’re hesitating because you’re nervous that this ,” he gestured to their situation, “will happen again?”

“Yes.”

“Listen, as much as I don’t believe the shit that’s about to come out of my mouth, it really could’ve been different,” he answered, thinking over his response as he spoke. “It’s as stupid as us going up five minutes earlier that could’ve changed anything. It’s not because of anything you did.”

Iceman didn’t give any response to that for a good while, verbal or not.

“Dude,” he said after realizing that the blond wasn’t going to talk. “Goose doesn’t blame you. Or me, but whatever.”

“Wouldn’t it be, “Goose wouldn’t blame you”?” Iceman asked.

“No,” he said simply, even if the response he gave was anything but.

Idiotic…be better…Adm—ral son.

“Dude, does he hate you or something?” he blurted out, not realizing who he was speaking to.

“Does who hate me?” Iceman questioned him back, looking suspiciously at Maverick’s shocked expression.

“Nobody.”

“Clearly, there’s somebody.”

The conversation couldn’t get any worse, could it? It was already weird that he was here, giving crappy advice to his supposed rival. Now they were talking about…this.

“Your dad?” he sighed out, expecting the shocked look he got in return.

“Sorry?” Maverick gave Iceman a deadpan expression. “My dad’s dead.”

“I know.”

“What?”

“Clearly,” Maverick rolled his eyes, thinking back to Viper’s words in this very classroom not so long ago. “This is a conversation for another time.”

Chapter Text

“We can’t get too drunk,” Iceman reminded them. “We fly tomorrow.”

“Just like we have every other day of the week…for the past—almost—six weeks.”

Maverick was at the bar with, surprisingly, Iceman and Slider. If you’d told him that this would happen a couple of weeks ago, he would’ve laughed and then told Goose that you were crazy.

Except, it wasn’t crazy, and he couldn’t tell alive-Goose that. The spirit was all ears…when he was around.

His humor couldn’t be matched, truly.

Plus, Slider said he would pay. Maverick would be a stupid loser if he declined that offer. He knew it was under the guise of being nice and “opening their minds,” or whatever. He knew as well as them that Iceman was about to interrogate him.

“Anyway,” Maverick ignored the two’s bickering. “What brings us here at…” he looked at a clock on the wall he was facing. “Six-thirty?”

“You, actually,” Ice replied. “Conversation for another time”, my ass. What the hell were you talking about, or are you out of your mind?”

“Okay, buddy,” Slider interjected. “Way to get the ball rolling. What he means, Maverick, is you apparently know things you shouldn’t.”

“People often say that about me,” he didn’t deny their claim. “However, I keep good secrets.”

“It’s not even a secret,” Ice said. “I only ever told one person about my dad…behind the scenes, anyway. And it wasn’t you, or Goose, or whoever else would’ve told you, of all people.”

“Of all people?” Maverick echoed. “I’m hurt.”

“Well, don’t be,” Ice retorted, huffing and leaning further back against the booth.

“Ice, here, is a bit cagey,” Slider explained like the man he was. “He’s not very…open with intricate details of his life.”

“I figured.”

“Can we stop beating around the bush?” Iceman cut in on their conversation. “I want to know how—why do you know about my dad?”

“Listen,” he began. “I’m a bit special.”

“Special-ed?” Slider joked. 

“Asshole,” he muttered. “I can see and hear things most people shouldn’t.”

“And that means..?”

“Do you ever wonder how Goose would be doing in the afterlife right now?” he asked, looking to the side of him, presumably at nothing, but he was really staring at the dubious and wispy figure that represented his RIO.

“What does that have to do with anything?” Slider asked instead of answering him.

“Humor me,” he answered cryptically, looking ‘into the distance’.

“Well…I hope he’s doing okay?” Iceman answered suspiciously. “That he’s happy and all that sentimental shit, you know?”

Maverick hummed, pondering over his next move. He wasn’t sure how cooperative his friend’s spirit would be when interacting with real things. He whipped out a flashlight, to the surprise and confusion of the two sitting across from him. Placing it on the table, the light bulb facing the wall of their booth and away from their eyes. He placed both of his hands on the table where the others could see.

  Energy, dead-Goose muttered quietly.

“Yeah,” Maverick agreed.

The two stared at him, confused and frustrated at his lack of an answer. “A flashlight is your answer?” Iceman snarked.

“Turn it on, please,” Maverick said aloud. Slider, who was closest to the flashlight, began to move his hand to do so, but Maverick stopped him. “No, not you.”

“Me?” Iceman asked, getting more confused by the second.

“No.”

“Then what the hell are you saying—”

The flashlight turned on. The other two jumped at the sudden light.

“How’d you do that?” Iceman asked, reluctantly impressed. “And still, what does a magic trick have to do with my dead father?”

“Not a magic trick,” Maverick replied, annoyed. “Goose, turn it off.” Before either of the others could make a comment or give him a strange look at the name, the light went dark. “Thanks.” He smiled.

“What the fuck are you on?” Slider said. “Am I already drunk? I’ve only had half a beer.”

“I’m on nothing, and you’re not drunk,” Maverick groaned. “You all are idiots. I can see and talk with dead people, and that was Goose turning the flashlight on. That’s how I know your dad’s dead and that he’s like…weirdly obsessed with you.”

“Prove it,” Iceman demanded. Maverick motioned to the flashlight and the blond shook his head. “Tell me something only I would know about my dad.”

“Like what?” Maverick asked, raising an eyebrow. “Spirits aren’t exactly open for a Q-n-A. Plus, your dad is not the most agreeable spirit I’ve ever met.”

“Then I don’t believe you,” Ice stated with finality.

“Well…” Maverick considered what he knew about Duke and the dead Kazansky’s history. “I know something you might not know, I don’t know if that’ll prove anything. Viper knows though.”

“You could be making that up,” Slider considered, weighing the options between what he knew was real and what Maverick was dropping on them. “I wouldn't skip up to Viper and ask a random question about dead people from his past.”

“True, true,” he turned to look past Iceman’s right shoulder at his dad. The elder Kasansky’s attention was on him, he could just tell. “How did you die…” he muttered to himself.

After sitting there for a long moment, he could feel his chest ache and breathing became difficult as he focused in on the spirit. Before his head began to spin due to the overwhelming feeling of his lungs being worn down and messed up, he turned away. 

Shaking his head to try and rid the feeling, he asked, “Did your dad smoke? It feels like he died because of some lung issue—maybe lung cancer or a collapsed lung, or something along those lines?”

Slider’s eyes widened as he slowly turned to look at Iceman. Letting out a low whistle, he muttered, “Damn.”

“How did you know?” Iceman asked, looking something between shocked and horrified. 

“I told you. I can interact with dead people.”

“Tell me something else,” Iceman requested again, and he sighed with a smile. 

“He was an Admiral, yeah? Probably wanted you to follow in his footsteps because he had a successful career. Except, it made him really controlling throughout your childhood and only supported anything you did that would lead you here. He was also a pilot and was involved in the same battle my dad died in. He didn’t want the brass to look bad—‘cause he wanted to get in their good graces—and threw my dad under the bus, saying the failure was all his fault. My dad died saving his life, and he repaid it by smearing his name to make himself look good.”

Slider was beside himself, looking between him and his pilot with his mouth dropped into an ‘O’ shape. Iceman was sitting there silently, processing everything Maverick had just said. After a while, Iceman put his elbows on the table and sat his chin on top of his palms. “What the fuck…”

“Yeah, I know things,” he reminded them.

“More than just things,” Slider quipped, making him huff out a laugh.

Impressive, Goose mumbled.

“So when you said that Goose didn’t…” Iceman trailed off, referencing the conversation with Maverick in the classroom. Maverick hummed in the affirmative.

“Any more questions?” Maverick asked eventually, knowing they would be curious. 

“Where did you go yesterday?” Slider asked, smoothly changing the topic of conversation. “Last we knew, you were on the verge of quitting. Now you’re back but we barely see you.”

He shrugged, deciding to give an answer. “I’m training with a different plane. Told Viper, respectfully, I’m not doing that shit with a Tomcat again,” After further curious glances, he elaborated. “I’m not the friendliest person in the world, and the only reason Goose and I got paired together was because we knew each other before the Navy. Nobody else was willing to be my backseater with all the…stuff about me.” He looked at Iceman, who winced, clearly thinking about his father’s misdeeds.

“Sorry,” the blond mumbled, not used to the feeling.

“If I got mad at you for your dad’s actions, I’d be the biggest hypocrite around,” he replied honestly. Iceman smiled and Slider grinned at them both.

_____________

Early the next morning, Viper led Maverick over to Jester’s F-5. “This plane is yours for today, Lieutenant. This afternoon, we’ll put you up with your classmates and see how you do with all of that. For now, though, the focus is on acclimating you to the jet.”

“Okay,” Maverick responded. “Is someone going up with me now?”

“Yes,” the instructor answered. “I’m going to go up with you and after you’ve figured out all the niche details of the jet, we’re going to do a dogfight. Just me and you.”

Nervousness bubbled up in Maverick’s stomach at those words. They had done it before—fought against Viper in the air—but now, it was under different circumstances. To him, this was his last opportunity to show that he still had what it took to be one of the Navy’s best. “Thanks.”

“You’ve been reading the NATOPS, yes? Go do your preflight,” Viper told him before walking off. Maverick turned to look at the single-seater jet in all its glory. He knew that if he relaxed and let himself fly like he always did, he would have a great time in this jet.

The F-5 Tiger was known for its maneuverability and Maverick was all for it.

Finishing his preflight checklist and making sure everything was in order (it was, this was an instructor’s jet), he climbed into the cockpit and took a look around.

Thankfully, everything was familiar—the U.S. Navy did have standards for what their fighter jets had for controls, regardless of the company making them. The simulators did their job as well, Maverick recognized everything he was looking at.

Closing the cockpit, he took a deep breath before turning his radio on. “Talk to me, Goose,” he whispered, mostly to himself.

He wasn’t expecting a response.

I’m here, Mav.

He startled, sat up, and looked around for his friend’s apparition. He couldn’t see him, but he could feel him nearby, and that was all he needed to know. Goose was here.

He almost laughed at the hilarity of it all. Goose was still here acting as his backseater, even after death. His eyes became a bit misty at the implication, but he shook it off, turning his radio on and fixing his helmet onto his head.

It felt surreal, in the best way possible, while he taxied and took off into the skies. He was back, he was so back.

“ Can you hear me, Lieutenant Mitchell? ” Viper’s voice sounded over his comms. 

“Yeah,” he responded. “I hear you.”

“ Alright ,” Viper confirmed. “ You ready? ”

“Yeah,” Maverick agreed.

“ Fight’s on. ”

This was a glorious day.

It was only ninety-eight degrees, the humidity was low, and the sun was blocked by an amazing cloud cover. Maverick felt on top of the world again, because it was like Goose was still here.

He peered out of the side of the cockpit and saw Viper coming up from below. He maneuvered around so his instructor came up in front. This dogfight felt different than before…he didn’t know if he was just high on life because of his RIO’s presence, or if he was having a stroke of beginner’s luck.

Wherever Viper went, Maverick matched his energy the entire way. With every evasive maneuver the instructor pulled, Maverick responded without hesitation.

The more the dogfight went on for, the more Maverick felt at home again in the sky.

In reality, the fight probably lasted around a minute and a half, but to Maverick it felt like ten. He was laser-focused on every little detail he picked up on. Viper broke left, and for a slight moment his radar picked the instructor’s F-5 up, and he locked in.

Even if the sound to indicate the target being locked on only played for a moment, that’s all that it needed. At the end of the day, that’s all the time a missile needed to fire at a bogey.

“Did I do it?” Maverick almost shouted in excitement. The only response he heard over the radio was a low whistle coming from his instructor. “No way, I did!”

Viper sighed, and Maverick could only imagine him shaking his head in disbelief. “Sure did.”

Maverick cheered, not for himself but for Goose, who was still hanging around. He felt the spirit’s energy pick up and grinned.

In the back of his mind, he knew that he shouldn’t be relying on Goose’s presence to determine his performance or good mood, but it was hard not to. When Goose was here, it felt like he had never left. Maverick didn’t need anyone else in the back seat when he was here. 

As he made his way back to the locker room with a grin on his face, he was caught by a couple of his TOPGUN classmates as he entered.

“What’s got you smiling like that?” Hollywood asked him, curious about the sharp change in his behavior from the past several days.

“I got Viper,” he sing-songed excitedly and the others’ eyes widened. “Probably beginner’s luck or whatever, but…well, whatever. I won, goddamnit!”

“Nice job, dude!” Wolfman congratulated him with a slap on the back as Maverick moved to his locker. “You getting points, or nah?”

Maverick hadn’t even thought of that if he was being honest. He was so caught up in flying like himself again that he didn’t care about the extrinsic reward afterward. “I forgot to ask,” he admitted.

“Maverick, not caring about points?” Hollywood gasped, sarcasm lacing his voice. “The world is ending.”

His face gained a slight blush at the jab, even if it wasn’t intended as such. “Ugh,” he scoffed jokingly in return.

“What’s this I’m hearing about points?” Slider asked, appearing from the back of the locker room, his pilot trailing behind quietly. 

“Of course you’d like to know,” Maverick slighted and thankfully, Slider took it the way it was intended.

“What happened?” Ice asked after catching up in the conversation. 

Maverick turned to him to quickly respond, “Did a hop solo, got Viper.” Ice’s eyes widened but he didn’t respond; Maverick took that as a win, smirking at the blond and wiggling his eyebrows. 

“Hey! What are you all loitering around for? Get your butts into class, now!” Jester yelled, poking his head into the locker room, startling the entirety of the TOPGUN class. They all rushed to leave before they got worse than a reprimand.

__________

Graduation was tomorrow morning.

Maverick sat alone in his base housing, blankly staring ahead at the turned-off TV screen. He was slowly learning—through the past few days—that dealing with the aftermath of Goose was a rollercoaster.

You go up; some days were great and the pain wasn’t as bad as before. Maverick got back in the saddle, adjusting his flying and coming out on top. 

Then, you go down. Like, really far down.

Everything feels fake—all the events after the crash feel surreal. Sometimes, he still feels that none of this is real. The rational side of his brain figures itself out eventually, but it’s still a nerve-wracking experience.

The tentative ‘friendships’ he’s made lately feel like they’ll collapse at the first wrong move he makes, and the simple idea riddles him with so much anxiety sometimes that he wants to shut himself in his bedroom and never come out.

Sometimes, he can’t help but feel like all the help he’s gotten from his instructors is conditional. That when he eventually bugs out again, all the niceties will cease instantly.

“Is any of this real?” he suddenly spoke aloud to the darkness of his bedroom. He wasn’t fishing for a response, but he got it regardless.

Shrink.

Thanks, Dad.

Iceman, Goose muttered, surprising him enough to sit up in his bed.

“Repeat that, if you don’t mind?”

Ice.

“Why?”

Nevermind.

“Hey, no,” Maverick warned, turning to Goose’s general location. “Don’t leave—” he sighed. His RIO’s presence slowly faded, and Maverick huffed, laying back under the covers, fighting his brain to sleep.

Chapter Text

Maverick went into the graduation ceremony simply happy to be there. It’s like when you scrape a passing grade in a stupidly specific math course, you’re happy to be alive.

It astounds him how different graduation was going to turn out compared to what he thought a couple of weeks back. 

He always imagined that he and Goose would be standing in front of their class, proudly accepting the TOPGUN trophy. Maybe he would’ve added a smug grin in Iceman’s direction.

Now, he was sitting quietly near the front of the chairs surrounded by the rest of the class, watching Iceman and Slider be awarded instead. Iceman’s father was located near the winning pair like he always was.

Goose was here. In some sort of odd memento to their classmate, the organizers of the graduation (presumably their instructors) had left a seat for Goose next to Maverick. While the alive member of the pair was still defining his feelings about that, Goose took it upon himself to lounge around in his chair as far outside of military standards as he could muster.

Of course, Maverick couldn’t see Goose, but the spirit was basically projecting every one of his actions into his head. If the goosebumps he kept getting every so often meant anything, Goose was being annoying on purpose.

“Congratulations to our newest graduating TOPGUN class. Your instructors hope to see you all reach new heights in your careers, and wish you the best of luck.” And with a round of clapping, the boring part of the ceremony was over. Everyone stood and began to mingle around, however Maverick hesitated to go into the mess of people. 

He wanted to go up to Iceman and Slider but they were currently answering to everyone else at the ceremony who went up to congratulate them on a job well done. Everyone outside of their TOPGUN class and instructors were treading around him carefully due to the accident.

Maverick could hardly take the pitying glances and “I’m so sorry”s that he kept receiving. Eventually, he found an opening to go give his congratulations and took it without a second thought.

Iceman noticed his approach and held his hand out to shake, raising his eyebrows in question. He looked nice in his dress whites, all crisp and clean like they should be. He took Ice’s hand and shook it gently, giving Slider a smile in acknowledgment.

“Congrats on the trophy,” he said after a moment of silence. 

“Thanks,” Iceman replied, not having much to say. 

Slider pulled Maverick into a one-armed hug. “You kicked ass, too. Don’t forget that, shortstack. You gave us a run for our money—Goose as well.”

“Thanks,” he echoed the TOPGUN winner, avoiding eye contact in an awkward fashion. “If you turn to your left and repeat that last part, it’ll be well received.”

The two cast a glance behind them even though they knew they wouldn’t be seeing anything. However, Goose was there, having materialized (as much as a spirit could) in between the pair.

“Goose?” Ice asked, and Maverick nodded. He was about to make a reply when Viper’s voice interrupted them.

“Gentlemen!” The Commander’s voice grabbed the TOPGUN class’s attention. “You know I hate to break a party up, but some of you have to report immediately. Iceman, Slider?”

“Yo,” the two chorused.

“Hollywood, Wolfman,” Viper called next, getting an affirmative. “Maverick?”

“Yo,” he answered.

Viper handed them their orders as he began to explain the situation. “There’s been a developing crisis situation. You guys need to depart ASAP. Maverick,” the instructor called as everyone involved began to leave in a hurry. 

“Yes, sir?”

“You’ll get your RIO on the ship…But, if nobody will do it, give me a call. I’ll be your RIO.” Maverick gave a tentative smile in return for Viper’s vote of confidence. “And on your way, freshen up on the F-14.” Maverick’s smile faded slightly, but he nodded regardless.

“Thank you, sir.”

Maverick hurried out of the venue and hopped on his motorcycle, carefully avoiding any possible grease stains getting on his white uniform before speeding off to his base housing.

He needed to pack up his belongings quickly; he’d assumed he would have more time before they shipped him off again. He grabbed his gray duffle bag—big enough to fit weeks' worth of clothing in it if he desired.

The orders said to meet at the TOPGUN facility tonight, where they would fly out to the USS Enterprise to complete the mission. Maverick would be given a RIO upon arrival. However, he was sure he knew who it would be.

Merlin, if he hadn’t shipped out already. Cougar’s old backseater from before he turned in his wings. If he was still without a pilot, he would be a shoo-in.

He tuned out his thoughts; he needed to focus on packing up. Not just for the mission, but the entire house—he wasn’t sure when he would return.

_________

“Gentlemen, this is “Bullseye”,” Stinger began. Maverick, despite their long list of disagreements, missed his old commander. The man was no-nonsense, which was perfect for this mission. “The communication ship, SS Layton, has become disabled and has wandered into foreign territory. The rescue operation is to begin within the hour.”

Maverick looked around at the other people in the briefing room. He knew the majority of the folks in here, despite them not being involved in the rescue at all. As he wondered why they were here, Stinger went on. 

“Your mission is to give air support to that operation,” the commander spoke directly to the naval aviators. “There are confirmed reports of MiGs in the area, and tensions are high. If you witness a hostile act, you are allowed to return fire.”

Merlin sucked in a breath to Maverick’s right. This was probably the first time he’s been in a situation like this since Cougar bugged out. “Those MiGs carry anti-ship missiles, they can shoot from 100 miles away. Do not let them get close enough to do so.” Maverick and Iceman shared a look that the shorter couldn’t completely decipher.

“This is the real thing, Gentlemen. This is what you’ve trained for. Make America proud.”

“Lieutenants Kazansky and Neven,” an officer announced from behind Stinger.

“Yes, sir,” the two in question responded.

“Sector two,” the two pairs began to leave. “Maverick, you’re with Merlin on Ready Five.”

“Thanks, sirs,” Maverick acknowledged, making his leave with Merlin right behind. 

As they suited up, Merlin looked more than hesitant and Maverick didn’t know what to say to make the RIO feel better. Iceman, Slider, Hollywood, and Wolfman were all mulling about, getting ready to leave. “Merlin,” Maverick muttered, trying not to draw that much attention. 

“Yeah, Mav?”

“This isn’t gonna be like Cougar, I promise. We’ve got this.” His words didn’t inspire as much confidence as he’d hoped, but Merlin looked a little more determined than before.

“I hope so,” he replied. “Just…don’t bug out on me, alright?”

“Okay,” he promised, more to himself than the other.

As they got ready in Cougar’s F-14, they could only watch as Hollywood and Ice were sent off to fight. Maverick half-heartedly wished he were up there, but he wasn't sure how they were going to fare up there, both of them dealing with their own close calls.

He was so focused on calming his racing mind that he almost missed Hollywood and Wolfman being shot out of the sky. He was startled as they made the motion to send him and Merlin, frantically getting ready to engage as fast as possible.

“Slider, what’s your position?” Merlin asked over the radio as they were shot off of the catapult, Maverick communicating with the tower as they flew up.

“090 at 180 miles,” Slider called out frantically. “Get here fast, there’s five on us!”

Maverick pushed on the throttle, his plane responding in turn. “We’re on our way! Be there in thirty seconds.”

“The launch system is broken,” the tower called from the ship. “It’s just you guys up there for now—it’ll be five to ten minutes before anyone else can get up.”

“Shit,” Maverick muttered, looking ahead. He could see the scene in front of them, it wasn’t pretty.

“Maverick, where the hell are you?” Iceman yelled in panic.

“I’m here, I’m here!” he yelled back. 

“Engage, will you?” Slider ordered. “We could use a lot of help!”

“We’re engaging—holy shit!” Maverick tried to say before getting interrupted by a MiG cutting them off quickly. The plane shook and rattled as they were caught in the smaller plane’s jet wash.

“We’re stuck in jet wash, stuck in jet wash!” Merlin panicked, knocking into a few circuit breakers as the plane maneuvered spontaneously.

“I’ve got it, I’ve got it!” Maverick shouted, reestablishing the plane, working to get his breathing and racing heart under control. “Holy shit…I…”

“Maverick!” Iceman yelled. “This is NOT the time!”

Maverick was trying to ward off a panic attack as quickly as he could so he could re-engage.

“Get back in the saddle, Mav, come on,” Merlin encouraged him, worried in his tone.

“Talk to me, Goose…” he muttered quietly, the radio unable to pick it up.

You’ve got this, Mav. Do some of that pilot shit.

The distinguishable voice of Goose in his head kicked his ass into gear enough to re-engage, turning the plane to head into chaos.

“I can’t get him off my tail!” Iceman said as his plane swerved in any direction, trying to shake the MiG. They were too maneuverable and kept up without missing a beat.

“I’ve got you, Ice!” Maverick affirmed, quickly gaining a lock on the MiG and sending a missile at the enemy jet.

The jet’s wing broke off in the explosion, sending the pilot to the ocean below. Merlin cheered, “Splash one, splash one! Mav, two MiGs dead ahead.”

“Got it,” he replied. “Gonna take ‘em down the left side. Iceman’s got a MiG on him, let’s take care of that…”

The MiG in question was shooting at Iceman and Slider to no avail, much to his relief. As Maverick came up behind the hostile, they disengaged, flying out of the way.

“There’s a MiG on our tail, Mav!” Merlin alerted. “He’s coming around fast!”

“I’m with Ice, I can’t leave right now.”

“Mav, we’ve gotta get out now!”

“I’m not leaving my wingman!”

“I’m on his tail,” Ice told them. “I’ve got radar…good tone! I’m taking the shot!”

Maverick and Merlin watched as the missile struck the MiG, sending it into pieces.

“Wash that sucker!” Slider cheered.

“Ice, watch out! There’s a MiG on your right—he’s firing!” The MiG sent bullets into the side of their jet.

“We’re hit, we’re hit!” Iceman yelled. 

“Hit in the right engine!” Slider informed. “I’m shutting it down!”

Maverick moved to get a good position on the offending MiG. “Coming in, Ice! I’m coming in!” As he got a good angle on the jet, he spoke again. “The bogey’s still on you, Ice, I’m moving in for a shot!”

“Get him, Maverick! I’m trying to stay out of it!”

“Shit, Ice. I can’t get a tone.” As Ice replied in panicked requests, he tried to think of a way out. As the MiG shot at his wingman again, he spoke up. “Ice! On the count of three, break right!”

“Okay.”

“Three…two…one…break right, break right!”

As Iceman broke off, the MiG followed, only to meet its’ match: a missile sent straight into the engine. Maverick and Merlin cheered as the jet exploded into fire. “Splash three!” Merlin yelled.

“Maverick, move! There’s a MiG on your tail!” Slider warned.

“I only have one missile left…”

Suddenly, an idea came to him. The last time he’d done it, Goose was behind him, cheering him on. As bullets fired past their plane, he dodged expertly, slowing them down marginally.

“Mav, what are you DOING? Why are we slowing down?” Merlin shouted at him.

“I’m going to bring him closer, Merlin.”

“You’re gonna do WHAT?” Merlin couldn’t believe his ears. “This is it, Maverick, we’re gonna be history!”

“I’ll hit the brakes, he’ll fly right by.” 

As the MiG got tone on him, he slammed down on the brake and yanked the stick hard into the air. The MiG whizzed by, not anticipating the dangerous maneuver. As Maverick sent the plane back at the bogey, tone was all too easy to acquire and the MiG was gone before they knew it.

“Splash four, splash four!” Slider yelled in excitement. “Holy shit, Mav!”

“Mustang, this is Voodoo three…remaining MiGs are bugging out,” Merlin announced to the ship and Maverick grinned.

To himself, he’ll say that the Cobra scared them off.

On the way back, Maverick chuckled to himself as he radioed the tower. “Mustang, this is Maverick. Requesting a fly-by.” He heard Iceman laugh and he grinned.

“Negative, Maverick. The pattern is full.”

Maverick looked out to Ice, who gave him a nod. They soared past the tower, relishing in their major victory.

When they made their way back down and out of their planes, they were met with cheers and applause from the ground crew.

“Yeah, Maverick!”

“U-S-A, U-S-A!”

Maverick hopped down and Merlin grabbed him into a hug, saying, “Thank you, Maverick. Thanks for staying with us.”

“Anytime,” he smiled at the RIO. 

Making his way through the crowd, he was looking for a specific someone…then he spotted those blond, frosted tips peeking up over the crowd. Shoving his way through, he found Hollywood first, who yelled in excitement, giving him the tightest hug he’d ever had. 

“Where the hell were you two?” He asked jokingly, hugging Wolfman.

“Maverick! Three kills, what the fuck!” Wolfman shouted in amazement. “You kicked some MiG ass!” Maverick laughed, before seeing the person he was looking for.

Iceman and Slider stood a couple of feet away, watching their exchange in amusement. Maverick walked over to them as Iceman pointed directly at him.

“You!” Iceman shouted. Maverick stared back at him, waiting for him to continue. “You are still dangerous…but you can be my wingman anytime,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows and adding a wink. 

Maverick grinned, rolling his eyes. “Bullshit. You can be mine.” 

Iceman stepped up to him, wrapping him in one of the best hugs he’s ever had—he doesn’t know if it’s from the adrenaline or not. Maverick poked his eyes out from Iceman’s shoulder.

He saw Slider standing there, watching them with a smile. However, he saw Goose and Duke as well, standing there, clearer than normal. Well, that was definitely because of adrenaline.

I told you, buddy, Goose murmured. 

I’m proud of you, his dad said.

“I’m never flying in an F-14 again,” he spoke aloud, startling Iceman, who laughed out loud, ending their embrace.

“You can do whatever the hell you want, kid,” Slider agreed.

He turned to stare at Ice again, who looked back. They hugged again, both sporting the widest grins they’d ever had.

Life was good. For now.

Chapter Text

“ You shake my nerves and you rattle my brain,

Too much love drives a man insane,

You broke my will,

Oh what a thrill! ”

“Goodness, gracious, great balls of fire,” Maverick mumbled to himself, lying in Goose’s bed, eating the chocolate-covered pretzels Ice had gotten for him that one day. It wasn’t a huge bag, but Maverick still winced when he stuck his hand in only to find no pretzels remaining.

Today was definitely an off day, it seemed. 

Nothing was going on for Maverick; TOPGUN had finished and the class was waiting to be moved around to their next assignment. After the Layton Rescue, Maverick had been offered any assignment of his choosing, however, he decided to stay on land as an instructor at TOPGUN.

There were multiple reasons for this. One, he didn’t feel too keen on leaving Carole and Bradley behind after Goose’s passing. Going away to who knows where would make him feel extremely guilty after everything they’ve gone through.

Two, he heard through the grapevine that a certain someone was planning to stay at TOPGUN as well. There was absolutely no reason that Maverick was happy about this…nope, none at all.

Third, he was still learning the ins and outs of the F/A-18 Hornet. He thought it would be better if he stayed on land to get comfortable with the new technology before going off and being crazy…like normal. (Plus, Viper said it would be good to get the new pilots used to the better jets.)

Last, however—the most interesting reason—was relating to his dead dad. Since the Layton Rescue, Maverick’s dreams have been filled with memories from a life he didn’t live. Feelings he didn’t feel, anger that felt misplaced.

Duke Mitchell’s passing was a tragic one. He, in heroic fashion, sacrificed his life to save others. In return, his name was dragged through the mud to save the faces of those who put those brave pilots in that situation to begin with.

It was a disservice to those who knew his father, those who knew the real story, and those who were directly affected by the lies.

Maverick being the sole survivor of the last group.

Duke was…everywhere at the moment. Interrupting Maverick’s dreams and being annoyingly insistent about certain things when he was awake. He knew what it would take to get the spirit to stop, but he wasn’t sure how to do so.

See, there’s this thing about ghosts and spirits. They’re here—connected to the living world—because something is holding them back. More or less, they have unfinished business to attend to. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what his father was here for.

Justice. He wanted people to know the truth about his passing, and that he was no traitor.

Maverick didn’t remember much about his father, he knew most of it from what little stories his mother would share with him, but according to her, he was very pro-America—a nationalist, loved the United States to the max. 

For people to call him a traitor and throw around accusations of treason was clearly a sore spot for the man; especially because he was dead. 

Like, come on. How hard is it to respect those who died doing some of the most dangerous jobs in the country? Plus, he had died saving lives, which was the final nail in the coffin.

Except, there was no coffin because he died over enemy lines…doing what the COs asked. They didn’t bother recovering his body. And then indirectly said he disobeyed orders and almost got other people killed.

Unfortunately, that left Maverick, twenty-something years later, to deal with the fallout.

He had been getting little to no sleep because of the vivid imagery that was projected into his mind every night. It left him exhausted and wanting nothing more than to curl up in bed; Iceman’s pretzels in hand and Goose’s walkman in his ears.

“I’m a great ball of fire,” Maverick mumbled to nobody, groaning as he sat up from the comfortable oasis of one military-standard bed. It was around 1500, the afternoon setting in nicely on the late-summer day.

Ever since Goose had died, Maverick’s self-care regimen had declined dramatically. Even though, technically, he could still interact with the man’s spirit, it wasn’t the same person.

Maverick had to keep telling himself that or else he might grow attached to the dead; that’s a situation that, no matter how you look at it, will end horribly. To see spirits, talk with them, and understand them is already highly taxing on your mind, but relying on it was like walking into a bad relationship and ignoring the glaring red flags along the way.

Maverick knew better.

Instead, he was trying to keep himself attached to what Goose left behind. The Walkman was filled with hundreds of songs that Goose loved, and Maverick was focusing on enjoying that instead of interacting with the spirit too much.

The next song began and he recognized it immediately. It was one from his father that Goose had begun to enjoy after Maverick told him about it.

Sittin' in the mornin' sun,

I'll be sittin' when the evenin' come,

Watching the ships roll in,

And then I watch 'em roll away again…

Maverick smiled, thinking about his father once again. His dad always loved that song, it was one of the ways that Maverick could remember his voice.

Duke appeared and Maverick felt his presence not too far away. He sighed, hardly glancing at his father as he went to make himself look presentable.

Viper , his dad muttered.

“I’m not going to bother Viper when I don’t need to,” he spoke aloud, getting no response from his dad. However, Maverick felt the vibes. “Why do I need to see Viper?”

My death.

“And..? What about it?”

They know.

Maverick raised an eyebrow, turning to where his father’s presence was located. “Know what?” The energy dissipated from the room and he sighed, knowing Duke had left.

You know, if he hadn’t known his father was innocent, he would have understood why people thought his father was a deserter; leaving when things got tough. 

Maverick scoffed at his dad’s antics, brushed his teeth, and found a clean shirt to put on.

Who knows what? Does somebody know that Duke wasn’t a deserter or the cause of his own death? Did somebody know about how his death was mishandled? ‘They know’ is not specific enough to get a good grasp on anything.

Maybe if his father would stick around long enough for Maverick to tell him that, he would know.

________________

“Maverick.”

He looked up from his seat at the local food place near the base. How Iceman found his location, he didn’t know. “Iceman,” he greeted.

The blond sat down across from him. “I feel bad,” he confessed. Maverick raised an eyebrow at the other’s words.

“About…”

“What my father did to you,” he clarified. “Or—what he did to your father, and indirectly, you.”

The shorter man snorted. “Not about all the other stuff you’ve said to me?” he joked but deflated at Iceman’s expression. “Sorry.”

“No,” Iceman waved him off. “Point made. But, seriously. I feel bad that some of your treatment from superior officers is because of my family.”

“Thanks, I guess?” Maverick replied. “Listen, if you’re saying all this because I told you that your father rose in the ranks due to scapegoating my father, then don’t worry about it. You would’ve gotten this far with or without it—lord knows I did.”

“You make this shit really hard, Maverick,” Iceman stressed, his teeth gritted together. Maverick only grinned; after all, it’s what he did best. “I want to make it up to you.”

Maverick didn’t reply instantly, trying to understand what Iceman’s true motives were. “Are you doing this because you want me to stay quiet and not yell to the heavens about what he did?”

“No!” Iceman’s voice raised significantly louder, attracting the attention of nearby customers. He subdued himself before continuing. “No. Maverick, it’s because you’re a nice guy…once people get to know you…and I feel bad that my father…and I…made your life so hard.”

“Honestly, I did it to myself,” he admitted. Was he really having a pity party today? No, but he was riling Ice up, and again—it’s what he did best.

“Maverick, kindly shut up.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Fine…” Iceman trailed off, trying to reword his proposition. “What can I do for your father?” he corrected. 

Maverick groaned. “Are you serious right now?”

“What?” Iceman asked nervously, his eyes widening.

“Not you, well—ugh,” he stuttered. “My father has just been a little too present in my life recently if you’re catching my drift.”

“I am not.”

“He’s been in my business since we got back from the E. He wants his compensation for his noble death…he has been mourning his reputation for decades.”

Like clockwork, his father’s presence materialized somewhere next to him—most likely in the empty chair beside him. Maverick wasn’t looking.

“Now that you’re offering, he’s going to want you to help me help him.”

“How, exactly?” Iceman asked. 

“By making it known what really happened.”

“But—my father…” Iceman started to protest, before deflating at the reminder that while he might pay for his father’s misdeeds, Maverick had lived with those consequences for his entire life.

“We’ll figure out how to get you out unharmed, I promise,” Maverick affirmed. “We could even leave him anonymous in the whole thing…if you wanted.”

“I…”

Maverick eyed him expectantly, and his father’s expression probably mirrored his.

“You know what? Sure. Whatever,” Iceman conceded. “Where do we start?”

“Viper?” Maverick answered, making it seem like a question.

“Does he know about your little…” Iceman paused, trying to think of a nice way to put it. “...affinity?”

“Yes,” he replied. “And if you’re going to say it like that, I’d rather you call me a freak.”

__________

“I don’t know what you two think I can do about that,” Viper told them with a shrug. “And why now?”

“You were there,” Maverick reminded him. “Also, you’re not the one dealing with a very persistent apparition twenty-four-seven.”

“Touché.”

“How classified are those documents?” Iceman asked.

“More classified than I have clearance for.”

“Can I not threaten to sue them…or something?” Maverick offered and the other two turned to look at him suspiciously. “Like…that’s how it works in the movies, yeah? You threaten legal action when you know you’re right, they want to settle with you, all done, and my dad is happy.”

“Sure, that’s how it goes in the movies , Mitchell,” Iceman began. “You are threatening to sue the United States Military.”

Maverick shrugged, offering no response.

Viper’s office phone rang. “Hello?” the commanding officer answered. “Uh, no. You called me.”

Maverick and Iceman, at the odd exchange on the phone, locked eyes with each other. Iceman mouthed a curious, ‘What?’ at the shorter man, who wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. Ice let out a silent chuckle, shaking his head in amusement.

“Actually, I have a question you might be able to answer,” Viper told the caller. “I have a Lieutenant who discovered that a previous controversy that was classified to the nth degree a couple of decades back had a flaw. It caused a lot of irreparable harm for those affected. He knows what happened and who did what. Do you think he has any grounds to reopen the investigation?”

Viper went silent as the phone went off and the person on the other end of the line chattered away for a minute. After the person was finished speaking, he lowered the phone to speak to Maverick. “It would have to be based on the evidence that was already involved.”

“Do you know if what they’ve got is enough to see the truth?” Iceman rephrased Viper’s words. Maverick’s brows furrowed, thinking it over.

“I dunno,” he said eventually. “I’ll ask.” 

The Walkman gifted from Goose sat heavily in his pocket. He pulled it out to put on, simply for better focus as Viper returned to speak on the phone. It was turned off, he wasn’t planning on listening to music—even though Goose had curated a pretty bomb playlist.

Maverick, with some of the distraction removed, stood in place, eyes closed to focus on picking up some form of communication. He couldn’t reach Duke for some reason, considering the last few days.

Hello.

Maverick jumped at the voice coming through the earbuds. It wasn’t perfect, the voice was incredibly soft and Maverick would’ve missed it had his concentration not been as focused. 

Iceman jolted in reaction to Maverick’s sudden movement. After a questioning glance from the blond, Maverick waved him off and suspiciously stepped out of Viper’s office.

The voice was familiar, but he didn’t want to get his hopes up.

“Goose?” he whispered.

Mav, the voice replied eventually. Maverick grinned widely at the confirmation. 

“Do you know what to do about…this?” he motioned to Viper’s shut office door where the other two remained. He knew Goose would get what he was referencing; after all, spirits had a good understanding of those things.

It will work out, his dead best friend replied. He took the statement for what it was, not reading too closely.

“So…they have all the necessary evidence?”

The Walkman better fostered the connection between his questions and Spirit-Goose’s replies. He could not only ask questions clearly but also gain a better response.

Yes. You will testify, too.

“What does that mean?”

I’m no prophet.

Yep, there’s Goose. “And this conversation is over. Thanks, bud.” He smiled to nothing and took the earbuds out. Maverick went to turn off the device before realizing that it had never been turned on in the first place.

Maverick had become well-accustomed to the abnormal. “Huh,” he muttered, before walking back inside.

“So?” Iceman all but demanded as he shut the door behind him. 

“Yeah, we’re good to use what they’ve got,” he affirmed. Viper nodded with a slight upturn on his lips as he returned to speaking on the phone.

“What was that about?” Ice whispered to him, shuffling closer to have a quiet conversation.

“Uh,” Maverick began, his usually-confident nature subdued by the sudden closeness. “Uh, Goose,” he choked out.

“What?”

He showed the Walkman to Iceman. “I—uh, it’s Goose’s. I have it because—uh—he told me to keep it after he died and then he…spoke to me through it,” he rushed out as fast as he could.

Iceman appeared to have too many questions to convey at once. The confusion was prevalent in his normally controlled expression. He leaned close to Maverick’s ear to ask another question, it made the shorter stiffen at the proximity. “What?” he whispered again.

“Umm…” His brain was not cooperating.

“Okay, gentlemen,” Viper interrupted them. Iceman stood straight up at the reminder of the third person in the room. “He can try, but they might need some more information from you.”

“Who was that, anyway? Why was he calling?” Iceman asked, simply out of curiosity.

“It was weird, actually. He said he didn’t call me, but neither did I. Obviously, you two saw that I didn’t.”

“That’s weird,” the blond responded, not having an answer for their former instructor.

“I’m not gonna speculate, but I’m pretty sure that wasn’t an accident,” Maverick said, the others turning to look at him for an explanation. “See, I don’t wanna name names, but spirits are funky with technology, and I haven’t heard from my father in a long enough time that I’m sure he was meddling with something.”

“What about Goose?” Iceman asked. Maverick shook his head.

“No, Goose was talking to me.”

“You spoke to Goose?” Viper asked incredulously.

“Yeah, and something as crazy as connecting you two to the same call would cost a lot of energy from a spirit, and I cannot feel my dad’s presence at all.”

“Is he normally always there?”

“Lately, bothering me—respectfully—is all he’s been up to,” Maverick told Viper. “He has been practically begging me to fix this, to get some real answers. To have him gone while we’re directly discussing his death…yeah, no way.”

When Iceman and Maverick exited the Commander’s house, Iceman stopped. Maverick stopped with him, silently wondering why.

“Do you think that I found you so easily because your father influenced me?” Iceman asked suddenly, referring to the restaurant.

Maverick paused to consider it. The idea had merit, as his father was obsessed with getting the truth revealed. There was definitely a possibility. 

“Even if he did,” he eventually replied. “I think you would’ve found me just fine on your own.”

Chapter Text

Apparently, they needed Maverick for more than just “information”. 

“Lieutenant Mitchell,” a man with professional-looking attire addressed him. “I understand you want to…expose the U.S. Navy for wrongdoings in the investigation of your father’s death-slash-supposed traitorous acts against the country.”

“I mean, a whole exposé would be vindicating, but it doesn’t have to go that far,” he replied honestly. “They don’t have to make a huge fuss about it, either. I just want people to be able to see the truth. No more guesses and assumptions about my dad.”

Want a huge explosion, his dad supplied.

No, Maverick thought back to nothing in particular. Sometimes, we don’t all get what we want.

“Okay, considering that that’s your stance on the matter, it will make this less complicated, I think,” he replied. “What do you know—or, what do you think you know about the entire investigation?”

“Well…” Maverick thought for a moment. “From my knowledge, these sorts of investigations are supposed to be released to show transparency. Not exactly the cause of death, per se, but the basics of what was happening in the first place. The Navy released none of it, nada.”

“Uh-huh. So, why do you think they did this back then?”

“Because they were doing things they shouldn’t have been,” Maverick told him. “From what scarce information I do know, they were ordered to go into enemy territory and fight, which was looked down upon at the time, since the American people didn’t even want us involved in Vietnam to begin with. But, the people seeing that we were instigating stuff for no real reason? Yeah, the government would be in hot water in the court of public opinion.”

“So, the Navy didn’t release these details because they wanted to protect their image?”

“Sure, we can say that. But, I bet there were people involved in the investigation willing to let a dead soldier's name be tarnished to gain themselves some favor.”

“Interesting,” the man said, finally taking a seat across from Maverick, offering his hand to shake. “I’m Dean Voss, nice to meet you.”

Maverick flushed in slight embarrassment. “Oh, uh, nice to meet you too. Sorry, I forgot to ask your name.” Another thought occurred to him. “Wait—how are you going to get the Navy to help me, anyway?”

“Don’t worry about that,” Mr. Voss told him reassuringly, and Maverick got the feeling he could trust him. However, he still raised an eyebrow. “Mitchell. I’m a JAG.”

A JAG—or a Judge Advocate General, is a fancy name for a military lawyer. JAGs offer legal counsel to service members and those related to them. This JAG, Dean Voss, was a part of the Navy JAG Corps, which is why he was here, helping Maverick with his dead daddy issues.

“Okay, I just had to ask,” he conceded. “You never know these days.” Voss chuckled.

They were sat in a small but comfortable office. A desk separated two chairs, which both men sat in, looking at each other.

A bookshelf on the right, a couple of filing cabinets on the left. Various frames line the walls and the door right behind Maverick. He didn’t like not being able to see the door without making it noticeable, but he could manage.

“Alright, so Commander Metcalf did tell you that we can’t add any evidence to the investigation they made, correct?”

“Yes,” Maverick confirmed. “So, what would make them willing to…release information about it to the public?”

“I hate to say it, but your feelings have some ground in this.” At the Lieutenant’s confusion, the JAG continued. “Do you mind getting the…accidental repercussions of their silence and avoidance on record?”

“What would that mean for me?”

“While we may not be able to add any evidence to the initial investigation, we can extrapolate on the details of what their silence did to you and your family,” Voss explained. “If you explain what has happened in your life as a result of the lack of answer from the Navy as well as people’s reactions to that silence, we might be able to see those documents be lowered to a more accessible classification level, if all goes accordingly.”

“Uh-huh,” Maverick muttered, taking all of this information in. “Would this go into my reputation as well? I feel like I get a lot of judgment from people I have never met, and it’s affected me in some areas of my job.”

“Yeah, of course,” he replied. “Say, if you could get someone in here that’s willing to share things that they thought or heard about you before getting the chance to meet you, that would be good as well.”

“I think I know somebody.”

__________

He thought it would’ve been easier to convince Iceman to talk to the JA. Honestly, he was so ready to help but as soon as it became even a fraction of his problem, he had all these reservations and second thoughts.

You would’ve thought Maverick had asked him not to fly for a month.

“I’m not asking you to bring your name into the conversation; you don’t even have to mention that you like me at all!” Maverick insisted. 

“Sorry, I just don’t know if I’m comfortable with being in your legal matters,” Iceman told him. “My father was a well-known man, even if I’m not mentioned, people will figure it out.”

“But it’s—Ice!” he exclaimed. “Who gives a shit if people “figure it out?” For all you know, they might be swooning over you because you knew all along what the truth was! And how you’re ‘oh so smart and hot and…’ whatever.”

“I have a mom and siblings who know my father as a strict but respectable man. I don’t need them finding out he was the next Machiavelli.”

“I don’t even know who that fucker is!”

“I—” Iceman sighed. “Oh my god…”

“And plus,” Maverick added. “Why are you so ready to protect your father?”

“I’m really not.”

“Uh, you really are!” Maverick shot back. “If my dad really did all the stuff that your dad said he did, I wouldn’t be fighting so hard to defend him! But, I guess I didn’t get any bonus points from him, so…” he trailed off, thinking about the hypotheticals of that imaginary situation.

Iceman looked offended. “And what’s that supposed to mean?” 

“What’s what supposed to mean?”

“You really think after all of this that the only reason I got to where I was is because of my dad?”

“No?” Maverick replied. “When did I say that?”

“ I guess I didn’t get any bonus points from him, so, ” Iceman mocked Maverick’s mixed-up accent.

Due to growing up in different locations when he was younger and traveling constantly due to the Navy, Maverick’s accent had become a blend of multiple American enunciations. When Iceman spoke it, it sounded all weird and messed up, he didn’t like it so much.

“No—no—that’s not what I meant,” Maverick rushed out. “I meant—that in—like…if my father had actually deserted, then I would try to separate him from my own reputation.”

“Yeah, and since my father is actually well-respected in this place, people only respect me because of him.”

“I didn’t say that!”

“Well, you did, Maverick.”

“You’re not listening—well, whatever. Just—forget about it.”

“Huh?” Iceman asked confusedly at Maverick’s sudden switch in conversation.

“Don’t worry about it, then,” the shorter man turned away from Iceman and Slider’s door, walking back to his motorcycle.

“Wait—what?”

“It’s fine, honestly,” he insisted, waving Iceman off. “I didn’t really need it, anyway. Sorry for insulting your dad.”

If Iceman said anything after, and Maverick’s pretty sure he didn’t, he couldn’t hear him. He turned his motorcycle on and left.

“Dude, you really suck,” a voice spoke up from behind Iceman, who flinched and turned to find his RIO staring down at him in disappointment. “What the hell was that?”

“What now?” Iceman asked exasperatedly. “Do you agree with Maverick, too?”

“Listen, he shouldn’t be hounding you to put your two cents in if you really don’t want to, but the rest?” Slider said. “Even if he meant to insult you by saying that—which I don’t think he did because he’s a grade-A dumbass—you quite literally said that you wouldn’t speak about your father because people knew him as a “respectable” man.”

“I said that my family knew him as a respectable man.”

“So nobody else thought the same?” Slider huffed when Ice didn’t respond. “And, on top of that, you said it to the one guy who’s been given a bad rap because of his father.”

“But—”

“And I know he doesn’t really care, but your dad did drag his dad’s name through the mud. To me, it would’ve sounded like you were defending him, too.”

“He didn’t have to say that, though.”

“No, he didn’t,” Slider agreed. “But, Maverick’s an idiot, what gives? Now you’re going to take everything he says at face value?” He shook his head. “Why was he even here? Something about legal troubles?”

So, Ice explained Maverick’s story. Thankfully, he already knew about Maverick’s connection to the dead, so he didn’t have to twist it. “But basically, his lawyer needed someone to say, on the record, that they didn’t like Maverick due to what happened to his father and not because they knew him personally.”

“What does that have to do with your father?”

“Uh, he was the one that started all this mess,” Iceman said flatly.

Slider scoffed. “No, what does saying that you were prejudiced against Maverick before you met him have to do with your dad?”

“My dad would always tell us his “hero stories” growing up,” Iceman explained. “One of them was about how he avenged his squadron by “exposing” one of their teammates for their traitorous deeds. When I went to the Academy, he told me exactly who that was—gave me the whole rundown of it, too.”

“So?” Slider asked. “Didn’t shortstack say that you didn’t have to mention that?”

Iceman huffed and chose to stay silent. It didn’t help his case when Slider realized why he wasn’t answering.

“ Ohhh! ” Slider gasped. “You’re mad that you believed it in the first place.”

“I am not!”

“Then what is it?” Slider challenged. “You are exactly the kind of person who wouldn't want to admit when they’re wrong.”

“Hey!”

“What? It’s true.”

Neither of them spoke for a moment, until Slider scoffed, leaving the entryway of their military-issued house. He returned with a set of car keys. “Go get your man. You owe him big time.”

_________

Thankfully, Maverick wasn’t as hard to find the next time around. Iceman drove to where Maverick had been meeting with the JAG and found the pilot in question sitting on his motorcycle with the engine turned off.

“I told you that you didn’t need to do it,” Maverick spoke as Iceman walked up from behind. How he knew of his approach, Ice didn’t know.

“I got that,” Ice agreed. “Slider knocked some sense into me, though.”

“Slider. Really?” Maverick snorted. “Who woulda thought?”

“I think he has a soft spot for you…somehow. Don’t ask me why,” Iceman said, standing next to Maverick, who hadn’t moved from his spot.

“I don’t know if I want you to do it,” Maverick admitted, which made Iceman stare flatly at his wingman.

“I did not just come down here for you to tell me that you don’t want me to do this.”

“Well, sorry.” Maverick crossed his arms and looked down at the seat of his motorcycle.

“Hey, now. None of that,” Iceman gently chided. “What’s up? You were so adamant about this earlier.”

Maverick didn’t respond for a moment, deciding to take his time to think his response over. “I don’t know if I’m ready for my dad to be gone—if this is all it takes.”

“Oh.”

Yeah, maybe he shouldn't have asked. Iceman was never good with feelings.

“Like, if after all this, he’s just gone…I don’t know what I'll do,” Maverick said. “I didn’t really see him as being dead because, in my mind, he was always there; so, what was the point in mourning him?”

“Everyone has to go through that pain, eventually,” Iceman told him. “It’s just—I guess you’ve been given an extension.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Maverick scoffed. “My dad has just been a constant in my life, even dead.”

“He can still be with you,” Iceman replied. “People, when grieving someone they love, have ways of reminding them of what they’ve lost—but in a good way, of course.”

“He’s behind you,” Maverick muttered. Ice turned, not knowing what he expected to see besides the small parking lot. Of course, he saw nothing, but now he felt paranoid.

“Oh…uh…”

“He’s not being weird, he’s just looking at you.”

“Who, exactly?” Iceman asked, remembering that Maverick could be referring to someone else. “Your dad, my dad, Goose?”

“My dad.”

“Figures.”

“I think he likes you,” Maverick said.

“I don’t know why he would,” Iceman responded. Maverick hummed, and Iceman assumed he was listening to some random sound vibrations…or whatever he did when talking to spirits.

Hell if he knew.

“I think he knows that you’re not your father if that’s what you’re getting at,” Maverick ignored Ice’s pessimism.

“I didn’t say he was stupid,” Iceman deflected.

“I didn’t say that you said that,” Maverick returned. “My dad…” the shorter man turned to look over Iceman’s shoulder—to presumably his dad—and continued. “...he’s ready to move on. I think.”

“Then what are you waiting for?”

____________

Maverick didn’t realize that Iceman would be so uncomfortable in the presence of a lawyer.

“So, what was the first thing you heard about Lieutenant Mitchell? Whether that was from him or someone else?” Judge Advocate Voss asked Iceman, who shifted in his chair to appear confident.

A couple of others were present in the room with the three of them, but Maverick had no clue as to why. He assumed that they were JAs too, or something of that nature.

“Well, I first heard about his father’s story and the circumstances of his death,” Ice explained. “Then, I think once people began to figure out that Maverick had joined the Navy, the comments turned to focus on him.”

“Can you recall the nature of those comments, or what was explicitly said about Lieutenant Mitchell?” the lawyer questioned, turning to the other people for a moment and nodding.

“Well, they weren’t positive, if that’s what you mean. But, I remember hearing people say that Maverick was probably just like his father; at least, when it came to his negative qualities.”

Maverick shifted uncomfortably in his chair, not knowing what to do with this information. It’s not like he didn’t already know that people had slandered him when he wasn’t there to defend himself. But for some reason, hearing it come from someone he had grown to respect (begrudgingly) hit a little closer to home.

It was similar if it were Goose instead, discussing what he heard when Maverick’s back was turned. Speaking of, what was Goose up to? 

He’s getting distracted; that’s not important right now.

“And when did you realize that those comments were slanderous—or at the least, untrue?”

Maverick turned to look at Iceman, who didn’t acknowledge the new pair of eyes on him.

“At first, I thought he was just good with words,” Iceman said.

Maverick raised an eyebrow in slight suspicion. Where was Ice going with this?

“I sought him out the second day at TOPGUN to interrogate him about one of my Academy buddies—Cougar—and originally, I thought Maverick had run him off like everyone said he would.”

He remembered that. It was a particularly unpleasant experience. It felt so long ago, when he was there, just trying to get out of that situation. He spoke out of his ass, really—saying whatever he could to get Iceman to lay off him.

“He called me out on it that day; he said that I was talking down to him without ever knowing him. I knew back then that he was right, I gave him that. But, I didn’t realize the extent of it until I saw him fly.”

What? Maverick couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“I’d always been told—in reference to Maverick—that he was reckless, and he abandoned the rulebook. He disregarded his safety, his RIO, and his plane in exchange for a little thrill. There was no reason for me to believe otherwise. He flew like his ass was on fire—still does.”

What was Iceman getting at?

“But, after I found out what really happened with Cougar, I started to look closer,” Iceman glanced nervously at Maverick for a moment. “I realized that the risks that he took were calculated. While they may have seemed reckless on the outside, every move he made had some reasoning behind it. He made the most effective choices, not the ones that were deemed okay by the rulebook.

I knew that I had misjudged him. However, I didn’t realize how much until Goose died.”

Oh. This was where it was going.

“Maverick and Goose…they did everything right. They were, albeit, a bit pushy, but that’s what competition’s about. They did what every pilot is trained to do in emergency situations. Try to fix it, and if there’s no fix, eject. They did everything they were taught, and it still ended in a nightmare—for everybody involved.

But, I couldn’t ignore the people who weren’t there—who didn’t witness it how I did—and were pointing fingers at Maverick. Saying things like how he was too careless, that it was his fault, that it was the “Mitchell genes”, et cetera.”

Maverick thought those words to himself enough that he didn’t need other people saying them if he was being honest.

“And I kept thinking to myself, “Why can’t they see it how I do? How my RIO saw it, how the instructors saw it?” And it took me a while to realize that this is what Maverick has been dealing with for too long.”

Iceman finished his spiel and silence enveloped the room. Throughout his rant, he had sat up straight in his chair, leaning forward towards the lawyer across him. He awkwardly sat back to his original position after realizing it. “That’s it,” he muttered. “I’m done.”

“Well, thank you, Lieutenant Kazansky,” Voss said as he turned to Maverick. “Lieutenant Mitchell, the only thing we need from you is your side of it all. Are you willing to…get that over with?”

“Uh, yeah. I guess,” he replied. “What do you want to know?”

“Anything that you deem relevant.”

“Alright then, well…”

Chapter Text

Pete was in his childhood home, the day after they had gotten the news. His mother was still distraught and he was still confused. He wanted to finish the puzzle from before, but his mother just told him to go to the neighborhood playground instead.

“I guess it starts with my mother. She was never the same after the military came to our door and told her the news. She couldn’t even bear to tell me what it all meant—I was four.”

He had never gone to the playground alone—he normally wasn’t allowed. Thankfully, the two of them (occasionally three) had made this journey enough to where Pete could remember the way.

Everything was normal when he arrived. He recognized some of the kids playing and went to join. However, one of their parents stopped him before he could go.

“I’m sorry, I just don’t think it’s good for you to be hanging around the rest of the kids anymore.”

“I learned very quickly that gossip travels fast within the Navy. Especially the military families.”

“Could you clarify on that point, if you don’t mind?”

“Yeah, sure. I don’t know how they do it, but the spouses always find out the latest gossip and before you know it, everyone’s in your business.”

It didn’t feel very nice when that mom told him he couldn’t play with them anymore. It hurt his feelings, but you’re not supposed to talk back to adults, so he didn’t say anything.

“I didn’t know why I wasn’t allowed to play with the other kids anymore. None of the military parents would let me. So, I asked my mom why.”

“Momma,” Pete squeaked out suddenly one day over dinner. It was nothing fancy—some Kraft mac and cheese. 

His mom hadn’t left the house in nine days; that’s how long it had been since the military came to their door. Pete had tried to get her to smile again, but nothing was working.

“Yeah, Pete?” she replied groggily.

That was another thing: she wouldn’t use any of the cute little names she had for him anymore. No “honey”, or “angel”, or “cutie”. It made him sad.

“Ummm…why can I not play with my friends anymore?” he asked.

She raised her eyebrow in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Mrs. Smith told me at the park a while ago that it wasn’t…uhh—good anymore?” Pete stiffened when his mom sat up straight in shock—the first emotion other than sadness he’d seen in a while.

“Are you kidding me?”

“I told my mom that they were excluding me, and she walked right over to one of the ladies’ houses and confronted her,” Maverick told the room. Everyone was watching him intently. Iceman’s gaze was burning into his head but he tried to ignore it.

“My mom and Mrs. Smith had a huge argument right there, on her doorstep. She told my mom that my dad was nothing more than a backstabbing traitor to the service. My mom asked what she meant, and she said…”

“We all know what he did!” she shouted at Pete’s mother. 

“ What he did? What are you talking about, Lynda?” his mom responded incredulously.

“My husband heard it from the men themselves! All about how Duke Mitchell had abandoned them when they needed him most!” Lynda scoffed. “And, for real? In the middle of the biggest fight they’d had? I know none of them signed up for Vietnam, but deserting is too far and you know it, Sarah.”

“My husband is—was no deserter!” Sarah screamed. “Just because they lost doesn’t mean you all get to point fingers at the dead man!”

“That was the first of many, many assumptions and negativity when it came to my family.”

“What were some consequences, pertaining to you and your family, of the rumors about your father? Get as specific as you can.”

“I lost my mother.”

Pete remembers that day too well.

When he’d finally gotten to take a shower after everything had transpired, he rubbed his skin raw trying to rid the feeling of seeing his mother dead of her own volition. He felt tainted.

They explained it to him, but he didn’t need to hear it. His mother had committed suicide. They asked him what could’ve led her to this, and he knew the answer.

He also knew that whenever he’d spoken about the treatment from their community, it was brushed off without a second thought.

“She committed suicide,” he choked out. Speaking about it never got easier. “Before my dad was killed, I have vague memories of her being the happiest person in the room. 

“Other parents, when dealing with the loss of a military spouse, got endless amounts of support. My mother was left to rot.”

Ever since he was left alone, by both of his parents now, the library had become his solace. It was easy to forget about the whispers and stares and snarky comments when you were deep in the thralls of a story.

After the news of his mother’s death had made its way around town, people found a new type of explanation.

She killed herself because she couldn’t bear to live with the misdeeds of her traitor husband.

“After she died, people used it as more fuel to the fire. She must’ve realized the truth and been so embarrassed to be his wife. To have his kid. So, it all turned on me.”

Pete didn’t know where society had lost the ability to critically think.

No, he wasn’t his father. No, he wasn’t a communist sympathizer. No, he wasn’t going to fuck off to the enemy.

And, most importantly, no. His father was not a traitor.

It was pure torture; the ability to speak, shout, and yell the truth, but nobody would listen. It was torture for the truth to be so close to public knowledge, yet everyone’s sheep mentality made it so far away.

“I don’t think I can put into words how unbearable my life has been in terms of…this,” Maverick admitted. “And that was all before I’d even joined the Navy.”

“Then, by all means, continue.”

“I was denied from the Naval Academy, yet accepted into Stanford, which currently has an acceptance rate of around fifteen percent. Harvard University’s is around sixteen. Yet, I was ‘unqualified’ for the Naval Academy—no offense.”

“None taken.”

“They couldn’t offer a reason. Nobody could tell me with a straight face that my application was bad. So bad, that even with a congressional nomination, I couldn’t make it in. For god’s sake, I was the valedictorian of my high school.”

“So you say that you got denied because of your father?”

“Why else would I have been?” Maverick challenged. “Despite it all, I still got here. Flight school was a mess.”

Pete’s flight instructor was insane. 

If he had to hear one more nitpicky correction that for some reason, nobody else received, he was going to lose it.

Everyone else got encouraging feedback and helpful advice, but all he got was scathing remarks and backhanded compliments.

It was annoying, yes. Frustrating, absolutely. However, it wasn’t anything more than what he’d dealt with before.

“However, I was so used to unfair treatment by then, that I made it through basic and flight school with the mantra of ‘oh, well, I’ve had worse’ ,” he said. “When Goose would be floored by people’s audacity, I would brush it off. Why? Because—well—it wasn’t bad enough for me to seriously consider suicide, like my mother.”

“Did you ever do anything about it?” Voss asked.

“Yeah,” Maverick answered. “I tried to be better. I listened to everything the superiors said. I did what I was told. I followed the rules, only to watch everyone else’s efforts get acknowledged.”

“How did that go over?”

“I realized that at the end of the day, nothing I did would change the fact that I was Pete Mitchell, the son of Duke Mitchell, the traitor. I could only get as far as introducing myself to someone I’d never met before there was a whisper in their ear to keep their distance from me.”

Maverick took in a sharp breath. “If only I could count how many times other people tried to warn Goose away from me. That I was more trouble than it was worth. Obviously, they ended up being right, and I hate it. Every day.

“Anyway, I learned that following the rules was only making me a pushover. I realized that anything I did, no matter how it went down, would never be enough to prove anything to anyone who didn’t want to listen.

“So, I became who I am now. I do what I do to get the job done. I never get too close to anyone else because I know I am unwelcome. However, now people call me idiotic, reckless, insufferable, annoying,” Maverick ranted. “However, at least those are true.”

“If my dad wasn’t my dad, though? Nobody would give a shit who I was in flight school, because I would just be some random pilot, learning to fly. Nobody would give a shit who I was in basic training, because I was just the next officer in a system that constantly churned out more. I would’ve been able to control my own narrative instead of having it predefined by my father, who actually didn’t do anything wrong.”

Silence reverberated around the small room. Nobody else had anything to add.

“I’m done, that…that’s it,” Maverick added awkwardly.

“Okay…well,” JA Voss spoke up after a couple of beats of silence. “I think I have what we need to get something going. Thank you, Lieutenant.”

Maverick nodded silently, everything he had just said—his trivial, champagne problems he’d spilled everywhere—finally caught up to him. He stood without another word and walked out hurriedly, swinging the door open without another thought.

Walking out of the building after what felt like so long reminded him how good fresh air smelt.

He swung his leg over the side of his motorcycle and turned the ignition on. He wanted to get as far away from here as soon as possible. 

“Maverick!” Ice shouted, running to catch him before he left.

“What?” he responded with a slight edge in his tone.

“I—I didn’t realize that…” the blond trailed off.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Maverick said with finality.

“But—” Maverick revved his motorcycle to drown out Iceman’s voice. He finally kicked up the sidestand and sped off. He heard Ice shout but couldn’t discern anything behind his Kawasaki's loud engine.

He didn’t mean to get that personal.

The result of that conversation could’ve been the same even if he didn’t give his whole sob story. He sounded bitter; like he couldn’t let go of the past. Maverick felt ashamed for his emotional retelling.

It wasn’t worth it, he wasn’t worth it, none of this was worth sounding like he needed to visit a shrink.

Am I worth it?

At the sudden, very coherent voice, he almost swerved into the side of the road. He got home as fast as possible; he knew how dangerous it would be to confront his problems mid-drive.

He turned in the driveway to his housing, cut the engine, and hurried inside, slamming and locking the door behind him.

“You are worth it,” he answered finally. “You are.”

I got my justice, his dad said. You need to focus on yourself, now.

“I did this for you,” Maverick stated to the air. “You got what you needed to have a good afterlife. Yeah?”

Turn around and look at me.

He pivoted to face the front door. There his father was, looking at how he did the day he died—how Maverick saw him twenty years ago when he threw that puzzle piece at him.

Just as young, just as stuck in the 60s.

I wasn’t only here for personal gains, the man explained. You are my son, Pete.

“I…” he didn’t know what to say. “What?”

I’ve had to stand by and watch for twenty years; every hardship you’ve faced, every accomplishment you made. But, nothing was good enough to get you to forget me.

“Uh…”

You need to move on.

“I’ll try.”

No, his dad shook his head. You must. With me, with Goose. We aren’t who you once knew. Only partly.

“What do you mean?” Maverick asked through his confusion. “What are you talking about?”

Nothing that concerns you, Duke said, brushing off his son’s concern. Goose may be here for you to communicate with, but your friend is dead.

“I know.”

No, you don’t know. You haven’t mourned him; you’re using him as a replacement for the friend you once had.

“I’ve hardly seen him,” he defended.

That’s because, even in death, he knows what’s good for you.

Maverick had nothing to say to his father. Why all of this now, after everything he’d gone through? Now, after two decades of his father’s spirit right alongside him, this information becomes relevant.

You are blessed with an innate connection to the dead. The spirit cut off Maverick's train of thought. People before you have gone crazy trying to convince themselves that their loved ones are still here with them. We are real, but not like you think.

Maverick couldn’t grasp any of this. He tried to regain some control of his breathing.

We all love you just as much as the day we died; that, I can be certain of. But, we cannot be emotional support for you—that would be your personal torture.

You need to focus on the present. Focus on what’s right in front of you.

“I—I don’t understand—”

You will, his dad said with certainty. Goodbye, son. I’m proud of you.

“Wait, no—please—”

And just like that, Duke Mitchell was gone. Maverick stood in shock, trying to figure out what had happened.

But, despite it all, he knew with certainty that it was the last time he would see his father. Forever.

His eyes burned holes into the wood of the front door as he tried to process the conversation that had transpired. 

‘Even in death, he knows what’s good for you.’

‘Ones before you have gone crazy trying to convince themselves that their loved ones are still here with them.’

‘You need to focus on the present.’

‘Focus on what’s right in front of you.’

“Focus on what’s in front of me…” Maverick mumbled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

A bang on the door made him jump, vaulting him out of his thoughts. 

“Maverick!”

It was Iceman. Of course, it was.

Another bang. “Open the door!”

Maverick froze, the words of his father ringing in his head once more.

‘Focus on what’s right in front of you.’

“Mav—” Iceman’s fist almost smacked him in the head as Maverick threw open the door. The taller man yelped as Maverick took him by the front of his shirt and dragged him inside, shutting the door behind him.

“What?” he demanded.

“I—oh…kay. Woah, slow down,” Iceman said in an attempt to placate him. Patting his shoulder, he gently took the fist gripping his shirt off of him. “Are you good?”

“What. Do you want. Iceman?” Maverick choked out. “If it’s some pity bullshit—”

“No!” Iceman interrupted. “No, no. I just wanted to say that…I’m sorry.”

Maverick’s anger, distress, sadness—it all ground to a halt at Iceman’s words. “What?”

“I’m sorry,” he began once it was clear that the brunet was willing to listen. “When I listened to you in there…and then remembering that I—only a couple of hours ago—was standing in my doorway, defending my father after everything he did to you…”

“Ice…” Maverick gently cut in. “It’s fine—”

“No, it’s not,” Iceman denied. “I should never have been so prideful to let myself defend him anymore. He might have done good things in his life, but he ruined yours.”

Maverick couldn’t help but stare up at Iceman in pure amazement. It was bizarre; he never imagined that this would be happening.

“You…” Iceman took a deep breath before making eye contact with him again. “You’re worth so much. Despite everything he did, unintended or not, you’re so good.”

They stared at each other as the conversation reached a standstill. Iceman didn’t have anything else to say, and Maverick was reeling from it all.

“Does…” Maverick gathered his voice. “Does this mean I’m the better pilot?”

Iceman’s normally stoic expression broke out into a smile. “Well, I wouldn’t—”

Maverick kissed him. 

He swung his hand behind the taller man’s neck and pulled himself up to his height. No matter how many times Iceman asked him in the future, he did not climb him like a tree trunk to get a better angle.

To both of them, nothing mattered more than this moment. It was like time had stopped and only the two of them could move.

When they finally pulled away, Maverick made contact with the hardwood floor, eyeing the open curtain nearby.

“This is pretty illegal,” he told Iceman.

“I’d say you’re worth the risk,” Iceman told him.

They stared at each other for a long moment, taking in each other’s flushed expressions.

_______________

If they kissed again, it was none of your business.

Getting involved with the dead is no easy work—it’s easy to find comfort in those you’ve lost. It’s not difficult to pretend that they never left.

However, it can cause one to lose sight of what’s around them—the living world and everything it has in store for them.

For Maverick, he eventually learned how to create a healthy distance between those he’d loved and lost over his lifetime. Goose’s spirit, while he stuck around, wasn’t his lifeline.

He found comfort in new people—like Iceman, who he quickly learned would find a way to give him the moon if he could. Like Slider, who—despite still, continuing to be an annoying presence in his life—became someone he could go to in order to set him straight.

Like Carole, who, despite passing away years later, was someone he could count on; she was a real sister to him.

Maverick was thankful she never showed up after her death.

Are you wondering how Maverick’s case turned out? Well, you’d be fortunate to find out that it was a success, and Maverick secretly enjoyed all the groveling that people did as they realized that their prejudice was all based on lies.

And no, they never named Iceman’s father as the source of it all. Maverick owed his boyfriend that much. Plus, it didn’t matter at the end of it all; after all, the man was already dead.

And for those wondering why Goose never left?

Fifteen years or so later, as Maverick watched Bradley Bradshaw storm out of his and Iceman’s house, it all became very, very clear.