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Jake leaves the final mission briefing with a strained expression on his face and his heart in his throat. Maverick chose Rooster. Jake had been so sure the old man would choose him for this job, because how could Maverick choose someone else? Rooster was too far into his head to think straight, and it would get him killed.
What is he trying to do?
"Jake!"
"Not now, Coyote."
"Jake, stop!"
Jake grimaces and shakes his head, hopping the first knee-knocker and turning the corner toward his temporary quarters. He hears Coyote trailing him through the bulkheads. "I said not now, Javy. I don't want to talk."
A hand wraps around Jake's arm and before he can so much as twitch, his back is to the wall and Javy's hands are on his shoulders. "I don't care if you don't want to talk. You've got that look in your eye that says your dumb ass might do something we'll all regret, so whatever you're thinking, stop thinking it."
Jake's first instinct to strike back coils in his shoulders, but Javy doesn't flinch away. He doesn't back down. "What do you want?"
"I want you to tell me what's going through your head right now, man."
"What's the point? I'm not going on the mission anyway. Maverick made his decision and that's that."
Coyote huffs. "Yeah, right."
"What do you want me to say? That I'm pissed off? That I should be going and not him?" When Javy doesn't relent, Jake pushes him back. "Fine! I should be going!"
"Why? Why are you so desperate to run this mission?"
Hangman sneers and stalks through another doorway, listening to Javy's bootsteps behind him. "Because I'm better suited for it, that's why. Bradshaw can't separate what's in his head from what's going on around him, and if he can't focus, then he's a liability. He's been a liability the whole time because of his history with Mav."
Javy barks a sharp laugh. "Bullshit."
"What?" Jake halts, whirling on his friend. "What the hell do you mean 'bullshit?' It's the truth!"
"No. It's not."
"You think so, huh?"
Coyote smirks. "I know so. If that's what you had a problem with, you'd have submitted a report about a conflict of interest between them from the start, not goaded them into a reaction in the middle of class. You want to know what makes them tick, but that's not the same as seeing Rooster as a liability. He's a good pilot and you know it. Are you jealous, or what?"
Jake lets out a derisive scoff.
"If not, then tell me why it is you think you should be going."
"Just because."
"That's not an answer."
A growl of frustration leaves Jake and his body tenses without his permission. "Why do you give a shit? No one else does!"
Javy's expression flickers with hurt, confusion, then finally, realization. He puffs a breath of dumbfounded surprise. "That's it, isn't it? You want to fly this mission because you're convinced no one gives a shit about you, so if someone has to bite the bullet in the end, better it be you." His hand snaps out again when Jake turns and tries to walk away a second time. Anger lines his face, and in a rare turn of events, his voice starts to raise. "Damn it, Jake! Is that seriously what you think?"
"So the fuck what?!"
"I care, you asshat! And I'm not the only one!"
Jake snorts. "That right?"
Javy grips Jake's shoulders tight and gives him a rough shake. "Yes! Because if someone else didn't care about you, you would be on this fucking mission!"
Silence falls between the two of them at the declaration, filled only by their hastened breaths and the creak of the ship. Jake swallows. To his shame, he's the first to look away. The idea that Mav chose Rooster to protect Jake leaves a sour taste in his mouth. It doesn't make any sense.
Javy's grip lightens and he takes a calming breath. "Talk to me, Jake. Please."
"I...." Jake shakes his head. "I don't understand."
"Yes, you do."
Jake grits his teeth and stares down at the floor. The Navy gave them this mission knowing it was basically suicide. Admiral Kazansky gave them Maverick, the only man whose acceptable losses amounted to a sum total of zero. Maverick wants them to live. That was the whole point of their intense training regimen, and a mere minute of Cyclone's lecture made his priorities abundantly clear.
Maverick proved the mission could be flown. He proved there was a chance, however small, of surviving it, and in doing so, put himself in the position of team leader. He put himself in the spot Jake coveted from the beginning. No one would be hung out to dry on his watch. Every call would be his, and if a sacrifice had to be made-
Oh, fuck.
"He thinks someone's gonna die."
Javy nods, sliding his hands to the sides of Jake's neck and lifting his head. "Listen to me. Maverick cares. He wants all of us to come home, and damn the consequences. Bent air frames, cobra maneuvers, whatever it takes. The rest of us are coming home."
Jake grits his teeth. "And what about Rooster? You know Maverick knows he's not with the program."
"He trusts Rooster to figure it out."
"This is a hell of a time to be working out their trust issues," Jake grumbles.
Javy chuckles. "It's the only time, man. Mav knows what this mission needs, regardless of personal attachments, and if he thinks that means you're better suited to covering him as a spare, then I'll stand by that decision."
"You sure you're not biased because he saved your life?"
"I know I'm right because he saved my life."
Jake manages a weak smile. For once, he doesn't say anything to wipe the smug look off his friend's face, instead letting Javy wrap an arm around his shoulders and steer him toward the mess hall. The remainder of the squadron sits inside, Maverick watching over them from the wall nearby. He glances at Jake and Javy, offering them a faint smile and a tip of his head. Contrary to him, the team doesn't seem very energetic.
"Have a seat, kids," Mav beckons. "Food and sleep before this mission are required, even if you aren't flying it. Thanks for saving me the trouble of tracking you down."
Javy smirks, shooting Jake a look.
"If you say 'I told you so,' I'll kill you," Jake mumbles, following him to a table where Omaha and Rooster sit in dead silence.
In short, Rooster doesn't look so good. For all he fought to get here, to be chosen, he looks sick to his stomach now. Jake decides not to mention it. He doesn't trust himself not to make some kind of crack and set Rooster off. While he understands why Mav picked him, it still makes Hangman's nerves prickle.
Mav's steely gaze lands on Rooster as the younger pilot picks at his food. Jake can't get a read on the emotion in his eyes. Does Bradshaw's unusual behavior not make him the least bit nervous?
How can he stand there all calm and collected knowing what waits for them tomorrow?
Coyote settles beside him with two trays, sliding one his way with a reassuring nod. Jake takes it gratefully. He eats a roll, ignoring the papery taste of ration food. He reaches over the center of the table for Rooster's, since he's doing more poking at it with his fork than actually eating. Said fork flips in his hand in a flash and Rooster glowers across the table.
"Fuck off, Hangman."
"You weren't eating it." Jake shrugs, trying for nonchalance. That fork flip looked way, way too practiced. Bradshaw wasn't kidding around about stabbing him, that's for sure.
"Yes, I was. Now, keep your hands to yourself and eat your own food."
Jake raises his hands in surrender, pretending it totally wasn't his intent to coax their usual surly Rooster back to the surface. "My apologies."
Javy gently nudges him with his elbow. "You can have mine."
He's just playing along, Jake is sure, but the other pilot doesn't threaten him when he reaches over to take the roll. Rooster, if only to spite Jake for trying to eat his dinner, starts slowly chewing on his own roll and stops stirring his mashed potatoes long enough to eat some. Near the wall, a discerning light glimmers in Maverick's eye. Jake suppresses a flush at the knowing look the old man shoots him.
That's not fair. Mav can read him like an open book, but Jake can't read him at all.
"Captain Mitchell," Warlock says, drawing the gaze of the entire squadron. "You're needed in a meeting."
Maverick pushes off the wall, squeezing Rooster's shoulder on his way through the mess. Jake isn't sure, but the motion seems to soothe the younger aviator. He closes his eyes for the duration of the touch, only a moment, really, but Jake catches the way he leans into it. The calm he experiences fades out of existence the moment the bulkhead door closes behind Mav.
Strange.
Rooster finishes his food and disappears into the ether without speaking to any of them. Phoenix watches him go with a pensive frown on her face. Oh, goody. Jake isn't the only one Rooster is making nervous.
Jake doesn't see him again until they're changing in the locker room a few minutes past noon the next day. He looks several stages past distracted, which really doesn't bode well for the mission. In all fairness, Bob, Payback, and Fanboy are distracted, too, but Rooster is by far the worst offender. The mission hasn't even started yet, and he's already sweatier than the constricted corridors of the ship merit.
The only consolation Jake can think to give him up on the deck is a paltry, "You give 'em hell."
Rooster understands. At least, Jake hopes he does.
Anxiety festers under Hangman's skin once the rest of the Dagger squadron launches from the boat. He wants to be able to see so badly what happens, but all he knows is Rooster still isn't flying fast enough.
"Talk to me, dad."
Jake can't interfere on comms, but he would like to state for the record that this is so not the time for that kind of personal pep talk from those who are beyond the grave.
"Come on, kid. You can do it. Don't think, just do."
Hold up.
Wait a minute.
Did Mav just answer when Rooster asked his dad to talk to him? It could be a coincidence, but based on the way Rooster suddenly kicks his ass into high gear, Hangman wonders. Either way, why does Maverick's faith in him mean so much all of a sudden?
The successful impact of the first missiles sends a thrill through Jake's spine. The second, made in a blind shot that would make their very own Maverick proud, compresses his lungs with anxiety. The mission is complete, but now they need to make it back. Comms erupt in a cacophony of callouts as the team reaches Coffin Corner.
"Dagger Two defending- Shit! I'm out of flares!"
Hangman's guts twists.
"Rooster, evade, evade!"
"I can't shake 'em! They're on me!"
Jake's heart pounds and his stomach tries to crawl up his throat and out of his body. This is it.
"Mav!" A sharp click signifies a set of comms cutting out at the same time the dull pop of a muffled explosion crosses over Rooster's comms. "No, no!"
Rooster has never sounded more frantic, not even when death hovered between his own tails seconds before. Phoenix declares that Dagger One is hit while Rooster yells for chute confirmation. He sounds desperate and frightened, his voice a sharper bark than he ever uses.
"Dagger Spare, requesting permission to launch and fly air cover!"
"Negative, Spare."
Jake huffs in frustration and drops his mask, listening to the comms for any new developments. Maverick knew this would happen, knew reinforcements would be denied, and he threw himself into the line of fire for a pilot who spent the last two weeks bucking his authority. He wanted them to come home.
But, of course, Rooster can't just let the old man have his way.
A part of Jake swells with relief that someone is covering Maverick, but the rest of him knows better. Rooster is out of flares. The SAMs might get him before he ever finds Mav. Jake waits with dread in his heart, only marginally appeased by Dagger Three and Four's safe return.
"Dagger Two is hit!"
Jake sucks in a sharp breath and scrubs a hand down his face. "You fucking idiot."
"Hangman, what's happening?" Phoenix calls up to him. "They made us get out!"
"Rooster got shot down."
Phoenix's expression tightens, and then she bows her head with a wordless nod. Jake refuses to leave his plane when the order comes down. Cyclone wouldn't let them into the control room if he did, and then he'll lose the only source of information he has left. He can't leave yet. Jake doesn't know how, or even if it's possible, but maybe Rooster and Maverick will find a way back.
The rest of the squadron waits with him.
The deck crews stand by, all awaiting new information. Jake watches a few of them wandering the flight lines in search of debris, but no matter what, his attention always falls back to the comms.
Forty-seven of the longest minutes of Jake's life tick by when-
"Sir. We're receiving a signal from Rooster's E-SAT."
"Rooster's alive!" Jake shouts, earning himself grins from the team below. Alive and in enemy territory doesn't do much for them, but alive is better than MIA.
"There seems to be some kind of error.... No, sir. He's supersonic."
Jake blinks when he hears their overwatch say an F-14 Tomcat is airborne and en route to the ship. Jake knows very few people with the know-how to fly an F-14. "Mav and Rooster are flying!" Jake hollers, a wide grin on lips until he hears the bad news. "Shit. They said they're flanked by two bandits. There's a third waiting at the edge of enemy territory."
Phoenix glances around. "Can we convince the deck crew to let you launch?"
"Hondo!" Bob shouts, sprinting toward the WRO.
Jake watches him, sighing in relief when Hondo starts giving orders to the deck crews. Apparently, Hondo didn't need much convincing. The rest of the squadron steps away, and Jake feels the beginnings of hope stir in his chest when the control room confirms one of the bandits is down. The second one is confirmed just as Jake launches.
Maverick wants to save Jake's life? Fine.
Then, he gets to stand by while Jake returns the favor.
"This is Dagger Spare, begging forgiveness," Jake smirks.
Cyclone's voice comes over the comms for the first time since the mission began. "We'll talk about your forgiveness after you save those two pilots, Spare."
"Spare confirms."
*******
After a thorough yelling session from Cyclone about the sheer level of insubordination Jake employed, the air boss sighs heavily and shakes his head. "You have put me in a difficult position, Lieutenant Seresin. Were these normal circumstances, you'd be facing court martial and you would be dishonorably discharged so fast your head would spin."
"Respectfully, sir, if the bureaucracy worked that fast-"
"Do not interrupt me, Lieutenant," Cyclone warns, raising a finger in Jake's face. "For reasons I cannot fathom, I seem to have listed your flight today as an authorized launch. I should have your wings sitting on my desk, but instead, I have your file, freshly marked with both a scathing reprimand and a glowing commendation that I swear a ghost must have written for me."
Jake tries not to smile. He really does.
"Are you smirking at me, Lieutenant?"
"No, sir!"
Cyclone moves away from Jake to sit down at his desk. "Good. Get the hell out of my office. I don't want to see your face until the transport back to North Island. You're dismissed."
"Yes, sir."
Jake stands on the other side of the bulkhead door feeling lightheaded, as though he somehow dodged a bullet aimed directly at his forehead. It both invigorates and exhausts him at the same time, and he finds himself wandering down the corridors toward the break room. Once there, he stares at the confusing image before him for two minutes in an attempt to comprehend it.
He knew Rooster and Mav had some shit going on, but never in a million years would Jake have expected to walk in on them sharing one another's personal space.
Rooster lays across the length of a shitty couch with his head pillowed on Maverick's lap. Mav's hand rests in Rooster's curls and his own head tips loosely against the back cushion. Jake has so many questions. He takes one step forward to nudge Rooster when-
"If you wake him up, I will kill you in your sleep."
Jake nearly jumps out of his skin, snatching his hand back and snapping his gaze to Maverick. The old man always carries a certain intensity, but the stormy look in his green eyes promises very serious and very real consequences. Honestly, he feels more threatened by Mav now than he did by Cyclone five minutes ago.
"Pops," Jake starts. "I, uh... didn't think you were awake."
"I spent the last three hours winding Bradley down after we hashed some things out, so not really a chance there." Mav lifts his head off the cushion and smiles at him. "What about you? Where have you been?"
Jake shrugs. He takes note of Mav's use of Rooster's first name for later. "Mission debrief, and after that, Cyclone yelled at me for about.... Well, a long time."
Mav chuckles.
"What?"
"I think at this point, his bark will be worse than his bite. It's been a long day for him, too." A smile flickers across Mav's face. "Better for him to take out his frustration with a little yelling at someone who openly defied him and endangered himself and his plane than on some poor soul getting him coffee, don't you think?"
Jake makes a noncommittal noise. "I'm not saying I didn't deserve it, just that we were there a while."
Mav inclines his head. "But you've still got your wings."
"Yes, sir."
"I figured. And you can drop the 'sir.' It's way too late in the game for you to start giving a shit about ranks."
Fondness for the old man, cultivated with care and purposeful deflection over the last two weeks, buds into something more solid. "Okay." His mouth twitches up into a smirk. "Pops."
Mav's lips tip up and, though he looks tired, the smile reaches his eyes with an energetic light. Jake truly hopes he's as durable and charismatic when he gets to Mav's age. He'd bet Mav has some awesome stories.
"Hey."
The softness in Mav's tone throws Jake for a loop. "Yeah?"
"I read your file, you know," Mav says, meeting the younger aviator's eye. Once again, Jake can't get a read on the look. "These last couple weeks were.... Well, they were pretty rough, but you want to know what I saw when we were training?"
Jake nods, a little cautious as he wonders what his file and their training have to do with one another.
"I saw a pilot who was a lot like me at his age. Overconfident as hell, but with the raw skills to start backing it up. And, I know you didn't know him, but you're like Ice, too. Charming, in a kind of twisted way, because you're a bit of an asshole."
A flush creeps up Jake's neck. Maverick comparing him to both himself and Iceman is like... the king of all compliments.
"Life isn't always easy for kids who go into the system. It's safer to trust no one than to get yourself hurt, and that kinda thing makes a guy a bit rough around the edges," Mav says, never once sounding anything but understanding and empathetic. "Makes us pretty piss-poor wingmen in the scheme of things."
Jake averts his eyes.
"But.... You showed me your heart today, Jake. Had it in you the whole time."
The urge to make a crack about anatomy rises in him, but a sniffle beats it to the punch. His voice croaks out of his throat with an audible rasp. "Thanks, Pops."
Maverick offers Jake a hand, and Jake, figuring they're just going to shake like professional human beings, doesn't expect to be turned around and led to sit on the floor between Mav's knees. "Get a little rest, Jake. You look like you could use it."
At first, Jake doesn't think he can. This situation is far too... friendly. No one but Javy tolerates Jake, let alone lets him sleep against their knees, but the reminder of Javy also reminds him of his friend's conviction that Mav cares about him. Mav said he saw himself in Jake, and while maybe some of it wasn't the most flattering part to see, there is familiarity in it. Maybe, just this once, Jake will trust someone else to know what he needs.
Slowly, cautiously, Mav's free hand cards through Jake's hair. "My two boys who saved my life today."
Jake flushes bright pink, to his horror, and all he can do is thank his lucky stars that he's facing away from Mav. That hair petting thing feels nicer than Jake will ever admit. "Yours, huh? Who said you get to keep me?"
"Cyclone, actually, but that's a story for another time."
"Sounds like a doozy."
Mav chuckles. "Oh, don't worry. You and the rest of this kids will hear all about it one day very soon. For now, though, just try to get some sleep. You've earned it."
Jake hums. Between sitting down and suddenly realizing how tired his body is and Mav's gentle touches, he's already halfway to sleep. His head tips against Mav's right knee, seeing as his left is already occupied by a head of curls. "Thanks, Pops."
"Anytime, Jake."