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It was 1967, and Rachel Kazansky was attending her older brother’s bar mitzvah. Only family was there, they were the only people invited, anyway. She was only nine at the time, and now Tom can’t even remember anything specific. If you were to ask him about Daniel’s bar mitzvah, for some odd reason, Tom wouldn’t be able to tell you a single detail. Save for guests, where the synagogue was located, and maybe a few gifts Daniel received.
But if you asked him about the day he asked his parents if he could have his own celebration? Tom could tell you every little thing, each flicker of disapproval scattered in his father’s face when presented with the question. The way he’d been told that, “You’re a girl, girls don’t get their own celebration, Rachel,” with the most bitter tone that he’s ever heard.
It did hurt, it hurt a lot. Tom got to see his brother have fun at his bar mitzvah, but then told ‘no’ when he asked for his own a few years later. When he looked to his mother, to see if she would take his side, she only opened and closed her mouth helplessly. Tom’s eyes welled up with tears as his mom pressed her lips in a firm line, silently taking her husband’s side. That night, Tom clutched his blankets tightly in his fists and soaked his pillow as he sobbed and sniffled.
After that, his parents should’ve expected the sudden change in his behaviour, how drastically different his school photos looked between a single year. His mother, although not pleased, never tried to discipline him for the sense of identity that made itself known when he was eleven. She avoided using his name altogether, most of the time. Only starting to speak and hoping that he knew that she was talking to him.
His father, on the other hand, had a more difficult time adjusting to his daughter’s new personality.
Once, Tom had spent the night at his friend’s house for a sleepover. He arrived with long, blonde, wavy hair that reached the small of his back. When his mother picked him up, his beautiful hair had been chopped and cut short like he was ready to be shipped off to the military. Safe to say that he wasn’t exactly allowed to go to anyone’s house for reasons other than school, after that.
Now, in 1996, Tom’s mother calls him occasionally. Mostly just to invite him on family outings behind his father’s back. Coming out as transgender when he was eleven had been hell enough for his family, but then gay when he was sixteen? That was where his father drew the line, of all things.
Being a transsexual man in the nineties has been proven hard, with having to explain to everyone what the little scars on his chest mean, and all. Tom had first gotten his chest surgery when he was nineteen, working two jobs and saving up for his medical procedures. Two thousand dollars had been a nuisance to save, his hourly wage for both jobs combined had been $6.72. Also with his dad having him pay a small portion of rent to stay in their house.
“No child of mine will be some… transvestite, and live under my roof for free!” A load of bullshit, if you were to ask Tom. It’s once in a blue moon to even hear his father talk to him, now. Just a few words, something in acknowledgment that he still cares about his son.
But that’s what this is all about. His son, that he chooses to see as his daughter. Tom has been a male longer than he has been female. Sure, he’d have breasts till he was nineteen, then later bottom surgery performed a year prior to enlisting. All of that doesn’t change who he is. His name hasn’t been Rachel since he was eighteen, legally, at least.
Tom can only recall a few times where his dad has referred to him as a man. Probably something that’s becoming a habit, from everyone else in the house. Still, he ignores what’s making itself a subconscious thing, and forces himself to call Tom a woman. There have been times where his father will scowl at him with a look of disgust. Just looking at the child that he did a poor job of raising, and seeing how well his son turned out. Something about that made him unhappy, for whatever, outdated reason.
Sarah, Tom’s sister, had been his biggest supporter through the transition. Daniel was never around, he’s four years older than Tom, and had a new girlfriend what seemed like every month.
Only two girls had ever been brought home by Tom. The first one wasn’t even attracted to men, they’d just agreed to date to get her parents off of her back. Her name was Lola, she had curly, ink black hair and dark skin. Of course, Tom’s father wasn’t overly fond of someone like that. With his, once again, outdated views, he just didn’t like barely anyone that Tom brought home.
The second girl, though, his dad did take a liking too. This girl wasn’t someone like Tom, she wasn’t dreaming about living her life, to spend it with someone of the same sex. No, she wanted to settle down young, and then have kids right after marriage. Tom’s father liked that about her; how she had her whole life planned out already, at such a young age, only fifteen.
Why did she dump Tom? Well, Bianca, was her name, wasn’t very pleased when she was presented with the knowledge of Tom not being biologically a man. Tom hadn’t actually been too upset. They had only been ‘dating’ for around a month, and Tom was really getting tired of pretending to be attracted to her. His father just had to run his mouth during dinner, and just so happened to mention Rachel.
A few months later, Tom got a boyfriend, James, and that was that. His parents' late New Year's gift; their child coming out as gay. Wonderful for them.
Turned out that James was not a very good person, or at least his father wasn’t. The very first time Tom went to James’ house, his dad greeted him, and the next thing Tom saw? A flag of the Nazi Party in their living room. Tom didn’t even say anything, he just left. Ignored every call from James that he received, after that.
Now, in 1996, Tom has an amazing boyfriend that supports him through everything, and the bestest friends he could ever ask for. The fact that Pete’s childhood was so much like Tom’s makes the way that they connect stronger. Sure, Pete was never denied a celebration because it was only for men, but he did go through the foster system for eleven years.
Together for seven years and counting. Honestly, they had been eyeing each other in the Officers Club during Top Gun, and then holding their breaths when brushing past each other in the locker rooms. The towels hung on their hips, and the scars on their chests showed their stories for everyone to see. Nobody seemed to notice or care about them.
Sure, Pete is a sight for sore eyes, and he’s definitely made Tom’s life a hell of a lot better. With all of that, he’s somehow proved himself to even be a good person behind the good looks. He remembers every little thing that Tom likes. It could be a sly mention, and then on some random day months later, Tom is presented with that exact thing. It’s like he doesn’t even care about how much it costs, Tom’s happiness is all that matters to him. Pete is Tom’s serendipity.
~~
An envelope of pictures from Tom’s childhood found itself in Pete’s hands, on some random Friday afternoon. Tom is at work, he won’t be off for another few hours. Pete has absolutely nothing to do, he’s been put on bedrest by his doctor, and is temporarily grounded. Cleaning isn’t something that Pete likes to do to pass time, unlike Tom, who is more busy.
The TV is on quietly as background noise, some rerun of an old show from the fifties playing. The Man from Space, if Pete remembers correctly. Staring at the clock just above the TV has been what Pete is doing to keep himself occupied. There’s nothing good on any other channels, and the only kind of book that he’s willing to read is a manual.
Eventually the clock had gotten boring, so Pete went to snoop around his own house. Then he’s in his and Tom’s closet in their room, and then he’s suddenly sitting next to a box of old relics that Tom had brought with him when he moved in. There’s an envelope tucked to the side snugly, it looks old, weathered with age. It’s heavier than Pete expected it to be, but it doesn’t look… big, by any means.
Inside, there’s photographs of what Pete can only assume to be memories that Tom is holding onto. They’re the typical family pictures, family dinners, birthday parties, and all of that. It makes Pete smile, looking at what Tom got to experience, but he didn’t. There’s dates written on the back of some; June 23rd, 1967, Daniel’s bar mitzvah, November 8th, 1962, Sarah’s born, February 29th, 1960, Rachel’s first leap year…
“Rachel?” Pete turns the picture back around in his hand. Tom has never mentioned anyone named Rachel in his family, he’s heard the stories of his many, many cousins, but never anyone named Rachel. Pete Mitchell may not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but he does have a razor sharp memory for names and birthdays.
There’s a baby in the picture, Pete presumes it’s Rachel. She’s being held by Tom’s mother. Is it a sibling that passed when Tom was young? Maybe some other family member? The picture was taken when Tom was only a couple of months old, it would make sense if he never knew this Rachel.
Putting that picture to the side, Pete continues going through the rest of the envelope’s contents. The pictures get more and more recent. Most of them are just pictures of what look like holidays, not that Pete knows anything specific about Judaism celebrations. Only general knowledge since Tom isn’t very religious. Hell, Pete’s only ever seen him wear his kippah a handful of times.
Apparently that girl that was in the baby picture of her first leap year, Rachel, did not pass when she was young enough to not have made herself in Tom’s memories. She reappeared up until the later months of 1971. There are some photos of Tom, but none of them have his name on them, only the date.
“That’s… strange,” Pete mumbles to himself. He puts the photos back in the envelope and then in the box. It gets set back where it was before, looking completely untouched. Tom will be questioned when he gets home, after dinner when they’re both relaxing.
~~
They eat at half past seven, later than Pete wanted, but it’s when Tom gets home. It almost slips Pete’s mind, the way Tom just lays with him and holds him close. The subtle scent of Tom’s cologne, and the buzz of the TV playing some old movies threatens to put Pete to sleep. Not that he wouldn’t mind a nap on the couch with his boyfriend, but that he doesn’t want this Rachel person to be forgotten.
Pete feels like he’s being dramatic, that he’s making a big deal out of some family member that Tom never mentioned. He’s suddenly stiff against Tom and worrying his lip between his teeth. Why is he so nervous?
Was Rachel a childhood friend, maybe? Tom’s secret sweetheart from his youth? No, there aren't any pictures of them together. Pete’s thoughts overflow, his breath stutters in his chest, and his palms are sweating rapidly. He is definitely making this tiny little thing, he probably shouldn’t even care about it. This is getting way too big. God, Tom will be pissed.
Tom, the ever loving person that he is, ruins his own well-deserved slumber to check on Pete. His voice is soft, and it calms Pete’s nerves ever so slightly. “Are you okay, honey?”
Pete has to take a deep breath through his nose, then swallows dryly before answering. “Um. Well… When you were at work, a few hours ago, I was bored, and went looking through some old boxes,” he’s speaking in basically a mumble, but Tom doesn’t ask him to be louder, only nodding and prodding him on to continue. “There was a box in the closet, in the master bedroom, it’s yours. Anyway, there’s an envelope with some pictures in it that I found.”
Before Pete can continue, Tom cuts him off with a question. “Ones from when I was young?” He sounds like he doesn’t even care that Pete went looking through something that isn’t his. Pete finds that hard to believe.
“Mhm. Yeah, and I saw some pictures of this girl, Rachel. I think she might’ve been some cousin that maybe you don’t remember? I also think that it’d be difficult to remember everyone in your family, I mean— There’s so many people?” Rambling is a problem that Pete is still working on.
“Pete, honey.” Tom is chuckling quietly while he tries to catch Pete’s attention again. “Think about it. Were you always Pete?” That catches him off-guard. No, his name hasn’t been Pete Mitchell since he was born. He had been Lily until he was ten. Then the six years of hell before he finally landed in a supportive foster home.
What kind of question is that? “No? You know this, I’ve told you the whole story!” Tom sighs, still smiling nonetheless.
“What do we have in common?” Pete opens his mouth to answer. “Other than our jobs, friends, and house.” Pete closes his mouth.
The whole situation hit Pete like a brick smashing a window (something he has done multiple times). Rachel is Tom. Pete’s eyes widen, his eyebrows shooting up, and his mouth hanging open. “You are— Oh! I’m so sorry for saying your name— old name.” Guilt overrides Pete’s words and he apologizes profusely. “I made such a big deal out of it!”
Tom is chucking quiet while he shushes Pete. “No, Pete. It’s okay, I should’ve just told you rather than you finding out yourself.”
Pete sighs and tries to offer Tom a small grin. “Well, I probably should have clued into it. I mean, pictures of… you, didn’t show up until, like, 1971? I think? Also how your name wasn’t on any of them.” He runs his hands through his regulation short hair and tugs on some strands lightly. “I am so sorry, Tom.”
“Like I said,” Tom starts and pulls Pete closer to him, “it’s completely fine. You didn’t know, and it’s my fault for not telling you.” He plants a kiss on Pete’s forehead.
That seems to make Pete relent and nod at Tom. They’re both tired, one having had a long day of classified paperwork, and the other… doing absolutely nothing. The credits of whichever movie was on roll down the screen, Pete watches them, not reading, until sleep takes him into its arms.
~~
It’s not until a few weeks later when Pete decides to bring up the pictures again. A lot of nerve has been built up, and now that he’s not on bedrest anymore, he’s more stress-free. Sure, he may not be able to fly until Tom—and the doctor— approves his ribcage to be fully healed, but he can at least teach again.
The most Pete can do while the students are up for a hop that he doesn’t need to supervise from the ground is sit in his office and either wait or do paperwork. Sometimes he’ll just leave and go home for the two hours that preflight, the hop, and debrief takes.
Today just so happens to be one of those days. Pete’s least favourite kind of day, honestly. It’s so boring just being at home, doing nothing. He would go out to a bar, but what person interesting enough will be at a bar at eleven in the morning? It’s also one of the very few times that Tom lets Pete take his bike on base, and not him being driven to work by his ‘colleague’ that he happens to live with.
Again, Pete is sitting on his and Tom’s closet floor, the box opened right in front of him. There’s not a lot of anything intriguing inside. Maybe a few postcards from people that Pete doesn’t know, or has never met. Relatively, there’s not a lot in it. Just postcards, pictures, and some relics that Tom most likely inherited.
The pictures are all laid out on the off-white carpet—it’s probably seen better days—all of them have that over-saturated look and odd, wrinkled texture. The lights shine too bright, and the shadows are casted almost black. Compared to the one that Pete keeps in his wallet, they look like they hold better memories than any that he even carries himself.
One photo in particular catches Pete’s attention. A family celebration, it probably was, with Tom in the background looking a fair bit miserable. He checks the back to see if it was marked with the event or year. “David’s bar mitzvah, 1974.” Oh. Pete’s eyes trail back to a younger Tom’s face. He was about fourteen, with his birthday being at the tail end of the year, and all. In the centre, there’s David, who was laughing at something someone who’s not fully in frame said. A little to the left and further back, Tom was standing in a probably tailored suit. Colours have definitely faded, but Pete thinks that he can see some dried tears streaking down Tom’s face. His lips were pouted and looked to be trembling slightly. His hands were balled into fists, and he was staring at David with red rimmed, dead eyes.
Pete can’t even begin to imagine how Tom felt. He knows that women didn’t get their own celebration; Slider had told him when he and Tom started dating. Or at least he’d said that it wasn’t popular for bat mitzvahs until the seventies? He can’t quite remember.
How cruel are his parents to not have even supported him while at someone else’s bar mitzvah after he was denied his own? Or at least Pete thinks that Tom asked for his own, and then was told no in result.
Sarah was standing beside Tom, a comforting hand rested on his shoulder. She was talking to someone next to her, but there was at least that weight of a person who would always be there for Tom.
He himself didn’t have the best environment while growing up. There was never a person that Pete was close enough to that he took them not accepting him to heart.
Pete checks his watch, only twenty minutes until he has to be back at Top Gun. He pockets the picture, making sure that he sits in a way that it won’t fold even more. The rest of the pictures get placed back into the envelope and in the box. Pete stands and stretches for a moment, then he’s out the door and on his bike again.
~~
When Tom arrives home, Pete is surprised to see that it’s only four when he hears the front door close. He’s nervous to bring up Tom’s childhood that’s filled with neglect. From what he could tell, the rest of his family, besides Sarah and a few cousins, did the exact same thing as his parents. They all just either ignored Tom or just completely disrespected him in every aspect.
Tom simply smiles at him, he walks towards Pete and pecks him on his left cheek. He looks tired, maybe right now isn’t the best time. Maybe he just shouldn’t bring it up. That would obviously be the right choice. It’s for the better of himself and his boyfriend.
No, Pete has to ask. He doesn’t want to do something that would potentially hurt Tom in the future. What if he accidentally offends him in some way that’s completely unforgivable? That would be an absolute disaster and something that Pete would probably never recover from. Everything that he does now is for Tom. The only reason that he hasn’t turned on himself is the amount of support Tom gives him even when he’s not doing the best himself.
This is all for Tom’s wellbeing. Sure, it benefits Pete in ways. But he’d like to think of it as it gives them an advantage. A better hold on the reins of their relationship, and an equal share of authority.
Pete doesn’t react to Tom’s kiss. He only stands there and stares at the door that Tom had just emerged from. Tom’s eyebrows pinch together in concern, he stops to look at Pete before he speaks.
“Are you alright, honey?” His voice snaps Pete back. His eyes shift from the door to Tom.
“Yes, sorry. I was just… thinking.”
Another smile. It’s more playful this time, rather than tired and worn out. “Well that explains the smell.”
He scoffs in mock offense. A dramatic hand placed on his chest. “You’re so lucky that I love you, if I didn’t I would’ve maybe tackled you.”
Tom cackles shortly. “Please, you’re so tiny! I bet you couldn’t even manage to push me to the ground.” A challenge. Tom knows what he’s doing. He could most likely tell that there’s something worrying Pete, something there that won’t go away. Of course, what better way to take his mind off of things than some playful banter?
~~
It ended up with Pete on the floor of their living room, and Tom leaning against the couch, hunched over with laughter while Pete was catching his breath.
He needs to ask sooner or later.