Chapter Text
It’s actually only been a month or two since he’s seen the kids. Just a few weeks ago, Payback and Fanboy crashed on his couch after returning from a three-month-long deployment. The pair spent the weekend with him, catching up and coming down back into a civilian headspace. After a deployment, especially one as rigorous as the one the two just returned from, it took a minute to get their mind out of the skies, even if their feet were on the ground.
It took more than putting on their civvies and going back home to take the tension out of their shoulders or keep their hairpin reflexes from triggering at any minute sound, any sharp movements in the corner of their eyes. None of the kids want to bring that home to their families or their friends and Maverick understands perfectly. So it’s not uncommon for Mav to return home from a meeting to find the lights of his house on and something cooking (or burning) in the kitchen.
Mav offers up the guest room if there’s only one of them, the couch too if there’s another kid tagging along. Then, they’ll spend however long together the kids need to decompress from whatever they’ve seen. Mav’s place has become something of a post-mission cool-down station for the Navy’s best aviators.
Most recently it was Payback and Fanboy. He’d come back from a hair-tearing meeting with Admiral Cain to find a plate of chicken and rice left on the counter for him and Payback dead asleep on the recliner. Fanboy snoozed on the carpet in front of the t.v. with a video game controller under his fingers. The music from that fighting game with all of those Mario characters in it played on a loop until Mav clicked the screen off. He’d thrown a couple blankets over Payback, figuring the pilot looked like he wasn’t moving anytime soon and he was young enough that one night in a recliner wouldn’t kill him. Then, he’d nudged Fanboy awake and accepted his clumsy hug before guiding the young WSO to the guest room where he promptly collapsed on the bed, snoring.
The month before that was Hangman. Mav had been surprised but pleased to see him sitting on his front porch when he came back from the grocery store, looking a little sheepish. Wordlessly, Mav tugged him into a short but firm hug and unlocked his front door, calling over his shoulder for his guest to grab a couple bags and bring them into the kitchen.
Before that, it was Phoenix and Bob. Before that: Coyote. Then Omaha and Halo. Yale and Harvard. Fritz.
Really, it hasn’t been that long since he’s seen each of the kids individually. Rooster especially, since he spends most of his free time with or around Mav now that the two have reconciled. The thought alone brings a smile to Maverick’s face. It still aches to think about all of the years lost between the two of them over stubbornness and secrets, but the feeling is soothed by the time he gets to spend now with his godson – just son, really – and the understanding that they now have of each other. They’re not perfect – not by a long shot – but they are good. Since Maverick is now permanently stationed at Top Gun (and an admiral to boot), overseeing the training and missions of the Navy’s best, Rooster has his own room in his house for when he comes home from deployment.
It has, however, been a long time since he’s seen all of the kids together. Since the mission, not many of their leaves have lined up. The closest they get is maybe three or four of them having a bit of overlap in their leaves and grabbing a meal together before someone ships out the next morning. The mission was the last time they were all actually present with each other – face-to-face, in one room. Letters, emails, and phone calls couldn’t replace that.
So, when Mav gets his orders the morning that it all begins, he figures, through the mounting coil of anxiety in his gut, that he at least has that to look forward to.
Cyclone had called him in this morning and Mav had been expecting it. He couldn’t bounce back like he used to and strain put on his body from the Dagger mission and the Darkstar ejection before it left him unable to fly the same maneuvers that he had before, the ones that would piss people off.
But that didn’t mean he couldn’t teach them.
Cyclone’s promotion to COMPACFLT after Ice’s death had been expected. And, honestly, Mav didn’t have a huge issue with it. He respected the man’s commitment to his duty and knew that he had earned Cyclone’s respect after the Dagger mission. He was under no illusion, however, that the man had grown to appreciate all of Maverick’s skills. Antics, he would call them. Or the skills of those under his tutelage.
When Jupiter had pulled a risky trick at yesterday’s hop that had “Maverick” written all over it, outwardly he had smirked, internally he’d immediately begun calculating how long Cyclone’s lecture was going to be.
He reports to the COMPACFLT’s office that afternoon, fully believing that Cyclone was locked and loaded with at least fifteen minutes worth of “do you know how irresponsible”s, “the audacity”s, and “wipe that smirk off of your face”s, but is instead met with charged silence. Cyclone looks out at departing jets, his back to Mav as he enters and he wants to roll his eyes at the man’s dramatics. Well, not wants to. He rolls his eyes.
“If I had the time, Maverick…” He shakes his head. “My voice would be ringing in your ears for the rest of your life. That stunt with Jupiter…On your death bed, you’d still hear me in your ear telling you that I never wanna see anything like that again.” Mav almost cringes. Of all of Cyclone’s threats, that one actually does sound like torture.
“As it stands, though, I don’t have that kind of time and neither do you, Admiral Mitchell.” Mav thinks the emphasis of his title is probably meant to remind him of his responsibilities. “Your team’s success on the Dagger mission is unparalleled by any other. The Navy handed down a suicide mission and you flew it when no one thought it could be done.”
“Not that I don’t enjoy hearing you sing my team’s praises, sir,” he suppresses a snicker at the face he knows the COMPACFLT is making, though he can’t see it, “but why are we discussing the Dagger mission?”
“Because we need you to do it again.” Cyclone’s countenance is severe as he turns to face him. Not a hint of irony.
A beat passes before Maverick even tries to speak. There is a little loading sign blinking in his brain, with the ball going round and round in a loop as he tries to process the information
“Sir?” Do it again? What did he mean by that?
“Forty-eight hours ago, an American operative got in contact with one of our offices from behind enemy lines. He’s worked his way up into the trust of high-ranking officials and learned information about a hostage, an important one. Two weeks ago, an aide to the Secretary of Defense was abducted while on a diplomatic trip abroad. She was taken quietly from an airport bathroom. In terms of status, an aide has relatively little, but…” Cyclone trails off.
“An aide is in and out of the secretary’s meetings, close at hand always, entrusted with messages and schedules.” Maverick shuts his eyes, knowing exactly why they took her. “She probably knows more than she should just by proximity. Probably knows more than she thinks she does.”
Cyclone purses his lips grimly. “Maybe not so. I met with the Secretary’s head of security this morning for a briefing. I was advised that Laura Torres was a close and trusted aide who had a unique knack for strategy and politics. It seems that on occasion, she would give input to the Secretary.” Mav nods his head slowly as he realizes how serious this is. This girl has hours and hours worth of classified military information locked away in her head. “So you see why it is imperative that we get her out of there as soon as possible.”
“I do.”
“Our operative has intel that the hostage is going to be moved in 21 days at 0400 hours at this location.” The man pulls up a location on the screen before them, showing Maverick just how deep into enemy territory the drop was going down. “The Navy is calling back all members of your Dagger squadron for this. And you are going to train them.”
Oh. Well, shoot.
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me n bob got new orders today - phoe
Rooster perks up at the message that lights up his screen. His duffel lays at his feet next to his bouncing knee as he waits for his boarding group to be called. The little boy sitting next to him keeps glancing in his direction in what Rooster is sure is supposed to be a discreet manner but it really isn’t. He guesses he can give the kid a pass, can’t be more than six years old anyway.
The text has grabbed his attention, though. Phoenix and Bob too?
Phoe didn’t specify where she and her WSO were reporting to. They could be going to Belarus or Australia, Japan maybe. But Rooster had just gotten new orders today too. A text from Yale told him he and Harvard had as well. And they were orders for the same place:
Top Gun.
He wonders if Phoe and Bob…
top gun. -phoe
And there it is.
Chances are, if the five of them are getting called back to Top Gun, so is everyone else. And if everyone is getting called back, something big must be going down.