Chapter Text
It wasn't like Maverick had never taken care of Bradley before. God, he'd taken care of him a lot over the past few months. As Carole grew sicker, the more she was in the hospital and the more nights Bradley spent with Maverick and Ice.
And when she took her final breath, Bradley was moved to foster care quicker than anyone could blink. Maverick couldn't bear him being in that place, even if it was just for a little over a week. Ice and him passed home assessment with a little less than flying colors, but they still passed.
And there was Bradley, all 16 years of age, with a social worker dropping him off at Maverick's front door. He got settled in and the social worker left.
Of course, Maverick noticed how quiet Bradley had become since Carole was diagnosed, but he didn't want to focus on that.
"Uncle Ice is working right now. You know how it is. Pursuing the bigger stuff," he said, sitting on Bradley's bed with him. Ice genuinely couldn't be here with them, and Maverick couldn't figure out his reasoning for being upset about that. Ice couldn't do anything at all about it.
Bradley was still pretty quiet and messing with his young hands. Maverick let out a slightly exaggerated and loud sigh, trying to do just about anything to lighten the darkness in the room. So, he figured out a way that he thought was magnificent.
"Wanna get some ice-cream?"
Bradley looked at him, a bright smile appearing on his face. Whether it was genuine or not, Maverick believed it. He joyfully stood up as a response.
"Well, let's geting going, kiddo." Maverick was definitely way more excited than Bradley was. Bradley often wondered if the only thing his uncle ran on was pure dopamine and impulsivity.
He followed Maverick outside to the front of the house's driveway. Maverick leaned on his truck with a cocky smirk.
"Like this? Its a Chevy Silverado, baby," Maverick said happily, patting the hood with his hands. He got it because of Bradley, but he had to admit, he was liking the truck a lot.
And, his actions got a genuine laugh out of Bradley.
"Yeah, I like it," Bradley chuckled out.
Maverick smiled, mirroring Bradley's laugh. They strapped into Maverick's crimson chevy and took off towards their ice-cream hang out.
It was a nice November afternoon, so Maverick kept the windows down and blasted some rock music—like always. The cool air was delightful and the music loud enough to where none of them had to sit with their own vile thoughts.
Maverick glanced over at Bradley who was nodding his head passionately to the music.
"Who sings this song?" Maverick asked with his usual smirk that Bradley always loved to giggle at.
Bradley was up for his uncle's musical challenge.
"Queen," Bradley declared, giving Maverick that same cocky smirk.
"Alright, onto level two for Mr. Big-brained. What's the name?" Maverick pulled the visor down as they turned, the sun casting this bright yellow glow inside the truck that was on the verge of blinding both of them.
Bradley had to think for a second, listening to the song intensely.
"Hard question, Mr. Big-brained? Or are we not big brained anymore?" Maverick teased.
"No!" Bradley defended like it was life or death. "Its Bicycle Race!"
Maverick laughed at the desperateness in Bradley's voice.
"Good job, kiddo," he said, patting Bradley's shoulder.
The two spent the rest of their drive joyfully laughing together at small stupid things. It was mostly Maverick trying his damn best to make sure Bradley had fun. He knew how hard stuff like this was and could tell that it was affecting Bradley more than he was revealing.
He'd do absolutely anything for Bradley's sake. He promised. He promised Carole and Nick to take care of Bradley no matter the situation. He was hoing to do that. Bradley was basically his son now—and Ice's despite them not being legally together.
✈️ ✈️ ✈️
Bradley and Maverick got their ice-cream: Bradley, eating raspberry, and Maverick, eating rocky road. Maverick enjoyed watching Bradley—not in a weird way, but because of how much he looked like Nick. The more he looked, the more old guilt he felt, but also, the more felicity he felt.
"You know I'll do anything for you, right?" Maverick spoke in a more serious manner than usual, and probably scaring Bradley just a tiny bit in the process.
Bradley flicked his head over to him, his lips a darker red now from his soft and vibrant ice-cream.
"Yeah," he said softly in response.
Maverick looked into the sixteen year old's young brown eyes with pure devotion.
"And you know that just because I don't share the same blood as you doesn't mean I'm not going to love you and think of you any less."
"Yes," Bradley said even softer. Maverick could see the tears welling up in Bradley's eyes as he tried to hide his own. Why was he even on the verge of sobbing? He had to be strong. Strong for Bradley. Bradley had to be able to learn fortitude from someone. Maybe Maverick would let that fall under Ice's responsibility.
Their table came under a soft silence as they continued to eat their ice-cream and finish it. Bradley was a bit more spaced out than he was before Maverick decided to give him that serious talk of caring about him. Maverick just wanted to do whatever was good for him and whatever would please him. He wanted to help him in this difficult time which no teenager should ever have to experience. Maverick would be there for Bradley through anything.
Maverick finished up his ice-cream and Bradley looked like he was savoring every last bite for a long-lasting memory.
"Is there anything you want to do before we head back? Your room could probably use a bit more you, so I would suggest going some where and getting things to decorate with. But I totally understand if you either want to do something else or just go home." Maybe he was overwhelming Bradley by the sigh he recieved back.
"Uh, nah," Bradley spoke, stuffing the rest of his ice-cream in his mouth.
Maverick nodded in understanding. "Yeah, we can do the decorating another day."
They enjoyed each other's presence for a little while later before leaving the ice-cream parlor.
Maverick hoped to God that he could actually raise Bradley right with the fact that he won't ever have anyone to reference from.
✈️ ✈️ ✈️
"We're going to raise him just fine, Mav. I don't understand your consistent worry. You're an amazing man."
Maverick sighed with a smile. "I swear you say things just to make me feel good, Ice," he said, turning his head towards him, watching the dim light of the lamp in their bedroom glow on his face.
"Maybe, but most of the time, what I say is very truthful," Iceman reassured the smaller pilot.
"Most of the time? Alright, get out of my house, you psychotic asshole!" Maverick yelled, playfully throwing a pillow at the blond-haired pilot's face, and missing because there was no missle lock to help him, but he earned a laugh from Iceman.
"Im just saying," Iceman defended, "you underestimate yourself all the time, Mav. You're better than what you make yourself out to be."
Maverick and Iceman accepted some silence for a few minutes. Iceman could could tell that Maverick was ruminating in his thoughts a little too hard, but he didn't get the chance to interrupt him.
"Every time I look at him, I think of Goose. And then I— I think about what could have been if I just— if I just—" Maverick's voice was so tearful, Iceman just could not handle it. It wasn't often this happened—partly because Maverick always bottled everything up until the bottle exploded—but when it did, it was so lamentable.
"Maverick, you know Goose's death wasn't your fault. They said—"
"I know what they said, Ice! But what if it was something I did. The technology is better, maybe I just fucking flew the plane wrong. What if I could have saved Goose? We wouldn't be in this situation. Bradley and Carole would be fine and living as a family should. No one would be dead!" Iceman knew how much Maverick blamed himself. He blamed himself for a lot of things. It had been almost twenty years, and yet he could still see that broken and reckless twenty-four year old who had just lost his everything—his soulmate.
"Pete," he started slowly and softly. "Say the plane didn't function because you did something wrong—which is not true whatsoever—you couldn't have known because you never intended to kill him. You never did. So, even if it was 'your fault', you're not guilty of killing Nick Bradshaw. Hell, I don't even think you would be guilty of flying the plane wrong."
Iceman grasped Maverick's hands tightly and looked deep and lovingly into his green eyes, trying to reassure and comfort him. "Goose's death is not your fault. It never was, and it never will be. I know you're going to keep saying that, but im going to keep telling you it's not your fault, even if I have to yell and scream it into you."
"I love you, Tom," was all that was whispered after a few seconds of some solemn silence.
It stayed like that for the rest of the dark night.
It wasn't like Maverick didn't like what Iceman said; he just couldn't handle the words It's not your fault. He'd probably never be able to handle them—he didn't even believe them himself, but he was, and will always be, thankful for Iceman. God, he loved him so much.
Maverick started cooking breakfast: cheese scrambled eggs and that savory french toast he always made specifically for Bradley. It woke up Iceman before it woke up Bradley.
"Mav? Its like five in the morning—what are you doing?" Iceman rubbed his eyes with his hand and got a better look at his early-riser lover: Maverick looked very tired like he hadn't slept one bit, which was not that uncommon, but making breakfast when none of the other people in the house were awake seemed a bit peculiar.
Maverick looked up from his scrambled eggs. "Bradley and I are supposed to be going shopping later. I want him to actually like his room a bit more since it's permanent now. Plus, can't I just have fun with him?"
"No one said you couldn't have fun with Bradley or go shopping. Im just— It's 5:30, and not in the evening."
"Someone woke up on the wrong side of bed," Maverick said playfully, but Iceman was still trying to wake up.
"You look like you woke up on the wrong side of bed. How long have you been awake for?"
Maverick seemed a little starled, which turned into looking like a dog who just got caught eating a shoe. "I couldn't sleep," he said softly. "But it wasn't like I was just lying awake! I was reading," he defended.
"What could Pete Mitchell possibly be reading?" Iceman asked as he sat down at the dining table, not exactly believing him.
"Jack Reacher."
"Really?"
"Uh huh."
"Uh huh.."
"Tom, I swear im reading *Jack Reacher—"
"I didn't say I didn't believe you!"
"You sounded like you did not believe me."
"Because why would you be reading thriller books?"
"I don't know? Maybe because they're good when im running on the sleep schedule of a three month old newborn?"
"Well, if you would talk to that therapist I recommended—"
"I told you, I'll get to that. There's a lot going on right now—"
"And you keep pushing it in a corner—"
"I am not—"
"Yeah, y—"
"Are you making eggs at 5:30 in the morning?" a tired voice of a sixteen year old boy going through puberty asked.
"And french toast," Maverick added, recovering from the startle Bradley gave him. "But I understand if you're too tired to eat them. Uncle Ice and I will just have to eat all of them ourselves—"
"No, no! Im very hungry," Bradley defended very quickly and sat down at the table the same.
The happy three ate their early morning breakfast. Both Bradley and Maverick doused their french toast in maple syrup while Iceman scolded them for that; Maverick a little more than Bradley because Maverick did it first.