Full Name: Maverick Dean Whitlock-Holmes
Nicknames: Mav
Gender: Cis Male
Pronouns: He/Him
Zodiac: Gemini
Date of Birth: June 10, 1992
Age: Thirty-Four
Occupation: Sheriff Deputy
Sexual Orientation: Homosexual
Relationship Status: Single
Celebrity Look-A-Like: Richard Madden
In town for: All his life besides his stint in the military
Current Housing: The Reef Trailer Park
Family Information:
Father: Andrew Whitlock-Holmes
Mother: Colleen Whitlock-Holmes
Siblings: Four siblings, which includes his identical twin Mickey
Children: None
Pets: None
Headcanons:
Twelve minutes younger than Mickey, and his twin loves reminding him of this all the time.
In high school, Maverick was a straight A student, he played baseball, football and wrestled. He was also on the debate team and did other extra curricular activity. It was a shock he chose not to pursue higher education after graduation.
Joined the marines right after high school. During his time in the military, he started to smoke and hasn’t stopped. However, he tries to hide it. Very few people know about this habit of his.
Before the accident that caused his right leg to be amputated, Maverick would run every morning for an hour and often could be found at the gym or doing some sport activity.
Was dating someone in private for nearly a year, but after the accident Maverick essentially ended things, because he didn’t want to be a burden.
Wanted Connections:
Best Friend: She would have been Maverick’s closest confidant growing up. Perhaps the one person he tells more to than his own twin. Funny enough, she fell for his twin brother and the two had a set of twin boys together. More info to come.
Ex-lover: The two have dated for nearly a year, before Maverick’s accident. Even contemplated moving in together once Maverick came out to his family, but never did then the accident happened, which led Maverick into pushing him away and essentially ghosting him.
Family: Would like to expand the family, more details to come.
Trigger Warnings: Anxiety TW, Military TW, War TW, PSTD TW, Blood TW, Amputation TW
Biography:
PAST:
Born only twelve minutes after his twin brother (something his twin loves pointing out), Maverick was the fourth child out of six in the Whitlock-Holmes family. Life was normal…or as normal as it could be growing up in a funeral home. Strangers were always coming in and going. From a young age, Maverick felt this urge to be the good child. After all, he saw his parents struggle and with six kids, the least he could do was not get in trouble. Perhaps it was that decision so young in life that led him to a life or high anxiety of pleasing people.
In school, Maverick excelled maintaining a 4.0 and played several sports such as football, baseball and wrestling. Overall, he was a social butterfly, never really having a set group of people he hung out with besides his twin brother. Most people in high school would have described him as a golden boy. He was known to help the elderly neighbors mow their grass, he did many volunteer jobs and was always the person you could ask for a favor…even to his detriment.
After high school, everyone thought he would go straight to college but he felt the need to serve this great nation he loved so much and joined the Marines. Little did he know the horrors he would witness overseas in the war. It left a lot of emotional wounds that he doesn’t speak about. After serving eight years, he returned home at the age of twenty-six and became a sheriff deputy. He figured it made sense and he could at least work on his college degree…although that never happened.
For years, he served Carroll County with no incident and a perfect record. That was at least until he started noticing things with his twin brother. Things that did not seem above board. Of course, he couldn’t just come out and ask Mickey. Instead, he tried investigating and working diligently to keep the other deputies away. This would lead to something unimaginable, while he was investigating he should have requested backup, but the urge to protect his brother Mickey clouded his judgment. Maverick doesn’t remember much, he just remembers laying there his head busted and this metallic taste in his mouth.
The doctor said he was lucky, he sure didn’t feel lucky when he woke up from surgery missing his right leg. How did this happen? He went to war and came back in one piece.
Maverick spent weeks healing then a few months doing physical therapy.
PRESENT
Just a week ago, Maverick returned home…although he hasn’t told anyone. Truth be told, he wants to remain invisible. The sweet golden boy was now shattered and something unknown has taken its place.
The man pulled up to his grandmother’s house with preconceived notions and a bit of paranoia. Why all of a sudden was he questioning things? Maverick found Susan on the back porch, the afternoon sun doing little to soften the sharpness she had always carried with her. Even retired, she still commanded the family more than most people ever realized. Andrew, his father and Mickey might have their names on the funeral home now, but everyone knew her opinion still carried weight. Resting his forearms against the porch railing, Maverick let the silence stretch between them before finally speaking. "As you’re aware, I'm leaving the sheriff's department," he said evenly, eyes fixed on the pastures instead of her. "I put my notice in because I figured it was time I came home and helped Dad and Mickey carry the business." He swallowed before turning to meet her gaze. "But the closer I get to walking away from that badge...the more it feels like there's something nobody's telling me."
He held her stare despite the familiar look of disappointment that settled across her face. The same one she had worn for years whenever he failed to live up to whatever standard she had set for the Whitlock-Holmes men. She had always thought he was too gentle, too principled, too willing to see the good in people. He knew she would never approve if she learned the truth about him, about the part of himself he kept hidden his entire life, but this wasn't about that. Not today. "I've spent my whole life believing I knew this family," he continued, his voice quieter now. "Lately...I don't know if I do." He shook his head once, frustration creeping into his tone. "If I'm going to leave everything behind and dedicate my life to this family business, then tell me what it is I'm really walking into. Because right now it feels like everybody knows something except me...and I'm done pretending I don't notice."
"I knew I'd find you here! Better safe than sorry, ha? I like that."
His jokes always sounded like he meant every word. Actually, he did mean every word. Even if he cared about someone and wished them well, which was a rarity in and of itself, West meant what he said.
West sat down in a chair he picked at random and smiled at his brother.
"Fuck, you eat more of these than I used to when I was in high school!"
Maverick looked up from where he was half-heartedly organizing the candy dish on the old funeral home desk, downing one of his pain pills before he heard West and he quickly pushed the bottle of pills down in his pocket and turned towards his older brother.
"That's because you used to steal half of it," he shot back. "Mom would buy a fresh bag, and somehow by the end of the day all the chocolate had mysteriously vanished."
He nudged the bowl toward West with a laugh before leaning back in his chair. "Go ahead. Save me from myself."
His blue eyes studied his brother for a beat, the teasing giving way to quiet curiosity.
"So..." he drawled, folding his arms. "To what do I owe the surprise visit? You don't usually just wander into the funeral home unless you've got a reason."
Darcy shakes their head." No problem Maverick, how could I pass on a day with you." Often they declined invites for social interactions but Maverick was one of the few that they made an exception for, the Holmes was their friend, one of the few that they held dear so of course they would be with him here today. There was also the fact that they couldn't say no to a bookstore." I was thinking that we could start with thrillers and mysteries?"
Maverick's smile grew a little at that, genuinely touched by the admission even if Darcy said it so matter-of-factly. "I'm glad you didn't," he admitted as they started toward the mystery section, slipping his hands into his pockets. "Thrillers and mysteries it is. Fair warning though, if I find one with a one legged man that solves crimes by doing everything he is not supposed to do, I'm probably buying it." He chuckled softly before glancing over at Darcy. "You got any favorite authors, or are we just gonna wander until something jumps out at us?"
Why Maverick thought this would suddenly make everything better, was a mystery. All it did was highlight, underline, and asterisk just how much, and for how long, his twin had kept hidden away from him. Oh, but not to the other random fucking men he met while in the military, though. Nah, those men were totally okay and deserving to know all the personal, private details of Maverick without hesitation.
Mickey had nothing to say to Maverick.
He was no longer even looking at him. His focus was now on the food he was chewing into at a faster pace, the beer he was drinking down quicker, if only so he could leave sooner.
His twin made him feel invisible and unimportant.
This was a shit story of excuses that popped out and explained nothing. Literally nothing. It wasn't anything that someone with natural common fucking sense could have pulled out of their ass and assumed of any infantry man. War, PTSD, therapy. Like that was somehow supposed to explain away why Maverick could go off living life as himself, but around his family, the people he knew and loved, his fucking twin, he held back and kept his secrets.
Mickey wasn't even surprised.
He'd figured out who his brother was back before they were even tweens. But he had never expected it would take decades before this asshole mustered up any courage to inform on those suspicions. Absolute insanity. He didn't care what anyone said about it, either. They might say he was supposed to be understanding and patient, that it wasn't his decision when or where or how Maverick chose to come out. That was fine and totally valid. But that didn't mean Mickey couldn't have his own feelings about it, and they were just as legitimate.
He should have been the first person to know.
The first one told.
Maverick's bullshit comment, 'I thought you knew!' came back with a vengeance and now, the pizza and beer tasted like shit. What a cop out.
Once the silence stretched on between them, Mickey finished his second slice of pizza and polished off that first beer. Using his fingers to wipe some marinara sauce from his lips. "So, is that everything?" he asked, nice and politely, eyes returning to Maverick. "Was there more you had to share? Now's the time to get it off the chest." He had the third slice to get through, still.
As angry as this all made him, Mickey knew he would have to let it go. There wasn't anything to be done about wasted time. The past couldn't be changed. And there was one glaring mistake in his past that directly affected his twin, that he, too, couldn't and would never share with Maverick. That guilt would carry with him through life and he'd have to use it to get over this, too.
Maverick sat there in silence, every second feeling heavier than the last. He had hoped getting the words out would relieve something between them, but instead it felt like he had only widened the crack. Watching Mickey avoid looking at him hurt more than he wanted to admit. His brother wasn't yelling. He wasn't throwing things. Somehow that quiet disappointment landed harder than either of those would have.
When Mickey finally spoke, Maverick's eyes lifted to meet his brother’s. He let out a slow breath and gave a small shake of his head. "No...that's everything I can think of right now." His voice was quieter now, stripped of the certainty it had moments ago. "I know none of it changes how you feel." His fingers tightened around the bottle before he set it down on the table. "I just...I just didn’t know how to say some of these aloud. Our family leaves little room for weakness. And with the PTSD I just, I didn’t know what to do besides keep it to myself and try and pretend it didn’t exist."
His gaze dropped for a moment before returning to his twin. "You should've been the first person I told though." The admission came without hesitation. "I don't expect you to forgive me tonight...maybe not for a long time. I just can’t stand this space between us anymore."
Conor had been nervous about this for days, and he wasn’t totally sure why. He’d known Maverick for most of his life, and he’d spent time alone with him before - some of it with his tongue in the man’s mouth. But there was something different about this. It would be their first real date (the wedding reception barely counted), just the two of them, no one else around to distract them. And Conor knew they could talk to each other too because they’d picked back up right where they left off when Conor came back to town. So why was he nervous? It was likely because Conor wanted this to go well, but there was a part of him scared because he had been thinking about Evan so much lately, and that complicated things. He couldn’t be thinking about his lost love while trying to figure out exactly how he felt about Maverick.
Trying to push that all down into a box to deal with later, Conor looked over at Maverick as they walked. He hadn’t been totally sure what the man had in store for them, but when he heard, Conor smiled brightly. It was a reminder of how well his old friend still knew him. “You remembered,” he said, beaming. “You remembered I love astronomy. That sounds perfect, Mav. You put so much thought into this, and I’m going to make sure it’s the best damn date it can be. You deserve it.” He reached for Maverick’s hand, giving it a squeeze. “I’m so glad we’re doing this,” Conor said. They reached his car, and Conor opened it for him, saying, “Shall we?”
Maverick couldn't stop smiling, the nervousness he'd been trying to keep tucked away easing the moment he saw Conor's face light up. He'd spent more time planning this than he cared to admit, going back and forth on a dozen different ideas before settling on something that felt...them. Quiet enough to talk, enough little stops to make memories, and no pressure beyond simply enjoying each other's company.
When Conor pointed out that he'd remembered astronomy, Maverick let out a soft chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand.
"How could I forget?" he asked with an amused smile. "I try to remember all the things you tell me."
The squeeze of his hand settled something in Maverick's chest that had been wound tight all week. He returned it without hesitation, his thumb brushing over Conor's knuckles.
"I've been looking forward to this more than I probably should admit," he confessed. "Feels nice finally getting the chance to do this the right way."
As Conor opened the passenger door, Maverick climbed in carefully, still favoring his leg just a little out of habit more than necessity.
"What a gentleman," he teased. "Ready for whatever the evening has in store.."
Maverick let the door of the bookstore swing shut behind them, the soft chime fading into the warm hush of shelves and paper and quiet conversation. He lingered just inside for a moment, letting his eyes adjust as he took in the rows of books stretching out in every direction. It was the kind of place that made him feel like he should be moving slower than he usually did, like the world outside could wait a little while. He glanced over at Darcy with a faint smile, shifting his weight slightly as he gestured down one of the aisles. “Thanks for coming out and spending time with me, what genre shall we check out first?”
The trailhead stretched out in front of them, quiet and sunlit in that early kind of way that made everything feel sharper. “You pick some brutal spots for a warm-up,” he said lightly, though there was no real complaint in it. His mouth tilted into a small grin as he glanced up at his friend. “Either you’ve got a lot of faith in me…or you’re trying to humble me in the nicest way possible.”
He took a few steps forward, then stopped again, gaze dropping briefly to the path before him. There was a flicker of something quieter behind his expression now. “I’m not gonna lie to you, Oscar,” he admitted, voice lower. “Some days I feel like I’ve got this figured out, and other days I feel like I’m starting from scratch again.” He exhaled, then looked back up at him with a steadier focus. “But I’m here. I said I wanted to get back to hiking…and I meant it. Just don’t go easy on me because I look like I might complain about it.” A faint smirk returned. “I’ll probably complain anyway.”
LOCATION: The City
WHO: @conorxatwood
The man looked over towards Conor and was beaming, the two were on an official date. Only set back, Maverick still was not able to drive so Conor would be completely aware of the night the man planned for them. At least, his leg was healed and he was walking away…silver linings.
“Not sure if you have ever done this, but I was thinking sunset at the Griffith Observatory, then we find some food truck f or dinner and maybe we can drive around Hollywood and Beverly Hills to sight see. And end the evening sitting on the beach in Santa Monica, maybe go on the pier and grab some ice cream.”
It was so easy to settle into this rhythm with Maverick. It always had been, even when he’d first come back - hell, even back in high school. The two men had always just clicked, even when they hadn’t been excessively close. Everything just felt easy with him, and Conor was trying not to read too much into that yet while he was still trying to get his head around his feelings for the man (and for Jack as well). But yeah, it didn’t feel forced or rushed at all; it only felt right, and Conor knew that had to mean something. “I always keep my promises,” Conor replied, a smirk on his face, though a dark thought crossed him mind: that didn’t mean he would never hurt Maverick. He had no intention to, but he’d not had the intention to hurt Evan either. But it had still happened. When he thought about it that way, Conor wondered if Mickey were right.
No, he wouldn’t think like that - he couldn’t abide a world where Mickey was right about this. But it was definitely a consideration. Pushing the worries right out of his mind (or at least to the back), Conor snuggled closer to Maverick and kissed the side of his neck, followed by his shoulder, nipping at it playfully. “I’m a man of few talents, but cooking breakfast is one of them,” he told Maverick, though Conor smiled at his response because he was feeling the same way. “Me either,” Conor replied, looking into Maverick’s eyes. Fuck, he was so into this guy, and he asked, “Has anyone ever told you that you’re hot as hell, Mav? Because if they haven’t, they should. You are, like for real.” The longer Conor looked into Maverick’s eyes, the more turned on he was becoming, and he leaned in and kissed Maverick again. His hand was resting on the man’s chest, and Conor rubbed it lightly before sliding down to his abs.
Maverick's breath caught slightly when Conor kissed his neck, the warmth of it spreading straight through him. The playful nip to his shoulder earned a low laugh, and he shook his head, unable to stop smiling. It felt ridiculous how easy Conor made it to forget everything else for a while—the pain, the stress, the endless thoughts that usually occupied his mind.
"Hot as hell?" Maverick repeated, one eyebrow lifting as a faint flush immediately returned to his cheeks. "You must have hit your head at some point." The joke was automatic, but there wasn't much conviction behind it. The truth was that hearing it from Conor did something to him. His gaze softened as he looked back at him, lingering there. "Though I'm not gonna pretend I don't like hearing you say it."
When Conor kissed him again, Maverick returned it without hesitation, his hand coming up to rest against the side of his face for a moment before settling against his shoulder. He stayed close when the kiss broke, foreheads nearly touching. "For the record," he murmured, voice lower now, "you're making it real hard to remember anything about breakfast." The corners of his mouth twitched upward into a grin. "Not that I was very focused on breakfast to begin with."
"Least you can be honest about it." Mickey preferred that, too. His brother just being frank and admitting he wanted the restock of beers. He didn't lend too much thought, for now, as to why Maverick may want the extra beers. Drinking too much? Relying on it? The guy had been through a lot in the past year alone, Mickey was inclined to allow him some slips and falls, however many he needed, to get himself back on two legs again.
Seeing as he was the cause of most of it.
The least he could do was turn a blind's eye, give Maverick the time and space to figure things out.
"What, you didn't want me here for the pleasure of my company?" He threw off casually, sarcasm there, but not blatant. More of his usual smartass behavior rather than true annoyance. Mickey put two large slices on one plate, and three on another. Plucking up a couple of beers to hold in one arm, both hands with a plate each, he approached his twin. "You sure look serious," he remarked, handing over the two-pizza plate and one of the beers. Mickey took a seat on the couch, crossing his ankle over the other knee, so he could use his lap as a table for the plate, and cracked open the beer. "That's what's funny, Mav," he picked up one of the slices, taking a bite, and talked around it, "you go on about how close we are and you tell me everything, and yet... Sounds like there's stuff you've got to say. Wonder how long that's been going on for." Mickey took another bite, but his stare was on Maverick. He was supposed to be this man's other half, but he felt like the cast off.
Maverick stared down at the beer in his hand for a long moment after Mickey spoke. The familiar smartass tone should have made this easier. It usually did. Instead, it only made the knot in his chest tighten. He shifted slightly in the wheelchair, jaw working as he searched for words to express what he wanted to tell his twin.
How long has it been, he wondered? His eyes stayed fixed on the bottle instead of his brother. "Probably since I was eighteen." A humorless laugh escaped him. "Maybe before that." He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. Maverick’s eyes flickered over towards his brother. “After high school, I joined the Marines and I thought it would give me a purpose with my life. A way to pay for college and serve my country.” He took in a breath, “during my time in the military I lived as an openly gay man. I don’t know why, but it was easier when I was away from here to be open about my sexuality. And eventually I got sent to the war, which you know. I sent emails and letters to you and the family, but I never got into the horrors of it all. I saw things and did things that I question to this day. But when I got back, I was in therapy for my PTSD and that wasn’t something I was ready to share with you or the family. And I thought maybe I just needed to push all that down. The war, being gay. Just go back to being the person everyone thought I was.”
His fingers tightened around the bottle, his eyes focused on his twin wondering what Mickey was thinking.
There was a moment after he kissed Maverick wherein Conor second-guessed himself. It felt like time stopped, like he was holding his breath until he saw Maverick’s reaction. What if this had been too much? They hadn’t talked about what they felt for each other, though both had talked about last night at the reception being a date. And the truth was that Conor actually didn’t know what he felt for Maverick. Everything was so confusing because of how he felt about Jack too, plus there was the fact that Conor - even all these years later - was still in love with Evan. He probably always would be, but it was proving difficult for Conor to reconcile those feelings with what he felt for Maverick (and Jack for that matter). Maybe his mind was too cloudy, leading him to totally misjudge this situation.
But then Maverick smiled, and Conor felt a swell of relief and contentment. He smiled back, beaming at the other man, hand resting gently on his chest. “Good,” he replied simply, “because it’s going to be happening more often from now on.” And then Maverick initiated the next one; this time Conor was smiling even before they broke the kiss. For a few moments, he just rested there with Maverick, and then he said, “Should we have breakfast? I make some pretty good pancakes. Or we could have French toast.” Though truthfully Conor was in no hurry to get out of bed.
Maverick couldn't help the smile that pulled at his mouth when Conor said it was going to happen more often. There was something about hearing that, something steady and uncomplicated, that eased a knot he had been carrying around for far too long. He stayed close for a moment after the kiss, his fingers absentmindedly brushing against Conor's arm while he looked at him. "That's a pretty bold promise," he teased softly, though the warmth in his eyes made it clear he wasn't complaining. "I think I can live with that." The faint blush hadn't completely left his cheeks, and for once he didn't seem interested in hiding it.
At the mention of breakfast, Maverick let out a quiet laugh and glanced toward the bedroom door before looking back at him. "Pancakes, French toast?" he repeated thoughtfully. "You really know how to spoil a guy." He shifted slightly beneath the blankets, the movement reminding him of the limitations that still came with the wheelchair waiting on the other side of the room. Even so, he found himself reluctant to move away from Conor. "Though if I'm being honest, I wasn't exactly rushing to get out of bed yet." He said with a sly smirk, looking over at Conor to gauge his reaction.
Maverick stared at Mickey in complete disbelief as he shouted across the reception like they were twelve years old again instead of grown men at an obscenely expensive wedding. “For fuck’s sake,” he muttered under his breath. The man hardly cussed, but Mickey could bring out that side of him.
When their mother gave Maverick that stern look, he shivered in the chair knowing he needed to fix things or their mother would get more involved despite the people all around them. “Unbelievable,” he grumbled quietly.
Then he looked back at Mickey, who somehow still had the audacity to stand there looking smug about this entire situation. Maverick crossed his arms loosely over his chest, leaning back in his wheelchair.
“You are genuinely the most irritating person I’ve ever met,” he informed him flatly. Despite the irritation in his voice, there was something tired underneath it. A sadness, because the two of them may have their differences but they rarely fought. And the silence between them lately has been deafening especially with the realization that Mickey would be just fine without him. But him…he would suffer like he has been doing the last few weeks.
Maverick shifted awkwardly in his chair. “Fine. What do you want me to say, Mick? I’m sorry? Sorry for coming here with Conor, someone you cannot stand. Is that what you want? Please tell me.”
Mickey had zero care how immature he came off. If it embarrassed Maverick, then it was a job well done, even if it also came at his own expense. That's why most of the town thought he was the worst brother. "Good," he shot back, clearly proud to be the genuinely most irritating person Maverick ever knew. He could be even worse than this, so really, his twin was getting off light.
The funeral director looked less than impressed with his brother's sorry attempt to start everything. "That's what you think it's all about, huh? Conor?" Mickey asked this, genuinely, his brows rising. "Or is it because you're being intentionally obtuse? Because I spelled it out pretty fucking plainly on the phone, what absolute bullshit comes from you."
Suddenly, he squatted in front of Maverick so they were more on level playing field, his face suddenly serious. "Let me put this to you so you've got no way of 'misunderstanding'," he air-quoted the words with as much sarcastic sass as he could muster, "okay?" With a lean forward, his chin lifting, he enunciated clearly, "Fuck Conor." Conor was barely a symptom of the problem here. "I don't give a shit about that killer." He did, but it wasn't the true root of the problem. "Though you're making no damn friends by showing up with him."
Neve was the first person the hospital called, the emergency contact on file. Maverick loved his family, but Neve was his best friend, his sister from another mister, and dependable. It was she who checked in on his home to make sure the hurricane did not destroy everything and she who brought some comforts from his home so the hospital was not completely depressing.
Over a week had passed and he finally was out of the ICU, but they were keeping a serious eye on him in fear of infection given his current status. When Neve walked in, he softly smiled. There were only two people on Earth that he was comfortable being this vulnerable with and that was his mother and Neve.
“How,” he shook his head and lifted his phone to text instead of speak.
[TEXT]: How goes it?
[TEXT]: How are the boys?
it had been a hell of a weeks. it felt like as soon as she'd gotten the boys from the medical center, her phone was ringing again, to tell her that she was needed in the emergency room as a witness, to give consent, she hadn't been sure as she saw her best friend wheeled in barely holding on to life. she'd cried them, but she was good about keeping inside after, making sure that she wasn't all despair when what mav needed was recovery.
she pulled a chair up close to him so that she was resting her arms on his bed. "the boys are good." better than to be expected, considered they'd had to be moved over to aunt birch's house for a very big very special sleepover. well-adjusted, that was the word, however hopeful it sounded. "they're enjoying the backyard at birch's." she'd made sure to load up enough toys and playground equipment to keep them out of her friend's hair.
"i've almost got the roof patched up." considering the fact a whole tree had come through their trailer, she was just grateful that they hadn't been home at the time. for whatever that was worth, considering they hadn't been with her either. "we should be moving back this week." she didn't want to share her hardships with mav, given their current circumstances, but she knew it would be easier than to hide them. what good would that have brought on?
she'd lost him for too long to be a liar, and made too many bad decisions without him to try and sidestep what happened now. she had him, by some miracle which still hadn't been properly explained to her. she decided to take it, to shrug off her own problems. "how are you feeling?"
It was back and forth roasting in the brother chat. Some of the older brothers did mute the chat or haven't spoken recently. Maverick did mention about having a liquid diet and having good soup. Wyatt had gone out of his way going into town and getting the best soup that he could find. Upon arrival he checked in at the desk getting a little visitor badge.
Then finding Maverick's room he gave a knock and walked in seeing Maverick on the bed. "I have brought soup, jello and Powerade." Setting the bag on the little side table that was in the room. "How are you feeling?"
Maverick laid propped up in the hospital bed struggling for a breath that never quite came. Pneumonia sat heavy in his chest, every inhale shallow and every exhale laced with a wet rattle he couldn’t hide. All that was easy compared to the coughing that often followed that was violent and made his ribs ache. Each cough caused a throbbing left leg that he just had surgery on and could barely move with it being held up by a swing. The man felt completely defenseless and vulnerable. The last thing he wanted was visitors, but he needed to see Oscar. No more hiding, he needed answers are this was going to swallow him alive.
When the door opened, Maverick instinctively straightened up, his shoulders squaring as if he was about to salute the man. It seemed selfish, both had seen worse with the war. But, still Maverick hated appearing weak in front of anyone. Gasping for a breath of air, he finally managed to get out, “hey there.”
He waited until Oscar got closer and motioned for him to take a seat next to him. He didn’t want this in the books, so he would have to struggle to get it out. “I need,” he sucked in a breath of air and groaned as he felt the crackling in his lungs. “Your help.”
Maverick had sounded just absolutely terrible over the phone when he'd called, asking Oscar to come talk about a possible case. The pneumonia he'd picked up was really kicking his ass. But was not only a friend asking for a favor, but he was also a brother in arms needing assistance, and no man was left behind. So it hadn't taken a second thought for him to agree to come get the details and see what he could dig up.
After signing in at reception and getting his visitor's pass, Oscar followed the directions he'd been given to get to Mav's room. The hospital was eerily quiet as he walked, and it reminded him of when he'd been recuperating after his last mission. A chill ran up his spine and he shook it free as he rode the elevator to his floor. He gave a gentle knock on Mav's door once he found it, giving a small wave in greeting as he entered.
The man may have sounded like shit, but he sure looked better than that.
"Of course," he agreed with ease as he took the offered seat. "You sure you want to do this face to face still? I didn't know I made you so breathless," he joked to break the tension he could see in his friend. He pulled out a notepad and a pen and handed it over. "Off the record, I know," he told him, confirming what little he'd said over the phone. "But seriously Mav, don't waste the energy if you don't have to. I'll make sure to get rid of it," he assured him of whatever ended up on the pages.
Maverick tried to answer right away, but the words got caught somewhere between his chest and his throat. His lungs wouldn’t cooperate, each breath shallow and uneven, like he couldn’t quite pull in enough air to make speech easy. He turned his head slightly toward Conor, tightening his grip on his hand just a fraction before a rough cough broke through him.
“Yeah… you,” he paused again, breath hitching, trying to steady it. “You didn’t have to,” he paused, struggling for air. “Do all that,” he managed, voice hoarse, quieter than he probably meant it to be. His gaze flicked over Conor’s face, lingering there, something softer breaking through the strain. “Glad…you…did.” His hand shifted weakly in Conor’s, like he wanted to hold on properly but didn’t quite have the strength.
It was difficult, but he took in a ragged breath his lungs feeling like they were constricting any airflow. “You uh,” he gasped, his eyelids shutting tight. “Shouldn’t…miss.” Talking was exhausting, he felt like terrible company. “Work…for.” Finally he just used his free hand to point to himself, unsure if he could muster any more words at the moment.
The longer he was here, the more worried Conor became for his friend. Maverick seemed to be really struggling, and somehow Conor hadn't quite anticipated just how beat up the man would be. And it seemed that Maverick was having a hard time talking, yet here Conor was trying to make him talk. "Shit, Mav, I'm sorry," Conor told the man, squeezing his hand. "Don't try to talk. Just rest, and I'm gonna stay here for awhile. And don't try to talk me out of it. My boss is going to be fine with it - these are extenuating circumstances, and I didn't have any appointments anyway." He'd already sent his boss a text with his free hand anyway, and now Conor slipped the phone back into his pocket. "And don't try to tell me you're not worth it or some shit like that, okay?" Conor admonished, giving Maverick's hand another squeeze.
With that (hopefully) settled, Conor looked around the room for some water and a glass, which he found on a nearby table. Although he tried to reach it without letting go of Maverick's hand, Conor couldn't quite grab it. "Mav, I'm gonna have to let go of your hand for a moment, but I'm not going anywhere," Conor told Maverick. He let go of his hand for just a moment and quickly grabbed the pitcher of water and a cup and straw, and after pouring a glass of water and putting a straw in it, Conor put the pitcher back. Then he moved back to Maverick, grabbed his hand once more, and asked, "Mav, do you want to try and drink something?"
