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.
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?"
Mickey let himself in, mostly out of arrogance of assuming that was okay, and a smaller part that knew it would be easiest on Maverick. The guy was still stuck in that wheelchair, after all. "Why do you always make it weird?" With a shake of the head, he lifted the box of canned beer. "You told me to bring beer and already had some? Dick." Rolling his eyes, he carried it to the kitchen to put the beer away in Maverick's fridge. They weren't chilled yet, so actually, it was a good thing his brother had thought ahead.
Things between them were still on wobbly knees, but mostly from Maverick's end. As per usual. His twin was hung up on what happened and not the whys of it. Mickey was no longer willing to continue beating a dead horse over it. Mav wanted to keep things to himself, then whatever. "So, how many slices you want?" Asking, he took out two plates, already going through the pizza box to grab several slices for himself.
Maverick let out a short breath through his nose as the awkward twin that he was. “Sorry,” he softly spoke, unsure what else to say when being called weird. “Needed to restock, figured it would be easier for you to pick it up.” Now that was some blunt honesty. He planned to go through a good number of those beers tonight.
When Mickey asked about slices, Maverick hesitated, then finally spoke. “Two…I guess,” he said, but didn’t sound all that focused on the food. His eyes flicked toward his brother instead, lingering there a little longer than he meant to. “That’s not really why I asked you over though.” The words came out careful, like he’d been rehearsing them in his head and still wasn’t sure they would land right. “I know things are off between us and I know that’s my fault.” A faint shrug followed, awkward and self-conscious. “You’re still my twin, Mick. I don’t really know how to do this part. At least not since I got back from the military. I don’t know where to start, but if you’re willing to stay and listen. I’ll try to be open and honest with you.”
Even though Conor had a lot of confusing feelings right now, those all took a backseat once Maverick began to stir. Even the way he said good morning had Conor smiling, bright and shiny. He felt a little bit like the sun in that moment. His arm around Maverick, Conor gently pulled him just a little closer, feeling suddenly affectionate, one hand rubbing his chest softly. The way Conor felt about Jack definitely didn't change the way he felt about Maverick. When did matters of the heart become so confusing? "How'd you sleep?" he asked Maverick. "I slept better than I have in awhile to be honest." When the other man apologized, Conor chuckled softly, saying, "Mav...does it seem like I'm the slightest bit bothered by you being in my bed right now?" This was definitely a nicer morning than Conor was used to.
Conor gently shifted their bodies so that Maverick was more on his back, Conor propped on his elbow and just admiring how handsome the other man was. "Mav, we both know I have crazy bedhead right now. But you...you're the handsome one in this bed. Furthest thing from a mess." For a moment longer, Conor looked down into Maverick's eyes, and then he leaned forward, kissing him softly. "Was that okay?" Conor asked, lying down and pressing his forehead against Maverick's shoulder.
Maverick let out a quiet breath through his nose, like he was trying to steady himself before his emotions got the better of him. Conor’s hand on his chest, the ease in his voice, the warmth of the moment. It made him feel as if there were butterflies in his stomach. He shifted a little in the bed, though Conor’s pull made it feel less like distance and more like safety. “Yeah, I slept better than I expected,” he admitted softly, glancing down for a second before looking back up at him. His mouth tugged into a small, almost shy smile at Conor’s reassurance, like he didn’t quite know how to accept it without deflecting.
When Conor kissed him, Maverick froze for just a second, his shoulders tightening in surprise before slowly easing again as he melted into the kiss. His hand lifted slightly, hovering like he wasn’t sure where it was allowed to go, before settling gently against Conor’s arm instead. “Yeah,” he said after a moment, quieter than before, a faint blush spreading across his cheeks as he glanced away. “It was okay…more than okay.” He clarified. Maverick eased his two fingers below Conor’s chin to gently guide him back so their lips could lock once more.
Maverick had already set everything up before Mickey got there, like he always did when he didn’t know what else to do with his hands. Pizza box on the counter, two beers sweating slightly on the table, and the TV on low just for background noise he probably wouldn’t end up watching. The apartment felt too quiet anyway, too still in a way that made his thoughts louder than they should’ve been. He adjusted himself in the wheelchair near the couch, jaw tightening slightly as he heard the knock at the door.
When Mickey walked in, Maverick didn’t immediately launch into anything not wanting to push his brother. Instead, he just gave a small nod toward the pizza like that was enough of a start. “Hey,” he said quietly, voice careful, like he was trying not to break whatever fragile agreement had gotten Mickey here in the first place. His fingers tapped once against the armrest before stopping. “I uh, am glad you came.”
Closed starter: Maverick ( @maverick-wh )
Location: Conor's house
It was the morning after the wedding, and Conor was so warm and cozy in his bed. It took him a moment to realize what had him feeling especially so as his eyes blinked open, the world coming back to him in the morning light. But then he realized what it was: he wasn't alone in the bed. Instead, Conor was curled up around someone, spooning him from behind. Maverick felt so solid but also soft in his face, comforting too, something Conor hadn't fully expected. Sure, he knew that he liked Maverick, and yes, they had spent the night together before, but that time Conor had slept in the chair in his bedroom to make sure Mav was okay. Now they were in his bed together, and Conor definitely preferred this. The only thing weighing on him was the fact that Maverick wasn't the only man he had feelings for, and that made everything feel much more complicated.
You need to get over Jack, Conor thought with a sigh. Jack was taken, and Conor was going to need to be content with just being his friend. And really, he was okay with that, well mostly. But that didn't mean his crush magically went away. The biggest problem was that Conor didn't know what he would do if both Jack and Maverick were available. He wanted both. So for now, out of respect for Mav, Conor was only going to go so far with him. This was enough for now. As he laid there trying to get back to his content state, Conor felt Maverick stirring. Immediately he smiled, kissing the back of the man's neck. "Good morning," he said softly, pressing another kiss to his neck, soft and gentle.
Maverick froze for a second at the warmth of the kiss, like his brain hadn’t quite caught up to the fact that he wasn’t alone. The morning light felt too bright, too honest, and for a moment he just stared ahead, swallowing hard as he processed Conor’s voice and the arm around him. “Good…morning,” he echoed quietly, voice rough from sleep, almost embarrassed by how small it came out. His fingers flexed against the blanket like he didn’t quite know what to do with himself now that he was awake and aware of everything.
He shifted slightly, the wheelchair at the bedside reminding him of the reality he usually tried not to think about first thing in the morning. Maverick cleared his throat, trying to play it off, though his ears were definitely warm. “Sorry…I didn’t mean to just, crash like that,” he murmured, glancing back over his shoulder at Conor with a soft smile, enjoying the closeness with the man. “How do you do it, you look so handsome even after sleeping. I always look like a mess.”
Maverick groaned quietly beneath his breath, though the embarrassed smile tugging at his mouth ruined any attempt at sounding annoyed. “You are absolutely enjoying this way too much,” he muttered, “If hell freezes over and you become emotional support, the world’s ending shortly after.” His gaze flickered briefly across the reception again before settling back on Darcy as red rose to his cheeks. “I am sure he is somewhere.” He said bashfully, his fingers running through his curls.
He adjusted slightly in the wheelchair, wincing for only a second before smoothing it over quickly. “Still,” his voice softened a little afterward, more genuine now, “I’m glad you came. Gave us an opportunity to catch up. I better go try and find Conor, let’s get together soon.”
" I am. " Darcy laughs." It's nice to see you happy Maverick and I will take the opportunity to tease you about it, you're lucky that he isn't here or I would start messing with him as well." They finished their minute bottle throwing it back into the gift bag.
Darcy nods." Yes, go back to your date. He will start to assume that I stole you away as well as keeping you all to myself." They offer their friend a smile gesturing their hand in a motion for him to go." Leave me to my thoughts, I'm trying to find the best way to get the good champagne bottles. We will talk later."
As Maverick moved away, Darcy's gaze lingered on him for a moment before turning their attention back to the night sky, humming to themselves.
Shrugging, Conor said, "It could be a lot worse. The other night at The Silver Bullet, three guys jumped me, gave me a black eye and split my lip." Then he smirked as he leaned down, saying quietly to Maverick, "I kind of wish you could have seen it though before it healed. It was kind of sexy." Normally Conor didn't say such things about himself, but it was true. Standing upright again, his hand still on Maverick's shoulder, Conor said more seriously, "But yeah...it's not great. It hasn't happened when I've been out with Sam yet, and I'm hoping it won't but also bracing myself for it for whenever it happens." Conor dreaded that actually, wasn't sure how Sam would take it. "What makes me the angriest about that is Sam didn't do anything to deserve being in that situation." On the other hand, Conor deserved whatever was coming to him. Being here with Maverick helped Conor not think about that though.
Shrugging, Conor said, "I think they're okay. And you know, I like doing what I do. But like...it's also not something I ever saw for myself either. I was supposed to be 'most likely to succeed,' but I never even finished college. So...sometimes I think about how things could have been." When he was finished, Conor paused for a moment before he laughed, sitting in a seat next to Maverick. "We're supposed to be having fun, and here I am taking it into a weird place," he said, grinning at Maverick.
Maverick’s expression immediately tightened at the mention of Conor getting jumped, his brows pulling together before he could stop himself. “Jesus, Conor.” The words left him quietly, somewhere between concern and frustration. His gaze flickered briefly toward the fading remains of the healed injuries as if trying to picture it. Then, predictably, the comment about it being sexy made a short laugh escape him despite himself. “I bet it was kind of,” he lowered his eyes and whispered “sexy.”
Still, the smile faded slightly after a moment. “For what it’s worth…none of that’s your fault either.” Maverick looked down at his hands for a second as he said it. “I am sorry, I cannot believe people are still behaving this way.” He commented. Maverick tried his best to ease into an easier subject. “Honestly? I think the tattoo thing suits you.” His mouth tugged upward faintly again afterward. “You’ve got the tortured artist vibe down already. Real brooding and mysterious.”
By the time the reception had begun thinning out later into the evening, the two were reunited again after separating for a while to mingle with other guests. Maverick looked noticeably more tired than he had earlier. Between the noise, the crowd and sitting upright for this long and his twin brother…he was exhausted. “I think I hit my limit,” he admitted. “I’m sorry, I am so dull and practically a grandpa.” He told the other. “You uh, maybe want to get out of here?”
"Oh God, can you imagine? Me emotional support?" A humorous laugh escapes them." Hell would freeze over if such a thing happened, no we need to maintain the balance, can't disturb it." Darcy could never imagine a time where they didn't feel comfortable around Maverick, he was easy to talk too and there was a warmth in his familiarity that they held dear.
Darcy clicked their tongue." Come on Maverick." They tease softly." I'm nice to you and I've never seen you in such a state, I see that expression." The professor wouldn't tease any further but it was nice to see their friend happy." Why isn't he here sweeping you off your feet? I might steal his date if he leaves you unattended for long."
They roll their eyes." Yes I came alone, can you imagine? I must be unwell." Darcy tries to bite back a smile." Maybe but I'm having regrets. as I mentioned I thought we were getting a bigger bottle."
Maverick groaned quietly beneath his breath, though the embarrassed smile tugging at his mouth ruined any attempt at sounding annoyed. “You are absolutely enjoying this way too much,” he muttered, “If hell freezes over and you become emotional support, the world’s ending shortly after.” His gaze flickered briefly across the reception again before settling back on Darcy as red rose to his cheeks. “I am sure he is somewhere.” He said bashfully, his fingers running through his curls.
He adjusted slightly in the wheelchair, wincing for only a second before smoothing it over quickly. “Still,” his voice softened a little afterward, more genuine now, “I’m glad you came. Gave us an opportunity to catch up. I better go try and find Conor, let’s get together soon.”
Mickey was the type of man that would cut off his own nose to spite his face. In true evidence of this, he twisted and cupped his hands around his mouth, to call out to where their mother was trying to keep a wary eye on them while also loitering with her friends, "Ma! HEY MA!" As soon as she twisted around to face him, Mickey pointed right in Maverick's face and yelled out again, "he's trying to pull a fast one on you, ma! He's saying let's just hug and go our separate ways! He doesn't actually want to talk to me, ma!"
There came a call back, something that filtered in softer than Mickey's obnoxiously loud yell, so they could only hear bits of it. But the response was obvious, that Maverick had better stop fooling around or she'd come over there.
So, even though it meant he now had to stand there and suffer through more time with his estranged twin, Mickey looked back at Maverick now with both brows raised in the air. As if to say, well? Because he still refused to talk first.
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.”
"Thank you very much; I fear the allegory still applies, but I'll take Prince Charming." And sure, while he should be in Los Angeles right now, a little fun shouldn't hurt. "Our baby opossum brother found me a date... Or more like found Wren Vane a date - me." It sounded so unlike West, Maverick should assume that he had drunk more than enough and it was time to stop.
West sighed, tired of how absent Mav had been. He had always been their voice of reason, the kind brother, and even their group chat didn't feel the same when he didn't intervene to stop their silly, infantile fights.
"And what are you doing here tonight? Just drinking or drowning your sadness?"
“Now that is on me, inflating your ego.” He commented with a playful roll of the eyes.
At the mention of Wren Vane, Maverick raised his brows slightly. “Wait, an actual date-date?” He inquired, looking genuinely surprised. “Wait, you voluntarily agreed to a date at a wedding? Instead of going stag and picking up someone here?”
The teasing faded a little at West’s question though.
Maverick’s hand tightened subtly around the armrest of his wheelchair as his gaze dropped toward the half-finished drink in his hand. For a second he just stared at it quietly. “I dunno,” he admitted after a moment, voice lower now. “Maybe a little of both. Is that so wrong?"
He shifted slightly in his chair, uncomfortable under his brother’s attention. West noticing things lately made Maverick uneasy in a way he couldn’t explain. It seemed West was the only one noticing things and he was not sure if he should be grateful or annoyed.
Darcy smiles." I do like you Maverick Dean Whitlock-Holmes but if you tell anyone I will fervently deny it. Can't have others thinking I have a heart under all these layers of coldness, think of my reputation." They joke playful, Maverick was the exception to the Whitlock-Holmes, often Darcy wondered how it was possible when every other sibling was a mess, Mickey especially.
They nodded." I think we should, demand for bigger bottles. They can't stop us, if we all complain " A chuckle escapes them." Exactly a buzzer like the bike horns or you can just run people over if they don't move away but I feel like you wouldn't want to do that."
Darcy tilts their head to the side noticing the change in expression in their friend." Oh? Am I noticing a blush Maverick? Most be someone special." The professor inhales when they hear the question." No, I came by myself."
Maverick snorted softly, shaking his head as he looked over at Darcy. “Your secret’s safe with me,” he said with a faint grin. “Wouldn’t wanna destroy your terrifying reputation. People might start expecting emotional support from you.” The teasing with ease when it came to Darcy. Maybe because even when they were being sarcastic or cynical, Maverick never really doubted they cared underneath it. They just hid it better than he ever could.
At the mention of running people over, Mav looked down briefly at his wheelchair and shrugged towards the other with an amused look. It was tempting to say the lease.
And there it was, Darcy pointed out the blush.
Immediately Maverick looked away, rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck. “I—what? No.” The denial came way too fast to sound believable.
A deeper flush crept into his face as he sighed quietly through his nose. “He’s just…” Maverick hesitated, glancing across the room toward Conor for half a second before looking back down again. “He’s really nice to me.” His voice softened unconsciously around the admission.
Then he looked back at Darcy again, quickly trying to redirect. “Wait, you came alone? And to deal with all this? Was it for the gift bag?”
