Top Gun: The Gay Agenda (A Goose’s Lament)🏳️🌈🏳️🌈🏳️🌈
1986, Miramar, California.
Nick "Goose" Bradshaw was a patient man. A devoted husband. A loving father. A steady RIO. A rock. But as he sat in the locker room, towel around his neck, while Pete "Maverick" Mitchell ranted in full, barely-repressed-gay-glory about one Tom "Iceman" Kazansky, Goose realized something truly chilling:
He was going to die surrounded by idiots.
"—and he's got these stupid, pretty blue eyes, Goose. Like—like oceans. Judgy, Arctic oceans. And his jaw? What the hell? It's like Michelangelo carved it himself. It's infuriating. He’s got these annoyingly capable hands and this silky, mocking voice like a villainous opera ghost, and he—he thinks he’s better than me just because he’s tall and broad and slim and hot! And don’t get me started on that beauty mark—I wanna punch his stupid angel face and kiss it at the same time and that’s messed up, right?!"
Goose stared at his best friend for a long, harrowed moment. “Mav.”
“What?”
“Sweetheart. You're in love with Iceman.”
Maverick blinked at him.
Goose turned, stood, and walked directly out of the locker room to call his wife.
That night, at the Bradshaw’s house, Carole, radiant queen of his universe, cackled like a banshee as Goose paced.
“I’m telling you, babe,” Goose moaned, massaging his temples. “It’s mutual. I overheard Iceman call him a ‘stupid green-eyed cutie.’ That’s not combat language, Carole, that’s foreplay!”
Carole nearly dropped the baby.
“I have spent weeks, WEEKS, keeping those two from killing each other or accidentally making out on the flight deck! And now? Now I have to make sure I knock before entering the locker room or I’ll walk in on Maverick’s legs around Iceman’s waist again! There were noises, Carole. Noises. I need hazard pay.”
But for all his complaints and grumblings, Goose was happy for his friends. And for himself, because, at last, he could put an end to the saga of emotionally repressed gay pilots.
He must have suspected this wasn't the case.
Goose never thought he’d be grateful for witnessing one emotionally-repressed Navy homoerotic slow burn resolve into a marriage, but the peace that settled after Ice and Mav tied the knot was glorious. Until…
The Phone Call.
“Hey, Dad?” Bradley’s voice, now grown and inflected with slight frustration, echoed through the line.
Goose smiled warmly. “Hey, kiddo. How’s flight school?”
“Fine. Mostly. Except this one guy—Jake Seresin. Ugh. He’s got these stupid pretty green eyes and this smug beautiful smile and he talks in this Texas drawl like he’s hot or something—he’s got dimples, Dad. Dimples. I swear, I wanna punch his annoyingly handsome face right in the—"
Goose froze. The coffee cup slipped from his hand in slow motion.
“Carole,” he whispered, handing over the phone like it was a live grenade. “Talk to your son about his OBVIOUS crush for Seresin. I—I can’t go through this again.”
On the other end: “WHAT?! It’s not a crush! I don’t even like him! He thinks he’s so slick just because he—he flies like he was born in a cockpit and he’s always—NO, MOM, STOP LAUGHING—this is serious!”
Goose was already on the other line, calling Iceman and Maverick.
“You DID this to him!”
Goose’s furious screech could probably be heard from orbit.
Maverick’s laughter came in unholy wheezing bursts, while he tried to say: “Technically, Goose, we never corrupted him. He’s just… following in our flightpath.”
“YOU TAUGHT HIM TO CRASH INTO GAY FEELINGS AT MACH THREE!”
Maverick wheezed, “I’m so proud of the kid. He’s even ranting like me!”
Iceman took the phone. “Hi, Goose.”
“Don’t you ‘Hi Goose’ me, Ice Prince of Gay Pining! This is your fault too!”
Iceman reply, calm and dry. “We accept full responsibility for corrupting your son. We’ll send a fruit basket. And tissues.”
“You cursed my bloodline with emotionally constipated, pilot-loving disaster men! You infected my son with your drama! Now he's as emotionally constipated as you two assholes”
Maverick gasped. “Goose. Goose. Did you just say that out loud?! Honey!”
“DON’T 'HONEY' ME, DEAR. I HATE YOU BOTH. I WANT NEW FRIENDS.”
“You’ll never do better,” Ice said serenely.
Carole could be heard in the background, howling.
Goose thought it couldn't get worse.
Until it did. Until it happened.
The Closet Incident
A week later, Goose received a call from Admiral Ron "Slider" Kerner. Current CO of NAS Pensacola. Goose braced for a tragedy.
“Hey, Goose. Slider here.”
Goose immediately felt dread.
“You're not going to like this, but—well—I just found Bradley and….”
Silence.
And then…
Goose isn't sure he heard correctly, but he swears something sounded like a dog choking on a bone. Was Slider choking?
“Bradshaw!” Slider chortled. “You’re not gonna believe this—I just caught your Gosling and Seresin in a storage closet. Doing things. Noises, Nick. NOISES”
Goose blue screen. He must have misheard Slider. He prayed he did.
“Say again?”. Please, PLEASE, tell me I heard wrong. Goose was at his wits' end, and he was sure this was just his imagination playing tricks on him. Trauma response. A form of PTSD. That must be it.
Instead: “Bradley and Jake. Storage closet. Caught them mid-thrust. Jake saluted me while still having your son inside him. Just thought you’d want the full picture, Admiral Dad.”
Goose screamed into a pillow for eleven minutes and then started therapy.
He was absolutely billing Iceman and Maverick.
After Slider's call (which the entire Top Gun '86 class knew about, thanks to Slider and Maverick), Goose was confident nothing worse could happen. Sure, the call he had with Bradley where they discussed guidelines for proper conduct regarding storage closets use in the Navy was awkward, but now everything was back to normal...sort of.
And then it happened again. On an ordinary day, a bomb landed on Admiral Nick "Goose" Bradshaw's desk.
In the form of a letter.
Dear Admiral Bradshaw,
Please accept my formal apology for the incident in the supply closet. While our timing was… unprofessional, my feelings for Bradley are entirely sincere.
I'd like to take this opportunity to officially ask for your blessing to have a relationship with your son (even though we've already had sex—again, sorry for the inconvenience—and we've done other things).
I really care about Bradley; he's perfect. I want you to know that I will always treat Bradley like the prince he is, because I'm sure your son is becoming my world.
I promise to always be the best version of myself for your son, because that's what he deserves. He makes me want to be better. To fly better. He's my wingman. And I will always take care of his wing.
Also, Bradley told me that you're close to Admiral Kerner (and I must confess that you and your friends intimidate me), so could you ask him to stop making faces and sounds every time he sees me? I'm worried he'll die of suffocation from laughing so much.
Respectfully,
Jake “Hangman” Seresin.
Goose practically ran the entire way home. Read the letter to Carole. Then together, they called Maverick and Iceman and read it again.
As Carole read the letter (and cried with laughter) Goose stared off into space like a man haunted by the ghosts of his past and Maverick could practically be heard on the floor laughing (gasping for air) Iceman, always composed and serene, said: “I like him. He asked permission. Good manners.”
Goose, finally out of his trance, said, "Iceman, you're paying for my therapy forever, man. This is worse than when I had to listen to you read poetry to Maverick while we were on the USS Enterprise.”
Iceman: “Fair.”
And so Admiral Goose Bradshaw carried on, wiser, wearier, and only mildly traumatized. He had survived the IceMav saga, and now the BradleyJake operation was well underway.
Sometimes, he looked up at the stars, wondering if future Bradshaws would continue this glittering, chaotic legacy of falling for their cocky flyboy nemesis.
He prayed not.
But just in case?
He increased the Navy’s mental health budget.
And added “Emotional Disaster Preparedness” to flight school training.