Enemy of Your Enemy pt. 3
When he rolls up in the Bronco, it’s barely parked before he has both feet on the ground, fixing his collar quickly in the reflection of his window. He screws his mouth up into some semblance of a smirk, knowing at the very least that Phoenix will be waiting for him on the other side of the door. If no one else, Phoenix will be happy to see him. Annoyed, too, but he takes what he can get.
He has, purposefully, not thought about Iris in the last twenty-four hours. He knew it would come back to bite him in the ass; if he was being honest, he had known that for the last eighteen years, but it hadn’t stopped him from maintaining his firm position on the matter anyway.
Sure, when he found out that Maverick, his only father figure growing up, his biggest hero, had pulled his papers, it had hurt. But when Iris had quickly agreed with Mav, had tried to defend his actions, as if delaying Bradley’s biggest dream was only a minuscule bump in the road… that had really put a nail in the coffin that had been the familial relationship between the sole Bradshaw heir and the Mitchell’s. Pete Mitchell didn’t believe in him. He didn’t think Bradley had what it took to become a pilot. And neither did Iris.
Pete had brought Iris by two weeks later so she could run in, wish him a happy birthday, and drop off the gift they had gotten him. He had begrudgingly agreed, figuring that giving her the run around wouldn’t be fair and would only prolong it, but he didn’t open it until long after she had left, tears in her eyes, mumbling apologies on her way out.
He shook the memory off, strolling into the Hard Deck like he deserved to be there, without a care in the world. He did deserve to be there. Every uniform that had been called back to Top Gun did; they were the best there was so far as naval aviators went.
The fake pleasantries seem to go by in a blur. Rooster isn’t sure exactly which jabs are aimed where, but he does know that Hangman is the root of them all, and pretty lucky that everyone here is familiar enough with him that they don’t see how quickly a swift knee to the groin would turn him from Hangman into Not-a-man.
When the attention is taken away from him, only briefly, he narrows into Iris. Athena, now, he supposed. He had seen her graduation photos from Ice, but it was nothing compared to seeing her in person. She had her uniform on like the rest of them, but instead of the slick updo that Phoenix usually wore, her dark hair fell around her shoulders in waves.
As he takes her in, and marvels quietly that wow she looks like Mav, if Maverick was a mid-thirty year old woman, he wonders if he really has what it takes to be here. If he’d be able to sit by quietly if they were both chosen for this mission; if he’d have what it takes, should something happen, to leave her behind. You never have, Bradley, not really, the voice in his head reminds him, but he shoves it down, back into the box it belongs in.
He misses the beginning of what Hangman says, but he knows it isn’t good, both because it never is and because Athena rolls her eyes with a scowl. He catches the tail end as he tunes back in, “…so I hope you have what it takes to follow me in this mission. We all know it won’t be our dear sweet Rooster.”
“The only place you’ll lead anyone is an early grace,” he spits back. Hangman doesn’t know him. No one here does, not anymore.
“That’s not the question we should be asking,” Phoenix interjects, always able to smooth things over with her ability to see reason and ask the important questions. “Everyone here is the best there is. Who the hell is going to teach us?”
Rooster feels his heart plummet into his stomach at the question. From what he understood from Ice, and very limited information was presented to him, there were only a few admirals left that had the skill set required for this mission.
He wondered about the criteria that they would need to have, that he would need to have, and was briefly overwhelmed by the sheer, overwhelming doubt in his ability as a pilot, the doubt that had never really gone away after Mav and Iris.
He shook the thought away as the overdraft bell rung, locking eyes with a rather panicked looking Athena. Or, rather, she was very carefully composed, if you didn’t know what to look for.
Eighteen years later and he could still read her like an open book. That thought sent a hollow pang through his chest as she broke eye contact to watch Hangman and Coyote haul the oldtimer that had bought everyone a round out.
Without his permission, he was stretching towards the juke cord, yanking it out of its socket. He dropped himself onto the piano bench, letting his dark aviators drop back down onto his nose.
He had promised Iris that they would talk tonight, but he knew without a doubt that that was something he would not keep. But the next best thing he knew how to do was sing. So sing he did.
And when she dropped onto the bench with him, leaning against his shoulder while he played and they sang Great Balls of Fire, he felt, just for a moment, like they were teenagers again, messing around with the keyboard in his mother’s house for something to do.
The warmth spreading under his skin wasn’t just anger, and that, in itself, was terrifying.
———
He hadn’t had to fly with her yet, which was, in his opinion, good. Better than good. Maverick was in his head, rattling him up every step of the way, and it was making him act up. Rooster was never one to lash out; he was cold, calculated, collected in all things. Hangman had teased him for it, but he was snug on his perch. It had saved his life more times than he knew how to count, not just while flying.
So, when Hondo tells him that he’s done for the day, he keeps pushing. Because what else is he supposed to do, really? If he isn’t going to follow orders flying, that might as well apply to push ups, and a few more aren’t going to kill him. The humiliation of his actions might though, especially with Hangman having front row tickets to his and Maverick’s past-trauma-current-idiot show.
He finally pulled up when the sound of Hondo’s boots are long a thing of the past, forcing his sore and aching body to listen to this one last direction as he pulled his knees out from under him and dropped his head onto them. There was salt water stinging his eyes, and he wasn’t sure if it was his own sweat from the stress and the hot tarmac or if he might have been crying.
He hears someone rapidly approaching him but doesn’t bother to look up. “Breaking the hard deck, insubordination.” A pause, and then, “Are you trying to get yourself kicked out?”
“Don’t worry about it,” he sighed. He wasn’t in the mood to fight with Phoenix; so far, that’s all he seemed to be doing. Wake up, fight with Hangman, fight with Maverick, fight with anyone who looked at him wrong, fight with himself, go to sleep, wake up, rinse repeat. He was sure that Mav wouldn’t let them kick him out, and he was equally as sure that Mav wouldn’t pick him to fly this mission, so he was truly at a stalemate. He had nothing to lose and everything to prove and he didn’t have to explain himself on top of it.
Phoenix crouched down in front of him, and he didn’t have to look at her to feel her stern gaze. “Look. I’m going on this mission. But if you get kicked out, you leave us flying with Hangman.” She is quiet for a second, probably wondering how to take down the wall he’s built between himself and the rest of the world in the short few days they’ve been here. “Talk to me. What the hell was that?”
He fixes her with his steely gaze then, not meaning to answer but unable to stop the explanation as it spits itself out at her feet. “He pulled my papers.”
“What? Who?”
“Maverick. He pulled my application to the Naval Academy. Set me back four years.” He can hear the bitterness and spite that are laced through the confession, even still. He isn’t sure what he wants her to do with it. Comfort him, maybe. Tell him she understands why he’s acting like a spoiled brat now, that it’s completely justified.
“You know he pulled hers too, right?” Rooster pushes the words around in his head, trying to make them make sense. When no recognition immediately dawns on his face, she sighs, shaking her head. “He pulled Athena’s application, too. And last time I checked, we haven’t seen her making swan dives towards death.”
No, they most certainly hadn’t. Rooster knew that something had changed between them, but he hadn’t thought Maverick would be so stupid as to make the same mistake twice. He assumed it was regular growing pains, or a general desire to be her own pilot, that sent Athena into far corners, away from her father during trainings. He thought that the cool tone they addressed each other in was a bit exaggerated based off his own twisted wishful thinking.
He watched Phoenix sigh and push back up to walk away, and he leans his head back onto his knees for another minute. Content to let the cogs turn in his head with no immediate disruptions.
When he forces himself to stand a few minutes later, he doesn’t feel any closer to figuring this puzzle out, but he does feel a little bit lighter. He had to try harder; both for Phoenix, and to keep Athena out of this mission. For now, that would be enough.
Now posted on ao3: Enemy of Your Enemy
Start from the beginning: part 1
