Chapter Text
“Now the day bleeds, into nightfall and you’re not here to get me through it all. I let my guard down, and then you pulled the rug, I was getting kinda used to being someone you loved.” Someone You Loved – Lewis Capaldi
Mav
Mav killed the ignition and idled the bike to the edge of the lookout with the ease of a lifetime rider.
The bike was hot, really hot. He knew he’d been pushing it to its limits around the edge of the city. God, he loved it though and this had been exactly what he’d needed to clear his head.
He’d been able to recover most of his bikes after they were stolen by the drug gang bikers,* but he’d been riding the Kawasaki when the drunk driver had sideswiped him just before that, so at that point, it was already in pieces.
Luckily, he had some less criminally-minded biker friends of his own, one of whom is a genius mechanic with his own shop.
He’d done his fair share of work too and between them, they had reconstructed her. She was now superficially something like the original; but underneath, pieced together from a load of spare parts.
He could relate.
Sure, he was physically back to full health now, but the events from the last year had him mentally feeling like he was barely holding things together.
To be fair, he’d been struggling for a while. Seeing Rooster at Christmas was wonderful (apart from the nearly dying part) but it felt like it was over in the blink of an eye and before he knew it, Roo was back in Japan and he – well, he was back to the hangar.
Back in the desert. Running out of things to fix. Running out of distractions.
Just him, his own thoughts and the nightmares. Nowadays, it wasn’t always Goose dead in his arms in the cold ocean, a lot of the time it was Bradley.
He swore, every time he could feel the blood from the back of his head running through his hands – could taste the salt on his lips and the stinging of his eyes as the waves hit his tear-streaked face. The deep thud-thud-thud of the rescue chopper blades overhead. It was so, visceral.
Each night it was slightly different, just enough to twist the knife so that it was a re-opened wound every time. Always with the same outcome though. Always the same feelings. Devastation. Loss.
Always his fault. Still his fault.
Over and over and over and over.
When Rooster had been staying with him, at least he could see him, feel him, reassure his brain that it wasn’t real. With his son there, in the flesh, it had allowed him to summon a strength he didn’t normally have.
To fight the endless demons back to their hell. To keep them just scratching at the door, rather than bursting through, at least for a while.
When he was alone, to say it was harder, was an understatement.
If he wasn’t dealing with the night terrors, he was fighting the feelings of shame and embarrassment that rose up in him, for the fact that he was still dealing with it all, in general.
More like, still failing to deal with it.
He wasn’t going to keep pushing his issues on Bradley, or the Flyboys. It wasn’t fair to them. They had better things to be doing than dealing with him and his broken brain.
He seemed to have no control over what variation of fresh hell his mind would cook up for him each night.
It wasn’t like he didn’t know ways to help himself. God, after all these years, it wasn’t as if he hadn’t tried! Good methods - and maybe some, uh, not so good.
He’d ramped up his exercise routine, pushing himself to his limit and beyond, desperately hoping to tire himself enough that they wouldn’t plague him at night. He was probably in the best shape he’d been for years.
None of it helped.
He’d started having a couple of Bourbons at night, rather than just the odd beer. However, this had slipped to more than a few and he’d had to put an end to that; before he found himself becoming his mother, spiralling and burning through what remained of his life.
He found the alcohol would get him to sleep like a light was switched off. Only then he’d wake up screaming with even more ferocity in the early hours. It wasn’t worth it.
The Spitfire restoration had given him some relief, though increasingly, it didn’t provide the level of distraction he craved.
He was bored.
Maverick, the ace of the skies, was fucking bored to death.
He missed the sky.
Sure, he’d taken a few friends’ planes up and even done some commercial work for a few.
It wasn’t exactly Mach 10 though, right?
So, really, he knew it wasn’t just flying that he missed. He was Pete “Maverick” Mitchell! He missed the thrill, the danger.
Penny’s prophetic words had often echoed around his head, but never more so than recently.
“Trust me, as improbable as it seems right now, somehow you'll be back in a fighter plane with your tail on fire.”
He had indeed been back in the air in a fighter plane with his tail on fire - not long after she’d said it.
And, more – he loved it. He felt alive. Connected. Like himself!
It was crazy! He was crazy! What sane person missed that?!
How could he explain it to anyone? Everything he felt lately was…complicated. Complicated and confusing.
He’d never seriously, voluntarily, given the “Retirement” word much thought until things had gone sideways with the Darkstar and Admiral Cain became the last in a long line of pissed-off Admirals.
With Ice gone now, he was in completely new territory whether he had stayed in or out. The Uranium plant mission had changed a lot, more personally than professionally – or so he’d thought.
He might be an Ace of the skies to some, but to the brass and higher-ups whom he’d rubbed the wrong way for the past, almost three decades - he was just a rebellious liability that they’d been trying to get rid of for years - or so he’d thought.
He flicked out the bike’s kickstand and placed his helmet on the seat, checking the duffel was still securely tied to the back.
Yeah, so, helmet.
He might have had to agree to a few unfortunate concessions after reconciling with his godson. After scaring the shit out of him with the drunk driver incident*, he realised he was already on shaky ground with that one and decided it was not the hill he wanted to die on.
The sun was quickly sinking into the Pacific and clear lilac skies were bleeding into an orange and red ombre as he took a seat on the low retaining wall.
The heat of the day was still seeping up from the concrete. He’d barely taken a breath to admire the view when his phone buzzed again in his pocket. He ignored it, he knew who it was.
He’d lost count of how many he’d screened now. He knew it was shitty. He knew he was probably being selfish. He knew he was probably worrying them. Right now, he just couldn’t do it. He couldn’t do a lot of things.
He had one course of action and focus and, now that the decision had been made, he was all in.
He had to be, he couldn’t afford to have his head elsewhere, or he might not be coming back.
After the phone stopped, he absently pulled it out anyway, unable to prevent himself from glancing at his lock screen.
He swallowed thickly, his throat closing. It was a scan Bradley had sent him of one of his favourite old photos, Goose’s beaming face with an arm wrapped around his neck in a playful headlock as they wrestled.
“It’s for his own good, Goose. I need to protect him. Even if that means from me. From this shell that I’ve become..”
He willed himself to believe his own words.
He knew if he heard his Godson, if he saw him, he wouldn’t go through with this. He’d remember that he had people to lose now, people who would care if he was gone for good - and right now, he just wanted to think of anything but them, anything but that.
He needed to do this – for them - they deserved a Maverick that wasn’t just some shadow of his former self. He had to do this to get that Maverick back. Even if it cost him everything.
It's not what I am. It’s who I am.
He missed Goose as much now as ever. His absence still flooded everything he did, everywhere he went. He couldn’t help feeling that if the man was here, by his side, as he should be, he would have clipped him around the head and sorted him out.
But he wasn’t here to do that. So, he carried on, making the best decisions he could, with his broken brain that couldn’t stop grieving him, all of them. He guessed, maybe, that was part of the problem. Penny had certainly thought so.
He had nine missed calls. Well, not as bad as he’d thought.
He opened the screen further and saw they were all from Ron, Wolf, or Wood.
Well, at least his plan had worked so far.
He’d managed to avoid one person, in particular finding out. It was for the best.
He had tried to think differently, he really had!
It had been so much easier to reassure his godson that he didn’t feel the way he did about everything; when he was there in front of him.
But anything other than his ingrained beliefs ultimately; still rang hollow in his brain. The old, familiar, inescapable paradigms.
Nothing else felt right, so he kept circling back to them. Reinforced by every night terror.
He was just pulling everyone down with him.
He was nothing without who he was – and who he was, who he is - is a naval aviator!
Not this weak, lonely, pathetic old man he’d become! Holed up in his oversized shed with his pet projects and who only reminisced and overshared about the ‘golden days’ propping up some bar.
Naval aviator! It’s not what I am, it’s who I am!
How lost he had been without it! Without himself. He didn’t want to impose that Maverick on them any longer. It wasn’t fair, they deserved more, Bradley deserved more.
Just as he was about to put the phone back in his pocket it rang again. This time he glanced at it, recognising the number for different reasons. He took a deep breath and accepted the call.
“Hello, sir,” he answered formally.
“Yes sir, wheels up at Lemoore 23:00. Yes sir, I understand. I’m all set, I’ll be there.”
He ended the call.
So, just like that - he was back in.
* * *
Slider
The string of vibrations and bright light from his phone on the nightstand woke him. Usually, he slept like a log, but there were more than a few things on his mind at the moment.
He groaned groggily, turning over to grab the offending item before it could wake his wife. He swung his legs out from under the warm comforter, finding his slippers at the bedside as his eyes adjusted to the screen.
B: Did you know?
B: Did you know?!
B: Answer me, Sli! Did you know? He told you, didn’t he?
Oh crap.
He quickly typed in a short reply.
S: Call me in 5, I don’t want to wake Nancy.
He slipped on his robe and made his way out to the kitchen, pulling the bedroom door softly closed behind him.
He didn’t know the details, but he could gather enough to know that this was not going to be pleasant.
He flicked on the coffee machine as he passed and retrieved a mug. Unfortunately, he feared not even coffee was going to save him from an earful on this one.
Goddamnit Mav! What have you done now? He swore under his breath.
He’d sat down at the kitchen island with a steaming black coffee in his favourite mug. It’s not like he’d be getting back to sleep tonight. A Facetime call buzzed in.
He took a breath, steeling himself before answering and cursing the small dark-haired aviator he called his best friend.
“Hey, Little bird.” He answered, with both some trepidation and resignation in his voice.
“Don’t ‘Little Bird’ me Ron!” The younger man immediately shouted angrily, before he’d finished.
“You knew, didn’t you?!”
Fuck. He’d been afraid of this. You didn’t know the man for thirty years and not anticipate some of his decisions. Right or wrong.
“What time is it there?” Ron replied, absently checking his watch, only to realise it was still sitting on the nightstand.
“Don’t change the subject, Ron! I know he wouldn’t have left without telling you! – Fuck! I thought he wouldn’t have left without telling me!” Bradley shouted, hurt evident behind the anger.
The kid looked, well, awful actually, come to think of it - though wherever he’d called from (he could only guess it was his bunk) it was too dark around him to see a lot.
He didn’t like the way his cheekbones and pale face shone back at him in the dim light from the phone though.
“Brad…” He started, only to be cut off again.
“You know he just left a note, right?!
A fucking note, Ron! - Taped to the hangar door. Is it fucking 1986 or something!?
The note wasn’t even for me, it was for Penny, something about her being right all along? That he’d gone back in, wouldn’t be contactable.”
“Fuck..”
“Yes, Ron - FUCK! You knew, didn’t you?!” He said again, accusingly.
He swallowed and took a moment before answering. The younger man let him this time and waited for an explanation.
It was somehow worse than the shouting in the way that a disappointed parent was worse than an angry one.
“He’d mentioned someone had contacted him, that was all. I swear, I didn’t know he’d agreed, or that he hadn’t told you.”
“I thought we were good Ron! Why would he keep this from me?!” The younger aviator said his voice fast but breaking. He was becoming more upset and confused now than angry.
“Brad...You know him. You know he’s been struggling with being out.”
“Yeah, I know he has! That’s why I came to Alaska and I…I thought we were good! I thought we had sorted shit like this out already! I thought he knew he could call me, come to me about things now.”
“Wait - you’re stateside?!” Ron exclaimed, his brain finally catching up with the buried lede from earlier in the conversation.
“Why are you stateside? What’s wrong?” He continued, flipping into worried-uncle mode.
“Why does anything have to be wrong?” Bradley snapped, evasively.
It wasn’t like him, which was even more concerning.
“Because you’re Bradley fucking Bradshaw and you don’t just up and leave an overseas posting!” Ron hissed back, with a little more bite than he’d been intending.
“Something came up.”
“Something came up?!” Ron parroted back, incredulously.
“Can we stay on topic for like, two seconds, Uncle Sli?! I want to talk about Mav!”
“Rooster, what’s wrong?” He hardly ever called him by his full callsign.
“You’re not going to leave this alone, are you?” Bradley replied, with a grumpy resignation.
“Fuck no! What’s wrong?”
There was a soft sigh of surrender from the other end of the line, so he continued before his nephew could answer.
“Brad, you sound awful…”
“I’ve just, got some unplanned medical leave, that’s all.”
“What? Are you sick? Of course, you’re sick! You’re on medical!” He rushed intently.
Bradley scoffed with a small laugh at his flustering, overprotective Uncle. He shouldn’t have expected anything less.
“I’m just having some tests and they wanted me back home for them, that’s all.”
Fuck. Tests? Tests that couldn’t be run on a carrier?! First Mav going fucking AWOL (well, AWOL back to the Navy..) and now the Little Bird! He swore these two were going to send him to an early grave.
“You look like shit, ‘Bird.” He said worriedly. Bradley laughed back at the bluntness of his comment and a little at the term of endearment, but it quickly turned into a cough.
“It’s just a sore throat, that’s all Sli. I don’t even feel that bad. I’ve been running hops right up to when they sent me back – So, so I can’t be that bad right? Most of it is just jet lag anyways.”
“Does Mav know? Fuck, of course, he doesn’t...” Ron continued, his mind obviously spinning, but Bradley cut him off again.
“I promise; I’ll tell you if anything more comes of this. Can we please get back to Mav? Why wouldn’t he tell me all this?”
“I honestly don’t know kid, when we spoke about it, nothing was decided and I genuinely figured he’d keep both of us updated. I’ve been trying to reach him all day, but he’s been screening my calls. I guess he figured he’d be gone and uncontactable by the time you found out.”
“Yeah, no shit, Ron.”
“I’m sorry Brad, I really thought he’d have spoken to you about this. I know it’s a big deal.”
“I don’t even care that he wanted back in Sli! I mean, I do know the man! It’s Mav for fuck’s sake, it’s really a goddamn miracle that he lasted this long out.
I just, well, firstly, I didn’t think they’d actually have him back! - and secondly, I thought he would have come to me with this, talked about it, you know?”
“I get it, Brad, I do. You know your Dad’s got a pretty fucking unique skill set - and with his experience, the Navy would be mad to just let him go forever. Relationships with the brass be damned - especially after what I can gather from your last mission. Mavericks don’t grow on trees you know.”
That pulled a proper laugh from his nephew, who had to duck away from the screen for a moment to catch his breath.
“Besides, from what I could tell, this guy that contacted him sounded like something of a new breed. Something about a new branch, covert overseas work?
To be honest, he waved me off about it when I tried to ask anything further.”
“Yeah, sounds about right.”
“I’m sorry Bird, truly, I didn’t think he’d just up and go like this. Wolf and Wood have tried calling him too, so he’s frozen us all out, it’s not just you.”
“Despite the circumstances, I was looking forward to seeing him, thought I’d surprise him you know. Have you tried Hondo?”
“Yeah, just dead air too.”
“Fuck…”
“You know Mav, Brads. This is probably exactly what he needs, you know?”
“He didn’t say how long he’d be gone,” Rooster replied forlornly. It was still sometimes a little jolting to hear the concern for Mav back in Bradley’s voice, to remember that the two of them had worked through their estrangement, if not their communication issues.
He knew that Mav would know that the flyboys would understand this decision. They’d be pissed and concerned, but they’d forgive him.
He suspected Mav had his own reasons for not bringing Bradley in on this, Mav always had - He was just afraid that they weren’t always the right ones.
* * *
Rooster
U.S.S Archeon, Pacific International waters off Japan.
48 hours earlier
He wiped the small polished piece of metal on the wall clean that was their mirror. His bunkmate was on a different shift, so he thankfully had the room to himself.
It had started a few weeks ago really. Just little things at first. Hardly noticeable.
Occasionally, food would catch in his throat. He felt like it was sore and rough all the time too, but he didn’t give it much serious thought.
Yeah, he’d been more tired and maybe he’d lost a little weight, but you just got through that kinda stuff, especially on a long deployment. He figured it would just be some virus going around the ship that would pass.
Then again, there was the cough too, but again - it was nothing really, by the time he noticed it, it would be gone again.
Then there was today.
Today he felt the lumps.
Three nodules on the side of his neck. He pressed on them while examining them in the mirror. He couldn’t outwardly see anything, but he felt them.
It took him a few weeks to even decide to do anything about them. His mind catastrophising as to what they might mean.
It had taken him a stupid amount of time, but once the thought was in his head, he couldn’t un-think it. This was how it started for Iceman.
This was exactly how it had started for Ice.
He felt his eyes unconsciously welling and at that moment, he desperately wanted nothing more than to call Mav, to call his dad.
But he couldn’t. He fucking couldn’t! Not about this! Anything else - but not this. It was too much. Too soon.
So - He dodged the video calls as much as he could, without raising suspicion and made excuses so his godfather wouldn’t see his increasingly drawn face.
So that he also wouldn’t see Mav’s face – because he knew if he did, he would crumble.
He would fall apart and spill out all his fears, all the ‘what if?’s’ spinning in his head. Everything that Mav just couldn’t hear. He had to protect him.
Finally, after a bad night of little sleep followed by a particularly stressful hop, he realised he had to act.
He was in charge of a multi-million-dollar aircraft. It wasn’t right, or safe, to fly if he thought something wasn’t right, even if he still felt ultimately capable.
He couldn’t, he wouldn’t risk the rest of his squadron, no matter how small the possibility he might be that he was compromised.
He walked into the ship’s medical, relieved to see that the medic on duty was someone he respected and that they were alone. He knew the exam would be private, but he’d rather no one else was around.
“Lieutenant Bradshaw! What brings you down to these depths?”
The medical officer said brightly as she finished folding a stack of blankets. He quickly double-checked the med bays were all empty, breathing another sigh of relief.
“Hi, Doc Collins,” he grinned back, “You know, you still owe me that twenty from poker last week, right?”
“Come to collect, have we?” She smiled back with a raised eyebrow.
He laughed, “Nah, don’t worry. Do you have a second, though?” He added quietly.
She looked up at him then, pausing in her folding and beckoning him forwards,
“Of course, Bradshaw!” She replied warmly.
For all that he had been working himself up for it - the examination was pretty painless.
Despite the doc’s comforting bedside manner though, he could read people well enough to know that the more he told her about his symptoms, the more concerned she became.
She had assured him that there was probably nothing to worry about, but that she was sending him back to Lemoore.
This was where his eyes widened and a look of horror must have involuntarily spread over his face.
No flying??
Sent home? Fuck.
He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but somehow, it hadn’t been this.
The doc reassured him again that it was simply because they had a bigger facility and lab services and could take a biopsy there that could be looked at pretty quickly.
Biopsy?
This was all getting a little too real for his liking.
He wanted to call Mav.
He wanted to hear his voice.
For him to tell him to calm down, in that uniquely reassuring ‘Mav-way’ that always settled him when his mind was spiralling.
He wanted him to tell him that everything would be fine, even if he didn’t know it was going to be.
To be honest, he just wanted someone to tell him that. That he was totally overreacting, reading into things that were far from certain.
The thought crossed his mind more than once, that if this has been early last year, the number of people he had to even consider calling, that he thought would even be bothered, would have been significantly reduced.
It wasn’t last year though. A lot had changed. Not least, he had.
Part of him knew now that he didn’t need to shoulder things alone anymore – But then, he would think of Ice, and of Mav and the Flyboys. He would think of the look in Mav’s eyes when he received the news Ice had passed. How it floored him. How it bought back every loss that had come before.
He realised that despite how much had changed, between him and Mav specifically, it would have to be like nothing had changed.
Because it was this. It had to be fucking, this…
Anything but this - and he wouldn’t have had to do it alone.
He couldn’t put this on Mav. It would literally kill the man. Even the possibility of it being what he feared, might be too much.
He wasn’t going to do that to him, not after everything. He just wouldn’t.
Fuck! - And then there was his uncle…
I mean, the man had lost his pilot, his best friend. Ice’s death was still something that hung in the air around all of them, especially when he was with the flyboys.
It had almost become the elephant in the room. Everyone knew Mav was struggling. No one wanted to risk shattering the fragile ground that Mav seemed to be on.
Hell, of course, he had considered calling Ron, though he’d dismissed it almost immediately.
It was something like 4 am back home at the moment, if nothing else.
Then there was Phoenix, but she was already coming out of a bad breakup and was already back at Lemoore too, so the time difference again right now...
Could he leave a voicemail?
What would he even say? “Oh, hi! Uh, might have Cancer - like Ice did - and now I’m kinda spiralling – how’s your day?”
Uh-uh. Nope. He wouldn’t do it to any of them. Not after how much he had already done.
He shook his head until he was back in the room. He felt like he was going mad.
Could this really be happening?
* * *
Within 48 hrs, he was back stateside. He hadn’t called anyone. In the end, it just felt like it was better that way. He wasn’t really thinking clearly.
Back on Californian soil, all he could focus on was seeing Mav. He just needed to see him. He told himself that that was all he would allow.
He craved it. Craved that support that he’d realised he’d become so reliant upon again, since he had his family back in his life.
He thought of how Mav was probably working away under the Spitfire and how he just wanted to see his face, that beaming smile.
He could have called him when he landed.
Maybe, he should have called?
He thought, seemingly realising this for the first time since he was back. It seemed wrong though. He was beginning to wonder if he could trust himself either way.
He was desperate though. To just not be alone right now.
He thought that perhaps, it would be enough to see him. That he could keep up the façade for now.
It would have to be enough. He could do this. He had to, for Mav.
So, he’d driven straight there. The golden sun setting, finding himself daydreaming of a cold beer and maybe some pizza from their regular place.
Instead, he was confused to see the hangar properly locked up.
For a moment he thought Mav must be at the store or something, but as he got nearer, he saw a duct-taped piece of white paper across the door.
At least the man had remembered to lock up this time, he thought absently. Until he read the note. It was unmistakably Mav’s scrawl.
Penny,
You were right about so many things. I’m so sorry.
I’m going back, I’ll be out of touch for a while.
Mav
p.s If you see Bradley, please tell him I love him and that I’m sorry, but I had to.
He must have read the last line ten times.
“...tell him I love him and that I’m sorry, but I had to.”
All thoughts of surprise reunions were gone. All thoughts of most things, gone.
He just stood there, stunned, staring at the piece of paper as half of it blew in the hot desert wind.
He began cursing at himself - why the fuck, hadn’t he just rung the man sooner!!?
He called now.
Over and over - but it wasn’t even connecting, it was just dead air.
Between that and the note, he knew what that meant. He’d gone back.
More importantly, he knew that if it wasn’t even connecting, he’d gone properly dark.
He also knew that meant it was likely highly confidential - and dangerous. There was no contacting him now; until he could contact them.
He was halfway back to the highway at an un-signposted, deserted dirt crossroads when he suddenly slammed on the brakes of the Bronco, sending up clouds of dust.
“Fuuck!” He screamed aloud in frustration, banging his hands repeatedly against the steering wheel before resting his forehead on it in resignation. He closed his eyes, trying to calm his breathing. He really couldn’t cope with a panic attack on top of everything else right now.
He didn’t know if he wanted to murder the man or freak out about his safety. Both, he guessed.
Why the fuck hadn’t he talked to him?!
Then he remembered - that he’d been trying to avoid Mav’s calls for his own reasons.
Fuck…In a flash of realisation, he thought back over the last few days. He had been so busy freaking out about his own issues, he hadn’t even considered that maybe Mav was also avoiding him! That he was struggling and didn’t want to, or maybe didn’t know how to, reach out.
In trying to protect him, he’d inadvertently not been there for him when he needed him the most.
Now it was too late, he was gone.
A feeling of vulnerability washed over him that he thought had been banished for good and he felt an old, familiar pit in his stomach return. It had been a stressful couple of days. He knew he was exhausted and starting to spiral.
He was just realising how much he had been relying on seeing Mav, to set himself right, like a ship in a storm - and this new situation had totally thrown him in more ways than one.
He felt for the pendant that hung around his neck, rubbing it through his fingers. It had become a comforting, almost unconscious habit. The small Silver compass that Mav had given him for Christmas**.
So that he could always find his way home. It hadn’t left his neck since.
He felt surrounded by the desert that only minutes before had seemed warm and inviting - Now its’ barren expanse only added to the feeling of desolation and emptiness.
Home was Mav. Home was not here.
It took him ten minutes to feel safe to drive again. He wasn’t even sure where he was going at first, but he found himself back towards the lights and the hollow comfort of civilisation, pulling up at the beach house.
He didn’t even bother to turn on the lights, throwing down his duffel in a corner, knowing his way to the now-dusty couch in the semi-darkness.
The drive had clarified one thing - he needed to speak to Ron.
Unfortunately, it was now late, really late. After scrabbling around in the old wooden desk for a charging cable for his phone, he fired off a few heated messages before getting a reply.
He video-called automatically, forgetting entirely that he; 1) Hadn’t told him he was home 2) Probably looked as shit as he was feeling – and that he’d been trying to keep that under wraps from as many people as possible.
By the time he spoke with a bleary-looking Slider, his emotions had settled on anger. He was pissed.
* * *
Mav
He'd done ok for a while. When he and Roo were speaking regularly, it kept him feeling sane, grounded and connected. Even if, in between, he felt his mental health slipping again.
Ron did his best to check in regularly, as did Wood and Wolf, but they all had wider families and they weren’t exactly next door.
It had become easy to slip into grabbing dinner at the local diner. Not the healthiest of options but with his intense exercise regime, he knew he could get away with it. Half the time he’d puke it up anyway if he pushed himself enough on a run after.
The waitress, Pam, would fill a mug of coffee as soon as she heard the bike pull into the lot.
He spent far too much time just nursing a mug, reading something and watching the desert. I mean, not that that was bad, or that there was anything wrong with that.
It’s just that, he used to find it freeing. The space, the expanse of sky and desert. It was kind of mesmerising.
Mesmerising and now utterly, completely, resolutely - boring.
He’d caught himself too often wondering what Penny was doing. Was she on the boat? Maybe she and Amelia were in Hawaii again?
He’d given the Hard Deck a wide berth after their very final breakup.
It’s not that it was acrimonious. It was actually entirely civil and he knew she was at a place now that seeing him at the bar, he was just an old friend, in for a drink.
Still, he had thought some space might have been best for them both. That was, until one night recently.
He couldn’t face the hangar and another lonely night of night terrors. For some reason, not that night.
He’d considered calling Roo, or even Ron, but he’d quickly talked himself out of it.
Who wanted to hear him moaning on about how crap everything was for him right now? He didn’t want to bring them down like that. He felt like a broken record as it was. Even he was getting fed up with himself - so god knows what Roo and Sli were thinking.
So, he’d found himself propping up the bar at the Hard Deck.
At first, Penny hadn’t even been there. He was a few too many bourbons deep into drowning his sorrows when she came on shift.
If he’d been sober and a little less self-absorbed, he’d have noticed at once that she wasn’t in a great mood and that something was wrong.
However, being entirely caught up with his own shit, he overshared like the old, drunken man he was becoming.
The eventual result; was Penny losing her patience with him and snapping something along the lines of, he had to pull himself together and that Goose died nearly thirty years ago, he had to get over it stop dwelling on ghosts and get on with his life.
Shortly after, he was thrown overboard by another member of the bar staff and ended up sleeping off the alcohol on the beach. He awoke with a banging head and sand in places he’d rather not mention.
However, somewhere in between all of that, he felt a sense of sudden clarity.
He had been offered an opportunity he’d previously dismissed out of hand, but now, it seemed like the only option.
Several missed calls from Penny followed. There was a voicemail too. He was too chicken-shit to listen to it then and there and waited till he’d found a shower and coffee.
At which point, he heard a mortified Penny begging forgiveness for what she’d said and explaining that she’d had an awful argument over custody of Amelia with her ex and had been in a foul mood. She insisted she hadn’t meant what she’d said and that it had been no excuse.
As far as he was concerned though. She had said only the truth. Exactly what he needed to hear. Things were now making sense for him for the first time in a long while.
He knew what he had to do.