What are you doing, Mav?

Maverick asked himself that again and again. Cushing wilts in the sun. He already has a plan for this film, one that won't reflect well on Maverick.

Maybe he should've focused more on what his legacy would be, instead of just grabbing the first guy with a camera. Not even a camera, a damn phone. If he drops it in a puddle, there goes the film. So much for legacy preservation.

He just wanted something to say it wasn't for nothing.

Would Cushing make that film? Probably not, Maverick thought.

Maverick almost called Roman. Having someone sitting in the waiting room to walk out with him might be nice. He could tell Jet. He could tell her everything.

No. No, that would just net him pity.

There was a hospital in Marble Springs, larger and modern. A great square lined with rows and rows of windows and shining floors reflecting the fluorescent beams. But Dr. Hakimzadeh never asked about payment or insurance. He helped Maverick however he could.

At least that bit of pity didn't bother him.

The waiting room was carpeted and lined with chairs. There was a fish tank, but Maverick never saw any fish. There were magazines, each pushing five years past their publication date. Not that anyone ever complained or even noticed.

The receptionist rarely looked up from her tablet, once Maverick stepped inside she addressed him coldly. "Just go on back, Maverick."

Maybe he was the only one to see Dr. Hakimzadeh these days.

Dr. Hakimzadeh towered over Maverick, and most people in this town. The years were starting to settle in his jowls. The doctor was tapping his pen on a set of x-rays.

"Look at that, Mav," he said.

"That bad?" Maverick asked.

"Sure as hell isn't good, son," Dr. Hakimzadeh chuckled.

The doctor was several years younger than Maverick, but his baritone voice commanded respect, so few minded being addressed as "son."

"So, what can we do?" Maverick asked.

"Pills. Radiation pills. Expensive, but I'll see what we can work out. With the pills, we could try to stop the tumor's growth and if we're lucky, real lucky, shrink it a little."

"A little?"

"Mav," The doctor said. "You're a good guy. I like you. But why in the hell did you wait so long to see me?"

"Just thought it was old age," Maverick said.

"You're not that old. For now. But this," he pointed to the x-ray. "This will take some time off."

"Fine," Maverick said. "I get it. Should have been here sooner. Especially after mom. I should've seen the signs."

"I respect you too much to lie to you," Doctor Hakimzadeh removed his glasses.

"You respect me?" Maverick laughed.

"Just listen," Dr. Hakimzadeh said sternly. "These pills...they'll slow it down. At best. This is mainly so we can be doing something you know? People just want to think they're fighting."

"Fight's over, huh?" Maverick said.

"Fight was over months ago," Dr. Hakimzadeh said. "If you take these, you'll be sicker than you've ever been. They won't do much. Then I'll probably take you off them."

"Then what?" Maverick asked.

"Then, you'll feel better. You'll have energy. You'll be able to talk and maybe even hold down a small meal."

"Then what?"

"After a few days, there won't be any more 'then what.' Not for you." He patted Maverick's thigh.

"Well...shit," Maverick stared down at the scuffed floor.

Dr. Hakimzadeh continued his talk, advising Maverick as honestly as he thought he could. Maverick heard little.

He was a dead man. Maverick sighed and stood up. "If I don't take them, how long?"

"Taking care of yourself? About two weeks. After that, you'll fall apart, fast," Dr. Hakimzadeh said.

"In all?"

"In all? Well, let's just say, if you wanna find that damn monster, you better get out there."