Cyclone did indeed not discharge them. He apparently didn't even suspect a thing from the squad as he kept going on about how Mitchell had done this and Mitchell had done that while every pilot in the mess hall (including Warlock, who somehow knew all about what the group had done the very next day) tried their very best not to laugh.

He had given the command of the mission back to Maverick and even surprised the squad by appointing him team leader (Rooster wasn't terrified by that, what are you talking about?). This meant everyone had to fly their asses off in the few days of training they had left until the mission and the next days were therefore filled to the brim with briefings and countless hops (sometimes two or three a day). Rooster tried to change his way of flying, but the mission was hard enough as it was and he had to put all his thoughts into finishing the canyon run on time (he made it forty-four percent of the time, which was more than zero, so he would be fine), hitting the target (eleven percent of the time) and returning home (a hundred percent, but there weren't SAM's yet at the training grounds).

At the end of the day he was so exhausted that he would trundle to his bunk, crash on his bed and sleep until his alarm woke him the day after, so The Talk hadn't happened yet. It wasn't easy to find Maverick anywhere else than in a plane or in Ice's room, so that was a factor as well, but Rooster wasn't very keen on grabbing the occasion anyway. That's why, when the morning hops were cancelled because of bad weather, he found himself in Natasha's and Bob's room instead of anywhere near Maverick (although Hangman had tagged along just in case).

They told the story about stealing Maverick and the plane and while Bob was looking mortified, Natasha laughed so hard that an older nurse came hurling in the room and threw Hangman and Rooster out while muttering: "These pilots. Haven't had the slightest idea about the meaning of the word 'rest'."

Hangman and Rooster were still muffling their chuckles as Hangman lead the way to the exit. When they had been walking way longer than on their way in, Rooster started getting suspicious, but he had no time to voice his thoughts because Hangman suddenly stopped.

"Whoops, apparently this wasn't the way to the exit," Hangman said with a sly grin. Rooster rolled his eyes and punched him (quite hard) in his shoulder. Hangman ignored him, however.

"But since we are here anyway, why not have a chat?" he said as he opened the door with a big grin. He dragged Rooster inside and Rooster froze. In front of him lay admiral Tom "Iceman" Kazansky in a hospital bed, his husband curled around him with his head on the other one's chest. It looked like they were both sleeping peacefully and Rooster was taken aback by how similar yet at the same time strange it looked. He had seen them sleep countless of times, but never when the light bounced off Ice's hair and reflecting silver instead of blond or with Maverick's features weathered by age (although he looked a lot younger while sleeping, Rooster noticed).

They looked so at ease (if you removed the different drips and tubes around them) and suddenly Rooster felt the anger raise its head again. How could they life with themselves while lying and breaking promises left and right? Why had they pulled his papers? Why did Ice not listen to his plead the last time he spoke him? Why had Maverick lied about Iceman's condition? For fucks sake, why had Maverick never told him why he meditated every morning? Rooster knew somewhere he was being petty, but he was so sick of walking around with these burning questions. He wanted to grab Maverick by the shoulders and shake him until finally all the answers came tumbling out of the older pilot's mouth; until they could be a family again.

Rooster swallowed and then ran, through the door, through the white halls of med bay, through the boring corridors, all the way until he felt the harsh wind dry his wet cheeks. He only stopped running when he felt the rain thrum on his shoulders.

He looked up into the rain and screamed. All his frustrations, his anger, his disappointment, his questions and the years of loneliness got drowned out by the primal action of yelling until his throat burned. He collapsed on his knees and slammed his hands on the ground, water splashing all around him. Someone grabbed his hands before he could hit the ground again and he shuddered.

As soon as the rage had filled him, it left him again, leaving him empty and numb. Hangman had pulled him up and was dragging him back inside, all the while muttering:

"It's ok, Bradley. Today was just not the right time, you'll talk tomorrow." Rooster wished he could agree, but he knew that they both knew this had been his only chance before the mission. And naturally he had fucked things up again.

Their feeling turned out to be right as the days afterwards didn't give them any opportunity to talk to Maverick longer than a couple of seconds. Rooster felt like crying when the world finally calmed down because that was at the moment Maverick would announce who would fly the mission and who would stay on the carrier. Rooster looked at his father, but all he could see was a dead man who had been thinking his son hated him all the way until he got pulled into the grave by the cruel world around him. Rooster had sunken so deep into his own thoughts, that when Maverick called out his name, he physically jumped.

"Yes, sir?" he said and Mav gave him a soft look. Rooster chose to answer that look for the first time in twenty years and he saw Maverick's eyes widen marginally.

"Will you be my wingman?" Mav asked softly and Rooster nodded quickly.

"Always, Mav," he murmured, but he doubted Maverick had heard it. It felt right to say it, though. The world became a blur again until he was standing on the carrier, Jake standing in front of him.

"Go give them hell!" Hangman yelled, but it was Jake who grabbed his hand a little too tightly and who blinked a few times to not shed a tear. Rooster did the same thing and nodded to the spare (at sometime the past twenty minutes he had found out the two other teams were Payback and Fanboy and Omaha and Halo while Hangman was the spare) before rushing away to his aircraft.

After he had done the mandatory checks, he took a few deep breaths to focus and then went to Maverick's plane. The other man was still checking some things (stroking and petting the aircraft almost like she was a pet) and for a few seconds Rooster stood there, frozen in place. He felt the anger bubble up from somewhere, but the earlier image of the deceased Maverick pushed it down again.

"Sir?" he said, but he immediately realized he had spoken too softly, so he asked again, removing the question mark while he did so.

"I...I just want to say-" he got interrupted by a loud announcement, but that was probably for the better, because he had no clue what to say to Maverick. I hate you, but I miss you so badly at the same time? I can't forgive you for doing what you did, but I also want you to be my dad again?

Maverick looked at him and his gaze was soft and calm. He smiled with his eyes (Rooster almost cried when he realized he had totally forgotten Mav could do that) and then shrugged, gesturing to the sounds in between them.

"We talk-" he said and Rooster hold his breath. The world stopped for a moment when the brittle moment balanced on a small ledge, teetering between the frightening uncertainty of 'if' and the untruthful certainty of 'when'. Rooster saw Maverick take a breath and anxiously waited.

"We get back," Maverick finished and Rooster was at first disappointed Maverick had not been brave enough to make a choice, but then he saw the expertly disguised terror in the man's eyes and he reconsidered. It was brave enough Maverick was standing here at all, preparing to fly a mission on the edge of death from which he had just dragged his husband away (they had been briefed earlier that Iceman had woken up the night before and would be fine with a bit of rest).

Rooster nodded and turned around, but when he had taken a step, he heard Maverick asking for him. When he had swallowed the lump that had formed when he had heard his name out of Maverick's mouth, he turned around again.

"You got this." Maverick had poured all his Mitchell-determination (which was a lot) in those three words and for a brief moment, Rooster believed him like he had always done (and would always keep doing). Rooster did, however, not know how to respond, so he just nodded and stepped back to his own aircraft.

They all took off and flew in formation. After waving to the dozens of rockets that flew over their heads (no, off course Rooster did not actually wave a little, he wasn't a child), they started their timers and dove into the canyon.

The SAM's were terrifying and Rooster couldn't resist glancing at them every few seconds, terrified one of them would move and blast them all into oblivion. He focused and kept twisting and turning, seeing the timer tick the seconds away slowly. When Comanche reported two bandits far away and Maverick urged them all to increase their speed, Rooster tried to focus more, to make his movements more precise and more on the nose, but he was already at his maximum and slowly but surely he noticed that he was losing the two daggers ahead.

Payback asked him to fly faster and when that didn't work, urged him to be faster with poorly disguised worry in his tone. Rooster flew his ass off, but his speedometer didn't increase a bit. When Payback urged him again, he sent his eyes to the sky.

"Talk to me dad."

"Come on kid, you can do it. Don't think, just do," Maverick said and Rooster lay his hand on the throttle. This was it. This was what Maverick had been trying to tell him and what Jake had been talking about again and again. He hadn't reached his limit; there was still more throttle to give. He pushed the throttle forwards and said a very loud 'fuck you' to his brain in the process. He steered alongside rock walls and waterfalls, under a bridge and near the top of the trees while saying 'fuck you' to what he supposed to be possible.

He said 'fuck you' to his reservations about flying outside the box, to the f-18 natops he had so arduously studied, to Cyclone and to everyone who had ever doubted him (including himself).

He said 'fuck you' to the concept of being a pilot in a plane, a human in a machine and instead embraced the plane until she and him became one.

He said 'fuck you' to the laser when he dropped the bombs blind.

He said 'fuck you' to the impossibility of flying at G-forces of ten.

He said 'fuck you' to calculating the situation, trying to get a good overview to predict where the missiles would be coming from, instead focusing on his gut, their WSO's and his plane to keep him alive.

He said 'fuck you' to Cyclone and the upper brass, who had doubted this mission would be survivable, when they neared the borders of coffin corner.

He almost let his mind come online again until he saw two missiles from the corner of his eyes and yanked his plane aside to escape them. He tried to catch the missiles in his flares, but a pressing of the button gave nothing but a faint clicking sound.

"Shit, I'm out of flares!" he yelled as he twisted and turned to get the bloody missiles of his tail. He yelled some more while he saw the missiles come closer and closer. Suddenly another plane cobra'd in between Rooster and the missiles and Rooster heard a faint explosion. He swiveled around in his seat, heart in his throat, and the blue stripe on the other plane caught his attention just before the back of it exploded in an ugly orange and the plane crashed downwards.

"Mav!" he yelled as his breath got stolen from him, hurtling down alongside his father, the snowy ground waiting mercilessly for the older pilot meters below.