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The ‘mission from hell’ certainly lived up to its name, Hangman thought to himself.

First Javy had gone into G-LOC and Hangman swore that he didn’t breathe from the second that Maverick announced the situation over the comms to the second that he heard Javy’s shaky voice again. And even then, Hangman’s mind was still whirling.

Jake “Hangman” Seresin could count on one hand how many people he trusted wholeheartedly without a single doubt. And Javy “Coyote” Machado was at the top of that list. They’d been best friends since entering flight school together and despite all of the separation over the years, they would have both dropped everything to be there for the other in a heartbeat.

All that Hangman could think about were flashes of Javy’s family. As Maverick would lecture: What excuse would his family accept? ‘None’ was always the answer. And Jake wasn’t sure that he’d be able to watch Javy’s mom’s face fall—a woman who still sent him care packages and insisted that he call her ‘Ma’ just the same as her biological children—as she was handed the folded flag.

But then Javy pulled up in time and all was well at TOPGUN.

For three seconds.

For all that he insulted and ribbed Phoenix, Hangman knew that she was a damn good pilot. One of the best, if not the best, dual seater pilots in the whole Navy. They’d been stationed together a number of times and he’d never seen her crack once. So, when he heard the edge of terror to her voice, Hangman froze in place.

Hearing Bob start to panic wasn’t surprising. Not because Hangman thought that Bob was a coward—in all honesty Bob had shown more than enough of a backbone to cut it—but because it was practically impossible for WSOs to not panic in that situation. They had no control, and they were going down. It was a human response. But to hear Phoenix start to panic, that knocked the air right out of his lungs all over again.

Maverick had announced over the comms that he spotted two parachutes in the air, so at the very least, Phoenix and Bob weren’t in the downed plane. But that didn’t mean that they were okay. Javy arrived first to the runway, since Maverick stuck behind to assist with search and rescue, and Jake was right there to help him out of the cockpit.

Javy brushed off the whole situation, claiming that he was fine, but Jake could feel him shaking as he helped him down the ladder. But Jake didn’t comment on it. Javy wouldn’t have if they switched positions. So, Jake just handed Javy over to the care of the medics, who rushed him off to the base hospital for a thorough examination.

Javy had insisted that Jake stay behind at the base and wait for news on Phoenix and Bob, since he wouldn’t be able to see visitors until after all the proper examinations were done anyways. And though Jake was itching to argue, he didn’t. Because he trusted Javy wholeheartedly without a single doubt.

So, there Jake was, waiting with the others for news on Phoenix and Bob. Maverick had landed his plane, but he wasn’t anywhere to be found. Rooster had walked off to who knows where—Halo said that he had one of those looks in his eye, so it was better to just leave him alone—but everyone else was scattered around the room. Watching. Waiting. Barely breathing.

What a fucking day, Hangman scoffed to himself. First, Javy. Then, Phoenix and Bob. What could possibly be next?

Jake practically jumped, too caught up in his own thoughts, when his phone rang in his pocket.

He’d grabbed it while collecting Javy’s stuff to send to the hospital with the attending medics, even though they weren’t technically dismissed yet. But after the day that they had all just experienced, he highly doubted that anyone was going to give a shit about him having his phone on him.

Jake pulled his phone out of his pocket and raised an eyebrow when he saw that it was Sarah Kazansky calling him. His relationship with his sort-of stepmother wasn’t much—and that was much more on him than on her—and, as such, they rarely spoke one-on-one. She was always nice to him when he stopped by, but she never called him.

And that caused his stomach to twist all over again. Something just felt off to him.

Hangman slipped out of his chair and headed for the hallway, not wanting anyone to overhear anything. Fanboy glanced up at the movement, but if he thought something was off about it, Fanboy didn’t comment. And frankly, Hangman hoped that the rest of them wouldn’t comment about it when he returned.

“Sarah? Are you okay? Is something wrong?” Jake questioned immediately. He walked down the hall and away from the rec room, glancing behind him to see if anyone had followed him.

“Are you alone?” she asked him quietly. So quietly that he barely heard her.

“Yeah, I guess, why?”

She let out a shaky breath before stating, “He’s gone, Jake. Tom, Ice, your father . . . he’s gone. He passed away about an hour ago.”

Jake immediately froze, his green eyes blown wide in shock. They darted back and forth anxiously, trying to put all of the pieces of the puzzle together. He’d just seen Ice two days ago. And he was alive. He was fine. He still squeezed Jake tight and patted him on the shoulder, giving him that nod that Jake knew silently meant ‘I’m proud of you’ like he always did.

He wasn’t dead. He couldn’t be. That wasn’t possible.

“But it was peaceful and he’s not in pain anymore,” Sarah continued on. It sounded rehearsed to Jake, like she had already called ten people with the same news and still had about a thousand more on her list.

“Thank you for letting me know,” Jake replied with more strength than he thought that he possessed. “I’m sorry, Sarah.”

“I’m sorry too, Jake. If you need anything, you’re more than welcome to come by the house anytime. Or perhaps after the funeral. Just let me know and I’ll let you know where we are.”

“Thank you. I’m sorry again, Sarah.”

“Thank you, Jake. Bye.”

“Bye.”

The call ended and as he lowered his phone back into his pocket, Jake’s mind went blank. Completely and utterly blank. From the hallway to the hangar, Jake remembered nothing. He just blacked out. He had no memory of a single step between the hallway and the hangar. Hell, someone probably could have knocked out his two front teeth and Jake still wouldn’t have realized it.

It wasn’t until Jake punched the metal wall of one of the open hangars that he was aware that he wasn’t in the same hallway anymore. And it wasn’t until he found himself kneeling on the ground, his knees throbbing in pain from the concrete, that he realized that he was crying. And once he realized that he was crying, he finally let himself breakdown.

Angrily punching the wall again with both his fists, Jake rested his forehead against the cool metal. He sat there, leaned forward, and just cried like a baby, his entire body shaking from the strain of it all. But then the waves of sadness and pain eventually gave way to anger and then he was punching the wall again.

How could he not have told me!? Jake wailed in the depths of his own mind. Didn’t I deserve to know!? How could he have just let me leave like that without saying a proper goodbye!?

And then, when he realized just how hurt he was by that, Jake grew even more angry.

It was the kind of anger that only an abandoned child could feel. The kind that whenever it popped up, Jake got even madder at himself because fuck he should have been over that by now. He wasn’t a fucking child anymore, so why was he still angry? And the answer didn’t matter, really, because he was angry. Viciously angry.

Jake had gotten good over the years at hiding his anger behind a mask, but it was always there, bubbling under the surface. It occasionally seeped up through a crack or two in his fortified mask of arrogant confidence before he inevitably repaired the mask again and went back to normal. Only a handful of people had seen him without that mask, and the number just went down by one.

Why didn’t he tell me?

Jake let out a shaky breath, the coolness of the metal wall providing him with a smidge of relief from the heat of his anger. His knees began to ache from kneeling for so long. Jake rolled around and rested his back against the wall instead, tilting his chin up as he stared at the parked F-18 in front of him. Almost as if it had all the answers. As if there were answers to his questions in the first place.

Why didn’t he tell me? Jake thought quietly, the anger starting to simmer as his tears dried. Was I not good enough, not important enough to know? Who did know? Was everything that happened over the last few years just some kind of guilt-ridden haze on Ice’s part?

Those stupid abandonment issues cropped up again, flinging around accusations that Jake knew were ridiculous. But yet he didn’t stop them or try to rein them in. Because under all of the layers to Jake Seresin, there was still the little boy who quietly thought that he’d never be good enough for anyone or anything since he wasn’t even good enough for a dad.

And right on cue, there was the anger again.

Jake wasn’t even angry at Ice—and even if he was, what was the point now? Jake wasn’t sure who he was angry at. Probably mostly at himself, like usual, but it felt more than that. His birth mother for withholding information for so many years? No, that anger and resentment remained the same. His grandparents for going along with it? No, he wasn’t mad at them either.

Jake was just mad, and that made him even angrier because he didn’t know why or who he was angry at.

Why didn’t he tell me?

They didn’t exactly have a normal father-son relationship by any stretch of means, but Jake liked to think that they were at least close enough that Ice could have told him about the diagnosis. Here Jake was thinking that he was the one going on the suicide mission when Ice was the one actually dying right in front of him.

Why didn’t he tell me?

Their unorthodox father-son relationship was unorthodox for a number of reasons. But most of the reasons stemmed from the fact that Ice didn’t even know about Jake’s existence until Jake was already twenty-three.

Jake was the result of a drunken one-night stand, and it showed with how fast his birth mother handed him over to her parents, Jake’s grandparents, to raise him. His whole childhood, Jake never knew who his father was no matter who he asked or how many times he did. It took him screaming at his birth mother after his grandmother’s funeral to finally get an answer.

But every goddamn second after Ice found out about Jake, he was there. He was there when Jake graduated flight school. He was there when Jake graduated TOP GUN. He was there when he got his confirmed kill. Ice had even gone so far as to offer to officially and publicly admit that he was Jake’s biological father—a move that could have seriously impacted his reputation in the Navy all while bolstering Jake’s—but Jake refused.

He wasn’t worth it, Jake’s abandonment issues argued.

But he was, in Ice’s opinion.

So, why didn’t he tell me? Jake wondered to himself.

The sound of approaching footsteps caused Jake to look up. Vaguely, he assumed it to be Hondo or one of his fellow aviators coming to chew him out about not visiting his injured teammates in the hospital. But instead, Jake found himself locking eyes with Maverick.

Maverick. Of all fucking people, it had to be Maverick.

The two naval aviators stared at each other for a brief moment, seeming to quietly acknowledge that they were both aware of the recent loss, until Hangman broke the eye contact. He found the ground to be far more interesting than anything Maverick had to say, anyways. Silently, Maverick moved to take a seat next to Hangman on the ground.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Maverick stated after a few beats of silence.

“Don’t be,” Hangman replied immediately. He picked up his head to stare at the F-18 in front of him again. Though the move was more about keeping those stupid building tears safely tucked away in his eyelids. Behind the usual mask. “You knew him longer and better than I ever did. I should be saying that to you.”

“Still,” Maverick continued softly, “I am sorry, Jake.”

‘Jake’? Who the fuck did Maverick think he was? Just because he was Ice’s wingman and his current CO, that didn’t mean that Maverick got to give him the kind of pop talk that was certainly inbound for his location.

Jake clenched his jaw and asked, “Is there something I can help you with, sir?”

“Sarah wanted me to check up on you.”

“I’m fine,” Jake all but growled out.

He glared at the floor and grew more irritated when Maverick didn’t leave. Maverick had done his duty—he found Jake, asked him if he was okay, Jake gave him the okay, and that was it. So why the fuck was he still here? Why couldn’t Maverick go bother Rooster instead? Or anyone? Surely Cyclone had something to complain about. Or why didn’t he go visit Phoenix, Bob, and Javy in the hospital?

Why the fuck was Maverick with him of all people right now?

“Did you know?” Hangman demanded quietly. If Maverick was going to sit here like a shrink wanting to pick apart his mind, Jake was going to get something out of the stupid and completely avoidable interaction.

“About you?”

“That he was sick,” Hangman corrected gruffly. “Again, anyways. Did you know?”

“Not until I got back to Miramar,” Maverick answered honestly. “He didn’t want to tell anyone.”

“You’re telling me,” Hangman scoffed, resentment seeping into his tone.

Why didn’t he tell me?

“He was trying to protect you.”

“I didn’t need his protection!” Jake snapped angrily, whipping around to glare at Maverick. Though Jake raised his voice, Maverick didn’t even blink at the change. “Sir,” Jake added as an afterthought when he reined control of the angry beast clawing out of his chest again. Jake turned to glare at the floor. “And I didn’t want it either.”

“I assumed.”

Jake couldn’t help the scoff. What the hell does he know about me? Jake thought to himself. Not a single goddamn thing.

It didn’t matter that Maverick knew that he was Ice’s bastard son. It didn’t matter that Maverick probably knew enough about Jake’s delayed relationship with Ice to make such stupid assumptions about him. It didn’t matter that Maverick could see him hurting over it.

Because Ice was gone, and with him went any possible obligation that Maverick could have felt to check up on Jake.

“What do you want from me?” Jake inquired quietly. His voice was more strained than before, and he could feel the fucking tears building again. “I’m fine. You don’t have to stay. And it’s not curfew yet. So, what do you want from me?”

“Nothing,” Maverick replied simply. 

“Look, you don’t have to feel some kind of obligation to stay here and check up on me just because you owed Ice something from years back. I’m not Ice and I never will be. So, you can leave. You don’t owe me a single goddamn thing.”

“I know,” Maverick assured Jake.

“Then why are you still here?”

Hangman’s tone was rough and accusatory. It definitely could have gotten him in trouble. A lot of other COs in Jake’s career would have torn him a new one for that tone alone, but Maverick just stared at Hangman like he knew every page to his story. And that infuriated Jake to no end.

“You gonna tell me about how great of a man he was? How great he was at flying? Always flew ice cold, no mistakes. How he never had a single screw up in his long and distinguished career? Except for me, anyways. And how now that he’s gone, I should just buck up and move on because that’s what we do in the Navy? Because we have the mission to think about? Because that’s what he would want? Is that why you’re still here?”

Jake hated the fact that the dam had broken and now he was crying again, and he hated the fact more that he was doing it in front of Maverick of all people. So, he got to his feet and moved to leave the hangar and head to his room where he could actually be alone to cry again in peace. But Maverick’s next words caused him to pause.

“Is that why you fly the way that you do?”

Jake paused, his boots scuffing against the concrete floor as he came to a stop. His fists, which would undoubtedly be bruised for the punching session with the wall, clenched subtly. His jaw locked into place before Jake turned on his heel, facing Maverick once again.

“Like you’re trying to prove something,” Maverick continued, slowly getting to his feet. He brushed himself off as he straightened up once more.

“I don’t have to prove anything to anyone, sir,” Hangman grunted out harshly. “And I think that my stats answer any doubts that you or anyone else could have about my capabilities in the air.” His shoulders squared just a bit more under Maverick’s gaze. “And I did all of that on my own, sir.”

“I never said you didn’t, Lieutenant.”

And there it was—that knowing look again.

That pitiful, oh poor Jake Seresin look that he got from teachers when they excused him from the typical Mother’s or Father’s Day activities. That oh poor Jake Seresin, look at him all alone in the world and without anyone to give a shit about him that he got at his grandmother’s funeral. The ‘oh, the poor dear’ kind of look when he spent ever family weekend alone in the Academy.

God, Jake was so over this shit.

“Am I dismissed, sir?” Hangman all but growled out.

“After one question,” Maverick replied calmly, taking a few steps over. “I talked with Sarah and the military big wigs involved in his funeral and . . .” Maverick paused, meeting Jake’s burning angry gaze once more. “. . . if you want it—and there’s no pressure—there’s a pallbearer position open. Of course, it would be as a military officer, not as a family member, but it’s yours if you want it.”

Jake stared over at Maverick for a moment, neither of them moving. None of them even really breathing either. They both knew what that meant, what the honor of being selected as a pallbearer for a four-star admiral’s funeral would signal to everyone else. To the whole fucking Navy, even.

“Ice wrote out the request himself, actually,” Maverick added. Jake’s jaw clenched firmly shut at Maverick’s words. His throat closed up, clogged with emotion.

“I’ll do it,” Jake grunted out. Then he turned around on his heel and headed for the barracks as another set of tears dropped down his cheeks.

Jake quietly thought to himself that it might have been a mistake to agree to the pallbearer position. The team definitely thought that something was off, though they all knew better than to bring it up at a funeral. Cyclone, Warlock, and Hondo definitely knew because they didn’t even look surprised as Jake stepped up to join with the other pallbearers.

But it was the closest thing that he had to a proper goodbye to his father, so Jake was going to take it. 

Carefully setting the casket down, Jake straightened up with the three other alternate pallbearers. Straightening up, they saluted the casket at the same time, though Jake was a moment late in lowering his arm back to his side. And then he silently took his position beside Javy with the other Dagger Squad members, as if he was just a simple observer.

The four remaining pallbearers folded up the flag on top of Ice’s casket. Sarah accepted it with a grieving, but steady nod. Maverick stood at the end of Ice’s casket, staring down at the casket for a moment to collect himself. Wordlessly, he unpinned the wings from his own jacket and punched them into Ice’s casket.

The military officers present saluted as the distance roar of the jets could be heard. And in that moment, Jake was quietly grateful for Maverick’s presence. Because everyone was too focused on Maverick’s tears and shaky hand to notice that Jake was far worse off.

Maverick was allowed to publicly grieve Ice, his wingman. Jake wasn’t. At least, in his own mind. So, it was better for Maverick to be in front.

And after the jets passed over, the military officers lowered their arms. The funeral wrapped up from there. The casket was lowered down and the residual crowd headed back to their cars to leave for the reception or elsewhere. Maverick moved to talk to Sarah, but Jake stood with his feet firmly planted to the ground.

Slowly, the members of the Dagger Squad peeled off. They had collectively agreed to briefly show up to the reception to be respectful, but many of them didn’t plan to stay long. Save for Rooster, Coyote, and himself, Jake was pretty sure that none of them had ever met Ice before anyways.

“Take the time you need,” Coyote told Jake quietly. They had carpooled so as to not raise suspicion in case Jake wanted to stay later.

“Thanks, Javy.”

With a nod, Coyote walked off to give Jake space and Jake was grateful that he didn’t need to explain that to Javy. Jake was not the type of mourner who wanted to be coddled and held as they cried. He never had been. He just wanted to be alone. He wanted to cry the burden off his chest, wring out his emotional baggage, and put himself back together so that he could move on.

Healthy, right?

Jake stepped up in front of the picture that they had put up of Ice, quietly reminiscing.

The first time that Jake found out about his true parentage, he remembered searching desperately for any kind of resemblance between his appearance and Ice’s. It wasn’t blatantly obvious that he was Ice’s kid, but the subtle traits were there. In the blond hair, in the cheekbones, and definitely in the smirk. At least, that was what he told himself.

It led Jake down the line of memories surrounding the day that he had received his callsign—Hangman. A callsign that was well deserved and that he lived up to every day. Sure, it wasn’t the catchiest but there were much worse ones out there. And he wore it with pride. It was his callsign, his identity. It was his. 

No one needed to know that his favorite part of his own callsign was how it ended in ‘man’. It was stupid, especially because he was the one who refused to switch his last name from Seresin to Kazansky in the first place, but with their callsigns, there was a subtle, if not completely pathetic connection between them. Iceman and Hangman.

Pathetic, he knew. Completely pathetic. A thousand other callsigns ended in ‘man’ as well. But that didn’t change the fact that the connection was there. That didn’t change the fact that Jake held onto that small, little, arbitrary, simply pathetic similarity like his only flotation device.

“Jake,” Sarah called, breaking him out of his thoughts.

Jake turned to her slowly, nodding respectfully. She greeted him with a small smile, which was more than a lot of widows could have done. Her own children had wandered off on their own, talking with closer relatives and friends. Maverick was still sat on the side with Penny Benjamin, giving Jake and Sarah a sizeable distance from the others.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” were the first words out of his mouth.

“As am I,” Sarah returned quietly.

Jake nodded back to her. They turned quietly to admire the photo again, both silently caught up in their own thoughts. The sound of something rattling caused Jake to turn back to Sarah. She pulled a small box from the pocket of her dress and held it out to him. He stared down at it questioningly, trying to identify the box. But Sarah didn’t waver, so he took it.

Opening the small metal box carefully, Jake sucked in a sharp intake of breath when he spotted what was inside. A set of dog tags. With a quick flick of his finger, Jake traced the outline of a name that was not his own on the metal. These were Ice’s dog tags. His father’s dog tags.

“He wanted you to have them,” she stated softly, causing Jake to turn to her again.

“I . . . I can’t accept these, Sarah.” He closed the box quickly and held it back to her. “I’m sure that you or someone else closer to him wants them. I can’t take them.”

“We all have plenty other things to remember him by,” Sarah replied, sounding so motherly that it was almost an ingrained reaction for his heart to swell at her tone. “And besides, they could bring you some good luck on this mission.” She pushed the box back to him. “He wanted you to have them. And I want to honor his last wishes. The kids have their own memory pieces too, so this one’s yours.”

And before he could protest once more, Sarah had walked off to be with her family.

Jake watched her walk away for a moment before his eyes trailed back to Ice’s portrait. His grip on the box tightened as he stared up at Ice’s portrait one last time, silently communicating that he recognized the honor, the privilege of receiving his dog tags. Pressing his lips into a firm line to prevent them from wobbling, Jake turned to head to the parking lot.

“And your wingman?” Cyclone asked Maverick.

Hangman subtly squared his shoulders on impulse at Cyclone’s question. And by a quick glance, so had Rooster and Fritz. Coyote was well aware that after the G-LOC situation, he wouldn’t be chosen for the mission, so he remained unchanged in his stance. But if the tension in the room was thick before, the seconds ticking by now only stiffened the air further.

“Rooster,” Maverick announced finally.

At first, Jake was disappointed. His shoulders sagged slightly as he processed the information. He was hoping to be chosen for sure, but on the other hand, he wasn’t surprised that Maverick selected Rooster. He would have been more surprised if Maverick announced anyone other than Rooster, honestly. Their complicated relationship was all too clear now for Maverick to not pick Rooster.

Admittedly, bringing up Rooster’s dad in the hangar was not Jake’s best moment. He clearly didn’t know the full story and Jake had his very own complicated parental relationship with a high-ranking naval officer to deal with. But he could pick out the bits and pieces of Rooster and Maverick’s relationship that reminded him of his own with Ice.

And Jake knew that Maverick felt obligated to pick Rooster because of that. Jake would have been pissed if Maverick and Ice had switched positions and Ice picked Rooster or Fritz or Javy over him in the name of ‘protecting him’ or something like that. And no one missed how rocky their relationship had been since the bird strike incident. Rooster was the clear choice.

Hangman had to also begrudgingly admit that Rooster was more consistent out of the two of them. Consistently slow, conservative, and emotional, but consistent.

He turned to glance over at Rooster, who looked like he had stopped breathing for a moment. He was staring up at Maverick in disbelief, like he was dreaming, and it wasn’t really happening. Recognizing that Rooster wasn’t reachable—especially to him of all people—Jake simply turned to congratulate Payback and Fanboy behind him.

Cyclone took control of the room again, going over the briefing, running through all of the information that every single person standing in that room had already permanently burned into their mind. And, for his own part, Cyclone looked grim, like the absolute shit odds that the six naval aviators were facing weighed heavily on him. But none of them came here to chicken out now.

Sorry, maybe he was still a little butt hurt about not getting picked. Hangman quietly decided to keep the rest of his poultry-related jokes to himself.

Cyclone dismissed them shortly afterwards to prepare for the mission. Hangman immediately turned to Coyote, who was standing beside him. They shared a silent nod, communicating with the slight turns of their heads, before heading for the locker room.

“Lieutenant Seresin,” Maverick called, causing Jake to pause.

He turned around to see Maverick standing at the front of the room with Cyclone, who for once didn’t seem annoyed at the fact that Maverick was standing a mere four feet from him. Jake nodded to Javy, telling him to head on without him, before walking over to Maverick and Cyclone. Everyone else filed out of the room, though a few glances were thrown back in Hangman’s direction.

“Sirs,” he greeted them, standing pin straight.

“Vice Admiral Simpson, I wanted to designate Hangman as my spare for this mission,” Maverick stated, speaking to Cyclone, but staring at Jake.

“Of course. Get suited up, Hangman. You’re on standby until the mission is complete,” Cyclone ordered, causing Jake to nod curtly. Cyclone walked off to the control center, leaving Hangman and Maverick relatively alone in the room.

“It wasn’t personal,” Maverick told Hangman as soon as Cyclone was out of earshot.

“I didn’t think it was, sir,” Hangman assured Maverick.

There was no point to maintaining the rivalry with Rooster anymore: Maverick had picked his team, the team had been dismissed, and the mission was happening whether or not anyone threw a hissy fit about it. Regardless of how he felt, that wouldn’t change the outcome to the situation.

“Good luck, sir,” Hangman offered Maverick.

“Thank you . . . Jake.”

If Jake was surprised or angered by the use of his name rather than his callsign, he didn’t show it. He simply nodded respectfully to Maverick and moved to catch up with the others. Though, as he walked, his hand subtly crept up to the breast pocket in his flight suit where a certain pair of dog tags were sitting.

It wasn’t long before they were all up on the runway. Jake broke away from Coyote and Fritz and headed over to Rooster. He still seemed to be in a trance of some kind and, well, Jake had a bad habit of being the one to snap him back into reality.

Rooster, sensing Hangman’s approach, picked his head up to look at him. They stood in silence for a moment, neither really knowing how to respond to the other. Jake quietly wondered if an apology was the best course of action, but Rooster looked more like he needed a kick in the ass to get him started up than an emotional pat on the back.

“Give ‘em hell,” was what Hangman decided on.

And that was that. The former rivals nodded to each other in acknowledgement before heading in their separate directions. Hangman pulled on his helmet before climbing into his cockpit. Even though he was the spare, he wasn’t about to be caught with his pants down and unprepared for the mission. He was the spare, yes. But he was going to be the goddamn best spare in the whole fucking Navy.

With his comms in, Hangman could hear everything going on with the mission. The other alternate naval aviators gathered around his plane as Hangman repeated back what was happening to them. They cheered when the first miracle occurred and then louder again when the second miracle was confirmed after it.

The four planes had survived the valley, pulled off their miracles, and survived the climb up coffin’s corner. But now came the missiles and an inevitable dog fight. It was frankly painful to hear the panic in their voices, knowing that he couldn’t do anything about it. And every single naval aviator gathered around him was itching to hop into a plane just the same as him.

“Mav! No!” he heard Rooster yell over the comms.

“Dagger One is hit! I repeat, Dagger One is hit! Maverick is down!” Phoenix shouted over the comms, causing Hangman’s blood to run cold.

“Mav got hit,” Hangman reported quietly to the others, who shared shocked looks. Casualties were obviously a risk with this mission, but no one seemed to think that Maverick would be a part of that equation. Picking up his mask, Hangman held it over his mouth and stated, “Dagger Spare, requesting take off.”

“Dagger Spare, denied,” Cyclone replied back, causing Hangman to toss his mask aside in frustration. What the fuck was the point of having a spare if they didn’t use him?

“Rooster!” Phoenix yelled out suddenly, causing Hangman to straighten up.

“Dagger Two has turned around,” Bob reported grimly over the comms.

“Rooster turned around,” Hangman informed the others.

“Jesus Christ,” Fritz murmured, staring out in the direction that they were supposed to be returning from. Two planes short from how they started.

“Dagger Two has been shot down,” the control center stated a few moments later, confirming everyone’s worst fears.

The alternate seven naval aviators stood in a line to greet the returning planes. Hangman felt sick at the display, feeling too much like he was standing at yet another funeral. Phoenix and Bob landed first, followed closely behind by Payback and Fanboy.

“Any word?” Phoenix called out to them as she disembarked.

“No, not any,” Coyote replied, shaking his head.

They stood together, discussing the mission and what had caused the casualties. Medics came over to check on those who had gone on the mission, but quickly cleared the four aviators. All four of which would have had to probably been dragged kicking and screaming down to the med bay if one of the medics even attempted to question their responses.

About a thousand reasons were thrown about for why Rooster turned around. Hangman quietly assumed that the guilt factor of pushing a caring parental figure away because of deep-seated emotional trauma and then losing them suddenly and prematurely had something to do with it. And he might know a thing or two about that.

But then he heard it over the comms: “Rooster’s airborne.”

“Dagger Spare requesting take off,” Hangman stated immediately, sprinting back to his plane.

“Dagger Spare, permission granted.”

Hangman slipped into his cockpit and hurried to move through the pre-flight checks. The crew on top of the aircraft carrier immediately moved to prepare his plane for launch. Giving the signal that he was ready for flight, Hangman rested one hand on the throttle and the other on a set of hidden dog tags in his flight suit.

“Ice cold, no mistakes,” he whispered to himself. And with the affirmative signal, he was off.

“Dagger Spare, sending you their location now.”

“Got it,” Hangman reported back after a quick glance down to his navigation. He picked up speed and turned to intercept them.

Hangman knew that he had to move fast. Hell, his flying whole style was about busting ass and getting the job done. But this wasn’t about showing off anymore, this was about moving fast enough so that he didn’t have to attend another funeral. Seven naval aviators had taken off and seven were coming home. Alive. He wouldn’t accept any other outcome.

“Have you managed to make contact with them yet?” he asked command central, glancing down at his navigation system.

“Negative, Dagger Spare.”

“Do we know what plane they managed to get into the air?”

“Negative, Dagger Spare.”

Frankly, he shouldn’t have expected anything less from Maverick. He’d heard some of the stories, mostly the more sensational ones, from his father and a whole bunch of angry naval officers that Maverick had pissed off over the years. He just hoped that Maverick was a good enough pilot to stay alive until Jake could arrive to help.

“Ice cold, no mistakes,” Hangman repeated to himself before punching it.

He wasn’t too far from the mainland when he finally spotted something in the air. Upon a closer glance, it looked like a F-14 Tomcat being pursued by a fifth-generation fighter. And it took half a millisecond to guess which plane Maverick and Rooster were sitting in.

Hangman wouldn’t have picked Maverick to be the overly sentimental type.

Pulling up his targeting system, Hangman quickly aimed at the SU-57 with his missile launcher and fired as soon as the target locked. The fifth-generation fighter was about to launch a missile of their own at the Tomcat when Hangman’s missile hit the plane, causing a large explosion.

Hangman let out a breath, relieved that he had gotten there in time. A quick scan of the radar showed no more enemy fighters, allowing him a moment to relax. Flying around the exploded remains, Hangman pulled up alongside the Tomcat. Now that death was no longer imminent, he thought that there was nothing wrong with messing with Maverick and Rooster just a little bit.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your savior speaking,” he began, unhooking his mask. “Please fasten your seat belts, fold you tray tables into the upright position, and enjoy the landing.” Maverick and Rooster smiled over at him, waving through the glass.

“You look good, Hangman,” Rooster returned, clearly relieved and thankful.

“I am good. I am very good,” Hangman echoed.

Jake stared out at the ocean as the carrier headed back home.

His hands rested on the railings, but he stood tall and stoic, like he’d been trained to since entering the academy at the age of eighteen. And though his face seemed impassive as he stared at the waves, his light eyes swam with emotion.

Reaching into his shirt, Hangman pulled out two sets of dog tags. One was clearly newer and in better shape with ‘Jake “Hangman” Seresin’ stamped clearly into the metal. The second pair was older, but freshly polished. The name ‘Tom “Iceman” Kazansky’ was stamped into the thin metal, though the edges of the letters weren’t nearly as sharp. 

The sound of footsteps caused Hangman to tuck the dog tags back under his shirt and turn around suddenly. Maverick stood a few paces away, dressed in his day uniform as well. He walked over slowly, cautiously, as if he was afraid of startling Jake into the waves.

“May I join you?” Maverick asked quietly.

“Of course.”

Jake turned back to the waves as Maverick walked the few paces over. He stood beside Jake, staring out at the waves silently, brought back to memories of a different carrier in a different ocean some odd thirty years previous.

“Thank you for saving my life,” Maverick started off with, turning to look up at Jake. “And more importantly, for saving Rooster’s life.”

“Just doing my job,” Jake brushed off.

“You did good, Jake,” Maverick praised, looking more like a proud dad than an impressed commanding officer. “Your dad would think so too. He’d be so proud of you.”

“Thank you,” Jake returned quietly, genuinely touched at the remark. It meant a lot coming from Ice’s wingman, a man who’d flow extensively with him for years. Not that Jake would admit that aloud to Maverick. Not yet at least.

“You know, if you ever wanted to talk about him or anything, my door’s always open,” Maverick assured Jake, who offered a soft smile in return.

“Thank you. I appreciate that.”

After chatting about the mission and what was going to happen next for the Dagger Squadron, Jake bid Maverick goodbye and headed below deck to catch dinner with the rest of the team. Maverick didn’t miss the added clink of two sets of dog tags as Jake walked away.

Staring out at the sea, Maverick let out a quiet but incredulous laugh. If anyone told him while he was at TOP GUN that one day in the future, Ice’s son would save Bradley, Goose’s son, and Maverick himself, he probably would have suggested a psych eval for that person. But yet here he was, living in the aftermath of that odd situation.

You did good with those boys, Maverick quietly praised Goose and Ice. They must get it from their fathers.

And with one final tap of the railings in goodbye, Maverick moved to head below deck as well.