Chapter Text
The way Jake's luck's been going, he doesn't know why he's surprised to find that the Old Timer he'd literally thrown out of the Hard Deck is not only his Top Gun instructor, but also the elusive "Mav" of Nick Bradshaw-infamy.
"Fucking yeah, Maverick!"
Nick hoots into Jake's ear as he tries to hide his mortification and the dances up and down the aisle behind Maverick, a satirical contrast to the stoic hero-walk that Maverick is attempting to pull off (is successfully pulling off, whatever).
"Woo baby! That's my Mav! That's my man!"
He twists his hips in odd angles that make Jake somehow certain that Bradshaw has inherited his dance skills entirely from his mother.
When Maverick gets up to the podium, Nick reclaims his place over Jake's shoulder, but continues his inane singing. Jake resorts to writing in the corner of his book, shut the fuck up and go bother Rooster.
Thankfully, he goes.
Not-so-thankfully, it doesn't save Jake from the man loudly heckling him from the back of the room. He's halfway through inviting Jake to just give up as Bradley is going to hand him his ass and become team leader when the presentation flickers to the next slide. They finally have the full picture.
It’s a suicide mission. Improbable to pull off; impossible to survive.
Nick falls silent. It’s what he’s been wishing for but Jake can't find it in himself to feel happy about it now. There's an energy in the room that wasn't there before.
The somber air stays the rest of the day. Nick's quiet in a way Jake hasn't seen since the first day he appeared over Rooster's shoulder, smack-talking the other trainees and giving instructions his son couldn't hear. He sticks to Rooster like glue all day, even going so far as settling himself cross-legged on the nose of Rooster's plane to stare pensively at him through the glass as the other man preps for his hop. Jake snorts at the image — doesn't matter if Nick is already dead, people shouldn't be dangling off jets like that — but thanks his blessings he doesn't have to deal with a ghost on his plane. He doesn't get the luxury of not seeing through them like everyone else.
Nick being distracted gives Jake a nice reprieve. Not just of Nick's antics, but also from the fear of being spotted by another ghost. That's how it starts, after all: Ghost A notices Jake, then Ghost B notices Ghost A and Jake, Ghost B decides they want in, which leads to Ghost C noticing Ghost A and Ghost B and decides they want in and on and on it goes until Jake's surrounded by three, ten, a hundred ghosts all vying for his attention and making various outlandish demands. And there's certainly no shortage of ghosts on a naval base. Fritz has his own shadow, and so does Fanboy. Luckily, they haven't been around since before the tequila shots started yesterday, but Jake is at this point familiar enough with his particular brand of luck to recognize that that is not always going to be the case. He needs to nip this thing with Nick in the bud.
The rest of the afternoon goes by. Maverick kicks all of their asses. Nick's mood visibly plummets further and further as each pilot gets shot down, something that is downright ridiculous in Jake's opinion as Nick is not the one that has to do 200 push-ups when it happens. And yet nothing about the day — nothing — including Maverick kicking Jake's ass — has managed to cheer Nick up. He simply trails into the change rooms behind Rooster and Bob at the end of the day and takes up a post by the lockers. He doesn't heckle anyone. He doesn't start singing. He doesn't do anything other than stand there and try to burn a hole in the ground with his glare.
He doesn't even blink when Rooster packs up and leaves, calling out a "night" to the people still around.
The silence is disconcerting, especially from a man so preternaturally jovial.
Jake views him out of the corner of his eyes. If there's one thing Jake is good at, it's riling up Bradshaws. He's just not sure if he really wants to. Is it worth risking re-attracting the man's attention just because the silence is worrisome? Plus, there's always the chance Bradley inherited his temper from Nick and he's not sure he wants to deal with that.
Nick sighs and crosses his arms, brows furrowing deeper. He looks so much like Bradley when he's upset. Jake doesn't fucking care. He doesn't.
Except:
"A little warning would have been nice."
Fuck.
Nick doesn't look up. "Hm?"
Jake glances up from his bag. "A warning. Would have been nice."
This time he does look up, though it's clear he's barely listening. "Warning about what?"
"Oh, I don't know," Jake says, picking up his shirt, and shrugging it on. "How about, you know that guy you threw out on his ass yesterday, Hangman? Yeah, that's Mav. He's also—"
"Wait, wait." Goose stands straight, arms dropping by his side. He looks delighted. "What?"
Progress, at least.
Jake sighs. "He didn't have enough money to pay his tab at the Hard Deck the other night, so, as is standard, and on dearest Penny's request, me and a bunch of other guys picked him up and threw him out on his ass. You—"
He doesn't get much further than that, because Nick lets out a big bark of laughter and then doubles over as he laughs. "Oh my God!"
Jake shakes his head. "Glad you find it all so amusing."
"Oh, man. Mav — such a little guy!” He holds out his hand at around waist-level. “Tiny! And you threw him out! And then he's your fucking instructor. Your instructor! Oh my god. Holy shit. It's like Charlie all over again."
"Who's Charlie?" Jake asks warily. Likely, another person who is randomly going to pop up and make Jake's life difficult.
Nick wipes imaginary tears from his face and shakes his head. "No one for you to worry about." He chuckles to himself. "Aw man, I can't believe I missed that."
"You weren't there?"
"Nah, I was at the movies until Bradley started singing. Little did I know there was a better show waiting for me here." With that, he bursts into laughter again.
Jake rolls his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, laugh it up."
Nick slaps his knees. "Oh, God, I'm dying."
Jake zips up his duffle and swings it over his shoulder. "No, Nick, you're just plain dead."
"I'm amused enough right now, Hangman, that I'm going to let that slide!"
Nick lounges back in the passenger seat. "Turn the window down, will you? I want to pretend I can feel the wind blowing in my hair."
Jake doesn't. "What, lounging on Rooster's plane wasn't enough for you?"
"Oh, come on, don't be such a sourpuss just because Mav kicked your ass."
Jake huffs. "Was wondering how long it would take before you brought that up."
"Oh, boy," Nick laughs, "he kicked your ass good. And after that shit you pulled on Phoenix, too — what the hell was that about?"
Jake grits his teeth and doesn't say anything. If he’d managed to pull it off, no one would have cared.
Nick hums. "So, what's on the agenda for tonight?"
"Home,” he says shortly. “Sleep."
"That's so boring. Can't we do something fun?"
Since when, exactly, are they a ‘we’?
"So, what, you're my shadow now?" Jake asks, frowning. "You want to room together and braid each other's hair?"
Nick scoffs. "Don't flatter yourself, Bagman.” He puts his feet on the dash. How it doesn't just go through the dash — the same way how Nick doesn't go through the seat — has always been beyond Jake's understanding. "You're the only one who can see me. It behooves my interest to stay close to you."
"First off, feet off the dash. Second, if you’re sticking around in the hopes that I'll suddenly tell Rooster I see dead people and his dead father has a message for him, you can forget it. It's not happening. There's not going to be any happy family reunions. You're wasting your time."
Nick leans back, links his hands behind his head. "I've got plenty of it to waste."
"I'm also not going to orchestrate some great reconciliation between him and Maverick so that is also off the table." He pauses. "What the hell is up with that, anyway?"
"Now, now," Nick tsks, "you're not cleared for that kind of information."
Jake rolls his shoulders and flexes his hand on the steering wheel to mask how much that response just irritated him. "Whatever, man, I don't even care. Feet off the dash."
Nick scoffs again. "Yeah, right."
"I mean it,” Jake says. “Off."
"Seriously?"
"Yes. Off."
"You're shitting me."
"My car, my rules." Sure, it's a new rule, effective as of two minutes ago and motivated solely because he's petty, but it's a rule.
"Man, I am dead. I'm not—"
"You sit in my car, you follow my rules. I don't care if you're alive, dead, or a fucking hobbit. Feet off the dash."
Nick looks at him like he's crazy and lowers his feet to the ground. "You're fucking nuts, you know that?"
"I see dead people and you're just figuring that out now?"
There is no response to that and Jake thinks, stupidly, that he might be able to have some peace that night.
"Hangman."
Jake rolls over in his bed, away from the ghost hovering near his face.
"Hey, Hangman."
He pulls his pillow over his head.
"Hangman, you know I have excellent projection and I don't need to breathe, right?"
Jake focuses on his own breathing. Mini-meditations.
"Alright, you asked for it. I'M! NEVER GONNA GIVE —"
Oh, fuck no.
Jake yanks the pillow off his head and sits up, snarling. "What?!"
Nick blinks at him, clearly not having expected Jake to react so quickly or so viscerally to his prodding.
"What?" Jake asks again, chest heaving.
"You can't let him go."
"Uh?" Jake blinks. He shakes his head, sure that there must have been another part to the conversation he doesn't remember because he was sleeping. "What?"
"Bradley," Nick says, pacing in front of Jake's bed. "Rooster. You can't let him go."
"Go where?"
"On the mission! You can't let him go."
Suddenly more awake, Jake raises his brows. "And what makes you think he's going to be interested in my opinions on it?"
"Listen to me." Clearly agitated, Nick’s pacing picks up "You can't let him go. He's not ready."
Jake throws up his hands. "Just this morning you were telling me he was going to destroy me and become team leader."
"That was before I knew he was going on a suicide mission!"
"Oh, so it's perfectly fine for me to be going on a suicide mission?"
"Yes, obviously."
They stare at each other, the clock counting down each second that passes: Five. Six. Seven.
Jake shakes his head. "Well, at least you're honest. Look." He hesitates, then figures it wouldn't hurt to throw the guy a bone. "I was planning on becoming team leader anyway, so it's no skin off my back. It would be my pleasure to kick Rooster's ass in training for you."
Nick nods. "Okay. Good. Goodgoodgood."
"Can I go back to sleep now?"
"Yes. Yes, absolutely. Rest up. Get all your zs. Need you sharp and bright tomorrow."
Jake rolls his eyes. "Great. Thank you."
He falls back against his pillows.
Jake is invisible.
He's fucking invisible.
It's the Rooster and Maverick show. It has been the Rooster and Maverick show.
"Gents," he says, watching their little dance, "the hard deck is at 5000 feet."
The two ignore him.
Nothing.
He's used to it with Bradshaw who only ever deigns to acknowledge him to tell him he's a piece of shit. Less used to being ignored by his superiors at work. He's gone to great pains to make sure that never happens.
"Oh, come on, do something!" It's Nick, appearing in front of him.
Jake jumps. He pulls off his coms. "What — will you get out?"
"Stop them!"
It's alright when Nick pulls this shit with Rooster. It's an entire other thing with Jake who can't fucking see through him.
"Will you get the fuck out, I can't see!"
"Oh. Shit. Right." He disappears only to materialize behind him. "They're dropping down. Get him to pull up."
Jake grits his teeth and speaks into his coms: "The actual deck is Mama Earth and you are rapidly approaching it."
"What are you gonna do Rooster?" Maverick voice crackles into the coms. "What's your move?"
"You gonna wash me out?" Rooster spits back.
Their planes tangle together in the air forming a beautiful double helix.
Maverick: "Washing out is entirely up to you."
Rooster: "That wasn't always the case, though, was it, Sir?"
What?
Maverick: "What's past is past, Rooster. Focus on the enemy up here."
Rooster: "You are the enemy."
What in God's name?
Rooster? Boy-scout (albeit with a temper), Rooster? Called a Captain of the Navy, the "enemy"?
"The fuck is going on?" Hangman whispers to himself.
"Well," Maverick says, "the enemy's about to run you into the ground."
The planes plummet down.
"Stop them!" Nick screeches.
Jake shoots him a baleful look before he turns back to his coms.
"Don't mean to interrupt," Jake says, "but Rooster you're coming up on the hard deck."
The planes keep falling, twisting around each other in a coil. Over the coms, Jake hears the altimeter dropping.
"Jesus!" Nick yells.
"Bail out anytime, Rooster," Maverick says.
"I can go as low as you, sir." Rooster hits back. "And that's saying something."
It’s only at the last minute, with the altimeters screaming, that the two finally pull up.
Jake might as well just be decorative for all that he matters but Rooster falls behind Maverick, and Jake falls behind Rooster, backing him.
"Rooster, you got him," Jake cheers, "You got him. Drop down. Take the shot."
Nick squawks. "What?"
But Rooster, the contrary fuck, banks hard. "We're too low. We're too low!"
Oh, now he cares.
That moment of hesitation is all Maverick needs. He pulls up and strikes back. In the space between breaths, Rooster's done.
Jake sighs. "Same old Rooster."
The other man's voice comes in grudgingly. "Copy kill."
So good to know this whole exercise was for nothing.
"Go see Hondo about your push-ups," Maverick says.
The planes go off in opposite directions.
Jake is forgotten.
"Great."
"Hangman! Hey, Hangman!"
Jake ignores the ghost of Nick Bradshaw as he bounds down the halls, seething through his teeth. Fuck, fuck, fuck his life.
"Hangman, hold up."
Jake turns the corner.
"Come on, hang on, Hangman."
If he wasn’t so pissed, Jake might have rolled his eyes at the awful pun, but as it is, he can barely see straight.
And then Nick seems to remember that he’s a ghost and takes an astral shortcut to appear straight in front of Jake.
Jake skids to a stop.
"Where's the fire, Bagman?"
"Get the fuck out of my way."
"Whoa. Temper, temper, Bagman."
Jake opens and closes his fists then takes a deep, deep, deep breath and releases it slowly. Mini meditations. Mini meditations. Mini meditations. Mini fucking meditations.
"You should really talk to someone about that."
Mini. Fucking. Meditations. "You think this is funny?"
Nick winces. "No. I'm sor—"
He steps forward, lamenting that he couldn't physically back the man up. "You get in Rooster's plane and try to backseat pilot, when he can't see or hear you, that's your own fucking business. You do not — I repeat — you do not get in my plane and distract me when I am working. Especially not to sit there clutching your pearls and screaming in my ear because your reckless son threw a temper tantrum over some old grudge with my instructor."
"I—"
"Hangman?"
Jake freezes at the voice, his eyes squeezing shut. Fuck his life and his after-life too.
Slowly, he turns.
Fritz gives him an uncertain smile and scans the empty hall over Jake's shoulder. "Who are you talking to, buddy?"
But the problem isn't Fritz. The problem is the ghost standing next to him, staring at Jake and Nick with wide eyes.
"He can see you?"
Fuck his life, his after-life, and his past lives too.