#Pete Mitchell is dad shaped I will die on this hill

[callsignlucky]

talk to me, lucky (part 2)

summary: You're Maverick’s kid. You’re also Bradley Bradshaw’s best friend—or at least, you were. What lies between you two now is uncharted territory.

pairing: bradley "rooster" bradshaw/mitchell!reader

wc: 2.3k

a/n: sooooo likeeee i was genuinely expecting like three (3) people to read this. I'm so glad you guys like it, that means the world to me, so I'll continue this little series as long as folks want me to!

This part was purely self indulgent with the goal to make a Pete Maverick Mitchell so dad shaped that it might fix my own daddy issues. (didn't work but a girl can dream.)

Also!! I am purposefully trying not to comment on physical appearance! The reader is female, but her mother is intended to remain ambiguous. There is a lack of accessible fics on this website and want I POC to be able to enjoy this as well!

<- part 1 |part 3 ->

The Hard Deck fell silent as soon as my hand made contact with his cheek. It was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. All eyes were on us, but the only ones that mattered to me were Bradley’s.

They were as brown and as big as I remember, and he raised his hand to cup his cheek, brows knitted together in confusion as he stared at me. That only served to make me angrier, and I forced myself to take a step back before I hit him again and got myself into actual trouble. He was at a loss for words, and I was afraid if I said anything I’d reveal more of myself to the pilots to our left than I’d like. Without so much as a murmur of an insult, I turned, collected my phone and keys from the table, and made a beeline for the front door. As I was walking away, I heard Lieutenant Seresin laugh, making some quip to Bradley along the lines of what the hell was that about, Bradshaw? 

My eyes found Penny’s, who knew and understood and looked at me with sympathy before patting my dad’s arm in goodbye as he slid off his stool. That made me feel rotten. He’d been so excited to reconnect with Penny, and here I was making a scene and ruining his evening. I bet he was thanking God the last name on my flight suit was my mother’s instead of his. 

The air outside had cooled since the sun set, and I managed to speed walk down the block to where I parked my car before a hand caught my arm. I didn’t dare turn around, tears hot in my eyes, my heart still in my chest as I held my breath and waited. Much to my relief, the voice that spoke belonged to my father. 

“Why don’t you ride home with me? You’re too upset to drive.” He said softly, and I shook my head, feeling more and more like I was nine years old as the seconds passed. 

“I’ll walk.” I snipped, chest tightening with guilt at my tone. I was mad at him too, as much as I hated it. I blamed him for Bradley leaving, all those years ago, but I forgave him after a week. My father was all I had left, and I wasn’t prepared to lose him over an action he felt morally obligated to take. And Uncle Ice might have had something to do with me forgiving him so quickly. 

Dad sighed from behind me. “You can’t walk all the way back to the house.” 

“Who says I’m going back there?” My voice quivered, and even as he gently tugged on my arm I refused to turn around, arms crossed over my chest. The thought of going back to our base issued housing, that completely staged two bedroom home void of memories or light or emotion or Mom was already suffocating. Dad was quiet for a spell, probably thinking, before he inhaled sharply and spoke up. 

“Alright, how about we go to the gas station for some slurpees and drink them at the beach?” His tone was light, and I didn’t have to be looking at him to know he had one eyebrow raised with that little smirk on his face. I perked up a little, and he tossed his arms around my shoulders from behind. “How bout it, Birdie? Or are you too grown to hang out with your old man?” He shook me a little, and I rolled my eyes with a small huff, turning in his arms. He had me with my nickname and he knew it, so I mustered the best pout I could. 

“Can I get a large?” I asked, and Dad smoothed down my hair gently with a nod. 

“Of course.” He stepped back and held out his hand, waggling his fingers and his brows at the same time. I laughed and rolled my eyes, taking his hand, and together we walked to where he’d found a spot to squeeze his bike. Like all the times I’d had before, I waited until Dad had slung his leg over the bike and walked it backwards before I slid on behind him. My arms wound around his middle and I unceremoniously shoved my face into his back, and I could feel him laugh as he eased the bike into a cruise. One hand came from the handlebar and clasped over mine, and I smiled faintly into the leather of his jacket as we picked up speed down the road.

I was one of the luckiest girls alive to have Pete “Maverick” Mitchell as a father. His military career alone opened more doors for my future than would’ve ever been possible without the Navy. Beyond that, he was—in my humble opinion—the best dad ever. Growing up, my father always put me first. He never accepted a promotion that would take him away from me more than he had to be, and after mom died he accepted a position that essentially grounded him so he could stay stateside, sacrificing his love for flying in order to raise his child. 

In those years he never missed a ballet recital or softball game or debate competition, and he always made sure I went on whatever field trips my school was carting us off to. He made sure I had nice clothes and nice shoes and a reliable car and always, always made sure I knew how much he loved me. 

Pete Mitchell thought I hung the moon from the second the nurse put me in his arms, and it has been that way ever since. He acted like a loving father should and then some, because that love always translated over to Bradley, too.

It was the same with me. Ever since I learned how to talk, some adult would smile at me and ask me what my daddy did for a living, and I’d smile with all my teeth (some of them missing on occasion) and say “My daddy is a hero!”, and I meant it every single time.  I still do. 

Dad and I ended up on a slice of beach far from the prying eyes inside The Hard Deck. I abandoned my socks and boots and rolled my jeans up before plunging my painted toes—the only femininity females were allotted in the Navy—into the cooled sand. I balanced my cherry Slurpee between my knees, eyes on the moon as it reflected off the water’s surface. Dad and I sat there in comfortable silence for a long while, just listening to the waves crash in. 

“Are you mad at me? For slapping Bradley?” I asked finally, my voice quiet, lips wrapped around my straw. To my right, relaxed in the sand, my father shook his head. 

“Not angry, just confused.” He pushed around the blue raspberry slush in his cup with his straw, eyes on the horizon, like always. “I’m trying to understand why you hit him. That’s not like you, and Bradley’s the last person I’d expect you to be violent with. When I saw your pictures next to one another in the debrief, I thought you’d be excited to see him again.” 

Guilt hit me like the waves I was staring at. “I was, when I found out B and I both got pulled for this deployment. I was even more excited when I found out you were coming too, but that wore off pretty quickly when I remembered Bradley hasn’t spoken to either of us in years.” I set my cup down and leaned forward, hugging my arms around my thighs and watching my toes wiggle free of the sand before burying them again. “He abandoned us. We’re his family and he left, over something trivial.” 

“Have you put yourself in his shoes?” Dad asked, and upon receiving my twisted up nose and furrowed brows in response, he took another sip of his drink before setting it aside and lying back in the sand. He opened up one arm and beckoned me forward, and suddenly I was six years old again after a nightmare as I lay down and rested my head on his stomach. His hand slowly began to work through my hair, his other arm propped beneath his head. “The only memories Bradley has of his old man are ones he learned from everyone else. He knew his dad was a pilot, he knew he was a hero, and as soon as he got old enough, he decided he wanted to follow in his footsteps. That remind you of anyone?” 

I closed my eyes with a soft sigh, shrugging my shoulders. “No.” I muttered, folding my arms, and my head bounced with my dad’s little laugh. 

“Well,” he drawled, twirling some of my hair around his finger, “it reminds me of Little Mav.” I grinned with my eyes still closed, turning my head away so he wouldn’t see. Little Mav was the nickname I had earned from my father’s fellow service men and women. I was his shadow whenever I could be, accompanying him to work with wide eyed wonder, amazed at all the things he could do. Uncle Ice had originated the nickname when he first met me at the ripe age of three, claiming I was twice the ball of energy that my father was and ten times cuter. I had him wrapped around my finger, too, which came in handy years later when my father tried to prevent me from enlisting. He never tried to pull my papers like he did with Bradley, but he did try and talk me out of it more times than I can count. Eventually he accepted the fact that I was determined to be a pilot, just like him, but was afraid my last name would set me back due to his reputation. While he was highly decorated and well respected within the Navy, the last name Mitchell tended to stiffen the spines and lock the jaws of quite a few admirals. So, thanks to our dearest Admiral Kazansky, I was able to enlist under my mother’s last name. I was grateful for it—the last thing I wanted was to be judged based on who my father was. Or worse yet, to be handed things because my old man was Maverick.

“That still doesn’t excuse what he did.” 

“Would you have stuck around if I pulled your papers and set your career back as long as I did Bradley’s? Because believe me, I wanted to.” He wasn’t kidding and I knew it because yes, he never tried to have my enlistment papers pulled, but they had caused more than a few arguments before my father (with the help of his wingman) came to terms that I was a grown adult who made my own choices. It scared the hell out of him, having me up in the air, but he wasn’t going to stand in my way and risk losing me. He’d already learned his lesson with Bradley. I lay there quietly for a long moment, feeling my throat tighten up and my eyes sting with the threat of tears. 

“He left us.” I murmured, choking out the last word and it was painful. “I…” Two words followed that, ones that I couldn’t force my mouth or my brain to conjure into reality. 

“I know.” My father whispered, smoothing his hand over the top of my head with a heavy sigh, and I was so grateful I didn’t have to say it out loud. “That’s why you have to forgive him.” 

“I don’t know how.” I whispered, sitting up when my father did and looking back at him. His hand cupped my cheek, his thumb swiping away a tear that had escaped, before he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the top of my head. 

“You’ll figure it out, kiddo.” With a grunt he stood, holding a hand down and using it to pull me to my feet. I stooped down and scooped up my shoes and my Slurpee, before an arm was slung around my shoulders and we headed back up the beach. “In the meantime, I’m gonna take you to your car and pay my tab at Penny’s. Don’t wanna get in any more trouble with her than I already am.”

To that I smiled wide up at him. “Ooooh, you have a crush on Penny Benjamin.” I sang teasingly. “Try not to mess it up this time, Pops.” Dad grinned down at me, a look of mock offense on his face as he placed his free hand on his chest. 

“Sometimes I think you’re Goose reincarnated.” He mused, and my smile softened. I rested my head on his shoulder, switching my things to one hand so I could wrap an arm around his middle. 

“You think he would’ve liked me? Uncle Goose?” I asked quietly, and my dad sighed with a nod, one of those bittersweet smiles on his face. 

“Oh, I happen to know for a fact that he loved you.” He squeezed my shoulder and I nodded. 

“I’ll have to apologize to him for slapping his son.” 

“If Goose is out there somewhere, I’m confident he’d agree that Bradley deserved it.”

I hummed with a slow nod, exhausted. Tomorrow was our first day at TOPGUN, and it was bound to be a big one as I faced the consequences of my action. “I hope Goose is with us. I’ll need him tomorrow.” 

“He’ll be there, Birdie.” Dad assured me quietly, and if either of us had been looking up at the night sky, we would’ve seen the shooting star that passed over our heads at my father’s promise. 

taglist! :)

@zzsloth | @boringusername | @sydneejean | @mosebypineapple | @erinswrld | @roosterschanelslut | @mirandastuckinthe80s | @mak-32 | @shrimping-for-all

love u guys frfr