Scott barely made it through the door without incident, nearly forgetting his keys in the knob. He shut the door with his foot, wincing immediately at the sound it made when it rattled into the wall. His head immediately shot up, eyes darting around the living room in search for the other resident of the on-base housing unit.

"Bonfire?" A voice called out from the nearby kitchen.

"Yeah," He replied, shoulders slumping in relief. He placed his palm against a nearby wall, leaning into it as he toed off his boots. He sighed, rolling his shoulders, before shuffling into the kitchen.

"What're you doing up?" He mumbled, eyeing his father's form, slumped over the kitchen island as he walked past. He met Maverick's tired eyes as he opened the door of the fridge, grabbing at a bottle of water before shutting it quietly with his hip.

Maverick only sighed in reply, shutting the thick, bound stack of papers that lay at his hands. He flipped the book around, sliding it over the countertop as Mouse moved to stand across from him. The younger man eyed the cover, the title reading 'NATOPS Flight Manual'. His gaze moved to rest at the papers scattered around the table, filled with makeshift drawings and scrawled notes.

"You okay?" He murmured after a moment's deliberation, looking up from the tabletop.

His father said nothing, seemingly reluctant to reply. He had moved his arm to rest his elbow on the table, running a tired hand down his face.

"I just want to make sure." He had said finally. Mouse tilted his head to the side, an attempt to convey his confusion.

"That this is the only way to fly this mission." The captain elaborated.

"Dad," He chastised, voice soft. "I trust you, we all do."

"I want—I need everyone to make it back home." Maverick muttered quietly, straightening back in his seat to fix his son with a tired, yet determined look.

"Yeah," Mouse responded, looking down at the countertop, placing either hand on the cool surface. He was sure his dad noticed the change in his demeanor, the downcast eyes, and shaky inhale. "Me too."

"I know that you and Bradley are close again." Maverick said, gently tugging his son's worries into the conversation.

"It's—It's not only that." Mouse began, shuffling his feet quietly. He sighed, frustrated, as he lifted his head, craning it back to look up at the ceiling in exasperation. He allowed himself a moment of reprieve, taking a deep breath before letting his head drop back down, carefully watching his dad's patient gaze.
"Hangman's—He and I are..." He attempted to explain, feeling the need to shrink in on himself.

He watched as Maverick's expression morphed into one of realization, but fortunately didn't say anything. He instead, leaned further into his seat, urging the younger man to continue.

"We're... together." He finished.

"Oh," Maverick had said, raising his brows. "I had thought," He paused, seemingly in thought of how to continue voicing his assumption.
"Well, that you and Rooster shared similar opinions on Hangman."

Mouse winced, looking down to fiddle with the plastic cap of his water bottle.
"Yeah, I thought so too. But then—" He lifted a hand in the air, gesturing vaguely.

Maverick seemed to understand, somewhat, as he nodded his head.

"It's weird. I don't know." Mouse groaned, resting his elbows on the counter, leaning forward with a grimace.
"He was kind of a jerk—"

His father quirked a brow, shooting him a disbelieving look.

"Okay, he was an asshole." Mouse admitted as he threw his hands into the air, huffing. "Then he kissed me, which was great, but confusing. I kind of hated him for it." He realized quietly, frowning in thought. Maverick's furrowed brows never faltered, watching his son retell the events in silent confusion.
"But then he promised he'd make up for the shit he did, which he has."

Maverick nodded slowly, almost hesitantly, as his mind seemed to attempt to catch up. Mouse watched him, waiting.

"Is he treating you alright?" He asked finally. He watched his son nod, doing the same in return.

"Well," Maverick began with a small shrug. "Sometimes, you can fall for someone who was there the whole time. Someone you might not have expected."

Mouse grinned at him, pointing his finger in realization. "Like you and Penny."

"What?" Maverick spit out, taken aback.

"You guys are great together. Maybe that's why you always find a way back to her." He explained with a tilt of his head.

"Scott," Maverick began quietly, uncomfortable. "I was never one for relationships that last. There was Charlie and then your mom..."

Mouse forced himself not to freeze up at the confession, keeping his body language welcoming, open. They never talked about his mother very often, not where it mattered.

They were young, in love. She hadn't wanted children, but when she found out she was pregnant, she kept it. She had seen how Maverick was with kids. She'd keep it for him. Maybe once the baby arrived, she'd learn to love it. For Maverick.
But she never did. That had left Scott without a mother at an early age. But it gave him one hell of a father.

"Neither of those were your fault." Mouse reminded quietly. "Penny's the constant in your life. I think she's worth the effort."
Maverick eyed his son for a moment, assessing silently.

"I think so too." He murmured in agreement.

"So," Mouse began, unsure. "Have you told her?"

Maverick didn't respond, running a hand through his dark hair, fingers tugging at the roots.

"You'll have to." His son said quietly.

"I know," Maverick decided. "I'll—I'll tell her tomorrow."

"Alright." He acquiesced.

They were both silent for a moment, aside from Mouse's nervous shuffling.

"It's Bradley, right?" He murmured, causing his father to look up. "You're wingman."

"Why do you think that?" Maverick asked, voice unusually cryptic.

Mouse's laugh was breathy, quiet. He straightened, watchful eyes on the elder Mitchell's own.
"Hangman's an amazing pilot, he's fast, and efficient,"

Maverick waited for the proverbial 'second shoe' to drop.

"But he's a loose cannon. Maybe how Ice said you used to be." He shrugged, watching as his father's mouth upturned into a crooked smile.

"I just, can't lose him." Maverick began, voice strained. "I can't lose you."

Mouse's brows knit together as he pulled away from the counter, moving to sit at the stool beside the other. He turned his whole body toward Maverick, but his father continued to face the counter, gaze burning a hole into the linoleum counter top.

"You and Payback make a great team. When paired with Rooster, you're unstoppable." Maverick began, hands wringing together atop the table.
"I can't imagine doing this without you. But I'm barely hanging on when thinking of doing it with you, with Rooster."

"Dad," Mouse began, but faltered, unsure of how to administer comfort.

"It's always been you two." Maverick urged, turning in his seat to face him fully.
"And to think that by the end of this, I could have neither?"

Where words couldn't heal, surely actions would. Mouse tugged at the shoulder of his father's shirt, pulling him into a crushing hug. Maverick was quick to reciprocate, arm wrapping around his son's shoulders and gripping immeasurably.