Chapter Text
It was far from the last time Nick ever had to patch his pilot up on his own. He learned day one that nobody was going to take the health of his pilot and friend seriously, not even the pilot himself.
“Tough break, Bradshaw.” Smith smirked as they passed in the hallway.
“Yeah, sorry to hear you pulled the short straw,” another aviator offered in passing. “You were a good man.”
“Too bad we’re gong to lose another one to Mitchell of all people.”
To say Goose was confused was an understatement. He had only been at his current assignment a few days; hadn’t even met his pilot yet. So why did everyone keep apologizing to him? Hell, even the CO seemed disappointed when he’d read off his assigned pilot.
“What am I missing here, Johnson?” Nick finally asked, sliding next to one of his classmates from the academy. “Why the hell is everyone apologizing to me like I’m about to face a firing squad?”
“Might as well be,” the other RIO muttered. “You got paired with a mouthy little punk called Mitchell. He hasn’t been able to keep a RIO for more than a week. Everyone who flies with him swears he’s trying to get them killed and complain enough that they get reassigned. A few of them have actually quit. ‘Course it doesn’t help that his old man is famous for deserting in ‘Nam.”
“What does that have to do with anything?” Bradshaw frowned. “Not like it’s genetic.”
“You’d think that but he doesn’t seem too prone to flying with anybody either. Tends to look out for himself.”
Nick just shrugged, brow still furrowed. Maybe the guy had to look out for himself—certainly didn’t seem like anyone else in the squadron was willing to look out for him.
These thoughts stayed with him throughout the day, following him like a dark cloud as he explored the base. He wasn’t scheduled for a hop until the following morning, so he wasn’t exactly sure when he’d meet the elusive Mitchell. Instead, Goose decided to get a quick workout in, settling his nerves and helping him feel a little more moved in.
Voices in the locker room weren’t unusual; part of being in the Navy was learning you had very little solitude, so Nick wasn’t surprised to hear muffled conversations as he entered the room.
“—why the hell are you even still here, Mitchell?”
Well that was decidedly not usual locker talk. And it apparently involved his new pilot.
“Give up already, daddy’s boy,” someone was sneering. “We can’t trust you, so why don’t you just go home!”
There was a sort of scuffling sound, then a muffled thump followed by a yelp as Goose moved closer to the noises.
“M not doin’ anythin’—“ that person sounded winded.
“Stevens washed out after flying with you!”
“He c’ldn’t cut it,” the breathy voice argued. “K’pt panicking when they got tone on us. N’t my f’lt.”
“It’s always your fault, Mitchell. You’re never gonna make it out there.”
Another muffled thud.
“Can’t keep a RIO.”
Thud.
“Gonna get us all killed.”
Thud.
“Deserter like his daddy.”
“M not—“
Another, sharper yelp.
Well that was enough of that crap.
“Hey!” Goose demanded, turning the corner. He was surprised to see a small, bloody, brunet pinned against a set of lockers by three other aviators. “What the fucking hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Not your problem, Mother Goose,” one of them sneered, arm raised to throw seemingly another punch.
Nick caught the arm in his grasp, glaring. “The hell it’s not! That’s enough. Leave the kid alone and go back to whatever the hell assholes like you do for fun, somewhere else!”
Another one of the pilots turned, his face an angry sort of red. “Or what? You gonna stop us?”
“Damn straight,” Goose nodded, standing up a bit straighter. “Gonna make sure your little extracurriculars here are well documented for starters. Attacking a fellow sailor? You’re looking at a Court Martial gentleman. But first, if you decide not to run along like I’ve asked, I’m gonna kick your ass.”
All three turned to look at him, releasing the smaller man to slide to the floor. Redface frowned, stepping towards the RIO.
“You’d really throw your lot in with him, Bradshaw?”
“You just got here, man. D’ya really want to turn your back on your squadron, just like that?”
Nick let out a dark, mirthless laugh, stepping closer so that he was nose to nose with the man. He lazily flicked his eyes downwards, reading the name. “Seems to me, Nesser , that you’ve already done that. What fucked up sort of squadron beats up one of their pilots in a locker room, huh? So let’s get something straight here, jackass. That there? That’s my pilot. You mess with him, you’re gonna get me , and I’ll tan your hide so fast you won’t be able to so much as look at your cockpit seat without feeling my boot up your ass, got it?”
As he’d spoken, Nick had slowly backed the other man up so that he was pressed against a locker, his minions next to him.
“You side with Mitchell and no one will—“
Nick grabbed the man’s collar, lifting him slightly. “I’m not gonna say it again. Get out of here!”
He gave the man a helpful shove in the direction of the door, continuing to glare at the other two until they joined him. “Go on, bastards…you too…”
Once he was certain they’d left, he turned back towards his pilot, cursing under his breath.
The kid, cause damn that’s all he was, was slumped over against a locker, blinking wearily up at him through a purpling eye. He spit some blood towards Nick’s feet, wincing as he sat straighter.
“Whadya w’nt?” He muttered defensively, trying to bring his arms in front of him.
“I just wanna see if you’re okay, man,” Goose tried to explain.
“B’llsh’t,” Maverick snorted, trying but failing to get to his feet. “J’st wanna trick me or somethin’. Alw’ys do.”
“Hey, easy there slugger…” Nick soothed, crouching down at the younger man’s feet. He reached out to try and frame the pilot’s face, concerned he may be concussed.
Unfortunately, the other man flinched backwards out of his reach, yelping as he bumped into the locker behind him.
“Hey hey hey—don’t do that,” Goose urged, keeping both hands in front of him. “I’m not going to hurt you, kid. I just want to see if you’re okay. Hell of a bump you’re developing.”
Maverick just frowned. “Why d’ you care?”
“No one should have to deal with that shit,” Nick continued, gently reaching forward once more. “Hold still, kiddo.”
“M n’t…”
Maverick trailed off as large, warm hands gently framed his face, tilting it slightly to be able to survey the damage. Against all intentions, Mav found himself relaxing slightly into the hold, subconsciously following the hands when they shifted.
Goose smiled warmly, running a hand carefully through the dark locks. This kid looked like he hadn’t had a nice touch from anyone in a very long time. “There we go…I don’t think you’re concussed but you’re going to be feeling like shit the next few days. They got some ribshots in too, huh?”
Maverick nodded unsuredly, shiver wracking his frame as Goose moved to feel along his torso. He bit his lip, only letting a few whines slip through his lips.
“M sorry, I know… we probably need to get you checked by medical,” Goose decided, frowning as he noted the pallor of the other man’s face.
“No!” The pilot suddenly pulled backwards, eyes wide as he tried to scramble away.
Only Nick’s hand on his neck stopped him from hitting the lockers once more. “Easy— Easy… what’s wrong?”
Maverick inadvertently leaned into the warm grip, ducking his head. “Medical’s not gonna gonna do shit— they’ll just say I w’s fighting again and they’ll try to ground me and my—my l’st RIO is comin’ and I have to fly w’t him or they’ll ground me for r’l and—“
“Shhh—“ Nick moved to sit next to the kid, carefully wrapping an arm around his shoulders and tuggin him into his side. He frowned when he felt the slight shivering. “Couple ‘a questions for ya, Pete… What do you mean ‘last RIO’? And why the hell wouldn’t medical help you?”
“I’m a Mitchell .”
And he says it with such self loathing that Nick almost wants to bring those jackasses back in, just to smack around.
“Yeah, buddy, I know— You’re Maverick, right?”
“—Yeah.”
“Well nice to meet you, Mav. I’m Nick Bradshaw, but most people call me Goose. I’m your new RIO.”
He offered the smaller pilot a warm smile, squeezing his shoulder gently.
“You still wanna fly with me? Af’er all that?”
“If anything, I want to fly with you more ,” Nick promised. “But I was serious about medical, kid. Think you need to get checked out.”
“M tellin’ you it won’t matter,” Maverick shook his head wincing. “They never help.”
“They’re going to this time, bud,” Nick promised, helping the other man to his feet. “I need my pilot to be in top shape.”
“N’body ever cares ‘bout me.”
“You’re my pilot now, kid. So I’m going to care,” Goose insisted, pulling him into his side. “C’mon, let’s go see medical.”
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Nick earned his callsign for being a Mother Goose. He knew he was prone to being a bit overprotective, he knew he was prone to worrying, but when the entire check up on his new pilot took 8 and a half minutes, he felt a bit justified.
“You’ve got to be shitting me!”
“Lieutenant—“
“No, I’m serious. He was beaten up by multiple sailors and slammed into the lockers. He couldn’t catch his breath or walk straight on the way here. You didn’t even evaluate him for a concussion with a penlight!”
The nurse seemed to roll his eyes at the gangly RIO, fetching a penlight half heartedly from his scrubs. He faced Maverick, shining the light swiftly from left to right in front of each pupil, sighing when the pilot winced. “You know how this goes, Mitchell. Maybe you should explain it to your new friend here? If you want to file official charges, we can pursue them, but you’ll be grounded indefinitely while we investigate all of your possible injuries and the circumstances that led to them. If any of them are found to be concerning, such as a series of concussions or head trauma, the Navy may see fit to remove your wings. Do you wish to pursue this?”
Goose practically growled as the other man turned white.
Maverick managed to answer through grit teeth. “No, I do not wish to pursue it.”
The nurse shrugged. “I thought not. Well, then I suggest you help yourself to some over the counters and get some sleep. Hops tomorrow, or so I hear.”
“You absolute—“ Nick cut himself off as a shaky hand gripped his arm, leading him firmly from the room. “Maverick—Mitchell, look this isn’t—“
“Don’t call me that.”
“What?”
“Mitchell. Don’t call me Mitchell ,” the brunet muttered, dragging the stubborn RIO out of the medical center entirely.
“Okay, okay,” Goose soothed, moving so that he was leading the pilot instead. “C’mon, kid, let’s get out of here. I’ve got some stuff back at my place. Let’s get you fixed up and order a pizza or something. Get to know one another a bit more.”