Chapter 12: Mission Impossible. Ghost Protocol
Summary:
"This
is stupid. We're Maverick's squad, and that crazy guy isn't going to
stop because Simpson kicked him out of the Mission." -He stands up with a
playful smile on his face and raises his glass- "Here's to Captain
Mitchell, who will get us out of this."
"To Mitchell."
After
downing their drinks, they look at each other unsure. In reality, they
have nothing but faith in their Captain to keep them going.
"If we don't want to be hungover by the thirteen hours, we have to eat those chicken wings," Neil warns.
"I have been given orders harder to follow," Yale assures and reaches out with his hand toward the pot oozing with grease.
Part 4 of: The Lies We Told Each Other
Fandom: Top Gun (Movies), Thunderheart (1992), Madam Secretary
STORY INDEX: http://palabraspulsares.blogspot.com/p/the-lies-we-told-each-other-4-roots.html
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Conference Room, Marine Corps Air Station Miramar, Saturday, November 9, 2019
"Didn't you think it was strange that yesterday at the reception Maverick sat with Kazansky's wife?" Fanboy asks out loud as they wait to discuss the day's training plan.
He earns some strange looks and others mocking ones.
"Seriously, Mickey, you have to control your crush on the captain." -Halo warns mockingly.
He smacks his lips.
"What crush? It's just an observation. I say it's unusual. She is COMPACFLT's wife, but she didn't go with Kazansky to make the social rounds. Instead, she sat at the table with Maverick, who was as bad as if Viper had been his father. When the captain started crying..."
"The what now?" -Hangman interrupts while throwing a murderous look at Bradley, Brig, and Javier.
"Yes," Natasha comments, clearly surprised by his reaction, "he was crying for a while after you left. Surely someone said something about Viper and it all came back to him. Poor man," she concludes with a sigh.
"Yes, sure," -Jake nods while staring at his brother, boyfriend, and friend.
He can't believe they didn't tell him that...! But why would they tell him anything? Last night, when Brig arrived, he was already in bed and pretended to be asleep. It clearly showed that he didn't want to talk about the disaster at the reception. Today, they had breakfast at their apartment - cooking relaxes him - so Bradley and Javier didn't have any chance to get closer. It's his fault, really. He shouldn't have gone. Since he was imprudent enough to go, he should have taken care to find out what happened in the Sapphire West salon after his shameful departure.
Unaware of his colleague's turbulent emotions, Fanboy keeps talking... and confirms that he is infatuated with their captain.
"Then Kazansky went to soothe our captain and I thought, wow, they make a good couple."
Bradley spits out the coffee he was drinking.
"What did you just say?"
"That..." he notices the scandalized expressions of his audience. "Come on, hasn't anyone else thought about it?"
"No," Natasha says firmly. "You're talking about Tom "Iceman" Kazansky, Commander of the Pacific Fleet. How can you even think about it?"
But Fanboy is not deterred.
"He's a man like any other," Fritz snorts disapprovingly, "at least in that regard. Think about it, if Maverick were a woman..."
"Why does the woman have to be the captain?" -Halo interrupts.
"Because the only female admiral of that generation is Ellen Hill," Yale immediately responds.
"As I was saying, "Fanboy insists, now a little exasperated, "if Mitchell were a woman and had been so close to Kazansky for more than thirty years..."
"Mitchell wouldn't still be in the Navy if he were a woman," Phoenix interrupts.
"What are you taking about?" -Omaha asks.
"It's called double standard, baby. You have no idea about that because you're male and white, but ask Lee or Machado if they think they could have done half the shit we know Mitchell has done and still fly. Hell! Ask your own WSO."
Lee, Machado, and Bassett nod in agreement.
"You're backing my theory, Phoenix."
"No, Garcia. Rather, I'm pointing out that your little romantic saga has more plot holes than a cheese. Because so far I only hear you say that they are close friends."
"Yes, but the captain is gay."
Exasperated grunts follow his statement.
"He's actually bisexual," Fritz points out.
He raises his hands in a gesture of surrender when he sees the astonished gazes of the group.
"I read the book, okay? It gives details that stay unclear in the film." -Brig, he says- "Your uncle is an excellent writer."
"Yes, well, gay, bisexual, whatever letter of the queer alphabet he is," -Fanboy insists- "the fact is that Maverick likes men and they have been inseparable since 1986. Don't you think this is a suspiciously liberal attitude on Kazansky's part?"
"So your theory boils down to the fact that, since Iceman isn't a homophobic asshole, he must have been fucking Maverick all these years." -Bob recaps without hiding his irritation.
"Because a straight man and a queer man can't be friends," Coyote adds, arms crossed over his chest and stern voice.
"Well... yes?"
Payback slaps him on the top of the head.
"You act like a little girl with Maverick."
"And you spout the most lovingly homophobic shit in the world," Halo reproaches him.
"I can't control myself," whines the WSO. "Imagine what their children would be like!" -and his eyes become cloudy, dreamy.
"They would be as reckless as Maverick and as cunning as Iceman. God, that would be so bad," Bob speculates with a shudder.
"It's definitely excellent that they're both men," says Fritz.
"It would be awesome to fly with them!" Fanboy states excitedly.
The rest of the group ignores him.
"The closest thing to a son of those two is you, Hangman," Omaha mocks.
Jake, who had tried to maintain a neutral expression throughout the uncomfortable exchange, makes a clear gesture of repulsion.
Omaha raises his eyebrow at the several strange looks the group gives him.
"Come on, haven't you heard the rumor that this one" -he pats Jake's shoulder- "came out of a laboratory? I can't stand you, Seresin, but I must admit that your performance is spectacular. You were the one who broke Iceman and Maverick's Top Gun's records, right? And yesterday morning your bomb landed just twenty centimeters from the target!"
Bradley rolls his eyes, fed up with the speculation about his parents' sex life. He notices Natasha looking at him, curious.
"What?"
She opens her mouth, but the door to the room opens, and Cyclone enters, followed by Warlock.
The squad stands up and salutes.
"At ease," the commander orders over his shoulder.
They sit back down but keep glancing at the door, waiting for Maverick.
The vice admiral takes the stand.
"Good morning. We came to give you an update on the Mission. Captain Mitchell is no longer your instructor. He is on temporary leave for personal reasons. I will take charge of the training in the remaining days."
Simpson pointedly ignores the shocked gasps, even the “What the fuck?” that escapes Fanboy.
"The parameters are being updated to adjust to reality and its capabilities. We will meet here at thirteen hours with the new flight plan. You are dismissed."
Bradley storms out of the room, sure that if he stays a moment longer, he will jump on Cyclone's neck. Almost the entire group follows him more slowly, with a defeated attitude. Jake stares at the commander, his eyes cold, calculating. Brig at his side, with an uncomfortable attitude. Simpson looks curiously at Seresin, and he keeps his gaze defiant.
"Anything to say," he pauses and says the next word slowly, "Lieutenant?"
Seresin smiles, but it is not a friendly or submissive gesture, the expressions corresponding to his hierarchy. He curls the corners of his mouth as he bites his lower lip, revealing his shiny incisors. His eyes have an ecstatic shine, and he twists his head a little as if he wants to see him from another angle.
He looks like a predator that suddenly discovers a good game.
Cyclone doesn't take a step back, but he wants to. He's also heard the rumors that there's something "unusual" about Jake Seresin. Of course the boy didn't come out of a laboratory, but wherever he grew up, it's clear that Kazansky had a hand in it. Beside him, he feels Warlock slow his breathing, like you do with a wild animal you don't want to stir.
Lennox puts a hand on the shoulder of his... boyfriend, protégé, sex toy, pet?
"Jake, let's go."
"The vice admiral asked me a question," Seresin replies without looking away.
But he doesn't say anything else for a few seconds.
Simpson finally blinks. When he opens his eyes again, the lieutenant has a bland smile and humble eyes, as appropriate.
"See you at thirteen hours, Vice Admiral Simpson."
He turns around and leaves with that special walk of his: one hand clutching Lennox's elbow. A gesture of casual intimacy that seems especially designed to provoke and has provoked uncomfortable rumors in the Navy. Seresin looks fragile like this, although there is nothing fragile about him.
Cyclone and Warlock look at each other, uneasy. What just happened?
Miramar Marine Corps Air Station Residential Area, Monday, October 28, 2019
Jake closes the house door, leans against it, sighs, walks to the center of the small hall, and begins to open his uniform shirt.
"Do you want to fuck me?"
Brig shakes his head.
"I thought we talked about using sex as a distraction."
"This is different."
Brig doesn't get carried away with the amount of tanned skin and hard muscles.
"Why did you give Simpson that look?"
"Look? What look?" -he asks while opening his pants.
Brig grabs him by the wrists and forces him to look into his eyes.
"You know, that predatory look."
There it is again: his boyfriend's eyes shine like they did in the conference room. Even before Mika, Brig knew there was something devious and violent inside Jake. A blood-lust beast that sleeps most of the time but wakes quickly when it hears drums of war. Brig has never felt afraid; he knows this possessive and violent animal loves him. He knows that if his preferences were different, he could exploit that thirst for power that almost no one else can see in Jake.
Yes, he must admit that knowing he has that power excites him.
"Seeing Simpson digging his own grave seemed fascinating, almost funny."
Jake sticks his hips and grinds against Brig. Although his boyfriend's belt scratches the skin of his waist, he smiles when he notices the reaction it provokes a little further down.
"But I'm not sure we'll both survive this fight between the high powers. So... do you want to fuck me?"
"We can't…"
But Jake twists his wrist and suddenly holds Brig's hand. He begins to tow him towards the room.
"Of course we can! You have a dick, I have an ass, there is lube on the nightstand."
"If we are going to die, I don't want to fuck you. I want to make love to you, Jake."
The blonde turns around with a surprised expression. It's not... That's not how a man should answer, right? He is an excellent researcher.
"We make love all the time," he says, confused.
Precisely."
Brig takes advantage of the fact that his boyfriend has been stunned to regain control of the situation. He pulls the covers off the bed, makes Jake sit down, and begins to undress with slow, deliberate gestures. It's a performance entirely opposed to the pragmatic speed with which Jake took off his clothes. The pupils dilate slightly, and his eyes begin to follow the movement of Brig's hands with a hungry expression.
It is not sexual desire in the traditional sense of the term. Jake has explained that he feels a complicated mix of possessiveness and smugness when he sees that tangible proof that Brig is his. It's not sexual desire, but the dilated pupils, irregular breathing, and tongue running along the edges of his teeth certainly make Brig feel good. He was willing to put his own sexual desires aside in the name of love. It turns out that it is not necessary.
They invented their own definition of lovemaking.
Already naked, Brig reaches the bed and climbs on Jake's thighs. He caresses his cheek with his fingertips.
"Touch me."
Jake takes him between his fingers gently. Runs his thumb over the head wet with precum.
Brig gasps.
"You know?" -Jake says with a sly smile-. "I should film you. You have no idea..." -he adjusts his grip and starts moving his hand while still studying his partner's reactions- "This is so dirty..."
Brig moans, also moving his hips to increase speed.
"Yes. Super dirty."
Jake puts his free arm around his back, turns, and lays him on the bed. He straddles his thighs. Brig groans, frustrated because he can't move his hips now.
"So dirty," he repeats, "but I love your expressions when you're like this."
At this point, he just needs to raise and lower his hand along the cock shaft. Just small pressures in the right places are enough for…
"Faster please."
"No. I have been told that part of the pleasure is supposed to be in making it longer," says, playing innocent.
"Fuck, Jake, don't torture me."
"Torture? Should I stop touching you?"
"Oh God. You are a monster."
"Yeah." -he gives it a few more tugs and can't contain his pride when Brig rolls his eyes and convulses- "Your monster."
He leans down to kiss him on the neck.
"Mine," he gasps as the orgasm shakes him.
With a great effort of will, Jake contains his disgust when he feels the semen wet his fingers and does not remove his hand. He just keeps massaging the penis until the erection ends and the member returns to its normal state.
He falls onto the bed. Brig opens his eyes and recognizes his disgusted expression.
"I'm sorry, I should have put a condom on," he says guiltily.
"Yeah."
He says it softly. His voice has no recrimination, only the recognition of a fact.
"I didn't remember either. I got carried away by, what do you say?, the passion of the moment," -and he rises.
Brig smiles in satisfaction as he watches him walk towards the bathroom. It's a miracle Jake lasted this long with cum between his fingers. After a few seconds, he gets up and follows him to clean himself up.
He wonders, vaguely, what the rest of the squad is doing. Cyclone's announcement didn't just shake them two, for sure.
Yale remains calm until he reaches the apartment he shares with Fritz. As soon as he feels the door close behind him, he throws his shoes against the wall in fury.
"Damn son of a bitch! Does he wants to kill us?"
"You have to calm down."
He glares at his WSO.
"I have to calm down? I have to calm down while that old man sends us to the slaughterhouse? Oh! Yes, I forgot, I'm Korean American, so I'm stoic and disciplined. What are you going to tell me, Billy? That they most likely won't pick us because our performance sucks? Am I supposed to be happy that six other people on the squad are going to die instead of us?"
"No." -Fritz replies- "And I'm going to let it slide because you're stressed, Logan, but never, do you hear me?, never again tell me that I'm happy to send someone else to die in my place."
Confronted by his WSO's hurt eyes, Logan feels all the rage suddenly leave him. Desolation and fatigue take its place.
"I'm sorry, you're right. It wasn't... You know it's not you I'm angry with, right?"
He lets himself fall on the floor of the hall. Hides his face in his hands.
"I promised your wife, Billy... I don't have a family, but your wife, your baby. Machado's daughters... God!"
Fritz looks at him for a moment and goes to the kitchen; from there, he goes to the living room with two glasses and a bottle of an amber liquid.
"I'm not drinking on the hallway floor of this shitty apartment, Logan. Move your stoic ass to the couch."
The pilot stares at him for a few seconds before getting up and covering the short distance to the sofa - gray, worn, with smells that it is better not to think about. Take the glass.
"To life," says Billy.
The whiskey burns on his tongue and throat. He shakes his head.
"This shit is strong."
"Decanted at my grandparents' shed in Kentucky."
Logan lets out a bitter laugh.
"They are pure white trash... but they made great whiskey!"
"You know? On my last leave, I visited them, and they asked me about you."
"Really?" -Yale knows that his WSO's family is not very enthusiastic about "diversity" in the Navy if it means that their grandson takes orders from a man of color.
"Yeah. My grandfather said, "It seems that your little Chinese guy is not a rat."
"Uju! Are they watching CNN in your house now?"
Billy punches him lightly on the shoulder.
"Please! I think the channel buttons no longer work on that TV. Only Fox or ESPN."
"Of course..."
A couple of forceful knocks on the door cut off what Yale was about to say. They look at each other.
"No idea..." -but Fritz gets up and opens the door.
Coyote, Payback, Fanboy, Omaha, and Halo stand at the door with awkward and embarrassed expressions.
"I have been told that you have the best alcohol within the base," -she says as an explanation.
"We brought chicken wings," Payback offers.
"Where the hell did you get that from?" -Reuben has a whole bucket in his arms.
"Well…"
"You know what? I don't care," he steps aside to let them enter.
"Take off your shoes. There are glasses in the kitchen."
They sit between the sofa, the armchair, and the floor. They don't say anything. The heavy feeling of defeat is too much to try to console each other.
"Where are the two couples and Rooster?" -Yale finally asks.
"Fucking like they're going to die tomorrow, I hope, "Payback replies with clear envy. He looks speculatively at his WSO- "Hey, have you thought...?"
Mickey kicks him.
"Gross! I've seen your ugly ass more times than I'd like. I won't touch you even if we're about to die!"
"On days like today, Natasha and Bob's arrangement seems cool," Omaha admits. Halo gives him a worried look- "No! If I'm going to die in the snow in fucking Siberia, I at least want to do it with my balls in place, thanks."
She nods, satisfied, and takes another drink. Looks at Coyote.
"Do you really think they're fucking, Hangman and Harvard?"
Machado looks uncertain.
"I don't know. I mean. Yesterday Vice Admiral Kerner said they were dating, but I think it was to make Kazansky Junior to shut up. They better get their act together, if Simpson gets his way, we don't have much time left."
"Since when are those two dancing around each other?"
Coyote looks at Yale in surprise. He's never been one for gossip, but he supposes that in the face of imminent death, people... let go of their reigns.
"Since I've known them. On the first day of USNA, Brig already had that look of adoration for Jake. Jake has no idea what that man is worth because he has always had him close at hand."
"Don't say that, Mika was ugly, "Payback remembers.
"They gave Seresin six months of medical leave later, because of how bad he was," says Fanboy.
"After that, rumors began that he was Iceman's bastard."
Machado looks at Omaha in surprise. He didn't know that one.
"Kazansky's?"
"Blonde, calculating, ruthless and close to the nephew of a member of Squad 86," Omaha lists. "It's not much, but people see what they want to see. I'm betting on the laboratory, by the way."
"Shut up, Neil!" -Halo complains- "No one wants to hear your conspiracy theories now."
"It would explain why Sean Kazansky can't stand him," reflects Payback. He also saw the clash at the reception.
"I don't care where Seresin came from. The bastard is fucking, or whatever he does with Harvard in the dark. I'm jealous!" -Fritz sighs.
Halo nods and raises her glass.
"To quick death."
Fanboy doesn't join in this time; he's looking out the window with a distracted expression.
"Mickey?" -his pilot calls him.
He turns to the group with determined eyes.
"This is stupid. We're Maverick's squad, and that crazy guy isn't going to stop because Simpson kicked him out of the Mission." -He stands up with a playful smile on his face and raises his glass- "Here's to Captain Mitchell, who will get us out of this."
Logan looks at him in amazement, then exchanges a look with his WSO. Billy shrugs.
"You're in love, Fanboy," he spits but gets up.
"He's a Cold War museum piece that kicked our butts," Payback grumbles and stands next to his WSO.
Omaha extends his hand to Halo.
"One more dance?"
She accepts his support, and they both stand up simultaneously.
"To Mitchell."
After downing their drinks, they look at each other, unsure. In reality, they have nothing but faith in their captain to keep them going.
"If we don't want to be hungover by the thirteen hours, we have to eat those chicken wings," Neil warns.
"I have been given orders harder to follow," Yale assures and reaches out with his hand toward the pot oozing with grease.
Conference Room, Marine Corps Air Station Miramar, Saturday, November 9, 2019
"These are the new parameters of the Mission," -Cyclone announces- "The time to the objective will be four minutes. They will enter the valley at reduced speed, not exceeding 420 knots."
Jake shakes Brig's hand convulsively.
Bradley casts an uneasy glance at Phoenix. His friend also seems to be thinking, "What the fuck is this?"
"Sir, won't we be giving their planes time to intercept?"
Cyclone looks condescendingly at Bob.
"Well, Lieutenant you have a fighting chance against enemy aircraft. What are the odds of survival in a head-on collision with a mountain?"
Omaha fakes a cough to cover the snort of disbelief that escapes him. The vice admiral continues his presentation.
"Now you will hit the target from higher altitude, level with the north wall. It'll be a little harder to hold your laze on the target but you'll avoid the high G climb out."
"And we will activate the enemy SAMs before we even reach the target," Fanboy whispers to Payback.
The pilot nods silently. He really hopes his WSO is right and the captain shows up with a hat he can pull a fucking flying rabbit out of because this plan…
Behind Simpson, the screen activates to show a plane entering the mission test area.
"Who the hell is that?" -Cyclone asks.
The answer comes through the speakers when Maverick's slightly distorted voice announces.
"Maverick to Range Control. Entering at Point Alpha. Confirm a green range."
The air traffic controller's voice reveals the same surprise as the squad and the officers.
"Control to Maverick. Ummm ... Everything is clear, but... I don't see that you have practice scheduled... Sir."
"Well, I'm going anyway," the captain informs. "Time to target: two minutes and fifteen seconds."
In the classroom, the squad exchanges looks of surprise, disbelief, and admiration. This is really happening!
"Nice," Natasha whispers.
The display clock changes from Cyclone's setting to the Maverick's. The vice admiral turns angrily to Hondo, but he shrugs.
"It's automatic, sir."
Fritz gives Yale a knowing smile.
"Two fifteen? That's impossible," says Payback, but his WSO slaps him on the head.
"It's Maverick," he says as if that made anything possible.
Brig looks at Jake, for the first time since the summer of 2008, his boyfriend seems admired for something his father does. He interlace their fingers gently.
"Maverick en route" is the last thing heard over the speakers.
After that, they only have the chronometer and the jet track on the digital screen.
Bradley risks a glance at his brother, Jake smiles back, confident.
With his back to the group, Cyclone follows the advance of Mitchell's F-18 with incredulous and furious eyes. When he completes the first forty-five seconds of the course without breaking the hundred-foot ceiling or crashing into the sides of the canyon, even Warlock allows himself a small, admiring smile.
"Popping in three... two... one."
The F-18 begins the ascent of the southern slope, turns on itself, and enters the valley without wasting a second.
Coyote looks at Hangman in surprise and fear. He just realized that…
"He can't hit the target on his own!"
His friend gives him a sly smile.
"You think?"
"No wingman to laze the target." -announces the captain- "Dropping blind. Bombs away." -and begins ascending the valley's north side.
"Right on target," Bob confirms. "Right on schedule."
Fanboy jumps out of his seat.
"Bullseye. Holy shit!"
Payback pulls his uniform to make him sit.
"Control yourself!"
But no one cares about proper behavior anymore. Their eyes are riveted on the red numbers of the force the pilot is sustaining while ascending.
8.5G
9G
10 G, far beyond the accepted limits for the F-18.
Bradley leans forward in his seat. He barely hides his concern.
The F-18 finally surpasses the height of the northern mountain and levels out.
"Maverick to Control. Drill completed."
"Impressive," Jake concedes with moist eyes.
This is his father, but he is also the most skilled and craziest pilot in the Navy. He is risking everything to give them a chance to survive. Around him, the squad exchanges discreet displays of joy out of respect for Cyclone. Fanboy, proud, lets out an enigmatic "I told you so." Jake just feels an incredible weariness. He has a lot to think about now.
Warlock looks at his students, happy and hopeful again. He looks at Cyclone, who is still looking at the screen. He knows that stone expression: he's readjusting his plans. Whether Mitchell will come out on top with this latest trick remains to be seen.
Temporary Office of Vice Admiral Beau "Cyclone" Simpson, Miramar Base, Saturday, November 9, 2019
"You have put me in a difficult situation, Captain." -Simpson says later, Maverick firm at his office to report.
It's pouring rain outside. Thunder rolls. A clock ticks. Cyclone stares at the rain, hands behind his back.
"On the one hand, you has shown that the Mission can be flown according to your parameters. That is perhaps the only way to survive it. On the other, you did so by stealing a multi-million dollar military aircraft and flying it in such a manner that it may never be airworthy again."
He turns to Maverick, studying him with confusion, distaste, and reluctant admiration mixed in his eyes. Pete is used to those looks.
"Not even Iceman could protect you from this. And I have everything I need to have you court-martialled and dishonorably discharged like so many officers have dreamed." -Cyclone moves towards his desk, leans down, and rests his hands on the polished surface- "But then I would be getting rid of the only man with a ghost of a chance of successfully completing this Mission."
Maverick narrows his eyes but says nothing. Where is Cyclone going with this monologue? He has never been a man of many words.
"Then what do I do?" -the vice admiral continues, looking at his table- "Risk the lives of my pilots, not to mention the success of the Mission, by sending them without you?" -he raises his face, looks at Maverick directly- "Or risk my career by appointing you team leader?"
They look at each other for a few more seconds. Maverick knows he has won. Not just the skirmish over control of this Mission. He has beaten Cyclone in the broader game of internal struggles within the Navy. By proving that he can fight his own battles without appealing to Iceman - his guardian angel they call him - he has also shown that his talents are not limited to flying like a fool and surviving.
Most of the time, people operate from biases and perceptions they once defined and don't care to adjust. His long relationship with Ice has made most people think of his husband as the brain and him as the brute force. Maverick is a dangerous toy that Kazansky knows how to control and lends to his allies. Usually, it doesn't bother him because arriving anywhere with low expectations is better. Today, he had to prove that he is more than a pretty face - he was chosen as the most attractive pilot in the Navy for fifteen consecutive years until Jake entered the competition. Now, the Vice Admiral knows that he recognized the decision to kick him out of the Mission for what it was: an attempt to undermine Kazansky's authority, but he was able to change the balance of forces with a single move.
Simpson is an ambitious man. He is also pragmatic and - in his own way - ethical. He would not risk the squad's lives just for an empty argument about the military hierarchy that would not even bring him political benefits. Furthermore, he knows that if he goes against Iceman, it must be with a mortal blow because nothing is more dangerous than a mortally wounded beast.
So Maverick opts to be a good sport. He won't say anything that could be construed as gloating or disrespectful to Simpson's authority. He knows he should thank him for the trust and promise of success.
"Sir..."
But Cyclone returns to his usual manner, a man who prefers few or no words when action can be of service. He silences him with a gesture.
"You'll choose your team on the carrier. You ship out early morning tomorrow."
Kazansky Residence - Mitchell, University City, Sunday, November 10, 2019
The days are short in November. Maverick is having breakfast on the kitchen island, but it is not yet dawned. On the other side of the table, Sarah is busy with the frying pan and toaster.
"Do you want to take something for the road?"
"No."
"How about some juice? I can do it for you now!"
"Sarah…"
"Or a smoothie? In the thermos, it will last for several hours."
"Sarah…"
"Mitawin!" -Iceman's voice cuts off the nervous, deaf interchange.
She shuts up and looks at them. Tom stands behind Pete, his chin resting on his left shoulder and his hands clasped around his torso.
"Come here, mitawin, "Iceman asks softly.
Sarah sighs, turns off the stove, and goes. Tom moves his right arm away so she can lean against their husband's side and hugs her around the waist.
"This is a breakfast of love," Maverick purrs. "No one in the Navy ever had a better farewell."
He raises his spouse's hands and kisses them.
"Except this isn't a farewell," she warns him. "This is a promise."
"A promise?" -Pete repeats.
"Yes," Ice explains while feeling his rhythmic breathing on his back. "We'll be waiting for you. You have to come back home."
"Don't you dare leave me a widow, Pete Mitchell, or I'll revive you just to kill you myself."
"Now you know. You can't argue with her, our cooking is shit."
NOTES
mitawin (Lakota) = wife (English)
STORY INDEX: http://palabraspulsares.blogspot.com/p/the-lies-we-told-each-other-4-roots.html
