Chapter Text
It was always something.
A rough landing, a busted ankle, a scraped elbow — and today? A twisted ankle during a dumb misstep off the ladder. Maverick had limped off the tarmac with his jaw clenched and his pride intact, waving off any offers of help like they were offensive.
Unfortunately, Hangman didn’t believe in boundaries.
“You’re limping,” Jake Seresin said, eyeing him with a stare that could only be described as unhelpfully observant.
Maverick sighed, still walking — or limping — toward the locker room. “Yeah. Because I slightly twisted my ankle. I’m fine.”
“You keep saying that word like it means something,” Hangman replied, falling into step beside him.
“It does.”
“Not to me, it doesn’t. Especially when you’re walking like someone kicked your knee backwards.”
Maverick shot him a glare. “Jake. Drop it.”
Hangman didn’t respond right away. Instead, he eyed Maverick’s gait for another ten seconds, as if calculating some silent equation. Then, without a single warning, he grabbed Maverick around the waist, flung him over his shoulder, and started walking the opposite direction.
“WHAT THE HELL—”
“Congratulations,” Hangman said cheerfully. “You’ve been medically abducted.”
“PUT ME DOWN RIGHT NOW.”
“No can do. You lied to me, Cap. You said you were fine. You limped. That’s betrayal.”
“Jake!”
“Mitchell,” Hangman said back in the same exasperated tone.
Maverick pounded a fist on his back. “This is not how chain of command works!”
“You’re not my CO right now,” Hangman said smugly. “You’re a patient. And according to the Squad Code—”
“There’s no squad code.”
“—we don’t let tiny, prideful fighter pilots hobble around like wounded woodland creatures.”
“Jake, I swear—”
“Careful. Don’t wanna raise your blood pressure,” Hangman warned. “You’ll make it worse.”
Maverick groaned and hung limp over his shoulder, utterly defeated.
As they walked past the rest of the squad gathered near the rec room, all eyes turned.
Rooster choked on his drink. “Oh my god, are you carrying him again?”
“It’s not a pattern if it’s justified!” Jake called.
Phoenix was already taking a picture. “He looks like a pouty backpack.”
“I hate all of you,” Maverick muttered, dangling like laundry.
Payback called after them, “Hey Mav! You want us to send flowers to med bay?”
“I want to be left alone,” Maverick shouted.
“You need ice,” Hangman corrected. “And maybe a sticker. Something with a jet on it. Keep your morale up.”
When they reached the med bay doors, Hangman finally eased him down — gently, like he’d handled a fragile package — and took a dramatic step back, hands on his hips.
“There,” he said. “Rescue complete. You may now yell at me.”
Maverick turned slowly, eyes narrowed. “You are the worst.”
“And yet,” Jake said, grinning, “you didn’t stop me.”
Maverick opened his mouth. Closed it. “…Only because I couldn’t breathe while upside down.”
Jake winked. “Details, Captain.”
And with that, he turned and sauntered off like he hadn’t just manhandled a superior officer in broad daylight.
Maverick stared after him, then turned to the corpsman waiting inside.
“Don’t say it,” he warned.
“I wasn’t going to,” the corpsman replied. “But I did see him carry Rooster like that once.”
Maverick groaned. “God help us all.”