"Do you think they'll be alright?"

The question does a rather effective job of pulling Admiral Tom Kazansky away from his perusal of a book he'd already read at least a dozen times before, the words on the page forgotten in favor of turning to look his wife in the eye. She appears to be hovering somewhere between a smile, and a concerned frown, as though she is already able to predict exactly what will happen, now that the inquiry she cannot seem to shake from her mind is out in the open.

Really, he supposes he shouldn't be all that surprised by the realization. Jo had always been something of a worrier where their bunch of kids were concerned…

Casey isn't technically theirs, of course, but as his god-daughter she may as well be. And that means Jo is and always has been convinced it is her duty to worry about her, just as much as anyone else.

"You and I both know my answer isn't going to stop you from worrying anyway, Josephine."

"Are you actually telling me that you're not concerned?"

Lifting an eyebrow, Tom can tell in seconds that Jo is already aware of the answer to her question without ever needing to say a word. He can see it in the faint twitch at the corner of her mouth, and in the way her arms fold across her chest as she moves to perch on the arm of the chair beside him.

Instinctively, she leans against him, ducking her head down to brush her lips against his in a kiss. And even if it is more than a little obvious she is reeling every bit as much as Casey and Maggie had been, it clearly has not impeded her ability to try to come up with a plan to move forward.

"I'll talk to Penny. See if she can talk Casey into staying around for a bit. And we already know Maggie's working on getting a transfer."

"Always planning for contingencies."

"I guess that's what happens when you're married to someone like Iceman for thirty-some years."

Tom cannot help but laugh at that, and even as much as the effort pains him, he cannot say that he regrets it, particularly in light of Jo's answering smile. He'd never been able to resist that smile, even when they first met.

Apparently, thirty years hadn't exactly given him much of a reason to change, and his hand finds Jo's easily not long before he replies.

"Regretting your choices?"

"Not a chance."

The complete surety behind Jo's declaration is almost enough to have the familiar stab of regret he'd been fighting to keep at bay ever since his diagnosis back at the forefront of his mind, but Tom refuses to allow it to take hold. He refuses, because there are far more important things to worry about than his own relative lack of time.

Another look at his wife shows exactly how quickly she picks up on the brief detour of his own thoughts, and Tom wishes he could say he is surprised. He wishes he couldn't see the slightest sheen of tears in Josephine's eyes, even as she fights with all she has to keep them at bay.

"This is going to break them, Tom."

"They're strong."

"Maggie's not you, you know. And Casey's not Mav," Jo disagrees, aware of the slight tightening of her husband's hand around her own, and hating that she is the one to bring the answering flicker of discomfort and something else—something not all that far from guilt—into his expression, "They'll both try to hide what this does to them, but—"

"They'll have each other."

"They need you. They both do."

Knowing there is nothing he can say that will change the truth, Tom remains silent in the wake of Jo's assertion. He commits the feel of his wife's hand to memory, along with the soft sound of her breathing. The smell of her perfume.

The truth of the matter is, he will be leaving Jo too. And he doesn't want to. He never wanted any of this, but there's nothing either of them can do about it now.

He never ran from a fight in the Navy, even if the odds were stacked against him. And he'd certainly never let obstacles get in the way of thirty years of marriage.

Why should cancer be any damn different?

"That's why you made that call the other day."

Jo's statement is yet another that does not seem to require an immediate answer from her husband, though this time she does release his hand, in favor of leaning forward to pluck a stray thread from the fabric of his shirt. Her fingertips linger against the material, and Tom can see her teeth digging into her lower lip before she finally replies.

"Pete. You want him to take over for the girls when you—when you can't."

"For the girls, and for you, Josie."

"I'm fine."

She's not. Tom knows Jo is not anywhere remotely close to 'fine', but he also knows attempting to push her into a confession would do little to no good at all. Not when he already knows exactly what she would have to say.

He can't exactly pretend he isn't surprised at how readily Jo throws herself into considering the eventual impact his diagnosis will have on everyone else they know and love. As if she knows, somehow, that if she even attempts to take a moment for herself, she will have nothing else to do but fall apart.

Tom does not want that for her. He never wanted that for her.

Truthfully, there are at least half a dozen things that he would have done differently, had he been given a choice, but his wife seems to be just as aware of how that was never really in the cards as he is, himself.

"I'm fine, Tom. Really," Jo persists, clearly sensing the direction of his thoughts, even if he cannot entirely keep tabs on them, himself, "For all of your talk about how I worry too much, I think that's actually something that should be said about you."

"Sure."

The soft laughter Jo offers in response to the singular word, and his answering smile does more to provide reassurance than expected, because she obviously recognizes the futility behind her own attempts at denial even if she cannot own up to it out loud. It is as though both of them are building a world from that precariousness, despite knowing it will inevitably come crashing down.

It may only cause more pain in the end. It may not help the current situation at all. But Jo has settled on this—on taking care of everyone else—with such ferocity that Tom knows he is not going to be able to pull her out of it alone.

While Jo slips out of the office, with a gentle reminder to not forget that dinner is almost ready, Tom turns back to the desk, and reaches for the phone resting beside the book he had abandoned when she first arrived. He still isn't sure how to do this. For a man who spent a lifetime never acting until he was absolutely sure of the outcome, he cannot be positive he is doing the right thing, now.

There isn't any other choice, though. Not with time running out, and a pressing need to tie up loose ends. To take care of his family, because that is all that ever really mattered.

The text sends, and Tom Kazansky places his phone back on the desk, his jaw tightening as the effort spent to haul himself to his feet brings about another spasm of pain. He follows after his wife, slowly enough to grow used to the discomfort movement sometimes brings before she can have a chance to read it in his face.

He'd never been able to deny Jo anything, but that doesn't mean he can't protect her from this as best he can until there is simply no other choice but to face it head-on.

…

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

"You heard your mom, Maggie. Kinda don't think we have any other choice."

Managing a faint laugh, Maggie is unable to deny that Casey has a point. That if the two of them return home now, having not even made an attempt to find normalcy, it certainly won't go unnoticed. She'd been surprised when her mother and Penny had suggested it, honestly. Even more so when the latter had insisted if either of them attempted to help her behind the bar in any way they'd each have to buy a few rounds for whoever happened to be around at the time.

Clearly, their mothers intended for them to get some time away. To clear their heads, or something along those lines, when it had been almost painfully obvious both she and Casey would have rather remained at home. And so now, they sit in Casey's car in the parking lot of the Hard Deck, each of them clearly more than a little reluctant to actually go inside despite any promises made to do exactly that.

"Okay, well one of us is gonna need to actually get out of the car first—"

"Yeah."

"Or we could—we could go on three?"

The suggestion is childish and Maggie knows it. After all, they're about to walk into a bar, which is hardly the same as going into the den to tell their parents they've just broken an heirloom vase. But before she has a chance to even attempt to take it back, she realizes Casey is offering an eager nod, her fingers flexing against the fabric of her jeans before she speaks.

"Yeah. Yeah, on three."

"Okay. One."

"Two—"

"Three."

Together, they exit the car and shut the driver and passenger side doors behind them, falling into step beside one another to head toward the partially propped open door leading into the interior of the bar, itself. Maggie catches herself looping her arm through Casey's along the way, somehow still needing tactile proof that she is not alone, even now.

A particularly persistent anxiousness gnaws at her gut, despite her best efforts to shove it away. Despite the fact that she knows she isn't the only one that never wanted to leave her father at all. Just a glance at Casey shows her that her friend is in the same boat, without question, her expression hardly hiding her own exhaustion and churning thoughts. But they have to do this. They had promised her mother that they would try…

Even if it feels as though they are simply going through the motions, neither of them are entirely prepared to back down. And perhaps that is what gives Maggie the courage to risk another look at Casey as the two of them slip inside the bar, her lips twitching into a thin smile as soon as she takes note of her companion's skeptically raised brow.

"What?"

"Oh nothing. I'm just wondering who we can rope into buying us a round of drinks, first."

"Seriously?"

"Why not?"

"I don't know, Mags, this is just a move that people would usually expect from, well—me," Casey states, not entirely incapable of acknowledging the surge of gratitude she feels when she sees Maggie's grin starting to grow into something more genuine, even in spite of the circumstances neither of them can ignore, "Although I guess since what I'm about to say is more like you, it kind of evens out."

"What is it you're about to say?"

"If anyone is buying rounds, drinking them is all on you."

"You're joking."

Maggie's eyebrows rocket skyward in response to Casey's answering shake of the head, the idea of her refusal of even one drink surprising, to say the least. It would be a lie to pretend otherwise. In the past, the two of them had often gone out together. Casey in particular had a way of wrapping pilots around her finger without promising anything in return that had always served them well.

As much as Maggie might have teased her friend about it, she was no stranger to relying on charm to get what she wanted, herself. And that is precisely why Casey's sudden seriousness is so jarring.

It is precisely why Maggie doesn't intend to let her skate by without an honest answer, as well, even if they are only just managing to claim one of the last tables circling around the bar, and are thus hardly guaranteed any sort of privacy at all.

"Any particular reason why?"

"Someone's got to be sober enough to drive us home."

"That's never stopped you before. Try again."

"Maybe I don't particularly feel like having to call your dad to come get us at the precinct again."

In spite of herself, Maggie cannot fully restrain a laugh at the memory, even though she is more than a little sure Casey is only using it as a distraction from an answer she clearly does not want to provide. While she has no intention of allowing for such a thing, Maggie is also not exactly willing to simply set the memory aside, though, and as she settles into the booth seat across from Casey, she does her best to offer her friend the momentary reprieve she seems to need so fiercely.

"Technically, that wasn't our fault."

"No, it wasn't," Casey agrees, reaching for one of the peanuts collected in a bowl at the center of the table, regardless of how the idea of actually eating anything is causing her stomach to churn, "But I'm pretty sure your dad still expected us to know better when it came to walking residential streets, singing at the top of our lungs when it was two in the morning."

"Okay, that? That was all on you and Bradley. If you hadn't gotten that song stuck in my head—"

"You mean "Benny and the Jets"?"

"I do."

"I didn't hear you complaining at the time."

"I was drunk, Case. Not in my right mind?"

"Are you ever?"

"Okay, ouch. Retract the claws, killer," Maggie teases, relieved to hear Casey's answering laughter, even if her attention is almost immediately distracted by the sight of her friend picking at the peanut still held in her hand, "Are you actually going to eat that, or are we planning on going into a career of legume torture?"

"Legume—what?"

"Legume torture. A peanut is a part of the legume family—"

"Okay, Bill Nye."

"What? I'm just stating the facts. Which is more than I can say for someone who is apparently refusing to answer two of my questions now."

Leaning back against the booth seat, Casey makes a show of popping the peanut into her mouth, and chewing, her expression a mix of amusement and something not all that far from a wary sort of exasperation as well. Maggie watches as her friend reaches for another nut, and repeats the action, instinct all but insisting that if she persists in remaining silent, she will simply end up watching Casey devour the entire bowl before ever saying a word.

To avoid that outcome, Maggie drags the bowl a bit closer to her own side of the booth, just out of Casey's reach. Reaches for one of the peanuts, herself, and lobs it gently so that it bounces against the fabric of Casey's shirt…

"Hey!"

"That's only one question you've answered."

"So you're just going to toss peanuts at me until I answer the other one?"

The collision of another peanut, this time with Casey's shoulder, is answer enough, judging by the resigned look on her face, and even though her friend does not immediately supply a response, Maggie resolves to wait. To give Casey time.

She knows doing anything less will only force her to pull away.

"I have to admit, Mags, if this is your idea of playing 'bad cop', I'm a little disappointed. But you want to know why I'm not drinking."

"I do."

"Okay," Casey breathes, taking what appears to be a steadying breath, her fingers flexing on the wood of the table top in an almost identical repetition to what she had done before getting out of the car. Maggie would be a liar to pretend she is not a little concerned at the gesture. Particularly as any other confession made between them had never provoked this level of apprehension. But even then, when Casey's actual admission sinks in, Maggie realizes that there had been a part of her, even if she hadn't realized it until now, that had already started putting the pieces together as soon as Casey refused the offer of a drink.

"I'm—Maggie, I'm pregnant."

"Pregnant."

"Still want to insist I'm not a terrible person?"

"Oh hush. Of course I'm still insisting that," Maggie scoffs, blatantly ignoring Casey's skeptical tone in favor of going on, "Does Bradley—does he know?"

"Not—not yet."

"Are you going to tell him?"

"I tried to call him, but I never—he still hasn't called back."

Frowning, Maggie almost immediately recognizes that this is not atypical behavior for Bradley. Not really. For as long as she can remember, he's had a tendency to become preoccupied with his own problems, often to the expense of anyone else going through something, themselves.

It had been one of the many things that made it impossible for the two of them to remain together, when they'd given a relationship a try, but Maggie is fully aware of how the very things she could not abide, Casey had always found a way to excuse them and sweep them under the rug.

Something that her friend is clearly preparing to do in this situation as well, if the small grimace that pulls at the corners of her mouth is any sort of indication at all.

"You know, you don't have to let him off the hook for everything, Case."

"Is that really what you think I'm doing, here?"

"It's kind of what you've been doing for as long as I can remember."

Casey does not reply to that, but then Maggie never really needed her to, because it is a topic the two of them have discussed many times before. In the past, Maggie had always imagined Casey's steadfast defense of Bradley had everything to do with a similarity in upbringing. Even though Mav had been a fixture in her life, she'd been primarily raised by Penny, just as Bradley had been with Carole until she died.

It is a sort of understanding that Maggie never had, though it does not escape her that, based on her father's appointment today, that may not remain true for long. But regardless, Maggie knows that Casey's bond with Bradley Bradshaw is every bit as unique—as strong—as their own connection has always been.

Even if sometimes that pull to constantly be his champion seems to occasionally be more of a detriment to Casey than anything else.

"Do you want him to know? I mean—do you think he'd be—"

"I honestly don't know how he's going to be about it, Mags," Casey sighs, dropping her head into her hands for a moment to emit a soft groan, "I mean it's not like he went into this expecting a long term commitment."

"Well a baby is a pretty damned long term commitment, Casey."

"I know."

"How do you feel about it?"

"Terrified? Stunned? But the insane part of it all, is, I—somewhere in the middle of all of that, I'm actually a little bit—"

"Excited?"

"It's insane."

"Actually, all things considered, I'd say it's pretty close to normal," Maggie counters, unable to fully restrain the smile that breaks free in response to the incredulous look Casey is sending her way, "Even if Bradshaw does decide to be a jerk about this, the kid'll have one good parent in their corner."

"Maggie, what in any universe even gives you the slightest idea that I would be a good mother?"

"Have you scheduled an appointment for termination?"

"What? No!" Casey exclaims, her brow furrowing as soon as she realizes her reply has prompted Maggie to send her what might seem to most to be an overly enthusiastic grin, "Why are you smiling like that?"

"I'm smiling because your response just now? The excitement you mention? It tells me you want this baby."

"That doesn't—that's not a guarantee that I'm not going to mess the poor kid up just because I'm its mother."

"Name one person you know that isn't at least slightly messed up because of their parents."

"I'm looking at one of them right now."

"Okay. Fair point," Maggie concedes, allowing herself to feel some manner of relief in Casey's answering snort of amusement, even if she can still see quite clearly that her friend is far from reassured, "But you're missing one very important thing, here."

"Oh? And what might that be?"

"Those people who raised me, without messing me up? Do you really think they won't jump at the chance to help you?"

"I'm not—I don't think I'm ready to tell anyone—anyone else, yet, Mags—" Casey stammers, the flush that burns on her cheeks prompting her to avert her gaze to where her fingers thread together, rather than continuing to look Maggie in the eye, "And I certainly don't expect your parents to fix my mistakes."

"You know they would never judge you, Casey."

"I do. But I just—I think I just need a little more time."

"I can give you time. On one condition."

"Dare I ask?"

"It's really not all that complicated," Maggie begins, the familiarity of the teasing glint in her eyes earning her a sigh from her friend, a clear sign that Casey is already able to predict exactly where the conclusion of this particular topic is going to go.

"Buy me a drink or three, and my silence is yours."

…

It had certainly been a day full of surprises.

This is the thought at the forefront of Pete Mitchell's mind as he sits on one of the stools collected around the bar while Penny doles out refills to a nearby patron. Across the room, he can see Casey and Maggie engaged in a game of pool with some of the pilots he recognizes from his briefing with Cyclone and Warlock earlier in the day. He takes note of how his daughter smiles at something Seresin says when she fails to sink a shot, even though the smile does not come close to reaching her eyes.

In the seconds after he'd first walked through the doors of Penny's bar, Pete had garnered the attention of both his daughter, and god-daughter. He hadn't had the first idea that either would be home, but had adapted to their eager embraces and rapid-fire conversation readily enough.

It had reminded him of when they were both younger, and he'd returned home from deployment, the force of the two of them hurling themselves into his arms nearly enough to knock him off his feet. But in contrast to that level of enthusiasm, he hadn't exactly missed that both Casey and Maggie appeared somewhat subdued.

Neither seemed willing to be forthcoming on the cause of that particular change, though, and so he had ventured to the bar with them following along in his wake. They'd spent a few more minutes in idle conversation before Seresin roped them into a game of pool that is still ongoing.

Already caught off guard by discovering the details of what he had been called back to North Island to do—to who would be in the group of aviators he was meant to teach—Casey and Maggie's evasiveness is just one more thing to add to the list of potential problems he needed to solve. And admittedly, the two of them are likely to be the easiest to figure out, compared to his apparent purpose, here. Compared to working with the estranged son of his best friend.

Pete is so entrenched in his own thoughts that he does not initially notice Penny is returning to him with a second glass of beer held in one hand. Something she appears to find amusing if the smile that curves her mouth when he finally does take note of her presence is any indication at all.

"Distracted, Captain?"

"What gave you that idea?"

"You're really not all that hard to read," Penny replies, taking in the almost incredulous expression that flares to life in his expression not long after she says the words with a soft laugh, "Whether or not you try to be."

"Who says I'm trying to be?"

"I've known you for thirty odd years now, Pete. I think experience is the one saying it, and I'm not inclined to doubt it."

"When the hell did we get so old?" Pete inquires, fingers toying with the glass of beer Penny placed before him, while he watches her sling a towel over one shoulder with practiced ease.

"Probably around the time Casey was in high school."

"And dating."

"Well they weren't all bad," Penny says, leaning against the bar just across from where Pete sits, the significance behind her words and expression making it all too clear exactly who she is referring to, even if she hasn't said the name out loud. For a moment, Pete considers the idea that this is what has rendered his daughter so uncertain. That the idea of running into the person Penny is referencing has her on edge.

He is almost tempted to latch onto that explanation as truth, but then it does not explain Maggie's similar behavior. It doesn't even begin to give reason for why she would have seemed to hold herself back, as though she couldn't trust herself to speak without revealing some secret he was not meant to know.

As quickly as it had come, the relief that he finally had an idea as to what troubled his daughter fades away. And Penny seems to recognize the line of his thoughts not long after, her expression settling into something he cannot entirely read before she speaks.

"She's fine, Pete. From the looks of things, she and Maggie are about to clean their new friends out of their money."

"I'm sure Seresin is going to love that."

Penny's answering laugh is enough to give Pete at least some measure of respite from the concern that seems content to fester in his gut, and he allows his attention to drift back to the pool tables not long after. A grin of his own escapes as soon as he realizes he is looking at direct proof of Penny's claim. As he watches Casey accepting a collection of bills that Seresin is handing her, clearly enjoying her former opponent's chagrin.

Maggie trades a remark with the man's partner—Machado—and for a moment, it almost seems as though the amusement she and his daughter feel over this development might actually be genuine. But then he recognizes another voice, clearly calling out to a new arrival he has not yet seen.

An arrival that has Casey's face draining of color all too quickly, while Maggie moves just a fraction of an inch closer to her friend's side.

"Bradshaw. Is that you?"

Ducking his head down in hopes of avoiding any attention, at least for the time-being, Pete ignores the weight of Penny's curious gaze, pinning him down. He tries not to acknowledge the twisting knot of apprehension tightening in his chest at the thought of seeing Bradley again, in the wake of everything that had happened between them.

Since meeting with Warlock and Cyclone, Pete had known this moment was coming, but he thought he would at least have until training began tomorrow morning to prepare for it.

And now he has every reason to believe Casey might have wished, for whatever reason, to postpone such a reunion, as well.

…