The Navy told him that “Mother Goose” was too long of a callsign, although it never fell off simply because of how he behaved. Imagine seeing good ol’ Goose beat the crap out of some pilot. Despite the few straggling bystanders simply watching, Goose was originally just laying into the two broad men on how despicable it was that they were picking on some little kid— well, okay, the kid was an adult, barely, but… these men were far older.

This small kiddish adult— he went by the callsign Maverick— getting harassed and beaten because he wanted to do good for his family name? Because he was Duke Mitchell’s kid he deserved it? Goose didn’t think so.

Well, one didn’t take that opinion so well. Got all in Goose’s personal space, shoved him around a bit. And then Goose punched the guy square in his face! The other yelled something incoherent, dragging his bleeding friend away.

That was in the last though, and Maverick hardly remembered the incident, but Goose did. It’s how he met his baby brother.

“And that is why they call me Mother Goose.” Nick sighed, leaning back in his creaking wooden chair at the tiny diner filled to the brim with Naval aviators. “Any more questions, dear?” He chuckled, the corners of his eyes crinkling.