𝘚𝘰𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 | A Top Gun Fanfiction

Chapter 11: 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘙𝘐𝘖'𝘴 𝘙𝘪𝘯𝘨

I nod.

"Well," Charlie takes a sip of her coffee and licks her lips clean. "You'll be pleased to hear that we aren't flying today."

A part of me fires up, pissed as Hell. No flying? Screams my inner adrenaline-junky pilot. But the sensible part pins me to my stoll and levels out my tone so I don't sound absolutely enraged when I ask, "Why?"

"Some issue with the jets. They need a little more time to get fixed up. But this is a good thing," Charlie sets a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "You get a break from Dash."

Dash.

Dash the dick, she sings.

I struggle to contain my laughter and cram as much of my eggs as I can down my throat. The rest of breakfast is quiet. Charlie and I wash our dishes in a rush, barely scrubbing them enough to really clean them. In the end, we dump them into the sink for the evening and lock up. With Charlie and I on good terms, I no longer have to sneak out my window and catch Maverick on his motorcycle. I get to ride in the convertible again. The thought puts a pep in my step. Lighter than air, I skip after Charlie and jump into the passenger seat. No Dash - well, no being stuck behind Dash and confined to his amatuer flying; no avoiding Charlie; no conflict; and a full stomach to start the day?

Can this day get any better?

"Hit the radio, DJ," Charlie shouts.

She revs the engine and I reach across the center counsel to flick on the radio. Take on Me, by A-ha comes on. Immediately, Charlie and I surge forward to crank up the volume. Our hands collide and we burst out laughing. The two of us flop our hands about like fish, straining to get the volume knob dialed up. Eventually I bat her hand out of the way and spin it like a record. The speaker's blare is so loud, I almost worry I'll go deaf before we reach Top Gun. 

 Almost.

It's hard to get too stressed when you're belting one of the greatest songs of the decade at the top of your lungs.

Charlie pulls away from the curb and sets a course for the academy. The young sun peeks over the neighborhood rooftops, a blazing yellow that splices my corneas. Squealing, I tug my aviators off my head and shield my eyes. Then, I go back to singing with Charlie and smile, my heart practically bursting at the seams.

Today is a good day and miraculously, I feel unstoppably happy.

>>>>>

"Well well well," says a smug voice as I slide into the chair beside him. "Somebody's feeling good today."

"Shut up, Mav."

Maverick merely smirks. "Lookin' good too."

"Smooth, Mav," I laugh, though my stomach flutters worse than an intoxicated butterfly. I feign composure and focus on getting my notes out. Unlike Jester's class, where he seems to enjoy yelling at us rather than giving us sufficient information to glean from, Viper comes prepared. The commander reminds me of a college professor. Calm, collected, and excellent at what he does. I've read about his glory days and boy was he a good pilot. Better than me. And just maybe better than Maverick? Who am I kidding, I laugh internally. Nobody's better than Maverick. He's an idiot, but he's an idiot with skills. That much is undeniable. "So, where's Goose?"

"He's uh..." Maverick clicks his pen and slowly turns his head this way and that, suspiciously checking the room. Satisfied with his findings, he leans towards me and I shoot him an incredulous look but dip my ear close to his mouth as he whispers, "he's breaking into Area 51."