𝘚𝘰𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 | A Top Gun Fanfiction

Chapter 17: 𝘍𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘶𝘳𝘦, 𝘍𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘧𝘶𝘭, 𝘍𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵

"Taking his sweet time."

"Yeah well, party time is over. Wolfman, this is Dash, do you copy?"

Static.

I throw my head back.

As if this flight could get any worse.

"Dash this is Wolfman, over."

Frustrated, I access the comms and shout, "Where are you, idiots! We've got the enemy in sight and we're outnumbered. Hurry your molasses asses up!"

Laughter filters through the comms. A strange mixture of Sundown's jolly baritone and Wolfman's somewhat manic laughter.

"Yes Ma'am," They chorus.

A smile slips past my defenses.

Maybe this won't be so bad.

"Hey!" Dash snarls. "I manage the comms, ok? Stay off the radio and stick to the radars."

Anger coils in my gut. I spoke too soon. The smile falls from my face and a tremulous frown takes its place. A click reconnects us to our wingmen, oblivious to the tension in the Archer 1. I feel that age old itch to pack a punch, defend my dignity, give Dash a taste of his own medicine and pummel his pride so he hurts for every second of this flight. But that rebellious side of me is depleted. I used to be able to speak up, to slaughter anyone who dared oppose me. And then I failed. I crashed. Vixen moved into my head and I got shipped off to this stupid school where I was supposed to be the one to beat, and now I'm just 'the girl.'

The girl who used to be a pilot.

The girl who can't even read radars.

I do exactly what I shouldn't and read the damn radars.

"Three o'clock," I mutter.

Wolfman and Sundown slide in beside us. I steal a peek and find Sundown in the back, waving cheerfully at me. I stare, wishing it were Goose.

But that means Maverick.

Maverick.

I can feel my control slipping away and before I know it, its gone. Right through my own two hands. Slick with sweat, my palms fall from the radar and I have to focus on my breathing.

Maverick.

His name is a hurricane.

I'm the eye.

As the pressure in my head mounts, the sounds around me blur into white noise. I hear the blaring of missile locks, shouting, swearing, the rush of wind, the fizzle of the comms. Somewhere in the mess, I pick out my name being bellowed. Dash. That sickly-sweet precursor to vomit threatens me. I shake my head wildly.

Wake up, Stirrups!

Vixen.

He needs you!

Maverick or Dash?

"Maverick has been head over heels in love with you since you set foot on this base!"

It's amazing how such a simple exclamation can spark both earth-shattering hope and despair.

Even more surprising is how all encompassing my feelings for Maverick are.

They make it impossible for me to even consider remembering the crash.

"STIRRUPS! DAMMIT SAY SOMETHING!"

I blink once.

My thoughts slur together, but I manage to focus enough to identify four dots chasing one another across the radar. They move in pairs. Us against them. Dash is still screaming at me, Wolfman and Sundown are trying to tell us something about a plan, but Dash isn't even listening. He's just losing his mind over me, over the flight, over everything, and I'm in this funk, flashing back and forth between a montage of memories and the radar before my eyes. One second, it's Maverick sitting down next to me and introducing himself, the next, a dot is breaking away from its match. I see Goose run to his wife and son on the runway, Maverick and I hold hands.