𝘚𝘰𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 | A Top Gun Fanfiction [UNDER EDITING]

Chapter 32: 𝘏𝘢𝘭𝘧 𝘢 𝘏𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵

That's when we saw Viper, and he let us off the hook.

"Mourn, gather anything you need, rest. We'll arrange a trial, a funeral for Goose, but in four days we'll need you back here to fly...you might think it sounds cruel, considering all that's transpired but I'm sure Stirrups can tell you that when you fall off a horse—"

You've got to get back on.

I always knew that growing up. I would slip off the saddle, bruise an arm or a leg, and cry, but daddy always hauled me under my arms and hoisted me back on the horse, made me do a couple of circles at least, until the horse and I both could come to a halt and sigh together. If only I'd been able to apply the same skill to aviation...maybe I would've coped better with losing Vixen. But those days are long past. I've learned the lesson, one way or another, and even though my heart feels cracked and I want to crawl back into bed with Maverick and cry all the water out of my body, I know that I'm going to get in that cockpit next week, and I'm going to fly. Because I can't let grief hold me back; I refuse to let it break me; frighten me; weaken me.

Most of all, I won't let it break Maverick.

He was there for me when I was lost.

Broken, afraid.

I'll be damned if I let him slip through the cracks and fester as long as I did. No way in Hell. I'm going to be here for him, and we're going to get back in those jets, and crush Iceman and Slider.

We're gonna win that trophy for Penguin.

It's so passionate in my head, I half expecting to hear that age old sigh.

"How's Maverick?"

I blink back the single tear my speech has accumulated.

"Sleeping."

Ghost dunks her tea bag under the boiling water and nods in sync with each plunge. A plume of steam coils around her sullen features.

My heartstrings stretch themselves thin as they reach for her.

"How are you feeling?"

Her sigh disturbs the flow of steam.

"Like a slug. Slimy, lonely, wandering in search of the 'what now?'"

She doesn't have to ask to know that I'm a slug too. It's not the first time that our telepathic powers have worked on the ground. They're more acute in the air, but it's times like these, when words are untamable, and hearts too fragile, that our thoughts can intertwine and speak for us. I don't have to tell her that I feel as sad and broken as she does...just like she doesn't have to tell me that she needs the biggest hug in the world. I'm already taking the mug from her hands and drawing her in before she can cough up a sob. Our height difference is painfully obvious as we fold in on each other. Her forehead slots along the slope of my collar; I tuck my ear against her scalp. Ghost's hair is slippery and unkempt. I can't even begin to imagine what mine must be like, so I don't try. The only effort I exert is the sap of strength left in my arms to cradle my best friend. She's warm and cold all at once, but she fits just right.

Our hug could endure anything.

It's our own little forcefield.

A bubble.

We take our time inside our bubble, and hold each other for as long as our legs can bear us up.

Even after we've parted ways, I feel the echo of her arms blanketing my body. I can't bring myself to eat, but Ghost convinces me to make some coffee. Balancing two mugs, I creep back into my bedroom, finding Maverick half awake, and buried under a heap of blankets. Smiling tightly, I plod over to the bed, setting down our drinks before leaning into the mattress. My added weight barely disturbs Maverick. He can hardly meet my eyes. I hold my breath, studying his face that's become partially welded to the pillow he's crushing between his arms. There's the stamp of sleeplessness under each eye; both of which are nearly swollen shut from the constant crying. Under his red nose, a slimy streak marks his upper lip.