'Why do you hate me so?' He asked, a crestfallen look gracing his icy, unforgiving features.
"Simply because I was never yours."
Rivalry was all they shared at first. Unjust and unbothered egos colliding. But then it developed into something neith...
"Just thought I'd help you or we'd be here all day. Not that I'm complaining of course." He smirked mischievously, and I had a good mind to whack him again but this time much, much harder. "Did I scare you?" He added, smiling gently.
"You did more than that I'll tell you now! Don't ever try that again or I swear to God!" I glared at him angrily, making him laugh a rich, friendly laugh.
"Or what?" He pushed, still smiling mischievously.
"Muck around and you'll find out." I said, as menacingly as I could. It seemed to have worked for Maverick backed off slightly, hands above his head in surrender.
"I'd rather not thank you." He stated.
"Good. Let's go and eat then shall we?" I questioned. He nodded and walked away. Jesus Christ Charlie, why do you have to pick the stupid yet bloody brilliant ones?! I found the wine bottle by the microwave so I gingerly retrieved it and trotted out into the garden, resuming the place I'd kept before.
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We finished the meal, and started chatting about life, favourite hobbies and pass times, best movie genres and our childhood dreams when suddenly he asked me a question that took me a little off guard.
"I can see somethings on your mind. I'm not stupid you know." He said, curiosity seeping through his words. I shook my head vigorously.
"No, everything's fine. Why do you ask?" I lied quickly; a little too quickly for him to believe me.
"I fly with a closely knit team on a daily basis. We don't communicate and we risk everything. That's how I know. So, talk to me, what is it?" He asked.
"The Mig." I replied, not really knowing how else to phrase it.
"What? What about it?" Maverick continued.
"The Mig. All of it. You're about the only pilot who's been up against one before." I informed him.
"Yes and? That's relevant because?" He queried.
"Because i want to know how." I said innocently.
"Ahh but that would be telling! And as Goose knows full well, a magician never reveals his secrets!" He grinned slyly, and I rolled my eyes.
"Be serious though. How?" I goaded. He sat silent for a while; I could see the cogs turning in his mind before he finally said:
"You've got security clearance no?" I nodded confirming this after all, it was the second time he'd asked me. "Then relax about the Mig." He finished. I nodded and offered a polite smile.
"I see." Was all I said. I had wanted to tell him about my attempts at the job promotion I'd applied for in Washington but I didn't think it was the right time nor circumstance now so I decided to leave it. A new song began to play softly over the radio.
"This music...." Maverick began.
"An old friend?" I suggested. He shook his head.
"No, it was a song my folks used to love. My mother would call down from her room and have me play it over and over. I got so sick of it, but not her; not her. It made her happy. She'd sit up there and listen for hours and hours. The music brought her peace. Yet she died shortly after him." Maverick reminisced, sadness and doubt shining in his emerald green eyes.
"I'm sorry. What happened to him? Your Father I mean." I asked gently and curiously.
"Really you don't know?" He sounded somewhat offended. "No, why?" I replied. "What with your security clearance and everything, I thought you'd know but obviously not."
"What happened?" I repeated.
"To my Father? Well it's a big mystery, as far as anyone is concerned, he disappeared in an F-4 over the Atlantic Ocean. November fifth, 1965. The highlight of it all? Well, people said he screwed up. Absolutely no way, not my old man. He was a great fighter pilot. But who the hell knows now? It's all classified." He explained, sadly.
"Well somebody must know." I said, softly.
"Yeah well, someone knows everything they just won't tell me." He muttered disappointedly.
"Is that why you're always second best up there?" I asked rather directly.
"You are incredibly direct, aren't you?" Maverick mused. I sat up straighter and leant on my closed fist.
"I'm sorry I was late." He whispered.
"And I'm sorry for being direct." I quipped back.
"No apologies." He hummed, rising from the chair and placing his empty, crystal wine glass on the glass table.
"Where are you going?" I asked, dumbstruck.
"To take that shower you so kindly promised me. Thank you by the way, I enjoyed being here." He said, smiling before he disappeared inside.
Now left completely solitary in a garden chair, I sat and mulled over everything. This was going to be complicated, I thought.
