𝘚𝘰𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 | A Top Gun Fanfiction

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘎𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳

They're a gift I'll always hold dear.

And of course...there was the unexpected seventh gift.

Iceman.

Funny how when we met, it was like we were two chips off the same brick; pieces of the same puzzle. Two raindrops falling from the same cumulonimbus. It certainly felt like falling, locking eyes with him.

Water knew water at that moment. He was fascinated by another of his nature, who was free. Rain that can trickle and pour. Clouds sewing earth with pitter-patters only to reap their puddles. He's frozen. He cannot trickle, he cannot pour. A solid block that could only grind and groan out of frustration and wanting. I saw the winter in his soul; the sheets of ice, like a glacier, entombing him. Stirrups, Maverick, Goose, even Slider, dedicated as he is to Iceman, could not see. They don't peel onions with their eyes. They have to pick them up and feel the sting of tears to realize what they've got in their palm. I didn't have to hold him to see that he was more than his resume. Trophy pilot and playbook enthusiast...that's Iceman too, but that's the ice.

Underneath, I could see the man.

And for the first time in my life, I felt a symphony in my stomach.

It plays on cue.

A glance sets them off. Strings wailing to the rhythmic pulse of the percussion. They know how to swing the second he so much as breathes. It's a genre of music all but unknown to me. I've felt the ghost of it in my heart when reading. It's the sort of Jane Austen effect; the tingling desire that has every girl seeking their Mr. Darcy. All my life, in Ireland, in America, between the pages of Dickinson or in the cockpit, I've been silently searching for my Mr. Darcy. Wanting that feeling that Elizabeth Bennet has as they confess their love. Poetry puts it into words better than I could, and aviator poet though I may be, according to Stirrups, I feel unqualified in this department of love.

That is why I'm waiting.

Waiting for ice to break, before I dry up.

Stirrups convinced me to invite him to the barbecue, which thankfully worked without a hitch. It's no secret that the boys dislike Iceman. Hate him even...

But I like him.

And Goose and Maverick like me. Not as much as they like Stirrups. It's a bitter truth, to see your friends, closer knit than they are to you...but I understand. I feel the sting of it, but I know that they found her first. She found them first. I'm content to have what pieces of Goose and Maverick's hearts are left for giving. Maybe the reason I seek after Iceman is because I don't have to settle for leftovers. He's got a whole beating heart under that snow that's yet to be claimed...and he could be mine. Just mine.

I could be his.

When the time is right, I hum, sipping my Irish Coffee.

Goose and Maverick are still arguing with Stirrups about who won today's dogfight. I can't believe it myself, the way it all played out. We were in a perfect formation, ducks all in a row, and Iceman, having scored the role of caboose, had no one on his tail to shoot him down. A fortunate success. I giggle into my wrist as I mop the damp trail of my upper lip with my sleeve. Stirrups still claims that the boys lost, because they got buzzed, whereas Goose—

"Ice was the last man standing. That means he won. We—" His pinkie gestures towards Maverick, "Were his wing-men, which means we won."

"Correctamundo."

The voice catches my breath in a tight fist. Gasping, I tear my eyes from Goose's pinkie and glimpse the cue, pushing his way through the crowd. Right on schedule, I remark, as the symphony raises the first note of tonight's performance. My insides jingle like Christmas bells as Iceman flashes me a dazzling smile, two parts ego, one part vulnerability. Those two-thirds can't hide his genuine happiness from my onion peeling eyes.