I can't begin to explain how stupid I feel. It's the second strongest emotion I've ever felt in my life, runner up to the sorrow of losing Vixen. Now more than ever I want her voice in my head, distracting me from the overwhelm of this revelation. Because of all the people around, people who, if they saw me distressed wouldn't hesitate to come over and pressure me into telling them what's wrong, I have to swallow my shock and go on like nothing has changed. Like I haven't come to terms with the warm feeling in my gut when Maverick hands me an icecream and our fingers touch. I recoil like I'm burned, and he frowns, but I wave him off. The cone is cold, I lie, and he believes me. Everyone at the table believes my facade. I don't know whether I'm grateful for this knack at lying...or terribly ashamed of it.
Honest or not, I make it through the rest of the night by keeping quiet, speaking only when the conversation rotates towards me or if I'm asked a direct question.
The sky grows dark.
All of a sudden, Charlie stands up.
I startle.
Damn, I'm really on edge.
Immediately my eyes dart towards Maverick, who's peacefully sipping his second beer of the night. When he notices Charlie gathering her stuff, he looks back my way and I steer my gaze towards the piano, a fist clenched in my lap underneath the table. Don't blush, don't look, don't don't don't don't –
"I'm so sorry, everyone," Charlie apologizes. "I just remembered I have some important reports to drop off and I didn't get around to them earlier."
"Aw they can wait," Goose whines.
"Oh but they really can't..." Charlie fumbles for her keys. "Stirrups –"
I respond at the sound of my callsign.
Charlie catches my eye in the middle of her rummaging. "I could take you back but I don't want to break up the party –"
"Don't worry about that," Maverick interjects. I feel my blood run cold just as my heart speeds up. A strange combination of sensations that utterly confuse my body and leave me reeling for a few seconds, momentarily stupefied. "I'll give her a ride home, right Stirrups?"
It takes a bit for me to realize he's talking to me.
"Uh, yeah, thanks Mav..."
His smile drives a spear through my heart.
Gosh I wish I could wake up to that smile every day.
"Thank you," Charlie gasps, "Well I've really got to go – it was so nice meeting you, Carol! And you, Rooster."
Bradley bounces in his seat, vanilla ice cream smeared around his mouth, dripping onto the napkin his mom expertly laid across his lap. His large eyes crinkle as he smiles and Charlie laughs. The jingle of her amusement hovers in the air. It mixes perfectly with the merry, semi-chaotic aura of the bar now that the sun has set. Carol starts rehashing some tale about Young Goose and Maverick listens intently, nudging me when things get embarrassing for his RIO. I muster the most sincere laugh, but my mind is shamelessly elsewhere. If 'elsewhere' is code for Maverick. I can't stop stealing glances at him when he's not looking. By now I've memorized the edge of his jaw, the shadow of his eye and the curve of his nose. I bet I could paint him right now! Assuming I'm magically given artistic skills, I could whip up an image so identical to the subject, it'd look like a photograph.
It's not enough.
As my focus flits about the bar, getting lost in the ocean of voices, the clink of glasses and silverware, and clips of music that find its way from the jukebox on the other side of the wall, I continuously wander back to Maverick.
Once or twice he peeks at me and I pretend I only just looked his way.
He always smiles.
The most beautiful, intoxicating smile.
I want to die.
So so bad.
Couldn't it have been me?
Don't, My RIO snaps, dropping into the conversation from out of the blue. I haven't heard her voice since her snippet of advice on replying to Carol. Advice which forced me to reckon with my feelings. Don't wish for that, Stirrups, you don't know.
No, you don't know, I retort. I...I like Maverick!
Why's that so bad? You could've picked a worse object of your affections...
For the millionth time tonight I look at Maverick's side profile and my grimace softens into a dreamy grin. True...
See? Vixen huffs, Look Stirrups, just...it's normal to like guys. You used to like guys. We used to flirt with them. Remember?
I swallow hard.
Yeah, we sure as Hell did our fair share of flirting...
But –
That was when you were here, I whisper, afraid to raise my voice even within the confines of my own mind. I know it's just her and I in here but I can't shake the feeling that everyone else hears me.
Stirrups. Vixen's tone is firm. I buckle myself up. Stop living like I'm puppeteering you. Stop running to me. I can't give you what you want! I never could! But that gorgeous hunk of meat is sitting right next to you and he sneaks into your room every night and drives you home and you care about him, so stop pretending and tell him already!
"Hey, Stirrups?"
I jolt to attention. "Uh, yeah?"
Surprise, surprise, it's Maverick. He leans close to my side and immediately I feel a wave of warmth settle over me like a blanket. I shiver and sigh, senses numbed. Oblivious, Maverick goes on, draping an arm on the back of the booth behind my shoulders, reminding me of every time he's ever done that in a class. On every inch of my skin, I can feel my hair stand on end. Two polar opposite reactions tug on my brain, one screaming to scoot closer, the other to run as far away as possible. A storm of fear and desire boils in my stomach. I feel sick. Not vomit your guts out sick, more of a feverish flash. All of a sudden, every light in the bar expands and sears my eyes. I blink repeatedly and rest my gaze in the darkest place, under the table. My senses go haywire on the turn of a dime. By the time Maverick exhales, the episode is over, and sound floods my ears.
I wince.
Ow...
Upon looking down at my hand I notice an army of crescent moons littering my palm, all glowing bright red. The cuts begin to cry.
"Hey," A soft voice murmurs in my ear. Someone gently taps my thigh. "Are you alright, Stirrups? You seem off."
Great, now I want to cry.
You would've thought I was on my period –
Shit, it's coming, I realize. Like...this week.
So I'm PMSing. Even better.
And it's not like I can tell Mav so, "I'm ok, just getting tired."
"Same," He agrees, sinking back into the booth. He stretches both arms over his head and yawns over dramatically, causing Bradley to laugh. Even I let out a tiny giggle, to my surprise. Maverick sits back up, bouncing on his butt as he straightens his back and rolls out his shoulders. "If you want we can leave. I don't think Goose and Carol will be hanging around for much longer."
"And what're you two whispering about?" Carol shouts from across the table, laughing merrily. Goose shoots Mav and I a look that screams, Save me from my crazy wife. We all laugh as Carol finishes the last of her beer. "Keeping secrets from the rest of the table, huh?"
"Ah don't mind them, baby," Goose remarks. "Mav and Stirrups are always keeping secrets."
I watch him wink at Maverick who's jaw locks. He scowls at his RIO.
Carol scatters my thoughts when she suddenly rises from the table, swaying on her feet and announces, "Alright! Let's clear up! It is way past my pumpkin's bedtime."
Bradley whines, pleading to stay up longer but Goose makes him quiet down as he lifts him out of the booth and into his arms. "Time to go, buddy."
"Alright," Little Rooster laments.
Goose pays for the meal and Maverick leaves a tip, and we file out. It's summertime, so the air retains a bit of the day's warmth even now that night's fallen and stripped the sky of color. Stars have been kindled. They pulse from a distance, like candles hovering in the heavens. A crisp, coastal breeze tickles my cheeks and rustles my hair as I follow the gang down the stairs and into the parking lot. I guess Goose and Carol parked somewhere away from Maverick because they say their goodbyes by the bar door. Goose claps me on the back for lack of a hug (he's juggling a full and groggy son) but Carol envelops me in the biggest embrace ever. It's safe to say she's tipsy. Looks like Goose'll be driving the family home tonight. As I hug Carol, she murmurs something incoherent in my ear, and I make out three words; he, you, and wait.
'Just you wait.'
I swear that's part of what she said.
I miss the part revolving around 'he.'
"Goodnight, Uncle Mav..." Bradley mutters into Goose's shoulder.
"And Auntie Stirrups," Goose prompts.
"And...Auntie Stirrups..."
We part with a final laugh.
"Well..." Maverick draws out the 'l' and it drifts into the crisp night air, simultaneously warm and chilly. I suppose I'd be cold if it weren't for my aviator jacket. Or the constant heatwave rolling down my back. Looking at Maverick only makes it worse, like an imp cranking up the thermostat. It's 80 degrees under my jacket and climbing, but I stifle the urge to shrug off the outer layer, considering it an extra defense mechanism against these feelings for Maverick. Last thing I want is to have my arms showing, and my sweaty white t-shirt clinging to my curves for the world to see. The world and a certain Pilot who may or may not look, and would then make everything worse. Instead of going through all that, I psych myself out. Pretend you're in the cockpit. It's always damn near boiling in the cockpit. "I guess we could just...go."
"Yeah," I murmur.
Even in the dark, Mav's eyes sparkle.
Damn his stupid, beautiful self.
I think it with vigor, but I know I could never say such a thing out loud.
Maverick nods and offers an arm, a sign that we need to start actually leaving instead of just talking about it. Smiling awkwardly, I start in the direction of his bike, which I quickly notice across the parking lot. As I pass Maverick, I feel him turn after me, and then his hand settles between my shoulder blades. We're walking, so I can't afford to freeze and trip him, or myself. I do stumble a bit, but Mav's hand never once leaves my back. It rests softly against the leather material of my jacket, molded perfectly to suit the dip between my shoulders. I smile despite myself. Something about the warmth of his guiding hand on me, even if it's two layers above my desperate skin, aching to melt into his touch, feels like heavenly bliss.
It keeps me totally occupied as we mount the motorcycle.
This 'something' is attraction at the very least.
I mean...damn Maverick is hot, yes, I've always known it even if my idiot half-depressed self elected to ignore it, but there's more to this fever than meets the eye and yet I can't quite place it.
You'd think attraction or 'feelings' are surface level.
A casual 'he's cute, I want to kiss him' sort of feeling that can't weather the slightest of storms.
But this...
It's something else.
It feels like a furry creature in my gut.
It makes me long for something much more than a kiss, and not just in a physical sense; a mental, emotional, spiritual sense. As I secure my arms around Maverick's waist and lean my chin on his shoulder, I can't help but daydream about growing old, having kids, buying a house, protective glares and silly days; dancing on beaches at dusk and napping when sick together on the couch; doing dishes for the other and bringing breakfast in bed.
All of it.
Life in a blur of beer tinted thoughts.
The dying growl of the motorcycle engine drags me out of said thoughts, and I suddenly feel the bike jerk back, forcing me deeper into Maverick's back.
I let out a startled 'oof' muffled by his leather jacket.
"Sorry," He calls out over the demanding hum of the bike.
The engine dies completely.
I sit up and look around.
We are definitely not at Charlie's.
"Uh, Maverick?"
"Yeah?"
"Uh...is there something wrong with the bike?"
Maverick chuckles softly. The familiar clink of the kickstand splits the air and he swings a leg over the side of the motorcycle. "No, nothing's wrong. I just thought, 'Wow, what a beautiful night -'" With a large swoop of his arms, Maverick gestures to the entirety of the sky, which I only now notice is ablaze with the twinkle of stars of all sizes and intensities. The fuzzy spots of light on the dense black ceiling flicker and blink down on us, unbelievably gorgeous and breathtaking. My jaw slackens as I stare up into the sky, feeling my heart rate drop. How is it that life seems so big down here, and yet in the grand scheme of things, we're a speck in a desert; one drop in an ocean. And how is such a bizarre thought so...peaceful? "Anyways," Mav lowers his arms and shoves his hands in his pockets. "I just thought it'd be nice to look at the stars awhile...if you want, that is. I mean I can take you back home, like I said I would, and I probably should –"
Now he's rambling.
It's super cute.
But I feel obligated to put him out of his misery.
"Shut up," I laugh.
His jaw snaps right back into place and he blinks in the dark, staring at me expectantly.
I shake my head. "Do you have a spot in mind?"
Maverick cracks a lopsided grin. "You bet."
Laughing, I slip off the motorcycle and follow him along the side of the road where peeking up from a drop off to the beach is a railing. As expected, there's steps leading down to the sand. I throw a look over my shoulder at Maverick and he catches my eye, raising a brow as my expression silently asks, down here? He nods.
We're going to the beach to stargaze...
Well the butterflies in my stomach really like that idea.
As soon as I feel myself getting excited, fear begins to creep back in.
No.
Not right now.
I shoo any hesitance away and hurl myself into the moment. Without warning, I'm grabbing the railing and swinging both legs over the edge, gripping as best I can and then flinging myself down so that I slide from the top to the bottom. Maverick chases after me, gasping my name out of concern. I just laugh. A free, full-belly laugh that pierces the night and rings out genuine happiness. Once I reach the bottom, dropping feet first into the sand, I turn back to see Maverick loitering at the top of the stairs, a megawatt smile on his face. He giggles. I wave him down. He starts down the steps and I shake my head.
"You boring old coot! Steps are for losers!"
Mav rolls his eyes. "I happen to like steps."
"Slide!" I dare him.
Never one to back down from a challenge, Maverick smirks and mounts the railing, sliding all the way and hopping down beside me.
"There, happy?"
"Not yet," I tease. "Not until I see this 'spot' you've got tucked away."
Grinning, Maverick seizes my hand.
My heart just about gives out.
I'm seeing stars.
Figuratively.
"This way!" Maverick shouts. His hand grips mine, tugging me after him. We kick up sand and move at a sloppy pace along the shore, racing the lap of the night time waves. It's dark, so there isn't much to see, aside from the glimmer of a lighthouse in the distance marking the edge of a rocky peninsula. I scan the water, admiring the way the star spangled sky reflects off the waves. Maverick pulls me away from the sea and towards a gathering of large stones. Boulders, essentially. One in particular seems very flat, like God took a chisel, cut off the top half and sanded it down. I hum, impressed. "See?"
"I, yeah."
Another tug on my hand draws me to the stone. Maverick climbs on first and then hauls me up after him.
"I know how to climb, idiot."
"I was being a gentleman," Maverick retorts. "Besides, it isn't ladylike to climb."
I yank my hand out of his and slap him across the chest.
Maverick laughs. "Ooh, feisty."
"Shut up." I snap as I take a seat on the stone.
Maverick sinks down beside me, chuckling, "If I had a dollar for everytime you said that tonight..."
"You'd have two bucks. That's nothing. Now shut up and let's look at the stars already."
We succumb to the quiet, but I don't miss Maverick's murmur of, "Make that three dollars."
I swallow my laugh and focus my attention on the sky.
Time comes to a halt as we stare, chins tipped back, eyes glazed over, mirroring the dappled night. I'm reminded of one of the horses we had when I was a little girl. A young, dappled grey mare who my mother rode. She used to call her 'Missus.' I always giggled when dad came in and said, "Well, looks like Mama's riding Missus." The horse was sweet tempered and diligent. She could jump, barrel race, and buck like the devil when she didn't like what was on her back. She had a taste for female riders, and never let any male creature beside my dad ride her. Aside from the pony we kept, Missus was the first horse I learned to ride on. I loved her. She died, as all things must.
She passed a few days after my eleventh birthday.
Mama spent a long time mourning.
I never saw her ride another horse after that.
Suddenly, the sky doesn't seem so happy.
It seems cold.
It seems far away.
Lonely.
Sad.
Like Vixen.
That's the worst thing I could ever have thought.
After trying so hard to lose myself in this moment, in the adventure of it all, I come full circle back to where I was before and begin to tremble. It starts at my lips and spreads down my back all the way to my toes.
And then comes the sniffle before the tears.
The stars blur into a wad of wet light.
In the milky substance, I see reflections of her, dancing to her favorite record, laughing at some guys trying to pick us up, eating ice cream, shouting at me from the cockpit, giving me a high five in the locker rooms. She feels so alive...
But she's dead.
She's actually dead.
She's gone.
The bubble bursts and my tears spill over onto my cheeks.
Beside me, I hear Maverick scoot closer. "Stirrups –"
"Why can't I just be happy?" I sob.
Maverick's arm winds around me, hugging me to his side. "What are you talking about? You were laughing just a second ago –"
"That's not happy!" I shout, pressing my fists into my eyes. "I – it's just laughing. Sad people laugh. I...I just do it because I have to! But I – I'm so sad. So so sad and lonely and hurting all the time and it's like, being happy makes me feel terrible..."
"Why?" Maverick croaks, utterly confused. He rubs his hand up and down my arm. "What's going on, Stirrups?"
"I don't know, I don't know..." I whisper.
I feel so overwhelmed I can't even explain –
First I want to laugh and dance around like an idiot because I'm basically on a date with Maverick, then I want to sob because the stars are like Vixen?
What does any of it mean?
This is definitely much more than your average PMS depression.
I drop my head into Maverick's chest, too weak and too vulnerable to even contemplate how it tickles my stomach.
Maverick rests his chin atop my head. "Talk to me, Stirrups...I...I wanna help, but I – I don't understand..." He pauses. "Is it...is it about the crash?"
I whimper.
The crash...
The crash, the crash, the crash...
Each utterance is like an explosion in my head, coupled with a flip book of memories. They run through my mind at high speed. Red, blue, black. Fire and blood, sirens and eject buttons; water and sky, one growing further away, the other swallowing us whole; and then black. Endless, suffocating black. I want to get out...I'm trying to get out but it's caught me around the ankles and it's pulling me under. I'm hot. I'm cold. Everything burns and yet I'm weighed down by wetness that soaks me to the bone, and all my breath is pinned in my chest, caught in deflated lungs. I writhe and struggle, reaching for the surface. Maverick's hand grips my arms. His breath warms my scalp and his voice envelops me in a strong embrace.
"You're ok, Stirrups. You're here. You're ok. Breathe...breathe..."
"I'm not ok," I cry. "She – she's not here, she's stuck. She's stuck behind and I – I – I couldn't save her and we went under and sh-she never came back up, Mav, she n-never came back..."
Maverick hums softly.
His fingers trace my skin.
"She's not stuck, Stirrups..." Maverick whispers. "She's moved on...she's somewhere better...you can't hold onto her forever...."
"She's dead. Shark and Twister – they're all dead and I – I'm alive but it shouldn't have been me – I...I could've saved them –"
Suddenly, Maverick spins me around in his arms. My legs are messily draped across his lap and I rest my full bodyweight into Maverick's embrace. I gasp as I'm whirled around. Maverick pinches my chin between his thumb and forefinger, snapping my focus onto his stern gaze. Two tears tip over the edge of my eye and race down my cheeks as I glance between Maverick's narrowed eyes. "Don't," He states. "Don't do this to yourself, Stirrups, please." He sighs and moves his hand up my face and behind my head where he tangles his fingers into my wild blonde curls. He guides our foreheads together, and closes his eyes, breathing heavily. I take shallow, hiccup ridden gasps for air, but lean into Maverick, smiling despite the bitter taste of tears on my tongue. Deftly, Maverick's fingers stroke through my hair but his palm remains pressed to the curve at the base of my skull. "It's just survivor's guilt, Stirrups," Maverick's sweet breath tickles my face, immediately relaxing all the hard lines. "You couldn't have done anything. And don't for a second think that your life might've been traded for theirs. Don't – I..." Maverick's grip falters and he peeks open his eyes, cringing at the sound of his own emotional strain. "I can't imagine Top Gun without you. Life without you..."
I swallow so fast I nearly choke on my swollen tongue.
My words are in a similar state; like sludge in my mouth.
All I can do is stare.
Stare so hard and long into Maverick's eyes, so dominated by the dark that you'd never be able to tell how green they are in full sunlight. I'm a complete mess; covered in salt and snot; caught between the racing of my heart and the pounding of my head. A part of me wants to cry more. To shed tears of sweet relief for finally coming out with the total truth, and to the closest friend I've had since Vixen. I've hidden it well, but dealing with the pain of the crash and all I lost in it has been so damn hard. Ten times more so with Dash breathing down my neck, threatening me and making what I've been through feel like some dark past I have to bury.
Yet, as I gaze upon Maverick's beautiful face, a collage of shadows and concern, I feel all the anxiety trickle away, leaving me parched for something else.
Something stronger and better than fear.
I take my first full breath.
Maverick seems to awaken.
He blinks with such grace as his gaze traces from my eyes to my lips.
My breath hitches.
I'm in a daze...and even then I know what I want...
But I wait, feeling out Maverick's desire as he dips his face towards mine, little by little, reeling in my every breath, feeding me his, as we grow closer and closer...
I've never known worse disappointment than when Maverick pulls away, withdrawing his hand from my hair, and offering it out as me awkwardly clears his throat and mutters, "I should get you home now..."
I don't have the heart to object.
Every rational thought in my brain is screaming to make him stay. I want to grab his stupidly gorgeous face and crash our lips together. I want to melt into his arm and feel his kisses trail from my mouth to my jawline and back again. I want so many things, but I'm in no state to take action. Maverick is the sober minded one, and he had his chance.
And he couldn't follow through.
On the way home, I feel hollow. Not even sitting behind him on the bike can prick me with those warm feelings. I feel light. Empty. No fear, no sorrow, no grief nor guilt, and absolutely no silly butterflies. I'm trapped inside my head, tormented by the realization that Maverick doesn't return my feelings.
For a second, I let myself believe he felt the same.
We were this close...
But he put on the breaks.
Maverick takes me to the front door. It feels so wrong, saying goodnight on the doorstep and not my window. It's normal I guess...but what we had was special.
As I crawl into bed, not even bothering to change out of anything except my shoes, I can't help but fear our special something is shattered.