A/N: Yay! Finally a normally written part! Be sure to comment your feedback!
When you find yourself suddenly backseating with the very pilot you've always sworn you'd never want to fly with, what will happen after the pair of you share a near death experience? Will your views on him change? Will he realize that maybe a shakeup in partners every now and then isn't such a bad thing?
⇠⇢
You've always known what you are.
You're the one who they always rely on.
You're always in the backseat.
Doing your very best to keep the pilot in the front seat, up to date on any developing situations as you tag along, usually silent, other than your necessary callouts.
But not on this particular Mission.
In fact, you could swear you're beginning to lose your voice from the amount of callouts being made, your head beginning to pound with the mixture of G's, noise and the adrenaline of the moment.
The minute you had been given your sudden, new orders in what seems like hours ago now - your intrigue had been pricked, as well as your skepticism.
You had just looked at the higher ranking officer in front of you and then back to the paper, a light chuckle sounding from you.
"Where the hell is his usual backseat?"
"Bradshaw's transport was delayed due to a mechanical error. They're working to get him, and quite a few others, out here as soon as possible. But for now, you're needed to step in," The older man had explained, tone rather stern, his eyes narrowing. "Is that understood, lieutenant?"
You had nodded stiffly once more, vocalizing your understanding as he'd turned on his heel and left you on the flight deck, already clad in your flight gear, standing there like a confused and dazed animal.
"I'm seriously backseating with him. Of all the pilots on this damned ship... him?!" You'd muttered to yourself, turning and squinting against the bright sunshine, beginning to stride towards your last minute orders, keeping an eye out for the shorter brunet, no likely annoyed about the lack of his usual partner.
And as you neared the F-14, the sides of it clearly marked with it's usual duo's callsigns, someone falls into step beside you.
"So you're my last minute rear?" Maverick greeted with a slight frown, passing you a sunglassed glance.
"Will that be a problem?" You had retorted, not in the mood to let him gain any sort of possible leverage over you.
"Not if you do your job," He nodded with a grumble, striding ahead of you slightly, beginning the pre-flight checks.
You rounded the opposite side of the aircraft from the pilot, passing him an unimpressed look.
"I've heard you're one of the best backseats around here," Maverick continued, seeming to be trying to keep up the small talk as the pair of you worked away, almost as if you'd worked alongside one another a million times before.
"And I've heard you're one hell of a pilot - a pilot with an ego problem that could get us both killed."
At this, your partner had stopped in his tracks, a look of feigned offence gracing his features.
"Now I wonder where in the world you could've heard that!"
You'd shook your head, holding back a huff of laughter, scolding yourself for actually conversing with the man across from you.
But, in that moment, standing out beneath the hot sun in the middle of the Indian Ocean, you realized that something about the one they call Maverick allures you - wanting to make you converse with him.
"So how about you do your job and I'll do mine. And maybe, if we're lucky, we'll both live to see another day," You had finally spoke, breaking the silence, shrugging away the previous thoughts.
You couldn't afford to be distracted.
You had held his darkly sunglassed gaze as he'd just chuckled, clambering up into the front seat of the cockpit with practiced ease.
And you'd followed behind, strapping yourself into the rear seat, beginning your own checks.
Checks that you're glad you completed to the utmost fullest potential - unlike when you fly with your usual.
"He's still on your tail!" You holler to the pilot sitting in front of you, sweat beading on your forehead, your hands beginning to become clammy as well. "Do some of that pilot shit you're so well known for, why don't you?!"
Four bandits had appeared out of nowhere on what was supposed to be a routine flight - monitoring the edge of enemy territory where intelligence had last seen movement.
And apparently, there was a lot more than just movement.
Likely a whole fricking air field nearby, judging by what seems to be the fully equipped array of weaponry being trained your way.
"Where the hell is Ice?" You mutter, twisting in your seat to once more try and get a glimpse at the dogfight you're currently tied up in, only to get pushed back into your restraints as Maverick banks hard left.
"Probably combing his hair," Your partner replies, sarcasm evident in his tone.
How he can be making jokes in this situation is beyond you.
"I'm less than a minute out," Your supposed wingman's voice echoes over the Comms, earning a scowl from you. "You guys okay?"
"No! We are not okay!" You practically scream back, eyes widening at the sudden alert tones and radar warnings erupting all at once.
But, you've flown long enough to know what exactly that means.
The gunfire stops.
And for a moment, all is calm.
But, you know what's coming.
And so does the man sitting in front of you, his gaze meeting yours in the right hand mirror for a moment, seeming to hold a glimmer of something you can't quite make out, in his gaze.
But then, you're pressed back in your seat, the wind hammered out of your chest as the plane goes vertical, bee-lining towards the slightest bit of cloud cover.
"Where is it? Do you see it? Where is it, C/N?!" Maverick questions, tone filled with urgency you have yet to have ever heard from him until now.
Your heart sinks in your chest as you twist in your seat, frantically searching for what you both know right well is on its way.
"I'm looking! I'm looking!" You reply, breathing becoming erratic, a sudden panic overtaking you.
The beeping is still pounding in your head - it hasn't gone by yet - you would've seen it.
But then:
"Break right!" You yell, eyes flying wide in shock as a barrage of missiles tear through the clouds, most of them, surprisingly on target.
Whoever else is piloting those planes - they're quite the competition.
The pilot acknowledges your direction within an instant, the G's forcing you deeper into your seat as he turns right, diving back down towards the ocean.
"What the hell are you doing?" You barely hear yourself scream over the plethora of noises surrounding you, the trails of fresh missile smoke trailing after you.
"Giving these guys a run for their money."
Grimacing, you continue your callouts, the missiles gradually growing closer and closer to positive impacts, even though the man behind the stick is giving it all he's got.
"Ice should be less than ten second out now," You remind as the gunfire erupts once more, a few hits landing against the F-14's frame making you yelp.
"We're taking hits! Do something!"
"What do you think I'm doing?!"
Once more, you find yourself pressed against your restraints, the breath in your lungs almost immediately escaping, your vision beginning to tunnel as the plane goes vertical once again.
"What are you doing, Mav?" You breathe through labored breaths, fighting against the forces pushing against you with all your might.
"Getting us a bit of height," He replies, the urgency now even stronger in his tone. "On the count of three, we're gonna punch out, okay?"
"Punch out?! Are you insane?! If we eject, we'll just be sitting ducks!"
"Iceman'll be here to cover us. But right now, I can't shake these guys. We're out of options and soon to be ammo!"
You sigh in an attempt to steady your breathing, mentally cursing for what you're about to expose yourself to.
"1."
You grasp the handles over your head, tightening your mask over your face, still keeping an eye on the bandits tailing you, yet another shrill tone alerting of yet another incoming missile.
"2."
You can see the smoke in the air now, your callout barely resonating with you, your mind focused on Maverick's countdown, your body bracing for the inevitable.
"3. Eject, eject, eject!"
You can hear the canopy burst open, the engines on your seat firing, the wind rushing by you, the G's pushing you harder than before.
You're out.
You cleared the canopy.
Now, you just hope your chute opens...
And that your wingman will actually show up and cover the pair of you...
Your vision goes black, your hearing non-existent, your breathing so labored, you could swear this is what dying must feel like.
And then...
It's silent.
****
You awake with a jolt, panic flooding your system as you gasp for air, hand raising to tear your mask off, only to find that it's...
Already off?
"Easy! Easy..." A voice barely audible sounds from somewhere behind you, tone carrying a layer of compassion and... relief?
Your eyes fly wide open in shock, the sunlight and clouding sky overhead meeting your gaze, making you wince.
That's when you notice you're floating.
Water surrounds you on all sides, stretching as far as the eye can see.
But, something's missing.
Well, more like someone.
"Maverick?" You croak, voice rattling inside your skull, echoing back at you garbled.
"Yeah, I'm here," Comes the reply, sounding slightly louder this time, but still distant.
"Did he? Are we?"
"Ice scared the one off, tore up the other one - sent them packing. And we're fine - I can hear our ride on its way."
All you can do is silently float there, now vaguely beginning to notice your partner's arms hooked under yours, keeping you both linked together as you bob in the waves, held afloat by your life-preservers.
"I don't hear anything," You practically whisper, your own voice so loud in your head, a sudden pounding sensation floods your senses.
"You might've ruptured your eardrums," He replies softly, voice barely resonating with you.
But then, a looming shadow appears above you both, blotting out the sun.
The search and rescue helicopter is hovering as a rope is lowered and a diver splashes into the water aways, making quick work of reaching your side.
The man who had been holding you wordlessly let's you go as the diver grabs a hold of you, attaching your harness to the rope, to which you cling to as if your life depends on it.
But as you begin to feel yourself being lifted up and out of the water, leaving the pilot and the diver behind, you finally get a good look at Pete "Maverick" Mitchell.
His face is smeared with what you can only assume is blood from a nosebleed, hopefully not an injury - hair matted with sea water and likely sweat, helmet nowhere in sight.
The green dye marker is tainting the water beneath you, the color of it making you queasy.
Or maybe that's just the sight of blood and sudden movements?
And as you're helped into the helicopter and laid down on a cot between the rows of chairs, you fight once more against the rising darkness.
You can't pass out again.
Not here, not now.
But, as you set sights on your partner clambering into the seats above you, a handful of tissues and a towel being handed his way, you muster up a small smile.
"Well, we live to see another day after all," You joke weakly, vision tunneling yet again.
And all you can do is watch as your partner's expression shifts to a shocked realization, reaching for you, his words not reaching your muddled senses.
But, you're gone - slipping beneath the waves of unconsciousness once more.
[Part 2 is on the way!]