*Cross-posted from my 30 Days of One-Shots book!
Prompt: Tear-Stained
Title: Memories
Fandom: Top Gun: Maverick
Warnings: Mentions of death, loss, grief and sadness
Word Count: 2,080
Author's Note: I honestly made myself cry again with this one! Also: this one-shot is sorta inspired by this masterpiece by the Beach Boys! Have a listen while you read!
Synopsis: When plagued by memories of the present and the past, Captain Y/N "C/N" L/N, unable to sleep, finds herself wide awake with just herself and her haunted headspace to keep her company. Until someone else stumbles in and notices her seemingly unordinary demeanor, that someone else also struggling with looming memories of the past...
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Memories
Sleep.
Something so many seem to have no problem achieving from night to night.
They just put their head down against their pillow, wherever they might be, after whatever type of day they've had...
And they just sleep.
But for you...
Tonight, the very concept of sleep seems to evade you.
As you lie there, hazy gaze wandering the ceiling, you mentally mutter any sort of profanity that comes to your mind.
Your body is practically crying out for sleep - you need sleep, especially after the day you've had.
Lives were nearly lost today.
And you've had to witness it first hand yet again.
You'd been up there, having agreed previously with your current wingman that the pair of you would intercept the next training exercise, wanting to examine how these pilots, recent Top Gun graduates, react to the idea of a pair of bandits closing in on their position.
They'd reacted as the pair of you had expected - they'd continued.
Continued with the training exercise, even after missing their mark with a deadeye laser.
But after catching up with the pair and easily achieving missile lock on the two fighters, the chaos had begun.
Coyote had been in G-lock, nearly crashing and burning to the ground if it hadn't been for his quick thinking...
A fluke bird strike that left Phoenix and Bob no other option than to bail out of their doomed jet...
Choking back a sudden sob you hadn't even realized that had been forming, you pull yourself to a sitting position, your actions forcing a rather harsh squeak from the thin mattress beneath you.
A relentless rain pounds against the window of the small room on Base you'd been given to call your own when you'd been called back, a mere few weeks ago.
And yet, those few weeks have, at times, felt like months.
Being called back to Top Gun had come as a surprise to you.
When you'd first gotten the orders, you'd felt a twinge of certain excitement, something that you hadn't felt in some time.
But yet, as the days had gone on and you'd finally gotten back in the groove of flying F-18s yet again, the memories had come back to haunt you.
Tiny pieces gradually began to appear in the back of your mind, easily shoved aside when you'd needed to focus on whatever the task at hand was.
The pieces began to grow larger, becoming almost impossible to ignore, though somehow, you managed.
And now...
On whatever rainy night this just so happens to be...
The daunting recollections of the past are no longer able to be disregarded.
Instead, they push themselves upon your increasingly fragile state, the tears pricking your eyes as you sit there, silently allowing the sobs to wrack through your frame, a hand being raised to wipe the tears away.
"Great," You murmur aloud, your voice cracking slightly as it echoes back at you, sounding weak and pathetic.
Unlike anything you've heard from yourself in a long while.
Sniffling back the last few tears threatening to spill over, you grab the blanket off the foot of your bed as your socked feet hit the cool hardwood floor, the coolness of the wood almost a grounding feeling for your drifting, memory plagued mind.
Surely no one else is up at this hour... Maybe I'll try sleeping out in the common area...
Tucking the folded blanket up under your arm, you softly pad towards the door, wincing slightly as it squeaks, the dim lighting of the main hallway a rather homey feeling.
Socked feet hit the hallway as the door closes rather loudly behind you, your body almost carrying you on instinct at this point, your dazed, half-awake state not entirely trustworthy.
A glass of water should help, surely.
With your mind made up, you soon find yourself pushing your way into the common area's kitchen, beginning to rummage around, desperately attempting to keep the volume down.
The last thing you need is to wake somebody else at this hour...
You finally locate the cupboard where the glasses are held, reaching up and grasping one, setting it against the cheap false-granite countertop with a clack.
A clack that pulls you from your sleepy state slightly, just enough to realize that the pitcher of water you'd also grabbed previously is quickly overflowing the cup, the water rising to the very edge far too quickly for your liking.
Scrambling, you swiftly set the pitcher aside, raising the glass of water to your lips with trembling hands, taking a sip.
The cool liquid almost instantly helps to clear your thoughts, a heaviness beneath your eyes that you hadn't noticed until now gradually beginning to lighten.
You sigh contentedly, a certain type of ease filling you as you wordlessly leave the kitchen behind, the cup and blanket still with you, the large leather couch that faces the windows practically calling your name.
Sleep is lingering in the back of your mind now, the shards of past memories finally deciding not to bother you for the moment.
So, you seize the opportunity, pulling up the blinds covering the large, rain-stained windows before settling back into the plush couch cushions, spreading the blanket over your lap, setting your water aside and allowing your gaze to wander the dark scene, only illuminated by the warm glow of the lamp at your side.
And for a moment, all feels calm.
The quiet is almost comforting, the absence of the previous haunting thoughts a welcome sensation.
You could swear you're finally beginning to doze off again, the hands of sleep grasping at the material of the thin t-shirt you wear...
But then a new sound gains your attention.
Footsteps.
Twisting against the leather cushions, you watch silently as a familiar figure strides into the common area, a look of such fatigue and tiredness in his expression and conveyed evidently through his movements, it makes your heart ache in compassion.
Pete "Maverick" Mitchell is still clad in his Flightsuit, much to your surprise.
If anything had been of importance regarding the training of these pilots you've been working alongside, surely you would've been notified as well...
Though as you watch your wingman's movements into the kitchen as he pours himself a glass of water, it takes him a moment before fully comprehending he's not alone in the room.
"Sorry," He chuckles, downing the last of his water and setting the glass aside, leaving the kitchen behind as he makes his way over towards where you sit. "I was lost in thought. Didn't see you there."
"Obviously," You reply, your own huff of light laughter following, gesturing to his attire as he takes a seat in the chair across from you, a tired grin ghosting his lips, his gaze looking you over for a moment. "No rest for the weary?"
The man in front of you sighs, blinking a few times before shaking his head.
"I wish it were that simple. Cyclone and Warlock wanted the incident reports from today completed with such accuracy, it's almost as if I would've been better off videotaping it so they could actually see what happened with their own two eyes."
A frown tugs at your lips as the pilot's words resonate with you.
"Surely if I had been there with you, as a second eye-witness, the process would've been less time consuming?" You muse, once again gesturing to his olive drab Flightsuit. "Time that you could've used to get changed out of the day's clothes and get some sleep, just like everyone else."
The one they call Maverick just sighs heavily, gaze dropping from yours for a moment before raising once again, curiosity shining within it.
"What's keeping you up? You don't seem like the type to be up for no reason."
His question catches you by surprise slightly, a certain heat rising on your cheeks.
But, he leans forward in his seat, wordlessly insisting - prompting a response.
Now it's your turn to sigh, stifling back a yawn, the memories and emotions you'd thought had finally left you alone for the evening resurfacing with such speed, it practically takes the wind out of you, a choked sob leaving you gasping for air as tears well in your eyes.
The pilot sitting in front of you seems startled by your sudden, rapid shift in emotions, his own expression shifting into one of immediate concern as he clambers to his feet and nears your now trembling figure, taking a seat on the coffee table that had been separating you both.
"Hey, hey, hey," He shushes, taking the hands that had instinctively raised to hide your broken features from his gaze into his, lowering them to your sides.
Keeping a gentle but firm grip in one and raising the other to wipe away the tears rolling down your cheeks, Pete Mitchell merely watches as you crumble, the weight of today and all the memories from... then... finally cracking you.
"You know," You start through broken sobs, choking back the tears just so you can speak. "I've never... I don't usually..."
And even though you can't finish your sentence, the pilot holding your hand in his seems to understand perfectly, a soft "I know," falling from his lips, his thumb running soothing circles on the back of your one hand, the other wiping away the tears before they have a chance to leave your face behind.
That soft "I know" resonates with you, realization pricking your hazy thoughts as you stifle back another wave of sobs, blinking through your blurred vision at the features of the man in front of you.
His own gaze is brimming with unshed tears, bottom lip beginning to quiver.
He does know.
He knows right well what you're going through, just as you finally understand the desperation you'd heard in his voice earlier today.
The sternness to your pilots...
The unwavering stance that everyone on this Mission needs to come home...
He's made it his Mission, his duty, to get these pilots ready for every possible outcome...
Because he knows what it's like to lose someone.
Someone close.
And so do you.
With yet another sob wracking through your frame, you find yourself sinking forward, falling almost, before you're caught and pulled close, your head finding a resting place against his shoulder.
"We've got to keep moving forward... we've got to," Pete murmurs, his wavering breaths tickling your ear. "Because if we don't... if we don't carry on... what was it all for?"
The question hangs in the air for a moment, falling heavy on your shoulders as you finally begin to feel the tears subsiding, sniffles replacing them.
"Nothing," You answer, your voice cracking and raspy as you pull away from the man who'd literally just held you without a care in the world as you'd broken down.
The shoulder of his once olive drab Flightsuit is now damp with your tears, almost appearing stained, though he seems unphased, offering a gentle grin.
"Right," Comes the reply, a shaky sigh escaping the pilot. "So we've got to figure out how to continue on... how to let go..."
"That's easier said than done."
Maverick silently nods, blinking back his emotions, desperately trying to compose himself.
"Yeah."
That one word seems to crack his composure, the tears he held back sliding freely down his cheeks.
Though this time, it's your thumb that raises to wipe them away, a gentle grip on your wrist halting your movements.
Pete Mitchell's gaze meets yours.
And within it shines a certain glimmer of optimism mixed with a type of desperation and realization.
"We've got time though," He urges softly, voice lower than a whisper, seemingly not trusting it to be any louder. "We've got time to figure it out, together."
Now it's your turn to nod wordlessly, a soft smile ghosting the edges of your lips.
"Yeah," You muse, taking his hand in yours and guiding him to the vacant spot at your side, your smaller figure finding its way into his arms, the blanket draping across the both of you.
Fatigue is falling upon the pair of you as the rain continues to pour, a comfortable silence filling the common area that surrounds you.
And as Pete pulls you closer before flicking the lamp off, bathing the room in a dim darkness, you barely hear yourself murmur one last thing, a fondness ringing in your tone.
"We've got plenty of time."
And each other...