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The task at hand was a big one; there was no doubt about it. Maverick would have to face Bradley after all these years and teach the selected Top Gun pilots the skills necessary to return home safely.
To clear his mind of his worries, Maverick headed to the Hard Deck, a bar that Navy personnel frequented; a place he knew he could study his students. He was right; a handful of them was gathered around the pool table conversing. Though they all seemed acquainted with one another, Maverick could sense tension and egos. After all, these men and women had been told their entire naval careers that they are the best of the best.
Opposite him at the bar, Maverick recognized another student. It was Raven, the one Warlock and Cyclone warned him about. Based on her worn-out Guns N' Roses T-shirt and faded Levi's, he assumed she had been stateside longer than the others.
An empty glass was placed next to her. Emerson didn't have to look up to know who it belonged to; the extensive amount of cologne was a giveaway. "Hangman," she said dryly.
"My, my, my, Raven. Still beautiful as ever."
She swiveled her barstool towards him, "Wow, after all these years, and you're still trying. You're consistent, Hangman. I'll give you that."
"One day you'll want me, and I can show you how a real man, a real pilot does things."
She swiveled back towards the bar top, "And maybe one day your dick will match the size of your ego."
Hangman scoffed, "One day, Raven. One day."
A sly smile formed on her lips, "But not today."
Hangman grabbed his refill and headed back towards the group of aviators. Taking another sip of her beer, Raven heard a sound that could pull her from any trance. It was the familiar squeal of brakes. Those brakes had sounded that way for as long as he had the damn thing and no matter how many times they tried to fix them, they still kept squealing.
Bradley Bradshaw walked through the door with the rest of the Hard Deck evening crowd. He was dressed in his typical attire: aviators and a Hawaiian shirt, one that he had taken from his dad's things years ago.
He took off his shades, and his eyes immediately found Emerson's, almost as if he had a radar just for her. They met in the middle of the bar. She threw her arms around his tall frame, and he spun her around in a tight hug, and in that moment, it was like time stopped.
"One day," Hangman said, observing the two from the pool table.
"Yeah, the day he's dead," Coyote joked.
"Have you ever seen those two with anyone else?" Phoenix added. The group of aviators shook their heads.
"They're not even together. They weren't ever together," Hangman stated.
Hangman was right. The two best friends were, well that exactly, two best friends. Throughout their time at the academy and Top Gun, rumors of the two always flew, but a relationship was never confirmed. The only fact anyone could agree upon was that no one would ever come as close to knowing Rooster or Raven the way that they knew each other.
Other aviators would describe Raven as headstrong and rebellious. They would also agree that she was the best dogfighter they had ever seen which was a rarity nowadays. It was how she earned her call sign. Like a Raven, she would come out of nowhere and pick you off. The other aviators never saw her coming but mainly because they were either too slow or too careful. Raven was known for living her life fast and dangerous.
Except, Bradley Bradshaw knew everything there was to know about the woman in front of him. She loved Hemingway, Shakespeare, and Fitzgerald. She'd eat anything you place in front of her, but when it came to pizza, it had to be pepperoni. She loved the ocean almost as much as she loved flying, but she hated that she never learned how to surf. Her frequent trips to the beach left her skin forever sun-kissed, but she never smelled like the ocean. Anytime Bradley laid next to her or hugged her, he could smell her signature rose soap. She loved 80s karaoke and had a closet full of collected, vintage band T-shirts. She could quote all ten seasons of Friends. She loved to tinker whether it be an airplane or her 1969 Camaro, hell even his Ford Bronco. He knew about her past just like she knew about his. Emerson was the only person Bradley had opened up to about his family.
"I've missed you," he said. Though the two had been stateside for some time now, conflicting schedules kept them from seeing each other which wasn't like them. They were best friends, sometimes more, so they always tried to see each other as often as they could. Even on deployments, they strived for weekly calls and video chats.
"Me too. I've missed that ugly face," Emerson responded, trying to keep a straight face but failing miserably.
He slung his arm around her shoulder, "You love this face," he whispered in her ear. Bradley wasn't wrong, but Emerson still elbowed him in his side for the comment. He doubled over by the force of her attack. Recovering, he led them over to the pool table where the other aviators resided.
"Bradshaw, as I live and breathe."
"Hangman, you look," Bradley paused. "Good," he decided on.
Keeping eye contact with Hangman, Bradley snaked his arm around Emerson's waist and pulled her closer to him. Hangman watched the scene in front of him, wishing that was his arm instead. He clenched his jaw, "Oh, I'm very good."
Though Bradley had no reason to be possessive over Emerson, it still made the aviator happy that he could flaunt his 'relationship' in front of Hangman's face as the two had been rivals for years.
Phoenix walked over to Raven, "Please tell me your kill record is still higher than 'Bagman' over here." Hangman shot her a glare.
"Last deployment bumped me up to three," Raven said with a proud grin.
"That's my girl," Phoenix said, fist-bumping the pilot.
"The hell kind of mission is this?" Fanboy interrupted.
"Everyone here is the best there is. Who the hell are they going to get to teach us?"
Emerson looked across the bar. She had recognized him the moment he walked into the bar. Hell, he was her inspiration. She spent her whole career studying him, perfecting all of his moves. She wasn't for sure, but given the company she was in, Captain Pete "Maverick" Mitchell would be the only suitable instructor.
The Hard Deck bell rang out against the atmosphere of the crowd, pulling Emerson from her thoughts. The evening crowd began the typical chant of "overboard" as Hangman and the guys threw Captain Mitchell out of the Hard Deck.
Raven patted Hangman on the shoulder, "Oh Hangman, I have a feeling you're going to regret that."
Bradley grabbed Emerson's hand and pulled her away from the group, unplugging the jukebox as they went. She knew exactly what he was doing; he did it all the time. In any bar that had a working piano, Bradley Bradshaw would play Jerry Lee Lewis', "Great Balls of Fire" and Emerson would be his wingman singing every lyric. She knew it was a tradition of his father's that Bradley liked to keep going, but she loved it even more that he let her in on it.
Outside of the Hard Deck, Maverick watched the two entertain the crowd. He was flooded with memories of Goose and him. God, how Bradley resembled his old man. Then, the woman next to Bradley; Maverick still couldn't figure out what it was about her. Either way, it was like two ghosts from his past haunting him.
