Osprey: A Topgun Fanfic

The Mistake

An: not spell checked!

  "Hey, Ice brain!"  I call, trotting down the hall.  We are supposed to change into flight gear, but I'm not until the second rotation, so I have time to speak with my least favorite pilot.

How fun.

He turns, his helmet tucked under his arm, looking as good as ever in his green flight suit.  Slider grins at me, probably thinking me running on my short legs is the funniest thing he has ever seen.

  "Aww, miss me already, Shortstack?"  Iceman asks, grinning.

  "Listen, Iceman.  I don't know what your problem with me is, but this nonsense needs to stop."

  His smile only widens.
  "What nonsense?"

"That bullshit comment, that's what."  I snap, crossing my arms.

"Look, Princess, we can talk about this after we fly, okay?"  He tilts his head, gesturing to something behind me.  I turn to see Moose peering out of the locker room, surprise and confusion mixed on his face.

"We don't want anyone getting ideas."  He says smirking.

  ***

  I yank on my flight suit, grumbling to myself under my breath.

   The woman's locker room is the same size as the men, but only two lockers are in use— mine, which has O S P R E Y written on with big white letters on the door— and another one that belongs to the front desk receptionist.

  I pull my black hair into a low ponytail, staring at myself in the mirror.
   I never thought I was pretty, but I never thought I was ugly, either. My eyes slant slightly, result of my father's Mongolian ancestry.  Dark brown eyes, and long eyelashes.  My face is round, but comes to me a strange point at my chin.  Black hair pulled back into a ponytail, narrow torso and wide hips.

  I sigh, tugging my blue helmet out of the locker, slamming the door shut behind me.  I make my way out to the hall, saluting Viper as he walks by.

"You ready, Pilot?"  He asks.  I nod.

"Yes, sir."

As I walk through the open doors, I see the heat rising off of the runway, and I shudder, imagining how hot the cockpit is going to be.

   I meet Moose on the tarmac, my aviators on.  He glances down at me but doesn't say anything.

  "Are they done, yet?"  I ask.  He shrugs, crossing his arms.  So, the silent treatment.  That's nice.

"What's wrong with you?"  I ask, turning and placing my hands on my hips.  "Because we're about to go in the air, and I don't need my RIO upset with me."

One of the attendants waves us over to a jet, which is started with the top open.

Moose looks grimly at me, and I hate that I can't see his eyes through the glasses.  He doesn't say anything, and I huff, following him towards the plane.

"Who is in the air?"  I ask, sliding on my helmet.

"Jester."  He says, copying my motion and by putting on his dark green helmet.

"Shit."  I curse, clambering into my seat.

"Language!"  He says jokingly, and I smile that says he is slowly forgiving me.

   This exercise is a one-on-one fight, an instructor against a student.  The instructors are in smaller jets that are faster and more aerodynamic.  They can make much tighter turns and are overall amazing machines.