Tiny Dancer: A Topgun: Maverick Fanfic

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Two years before TOPGUN: Maverick

An: not spell checked.

I hug Bob tightly, my arms wrapping around his middle.

"You better crush it, Floyd." I mutter into his shoulder, stepping back. He gives me a shy smile.

"I'll try. These guys are the best of the best." He says.

"Not better than you." I say, waving him off. I shake Strikers hand.

"Take care of my idiot boyfriend, will you?" I say, and he grins.

"He takes care of me all the time. I will do my best to return the favor." I nod, smiling.

"Stay safe." I say. They wave, walking towards the airport. I stand, watching them leave. Suddenly, Bob turns around, his eyes finding me one last time. He smiles, an adorable smile that makes me want to jump around out of happiness.

"I love you!"

***

It's so hot.

I wipe sweat off my forehead, sighing. Gustav pores water down my back, and I scream as the freezing water runs down my back.

He laughs, and I glare at him.

"Jerk." I mutter, and he raises his eyebrows.

"In a bad mood today, are we?" He says, and I roll my eyes. I sit back on my heels, using my hand to cover my eyes.

"Look, I know you are depressed that your boyfriend left, but you have to get work done." Gustav says, and I ignore him.

"There something wrong with that plane, Gustav." I say, standing. He comes to stand next to me, shading his eyes.

"Which one?" He asks, and I point at the plane taxiing towards us. Smoke is slowly rising from the engine, turning into a thin haze as soon as it exits, blowing away from the jet.

It's a new F-18, and it is strange that it is smoking.

"I'll get the fire extinguisher." My friend says, hurrying to the wall and pulling open the cupboard.

As soon as the plane pulls to a stop, I put up the ladder, hurrying the single Pilot out.

"Your plane is smoking. Hurry, and please turn off your engine." I say, ushering him out.

"It is making a strange noise. Something is wrong." He says, pulling off his helmet. He has liquid brown eyes and olive skin. He is rather handsome, with a round face and a Roman nose.

"No shit, buddy. Hurry up, I need to look at it." He gives me a strange look as I hand him the ladder, grabbing my flashlight and headed towards the engine.

I turn on the flashlight, pulling on a glove and touching the engine. It is hot— unusually hot, on fire.

"Be careful—" the pilot says, just before the right side of the engine explodes.

***

Everything hurts. My head is throbbing.

I fade in and out of consciousness... at least I think so.

  I hear Bob— what is he doing back? I feel his hands holding one of mine. I try to reach out with my other hand, to place mine on top of his, but it seems I can't move.

  When Bob leaves, I cry inside myself. I don't think I understand what is happening— I just know he left me again.

  I hear my sister's husband, Dan. He is reading to the kids— 'All the places we'll go'— My brain processes the words, and It is exciting.

Bob returns, then leaves again.

The Doctors explain to my sister that my brain is active, but I have lost my right hand to the elbow, and possibly the movement in the right side of my body.

  They have put me in a medical induced comma so my body and brain can heal.

....no, that can't be right.

 

I wake up eight weeks later.

***

I inhale, the sound of the oxygen mask making my breathing loud. Katelin is talking on her phone, probably for work. I pry my eyes open, blinking at the bright light.

I groan, closing my eyes again. And I hear my Mama gasp.

"She opened her eyes!" She exclaims, and I feel her grab my left hand. "Kaleigh, can you hear me?"

  I groan again in response, opening my eyes a crack. I see my Dad staring at me, his eyes filling with tears.

  My mom starts sobbing, wrapping her arms around me.

  Kaitlin is rubbing my right shoulder when I remember what the doctor said: that I lost my right hand.

  I gasp, yanking my hand out of my mom's grasp and reaching to where my other hand would be.

  Air. And a stub of an elbow.

  I break into hysterics, sobbing as I repeat the words

   

  "What happened? What happened?"

A nurse rushes in, injecting something into my IV. It works almost immediately, and I calm down, my sobs being reduced to tears running down my cheeks.

  "Where's Bob?" I ask quietly. My mom wipes her tears, and my sister answers for her.

  "Fighter town." She says. "He's at TopGun."

  My breathing slows, and my eyes float around the room lazily, the breath ringing in my ears.

  The doctor comes in, explaining that they have courses to help people like me, who had to have a limb removed for medical reasons.

  When the jet exploded, my hand became mangled. They couldn't save it.

  I can't play the guitar anymore.

 

  I stare at the doctor, understanding, but not. This must be a bad dream. I wait to wake up.

 

 

  I'm so, so tired.

  But it must be real, because when they bring me food— jello, bread, and a glass of water— I struggle to eat. It feels like the food gets stuck in my throat, and I refuse to eat any more then a few bites.

  Plus, it's humiliating, to have my mother feed me.

 

  Bob comes back a week later. I'm sitting up now. My eyes water at the sight of him standing in the doorway in his beige uniform, a cluster of flowers in his hands.

Well. I guess I am a terrible person.

  My OC doesn't have a hand now.

Heh.

Bye all!

-❤️Kena