𝘚𝘰𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 | A Top Gun Fanfiction

Chapter 33: 𝘗𝘰𝘦𝘮𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘊𝘳𝘢𝘺𝘰𝘯 𝘗𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘴

Like me, the sun is on the journey home. It's frustrating to watch people pass you in a race when you're putting in your all but have nothing to show for it. I can say the same for racing the sun. I hadn't even given a thought as to how far of a walk it is from Maverick's to Charlie's. Pretty much the only thing I was thinking when I fled down the street was, run. So I ran. Hard and long, passing everything in a blur of tears and punctured breath until somewhere down the line my legs gave out and I was forced to lean against a stop sign and actually consider where I was going and how the Hell I was going to get there. Home. It came to me so naturally, I almost forgot to question it. Is Charlie's place home now? They say home is where you hang your hat...but that would mean Maverick's place, cause I left my white cap sitting on the floor by the front door. And if home is where the heart is, then I'm not really sure where I should be headed.

Life has splintered my heart and dueled out pieces left and right.

Vixen's got one at the bottom of the sea.

Goose has his six feet under.

My family have bits laying around our farm house; Carol and Rooster have theirs with them at the reception; Charlie and Ghost each have one, hidden away somewhere safe; and Maverick—

He's got the biggest chunk.

But I can't go back to him, not now. Not after everything that's been said — or screamed, rather. So I get back on my feet and walk the rest of the way to Charlie's house, barely ahead of the sun as it dips under the skyline. By the time I set foot on her porch, the heavens are like a Georgia peach. Fuzzy, orange, and gloriously so. A shame I feel like shit...otherwise I might've turned right around and sat on the beach to watch the sun go down. I mourn the lost opportunity, one foot on the porch, the other stuck to the second step. My legs start wobbling again and I heave a sigh, reluctantly facing my back to the horizon and heading for the door where I leave a weak knock. Really, I ought to just walk in. This is my house too, even if I haven't lived in it for a couple of days.

Those days feel like centuries.

What a weird way to come home.

It only gets weirder when I hear Charlie bellow from inside, "COMING!"

I swallow hard.

Don't make this harder than it already is. You need space, you're back for the night, that's all.

The door flies open.

Charlie sags against it, "Can I — Stirrups?"

I chuckle, "Not so sure that's a proper sentence...or way to greet someone."

Charlie stares at me like my eyebrows have turned purple. The surprise on her face has me flushed and staring at the wooden boards beneath my feet. I trace their wrinkles with the yellowed toes of my Navy standard dress shoes. It's impressive how comfortable they are. I mean, I wouldn't give them up for a pair of converse or cowboy boots but my toes have nothing but good things to say about these fellas here. Carried me from Maverick's to Charlie's in one piece — and without any foot pain, I might add. Shoes, I sigh, a fond smile teases the corners of my lips as I study the crisp edges and stitching of the bleached leather. I used to look at them so much, I started guessing people off of them. Back when I was still torn over Vixen, I rarely looked up...so it seemed natural to assume personalities based on the only part of a person I could see.

Shoes.

They helped me judge most of my classmates here at Top Gun.

Pretty accurate I'd say.