𝘚𝘰𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 | A Top Gun Fanfiction

Chapter 36: 𝘚𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘴 𝘌𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩

The sun takes me completely by surprise, three-quarters of a roll towards the opposite side of the bed. We smack head first into one another and I fling myself away from the ultraviolet barrage. Emitting unholy, animalistic sounds, I fold over my knees. The pain ventures beyond excruciating. It's veering on the edge of fatal. A pulse, located between my eyebrows. It's twisted little beating heart. The bastard's got his arms around my skull, digging his pointy knuckles through each temple and banging the bone like symbols. I groan, louder than before, and the low grind of it is like honey on my ears. They ache, inside and out, and sharper sounds, like the damn seagull that's flying over the house, worsen my sentence. I haven't been this hungover since God knows when. Before the crash, I reckon. Vixen was always the partier. She wrangled the guys into a night out when possible. Me? I'd rather have a beer on a porch with some friends...nothing too hectic. Cocktails? I'll have them occasionally. For the Heck of it, as Vixen would say.

Shots?

You'd be hard pressed to get me guzzling those.

Not unless I was dared, which has happened before, and he was certainly sorry he ever doubted my metabolism. I always held that night in high esteem, thinking myself some sort of liquor goddess for having handled so many in one sitting, even if the hangover was a wicked punishment.

That hangover has nothing on the Hell I'm living right now.

A small voice in my head calls for pills.

But that means getting up.

Ugh...

I'd rather not move. I'd probably fall over if I tried to sit up, maybe even vomit. That would be lovely. My hair's a rats nest, I can feel it bulging at the nape of my neck. If I throw up, it'll be all in there and then I'm going to need to shower and change and honestly, I was hoping I could stay in bed all day and just —

"Wait," I croak, "What day is it?"

"The last day of Top Gun."

"Ohhhhh shit!" I moan, eyes shooting open. I catch a glimpse of Ghost wading through the sunlight and then the pounding starts up again and I shut them tight, mumbling incoherent indecencies.

"Yeah, perhaps you should've thought this through."

"I'm an idiot."

"Half of one," She muses as she sinks onto the bed beside me. "Maverick had a choice, he could've been the bigger person but it looks like you both weren't thinking so clearly even before the drinks kicked in."

"We were wasted — oh my gosh!"

The Jeep. I borrowed her Jeep! A-and we lost track of time!

"Oh. My. Gosh—"

Iceman. No, no, no it's all coming back. Iceman and Ghost appearing at our secluded table, looking various shades of disappointed and having to haul our sorry asses out of the bar, separately taking us to Charlie's, dropping us off.

"Maverick," I sit up in bed against my better judgement. "Maverick, where is he?"

"Woah, Stirrups—" Ghost gently grabs a hold of my shoulders, easing me onto the mattress. I surrender, wishing I hadn't jerked so suddenly. Now the pain's grown pointy, stabbing through my brow repeatedly. I wind a hand under Ghost's arms and massage the epicenter of this hangover hurricane, to no effect. When she realizes I'm not going to bolt, her joints soften, and her fingertips begin to wander over the wrinkles in my shirt, smoothing them down as she takes a deep breath of the already humid, California air. "Iceman brought him home in one piece. We set him up on the couch. I told you last night, remember?"