𝘚𝘰𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 | A Top Gun Fanfiction

Chapter 39: 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘉𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘛𝘰 𝘜𝘴

Fourteen hours trapped inside a bullet proof tin-can with two people you dislike, your traumatized boyfriend, and nervous best friend, is exactly how every girl wants to spend her day. The first four hours are fine, but once the time zones had begun to dramatically change and our legs grew stiff from lack of use, we were all suddenly playing a desperate game of 'don't make eye contact.' I guess this is God's way of testing me. If so, it worked. Instead of side-eyeing Iceman and Slider every five seconds to make sure they weren't giving Maverick any condescending looks, I stared straight ahead, memorizing the string of bolts lining the aircraft interior while enjoying the walkman Charlie gifted us. Ghost picked out the first album. Queen, no surprises there. I'm not sure which album, but I haven't heard every song on the tracklist. We rotated through the six tapes we managed to fit in our bags. Queen, Elvis, Aerosmith, Heart, Simon & Garfunkel, and the Beatles. At some point, Ghost handed over the headphones to Maverick so she could talk with Iceman.

Bridge Over Troubled Water.

Album's titular song.

Maverick must've felt my gaze. From corner of his eye, he caught me staring.

Maybe he just picked a song.

Maybe he wasn't trying to tell me something.

I can't be sure. Especially not when the lyrics take me back down this road we've been walking since the day we met. I sit back and close my eyes. Thousands of undiagnosed feelings swim inside of me. I couldn't say their names, but I feel the symptoms of each, all at once. Somewhere between the crescendo of the song and the orchestra of emotions wrestling within me, I lose contact with the chair beneath my thighs. Whatever I feel, it's not reality, and it isn't until the altitude drops that I come back to the rest of the plane. The voices, the rush of wind, the engine's lullaby. I crack open my eyes, and there's Ghost, clipped into the seat beside Iceman, asleep on his shoulder.

I look at Maverick.

He looks at me.

The space between our hands has us in a chokehold.

When we land, the stagnant anxiety dissipates. It rides the sudden gust of fresh air down the ramp and off into the eastern sky.

"It's the same sky," Hollywood laughs.

"Yeah," I mutter, shifting my bag between hands. "Feels different though."

Slider throws his head back and takes a big whiff of it.

"Smells different."

"Smells like salt, same as always," Wolfman remarks.

Slider and I share a look. Odd that he would take my side on this. Still, I smile, and we shrug. Sure, we're on one of the Navy's international carriers and for most of us, that's nothing new. As far as I know, Maverick, Iceman, Slider, and I were on different carries before our acceptance into Top Gun. Ghost was somewhere along the East Coast — kept close by her Dad while he was alive. I vaguely recall her mentioning Connecticut. Hollywood and Wolfman? Florida, they tell me. Oh of course. I laugh myself to death. How could I have missed it? They've got Florida written all over them.

The seven of us waste a couple of minutes waiting for our chaperones to show. Eventually, two officers appear and we stand at attention. It goes rather smoothly from there. We're guided to our bunks. The boys are kept in a big room with a couple fellas who work on the carrier. Ghost and I follow our guide past the boys quarters to a smaller barracks. There's four bunks.

"Who is this area designated for typically?" Ghost asks.

"When there aren't ladies aboard," I add.

The man blushes.