Top Gun: You Can Be My Wingman (Maverick X Reader)

A Flash On The Mountain.

"You've got to stop beating yourself up over Quicksilver, Mav." My RIO, Goose, says as I slam my locker door a little too hard, coming over to me with a towel wrapped around his neck, a gentle smile on his face. "I know you cared about her, but it wasn't your fault their plane spun out."
Gritting my teeth at the memory, I turn to him.
"I flew in front of her. It is my fault she got caught in the current." I look away, guilt encroaching on my heart again, "And now she's probably dead so I'll never get to apologise."
"You don't know that, there was never any evidence to say they died." Goose tries to reassure me, but I don't buy it.
"Oh, come on. Their GPS went offline with the plane and we've never found them on our search flights. There's no chance they're still alive, not after that crash."
"You don't have enough faith in Arrow. He'll keep 'em alive." A voice behind us states. Spinning, we come face to face with a serious looking Iceman.
"He can't do that if he's dead." I retort, irritatedly. Sighing, I grab my stuff and leave, heading out to the hangers.
For two weeks now, (Y/N) and Matthew have been missing, and it's been weighing heavily on my heart. They were some of our best flyers, and could hold their own against most enemies, so it was a terrible stroke of bad luck when they crashed out on the training flight. I do admit that having (Y/N) missing makes life worse for me; she has become a close friend of mine during our time here, and I hate that she's gone. In all honesty, I'd started to develop more intimate feelings for her before the incident, and now she's gone, the feelings are twice as strong. If I ever see her again, I will confess: I can't afford to lose her again.
Taking a seat in one of the uncomfortable chairs in the hanger, I wait for the other lieutenants to arrive, idly watching the horizon as I think back to when I'd sit here with Quicksilver, joking about and having fun. Clenching my jaw, I look down at the piece of string around my wrist. She'd given it to me when we were drunk one night, claiming that it would "Strengthen our friendship!" as she clumsily tied it around my arm. She had a similar one, which I'd given her at the same time.
A wry smile tries to push through as the memory surfaces, but it is soon dampened when the commander strides past, the rest of the lieutenants filtering in after him.
Plonking himself next to me, Goose grins before leaning in to whisper to me;
"Iceman says he heard the commanders saying that we're gonna be flying against their fastest today. I can't wait!"
I try to be excited, for his benefit, but my attempt falls flat.
"Yeah, it'll be cool."
I can't help thinking that (Y/N) would've loved the challenge, imagining her face light up as she heard the news, that same fiery glint of determination that always shines through in her eyes.
Goose notices my reluctance, but doesn't pick up on it. Vaguely, I listen to what the commander has to say, taking in the instructions subconsciously, my mind elsewhere. Eventually, we head off to the planes, our helmets and kit ready. Excitedly, Goose practically flies into his seat, grin wide and bright, his eyes finding mine briefly. I follow him up, strapping myself into my seat in front of the joystick, getting comfortable and adjusting to the smaller, cramped space.
Ten minutes later, we are the first in the air, the aircraft wheeling and banking through the clouds aimlessly until the rest are with us.
"Goose to tower, who are our wingmen? Out." Goose speaks into the radio, contacting the tower back at base.
"Tower to Goose and Maverick, your wingmen are Iceman and Slider. Out."
"Roger that."
As if on cue, Iceman pulls up through the clouds to our left, a little behind us, signalling to us through the cabin window. Signalling back, I concentrate on controlling the plane as a light wind hits us, angling it so we have a view of the ground and the horizon.
"Jet to our right, a little below but behind." Slider's voice crackles through the radio.
Allowing myself to look back, I locate the enemy plane, noticing Viper as the pilot.
"You got him?" I ask through the radio, waiting for their reply.
"Roger that, we'll get him." Iceman replies, before the plane wheels away, leading the enemy jet away as another replaces it.
"You ready, Maverick?" Goose quips, nervously.
"Born ready, Goose." I say before dropping the plane into a dive, beginning an elaborate series of tricks to throw him off us.
It's a long, drawn out chase, but eventually we end up behind the jet, a small success, though we have yet to get him on missile lock. Minutes later and we have him.
"YES, MAV, WE'VE GOT HIM!" Goose calls to me, the RIO ecstatic.
"Iceman, how you getting along? We've caught our guy." I report to our wingman.
A second passes before we get a reply.
"Almost there."
"You want some help?" Goose questions.
"No, we're good, thanks." Slider responds this time.
"Ok, we'll land." I say quickly.
"Goose to tower, permission to land please? Out."
The radio crackles slightly.
"Tower to Goose, permission granted. Out."
"Woo, great balls of fire, let's go!" The RIO laughs behind me, voice relieved.
Guiding the plane back to the airbase, I get ready to land, bracing myself for the impact. The landscape rushes by around us, the dusty ground coming closer and closer as we speed towards it, everything as it normally is.
Except one thing.
As we fly past, I notice a glint out of the corner of my eye, like the sun is reflecting off of an object on top of one of the mountains to the side of the base. Confused, I ask Goose to check it out, my own attention needed on the rapidly approaching runway.
"It looks like a person, but they're walking funny, like they're hurt. I'll report it." The RIO replies, a puzzled tone lacing his voice.
"Wait until we've landed, then we can check it out."
As if on cue, I manage to land the plane, the impact sending a violent jolt through my body as I move with the aircraft. Applying the breaks, I allow the plane to slow considerably before taxi-ing towards the hangers. A few attendants rush out to greet us, their helmeted faces covered and unfamiliar as we exit the jet. My mind is still on the object we saw on the mountain, but when I look, I see nothing.
"We saw something, or someone, up on the mountain whilst we were landing." Goose reports to the commander who has just joined us. Raising an eyebrow, he looks sceptical.
"Did you? Sure it wasn't the sun catching off your cockpit?" His gruff voice barks out dismissively.
"We're sure." I retort, quickly adding a "Sir" when I get a stern look.
"Well, wait for the other lieutenants to return, then you can check it out." He sighs, turning away to watch another plane land, "But don't take too long. We need you guys for another theory lesson, later."
"Thank you, sir." Goose and I bark in response.
Impatiently, I watch the jets wheeling around the sky, my mind and body restless in anticipation. A couple come in to land, their small structures skidding to jerky halts on the runway, their engines overheating in the beating warmth of the overhead sun. Only four more to wait for.
Beside me, Goose tugs at the sleeves of his uniform, a sign of his own impatience, though his is less noticeable as he quickly explains to the approaching pilots what we saw. One of them dismisses it, but resignedly says he'll come with us. Smiling dryly, I thank them both, watching the last jets land with mounting excitement as they do so, one by one. I bite my lip as they taxi to a halt, the pilots jumping out and stretching out their cramping muscles before they come over to join us.
We go over to them, Goose once again explaining our intentions to the others, taking in their varying faces of interest, curiosity, dismissal and disbelief. Amongst them, Iceman looks sceptical, his bright eyes focusing on my body language.
"I'll go with you guys." He says briefly, the others quickly agreeing with him.
Together, we turn and walk in the direction of the mountain we saw the flash on, stopping intermittently to allow planes to take off and land, no one speaking to each other until I finally catch sight of something.
There, limping over the coarse ground, is a person, their uniform unmistakeable. A fighter pilot.
Frowning, I squint at them, before my mind recognises the figure, my eyes widening in disbelief.
I break into a run, ignoring the confused shouts of the others as I charge towards the figure, my gaze focused solely on them.
Or rather, my gaze focused solely on her.