Take My Breath by AwayRealityBetterThanFiction on a03

Chapter 4

By the time the first week at 1D ended, Harry was so exhausted that he pretty much slept the entire day on Sunday - the only precious day off they were given during the week. Even then, he still had coursework to catch up on when he finally awoke from his eighteen hour hibernation late Sunday afternoon.

With the sun setting across the horizon, he sat with Niall on their back porch, each shirtless with a beer in hand, while they went over an assignment for Aerodynamics on tactical maneuvers best used to deal against the faster, smaller and more responsive MiGs that the Russian forces were using. Dr. Smith had spent an entire two hours on Friday lamenting on the frustrating lack of information they possessed on the aircrafts considering that intel out of Russia was pretty much nonexistent. The Russians liked to play things pretty close to the chest, it seemed. Very few pilots even had the opportunity to see a MiG in person, but their threat in dogfights made it imperative to always be prepared. That's why at 1D they were training the pilots to specifically engage this type of fighter jet by using smaller A-4 models that were similar, yet not quite as speedy as the MiGs. They were wicked difficult to fly considering they were a single-man jet and very sensitive when it came to steering, so there was really only one pilot in their group of instructors who flew the A-4 with skill sharp enough to mimic the MiG pilots...and of course that was Lt. Tomlinson.

Harry had yet to fly up against him yet, but from what the other pilots in their recruit class had said based on their experiences with him, he was every bit as lethal as advertised. Harry wasn't sure if he was looking forward to his chance at the infamous Rogue or dreading it.

"I don't think Georgia Rose's thrust to weight ratio can support this, Sparrow," Niall said, sipping his beer and tapping his pencil against his notepad. He was looking over Harry's breakdown of a thrust reverse to gain a better attack position with a frown on his face. "She's a spry little thing, don't get me wrong, but against the A-4 - against a MiG? - it's not going to work. Too aggressive and too risky. Lt. Tomlinson will tear this apart."

"Aggressive is good...aggressive shows ego," Harry retorted, standing by his decision. It had been his motto for the entire rest of the week since the little hallway chat with Lt. Tomlinson last Monday. Niall hadn't been too pleased with Harry's sudden change of style.

Niall shook his head. "Yea, but sometimes aggressive is just plain stupid. Don't go wild up there on me, mate. First priority is to keep us alive, then worry about the other guy," Niall warned.

Harry sighed and looked back down at his schematics, now seeing the fault in his arrogance. Niall was right. This whole situation with Lt. Tomlinson was really fucking with his head. He was trying to find the balance between who he was and who he wanted to be as a pilot, but it wasn't easy. He flew too safe and he got chastised...he flew too dangerously and he got chewed out. The rest of the first week had been better than the first day, sure, and Harry's flying was showing improvement day over day, but it wasn't there yet. It wasn't nearly good enough yet. Harry was getting impatient...and he was getting reckless.

The entire week had been nothing but a push and pull in Harry's brain. It seemed that Lt. Tomlinson had for some unknown reason singled him out to be the center of his attention in class. Every question that didn't have a hand raised to answer was directed at Harry. Every answer Harry provided to said questions was then ripped apart piece by piece by Lt. Tomlinson's snarky attitude. Nothing Harry did was good enough for him. Harry wasn't sure why he was being targeted in such a way, but it was clear that everyone else was taking notice. Every time Harry got a patch torn out of his flesh by Lt. Tomlinson, Chevron and his surgically attached RIO would turn their heads toward one another and snicker, enjoying Harry's humiliation.

Niall set his beer down and itched at his bare chest below his dog tags. He took his snap back off and ran a hand through his messy blonde hair. "You've got to reign it in, mate. You're better than this. I know y'are." He paused as if considering his words, and then hit Harry with the big guns, "Don't let that wanker get in your head."

Niall's face was supportive, but his tone was warning. Niall was both Harry's biggest supporter and most vocal critic. After all, Harry didn't just have his own life in his hands up there, he had Niall's too. They had agreed long ago to always be honest with one another, because if they weren't, the risks were far too great. Harry and Niall loved a good bet as much as the next bloke, but they were not willing to bet on being passive aggressive about their partnership with stakes that high.

"I'll try again," Harry said quietly, diverting his attention back to his notebook where he opened to a fresh page and started the entire assignment over. Niall seemed to be pleased and lounged back in his chair, letting his face turn up towards the last bit of sun in the sky.

A half hour later, Harry passed over the new schematics. Niall looked it over and then smiled. "Now this is what I'm talking about. I like this. Sexy moves, Styles."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Glad my flying turns you on. You seem to be the only one."

Niall smirked at him. "I don't know about that. We're acing all of our classes, Aerodynamics included."

And that really was the biggest surprise of all, wasn't it? For as much as Harry was being called out in Lt. Tomlinson's class, he was quite baffled as to why he was receiving top marks when it looked to everyone else that he was a bumbling buffoon who couldn't manage to find the yoke if his life depended on it.

"If we could only start doing better on hops, we'd be golden," Harry sighed. That was the real crux, though. It wasn't worth shit that he knew it on paper. If he couldn't do it up in the sky, he wasn't a pilot...he was a pigeon.

Harry had come to absolutely loathe that word. Of course, once seeing how much using it upset Harry, Lt. Tomlinson had taken up the obnoxious habit of using it on a daily basis when calling him out in class, always pretending to apologize as if he'd just mistaken his call sign for another bird instead of blatantly taunting him. Harry was going to buy a flock of pigeons and let them loose to shit all over Lt. Tomlinson's office if he used the damn name one more fucking time.

"We'll probably get Rogue sometime this week on a hop, statistically speaking," Niall said with a heavy yawn. "Maybe that will be out chance. We're only behind Chevron and Pak-Man by two points. A win would tie us, and taking down Rogue would certainly up our street cred."

"Yeah," Harry said, eyes narrowing. Harry had a few surprises up his sleeve for his favorite instructor when they finally faced off.

Lt. Tomlinson had teased him about his passion for feathered friends, but Harry knew that one could learn a lot about the art of flying by watching the creatures that did it as naturally as breathing. Their patterns, their movements, their attack styles...they were all clues that could help any pilot better tame the unruly sky. That was something his father had taught him when he took Harry out birdwatching with him as a young lad.

"Watch the masters at work, son," Dad would say, eyes directed upwards toward the beautiful sparrowhawks that used to circle the skies of their hometown in Cheshire. The graceful birds swooped and dived in a complicated dance, as if playing with one another. But when they caught sight of prey, their attack was fierce and swift. "You've got to fly like them, Harry. Never forget the gift of freedom that the sky affords, but when your time comes, you need to fly fearlessly. The sparrowhawk is never afraid, and neither are you."

Harry had become a student of the sky ever since, watching all types of birds to glean their secrets. His favorite was an obvious choice, given his call sign, but he was knowledgeable in other types too. Even vultures. The thing about the vulture was that they were scavengers...only attacked the weak. They waited and circled as their prey grew frantic and helpless beneath them. Then they swept in and made the final kill. They were a feared bird, an omen of death, but in Harry's mind, that classic portrayal wasn't quite accurate. Because in their nature was their fatal flaw....if you never gave up, the vulture would never strike.

Harry had no intention of giving up.



xxxxx



Week two started off better for Harry. He won his first hop against Banshee on Monday morning after a brutal battle that lasted over an hour. Harry was riding high for the rest of the day, with a goofy grin on his face throughout all his afternoon classes. Even Lt. Tomlinson's nagging in Aerodynamics couldn't ruin his good mood.

Unfortunately it seemed that as Harry's spirits soared throughout week two, Niall's were swiftly deteriorating. It was Wednesday when Harry finally reached the breaking point with Niall.

Harry was just coming back from the gym when he spotted his blonde haired, ball-of-stress RIO lurking in the hallway with his head peeking surreptitiously around the corner, stress eating a giant bag of crisps with greasy fingers.

"Hey," Harry called, startling Niall, which was usually quite hard to do. Niall was always watching his six. "Missed you at the gym, mate. Where were you?"

Harry had taken advantage of a rare hour break between classes to get in a good workout at the gym and had run into Chervon there, who apparently pushed weights like a fucking tank. Harry had watched in terror as Chevron lifted more than seemed physically possible as he cruised through the weight room like a man on a mission. He hadn't even bothered to spare a moment to acknowledge Harry's presence, just kept plowing through his workout with frightening intensity, eventually ending with a long and brutal session against the old, well-used boxing bag in the corner of the room. Harry had been too intimidated to do anything other than use the treadmill until Chevron left the gym. Harry was strong, a necessity to survive life as a Navy man, but the display that Chevron had put on was obscene. Harry left the gym feeling less a man than he had when he went in. So feeling a little deficient in testosterone, Harry hung his towel over his sweaty shoulders and marched glumly down the hall towards the locker room, subsequently running into Niall.

Niall waved his grease covered hand at Harry before diving it back down into the bag for more crisps. "When have you ever known me to work out willingly?" Niall asked, which was...pretty accurate. Even though he spoke to Harry, his eyes were still glued to the spot where they had been focusing before Harry came up to him, and Harry was staring to get curious as to what Niall was watching with such rapt attention. Niall was in straight up secret mission status right now, back flat against the wall and head peeking around the corner. His loud munching and crinkling of the foil crisp bag probably gave him away, though.

Before Harry could ask, Niall was mumbling, more to himself than Harry, "I can't crack that pair. I tried everything. I tried layin' on the old Horan charm, and it got me nowhere. Nowhere! Not a bloody thing. Not even a smile. Not even eye contact, for Christ's sake. I'm losing me touch. I must be. Oh my God." He turned quickly to Harry with wide, desperate eyes. "Tell me honest, mate, am I no longer young and beautiful anymore? Are my glory days over?"

Niall seemed genuinely on the verge of tears, and Harry was clueless as to what was causing his normally even tempered friend such panic.

Then he looked around the corner and saw the object of Niall's obsessive spy games. Chevron's dark-haired, tan-skinned RIO was sitting at one of the desks in the study room that pilots were able to use during downtime, quietly working on some assignments.

Now it made sense. Over the past week, Niall had developed a new focus besides flying, and that was stalking Lt. Zayn Malik.

"You know," Harry began casually, gently removing the nearly empty bag of crisps from Niall's hands. "Not everyone on the plant has to be your best friend. Some people happen to be a little bit more private and reserved and - this is said with the upmost love and affection - sometimes you come on a little...strong."

Niall scoffed as if it were an absolutely ridiculous concept for anyone to deny his company. Niall never met a person he didn't befriend. Ever. That was the whole reason for his intricate network of sources that seemed to get Harry and Niall into - and then thankfully out of - so much trouble. It was endearing, really, how determined Niall was to ensure that not a single person went without his love. He really did had the biggest heart of anyone Harry had ever met. Unfortunately it seemed that the mighty heart of Niall Horan had finally met its match in the form of iron hearts Zayn Malik and Liam Payne.

"And no," Harry added, trying to appease his floundering RIO, "You are still just as lovely as you've always been. Your glory days are very much still at large." He pinched Niall's cheek and gave him a wink.

"Hard to bloody believe with the way I'm being ignored," Niall sulked. He gave one last forlorn look at Lt. Malik and then separated himself from the wall and followed Harry to the locker room.

"You make any headway with War Machine?" Niall asked, using his new nickname for Chevron. After watching Chevron lift in the weight room today, Harry figured it was pretty damn spot on.

"No. But remind me to never get in the boxing ring with him. Wouldn't last a second."

"Not with those biceps you wouldn't. Pitiful."

"Heeey," Harry said, punching Niall for good measure just to show what his biceps were capable of.

"Can we grab lunch before we go to class?" Niall asked when they got into the locker room, entirely ignoring the fact that Harry was stripping off his clothes right in front of him. Niall had seen Harry naked so many times by now that it was probably more startling to see him actually wearing clothes. Harry had a thing about wearing clothes at home...it just wasn't necessary to contain his spirit that way. Niall got used to it eventually.

"You just ate an entire bag of crisps," Harry remarked before stepping into the shower and pulling the curtain across. Niall sat down on the bench just outside so they could continue their discussion. Harry sighed as the hot water and steam enveloped him and washed away the layer of sweat from his body.

"Well I'm hungry again," Niall whined. He had been putting away unfathomable amounts of food the past few days. Harry was never one to judge someone based on their weight, but he was a little concerned as to why Niall was suddenly upping his caloric intake.

"Niall, you need to relax with the food. At this rate, I won't be able to stuff you in the cockpit anymore. I know you've always had a healthy appetite, but this is a level I haven't seen from you before. Frankly it's alarming. Is this about our reluctant recruit pals, Malik and Payne?"

"No!" Niall scoffed. It was hardly convincing.

"Look, how about we invite them out on Saturday night, okay? Go to that bar in Thurso again. Maybe we can get to know them a little better, yeah? You can work your charm in a more laid back environment with alcohol aplenty to keep things flowing right along. Sound good?"

Harry could practically feel Niall's smile. "You're the best, mate."

"I know. Now go get ready for the hop. I'll see ya in pre-flight in a few minutes."

"You got it, Sparrow. Later!"

Harry rolled his eyes as he finished rinsing out the suds from his unruly tangle of curls. He toweled off, but didn't have the energy to fuss with his hair, so he opted to pull it up into a bun considering it was long enough for that now. It was just going under his stuffy helmet anyway. He quickly dressed in his flight gear and met Niall in the hanger to go over the specifics for the hop today.

"Wonder who we'll have up there?" Niall asked quietly as Banshee talked about the engagement rules.

Harry shrugged. "Dunno. But I'll tell ya this, Craic. We're winning this one today."

Niall nodded resolutely. "Abso-fuckin'-lutely."



xxxxx



"Nothin' on radar yet, Sparrow. No sign of any bogeys," Niall informed him from behind as Harry flew along the coast keeping his eyes peeled for anything out of place.

"They'll show up soon enough," Harry told him. "They always do."

As luck would have it, Harry and Niall were flying with Chevron and Pak-Man today. Their assignment was to neutralize any targets in the area as if they were covering a carrier in hostile waters. Harry could see Chevron's plane just off to the north, also patrolling the coast.

"Chev?" Harry called through the radio, "You seeing anything yet?"

It was Pak-Man who answered instead. "Negative. Something about this doesn't feel right."

"I'm gettin' twitchy," Niall commented. It was funny because up here, Niall's previous anxiety over Chevron and Pak-Man's reserved interactions was completely forgotten. Niall was all about the mission and that made communication imperative. It was all about the environment, Harry figured.

"Me too," Chevron commented. "I think we should stick together on this one. I've got a feeling there's more than just one of them out there. We can better take them out if we're together."

"Got it," Harry said, pushing his throttle forward to coast at Chevron's wing.

The second he got into formation, an A-4 zipped right below them. Banshee.

"Shit!" Chevron called. "You got him on radar, Pak?"

"Yea, he's coming around from behind," Pak-Man called back.

"I'll take him down, you cover my wing, Sparrow," Chevron ordered, instantly turning his plane upside down to change his direction and engage Banshee head on.

Harry narrowed his eyes. He hated taking second position to anyone. And he wasn't about to take bloody orders from a peer.

"Come on, Sparrow," Niall said reluctantly, knowing where his mind - and ego - was at, "We need to cover him. Let's just go."

Harry reluctantly turned his plane around and followed Chevron into the fight. They were flying right toward one another, playing chicken, until Banshee pulled a hard right and raced out toward the sea.

"Fuck," Chevron muttered, banking his own plane to pursue with Harry following. Chevron got into position behind Banshee and had him in perfect position to get a lock with Harry uselessly flying in his wake.

"This is bullshit," Harry swore.

That's when a new voice crackled over their radio. "Hello, lads. Don't mind me, I'm just up here pigeon hunting. Seen any around?"

"Oh fuck!" Niall yelled. "That's Rogue! Rogue is up here. Repeat...Rogue is here!"

"I don't see him on radar," Pak-Man shot back.

"I want him. He's mine," Harry muttered, tightening his grip on the yoke.

"You stay on my wing, Sparrow," Chevron warned. "Don't you dare leave me."

Harry surveyed the situation, watched as Chevron closed in on Banshee. He had it under control. He didn't need Harry. And Harry didn't want to sit back and watch someone else earn the glory of the kill when he, himself, had been so starved for it the past week.

"You're clear, Chevron. Take the shot. I'm going after Rogue."

"Fucking Christ! Get back here, Sparrow!" Chevron fumed, but Harry was already peeling off in search of his vulture.

"Sparrow, this is a bad idea. I don't like this," Niall said, hitting the back of Harry's seat. "Stay with Chevron. We'll take out Banshee together and then go after Rogue. Don't leave him."

Chevron was still swearing through the radio, but Harry was too blinded by his need to get Rogue that he didn't even hear him. Harry didn't change course.

"Turn the fuck around, Sparrow!" Niall yelled, clearly agitated now.

"I'm the fucking pilot here," Harry growled, not even recognizing his own voice. He didn't speak to his RIO this way. He didn't speak to anyone this way. But he couldn't stop himself. Couldn't disengage. "I'm the one flying. Now you can either shut up and help me find Rogue or you can eject yourself."

Niall went quiet on him, a sign of just how angry he was. But he read off coordinates to Harry about where he was picking up something on radar. "You do realize we're gonna need to talk about this when we get back on the ground, right?" Niall asked, voice steely.

"Whatever. After we get Rogue."

An A-4 ripped by Harry in a flash so fast Harry barely even saw it. "Jesus!" he yelled, hand pressed against the window as he craned his neck around to see where the bogey went.

"If we keep meeting like this, a lad might get the wrong impression, Pigeon," Rogue called through the radio before going ghost again. "Always chasing after me, huh?"

"Fucking bastard," Harry muttered, slamming on his thrust to change direction.

"He's headed after Chevron," Niall said as Harry finally got his plane around.

"Chev! Rogue's incoming," Harry said.

"Fucking hell, Sparrow! This is why I told you to stay with me! Banshee's got my tail now. I need you here! Now!"

Everything was going to shit way too fast. Harry raced toward the attack, desperately trying to get back to Chevron to provide cover, but just as he was about to engage, Banshee got lock on Chevron.

"You're done, boys," Banshee called. "Back to base."

Chevron could be heard swearing loudly until he cut his radio off entirely. Now Harry was in deep, deep shit with two A-4s still out here and no wingman to provide any support.

"Motherfucker," Harry cursed. This was probably the worst decision he had ever made in his entire career as a pilot. He knew better than this. He knew never to leave his wingman. It was the most basic rule - the first bloody thing they taught in basic training - and he'd been so fucking consumed with the need to take down Rogue that he went rogue himself. Harry didn't fly like this. He didn't want to be this kind of pilot.

Before he could even think to get control of the situation, Rogue had him on radar lock.

"I'm having pigeon for dinner tonight," Rogue said coolly. "When you're out of your flight gear, meet me in my office. Stat."

Harry unstrapped his mask and threw his head back against the seat. Niall didn't say anything the entire way back to base, nor did he comment as Harry ripped off his flight gear and slumped down on the bench in the locker room. He didn't need to say anything. Harry knew how disappointed he was. Harry was just as disappointed in himself.

Harry was about to apologize to Niall, but then Chevron stormed into the locker room with his RIO like a dark, ever watchful shadow behind him. Harry stood up immediately, sensing the impending argument based on the feral look in Chevron's eyes.

"God damn-it, Sparrow!" Chevron shouted, shoving at Harry's shoulders. "What the hell were you thinking up there! You left me! You left my fucking wing to go off on your own revenge mission against Rogue just because he's a dick to you in class and you broke a major protocol of engagement. And because of it, I got fucked!"

"You had Banshee! You had the shot. You waited too long to take it!" Harry tried to defend himself, but he knew it was useless because no one was to blame except for Harry. His resistance was met by even more anger from Chevron.

"Because I had no bloody cover! I wasn't going to engage when I had no one watching my six! You're dangerous up there. You only care about yourself. Doing what we do is already a death wish, but shit like what you just pulled today puts everyone at risk. I won't have you putting me and my team at risk," Chevron fumed, eyes quickly flickering to the RIO at his side who was staring down at the ground in silence with slumped shoulders, clearly uncomfortable in this confrontation. "You do your fucking job up there, or the next time you hear a tone, it's going to be coming from me taking you out myself. And so help me, I'll pull the trigger. You best pick a side, or I'm going to assume its against us. Got it?"

"Liam," the quiet RIO finally said. He curled a gentle hand around Chevron's bicep. It shouldn't have been enough to hold the stronger, broader man back should he wish to instigate a physical fight with Harry, but it rooted him to his spot regardless. "Calm down. Let's go chill out, yea?"

Chevron looked at Pak-Man for a few moments and the tension in his shoulders eased a touch. Then he nodded stiffly and followed his RIO away from Harry and Niall. It didn't stop him from shooting a murderous look over his shoulder at them before he was out of sight.

"Well, we've certainly made an impression," Niall sighed. "I don't think they'll be too keen to go out for a friendly pint on Saturday now."

Harry let his body fall back down to the bench and put his head in his hands. "I know better than that. It was stupid. I was stupid. I can promise you that I won't let that happen ever again. I swear it."

Harry looked up at Niall, eyes sincere and full of remorse. He needed to get Niall's trust back. He couldn't survive without it.

Niall let out a sigh and rested his hand on Harry's shoulder. "I know, mate. I know."

Harry leaned into Niall's touch and closed his eyes. "I'm going to forget all this shit with Rogue. I'm going to deal with it. I promise."

Niall nodded again. "I know," he repeated. "And there's no time like the present. We're expected in his office. Best not to keep him waiting."

So week two wasn't quite going much better than week one after all.



xxxxx



Harry and Niall stood outside Lt. Tomlinson's office, waiting for him to meet them as requested. They only had a few minutes to wait before he marched down the hall fresh from his own shower and wearing his working uniform.

He gave them a sharp nod before leading them into his private office. Harry stood at attention, as he had been so diligently trained to do in the face of a superior, but inside his blood was boiling with guilt and shame. He didn't want to be here. He didn't want to have a reason to be here. And most of all, he didn't want to hear whatever it was that Lt. Tomlinson was about to say. With how awful he already felt, he just wasn't sure he could take any more abuse.

Lt. Tomlinson was quiet for a long minute as he observed Harry. "When I asked you to keep your ego last week, maybe that wasn't quite the problem," he opened. His voice was calm and collected and Harry was instantly on edge, because it was for once devoid of its usual sarcasm and sass.

"Sir," he said, "I made a mistake today. I fully own up to it. I should have stayed with my wingman. It won't be a mistake I make again, I assure you."

Lt. Tomlinson narrowed his eyes. "I didn't call you here to shred you for a shitty flight performance. I suspect you're already doing that to yourself. I called you here because I have concerns about what you're doing here in this program."

Well, shit. That was worse, wasn't it?
"I keep trying to figure you out, but I don't think I've got it yet. There's something about the way you fly that worries me," Lt. Tomlinson continued. "It's not your skill, because let's be honest, you're one of the best pilots out there, easily the best in this class from what I've seen so far. I think it has to do with why you fly. So tell me, Sparrow. Why are you here? Why are you up there?"

"Because I want to be the best," Harry instantly answered, voice even and chest up. It was the expected answer, the easy answer. "I want to save lives and protect my country. Same as any other pilot...Sir."

Lt. Tomlinson shook his head with a small smile crossing his lips. "I don't believe that for a second. Maybe one day you'll feel like sharing the real reason. Also, I distinctly remember telling you not to call me Sir."

Harry let his eyes drop down to the ground. "Yes, Si- uhh...I mean...yes, Rogue."

Lt. Tomlinson chuckled. "Alright. You're dismissed. Get out of here. And for Christ's sake, I've got to at least say it once, don't I? Don't bloody leave your wingman again, alright? Don't be a knob...you know better. Let that be the last time it needs to be said." It was almost teasing, far too lighthearted for what Harry deserved.

As Harry and Niall were about to leave, too stunned to even give Lt. Tomlinson the customary salute, Banshee stormed into the office and blocked their exit.

"Ah. Good. Just the insolent idiots I was looking for," he sneered.