You and Me, Kid

○ Chapter 22 ○

Sandra had been in Iceland for about a month when everything went to shit. It was normal for a while, the temperature not being too difficult to deal with even after living in South Carolina for most of her life. But when she was due to go on her final flight before returning home, it didn't exactly go well.

It all started as a normal day, with everyone just going about their normal things as groundcrew began to check all the jets that were due to depart from the landing strip of Naval Air Station Keflavik. "All looks good, Rocket," Sandra's RIO and long-time friend Flora "Beagle" Davies grinned, giving the older woman a thumbs up. Nodding, the two got into the cockpit and began to prepare themselves to take flight.

"Nighthawk to Tower, permission to take off?" Sandra radioed to the tower, glancing around the cockpit to make sure everything was in order.

"Tower to Nighthawk, permission granted."

"Affirmative. Nighthawk proceeding to runway." Pushing the joystick forward slightly, Sandra guided the plan to the runway where the groundcrew proceeded to signal that they could take off. Saluting them, Sandra guided the plan down the runway and took off, Flora whooping as they did so. "Nighthawk in the air."

"Alrighty, let's do this, Rocket!" Flora grinned, clapping her hands together before refocusing her attention on the radar. "Bogey at 2 o'clock, Rocket. I repeat, bogey 2 o'clock."

"What speed, Beagle?"

"600 knots."

Shit, Sandra thought as she looked down at the baren snowy landscape beneath them. We're in a F-15 Eagle, and they'll probably be in a fucking F-18. Every bogey we've targeted have been in a Eurofighter Typhoon.

"Break left! Break left! Break left!" Flora suddenly yelled, Sandra's eyes widening as she quickly banked left, the both of them grunting at the sheer force the aircraft was under. "The bogey's on our tail, Rocket. I repeat, the bogey's on our tail."

"Understood," Sandra nodded. "Nighthawk to Tower, permission to engage?"

"Tower to Nighthawk, permission to engage granted."

Good, we might have a standing chance here. "Banking right." Quickly manoeuvring to the right, Sandra continued to get updates of the bogey's position from her RIO. As they went to go into a roll to try and get away from the Eurofighter Typhoon, sirens in the cockpit began to blare. "Shit! We've got a missile lock on us!"

"Rocket, eject! Eject! Eject!" Flora shouted. Rocket unlatched the cockpit and pushed it back but even as she tried to pull her ejection handle, nothing happened. Flora was able to eject and land safely, but she wasn't able to get out of the plane.

Shit! Shit! Shit!

Suddenly the plane began to shake. Looking at the radar, it was obvious that the typhoon was getting closer and closer to her. Breathing out deeply, Sandra pulled out a photo from her breast pocket. Taking her hands away from the controls, she gently held the photo as tears pricked her eyes. It was a picture of her, Pete, Autumn, and the team on Autumn's seventh birthday.

I'm sorry, Autumn... Mommy's not coming home... Heat enveloped the woman's back as the missile hit, the picture being clutched in her hand tightly as she began to free-fall to her death. Look after her, Pete. I'll see you both on the other side.

Pete sighed softly, kissing the top of her head as she began to quietly weep. "I know, sweetpea, I miss him too." Suddenly his phone began to wrang and when he pulled it out, his face dropped. This isn't good.

"Hello?" He asked after picking up the phone, still having his arm wrapped around his daughter.

"Is this Pete "Maverick" Mitchell, the wife of Sandra "Rocket" Mitchell?" The commanding officer on the other end of the phone asked.

"It is, yes," he nodded. "How can I help you?"

"I'm sorry, sir, but your wife has passed away," she explained gently. "It was a simple mission. Her RIO, Beagle, ejected but she was unable to and was shot down. I'm terribly sorry for your loss, sir." Giving her final condolences, the officer hung up as Pete's phone fell into his lap, eyes wide and mouth agape, the arm around his daughter going slightly lax.

"Pa?" Autumn murmured, looking up at her father whose eyes had become teary, staring off into the distance. "Pa, what happened? Who was that?"

Swallowing hard, Pete pulled the eleven-year-old onto his lap, wrapping his arms around her. "Autumn, sweetpea, I have something to tell you." He paused, biting his lip before taking a deep breath. "You know how Ma's been overseas in Iceland, right?" Autumn nodded. Of course she knew about her mother being away, how could she forget? "Ma's not going to be coming home, sweetpea. I'm sorry."

For a moment, what her father said hadn't registered. Ma wasn't coming home? Was she just staying in Iceland for a bit longer than the month that was planned? But when her father's chin rested on the top of her head, she knew immediately what it meant. Ma wasn't coming home; she was never going to be coming home.

Tears began to stream down her cheeks as the realization hit her full force. Ma was dead. Ma was gone. Ma was never coming back for her; it was now just her and her father. "I'm so sorry, Autumn. I wish there was something I could do to bring her back, sweetpea, but there's nothing I can do." Autumn merely nodded, slumping against her father's chest as her eyes closed.

Autumn knew there was nothing her father could do. You can't bring the dead back to life; it was common knowledge. If you could bring the deceased to life again, then almost everyone who died would be alive now.

The next day, the team had been informed. Immediately Mickey found the eleven-year-old, knowing how being told about her biological father's death affected her before. Sitting next to her, he wrapped an arm around her shoulder, the girl melting into the embrace. "You know, those we love never truly leave us. There are some things that death cannot touch." Autumn looked up at her Uncle Fanboy with a gentle smile before resting her head on his shoulder. Mickey rested his head on top of hers, closing his eyes as they just sat in the silence of the hallway, slowly dozing off.