Lieutenant Amy "Mustang" Stetson storms into TOPGUN like she's got a score to settle with gravity itself. She's hauling more emotional baggage than a 747, all tied up with a bow of "I've got something to prove." Enter Lieutenant Jake "Hangman" Seres...
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Jake's heart raced as he carefully lifted Amy from the ground. Her body felt fragile in his arms, and he winced at her sharp intake of breath. "Easy, Amy" he murmured, moving slowly towards the Jeep. "I've got you."
With painstaking care, Jake eased Amy into the passenger seat. Her face was pale, contorted with pain she couldn't fully hide. As he reached to close the door, Amy's hand shot out, grasping his wrist with surprising strength.
"Jake," she whispered, her voice hoarse but determined. "Have I ever told you that you look terrible in blue?"
The unexpected comment hit Jake like a punch to the gut. He frowned, remembering their heated argument about uniform colors back in Top Gun what felt like a lifetime ago. Even now, battered and barely conscious, Amy was still Amy - stubborn, surprising, and utterly captivating. And with that he couldn't help but smile.
Jake leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to her cheek. "We'll argue about that later, Stetson," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. He closed the door softly, then hurried to the driver's side.
The Jeep roared to life, and Jake sent up a silent prayer of thanks. As he navigated out of the compound, his eyes darted constantly between the road and Amy. Each labored breath, every pained gasp, was a cruel reminder of what she'd been through - what he'd put her through to keep her alive.
"I'm sorry," Jake said softly, guilt gnawing at him. "I know it hurts. CPR... I had to do it, Amy. I couldn't lose you."
Amy's hand found his, her grip weak but present. "Not... your fault," she managed between breaths. "You saved me. That's... what matters."
Jake squeezed her hand gently, forcing himself to focus on the road ahead. They needed to find help, and fast. As if in answer to his unspoken plea, Jake's eyes landed on a battered radio tucked under the dashboard.
"Hold on, Amy," he said, hope surging through him. "I'm gonna try something."
With one hand still firmly clasped in Amy's, Jake fiddled with the radio dials. Static filled the air, punctuated by bursts of unintelligible chatter. He cycled through frequencies, searching for anything familiar.
"This is Lieutenant Jake Seresin, callsign Hangman, does anyone copy?" he called out, repeating the message on each new frequency. "We have a medical emergency. I repeat, this is Lieutenant Seresin, requesting immediate assistance."
Minutes stretched into what felt like hours. Jake's voice grew hoarse, but he refused to give up. Amy's breathing had grown more labored, and he could feel her grip on his hand weakening.
"Come on," Jake muttered, a mixture of prayer and frustration. His eyes flicked skyward for a moment. He was a religious man, and he was willing to believe that God might be looking out for them, but in all honesty a fleeting thought of Amy's late uncle Colin passed through his mind. If there was anyone watching over them, Jake hoped it was him.
