willow; jake seresin

chapter 3

Jake Seresin, toothpick between his teeth, wore his casual smirk as he glanced around the room full of pilots. The group sat in a hangar with chairs in neat rows in the center.

His green eyes observed the room before falling on the figure that just entered. He looked into Willow's nervous, bloodshot eyes and sat up straight, moving his stuff off the seat beside him.

His smirk turned to a smile when he saw her take notice of his action. But it fell just as easy when she decided to take a seat in the very back, eyes cast down to her lap, fingers picking at the flight suit.

Jake bit hard into the toothpick before slowly putting his stuff down, focusing his eyes elsewhere. But no matter where he tried to look, his eyes ended up right back on her. She had always had that effect on him.

Willow could feel his gaze burning into her and wished to bring hers up, but it felt physically impossible.

Being back here had formed a pit in her stomach, weighing down every movement she made with phantom pain from the last time she had been here.

"Attention on deck!" An authoritative voice called, and the pilots immediately stood in position, chairs scraping the floor.

Warlock walked to the center podium, addressing them. "Morning. Welcome to your special training detachment. Be seated." Everyone relaxed back into their seats, eyes locked on the man up front.

"I'm Admiral Bates. NAWDC commander. You're all Top Gun graduates. The elite. The best of the best." Willow bit her cheek. "That was yesterday." Her brows furrowed.

"The enemy's new fifth-generation fighter has leveled the playing field. Details are few, but you can be sure we no longer possess the technological advantage. Success, now more than ever, comes down to the man or woman in the box. Half of you will make the cut. One of you will be named mission leader." Willow notices Jake's gaze turn to Bradley with a cocky smirk. "The other half will remain in reserve." Then his eyes turned to her with a pitiful look. She stared at him, memorizing all the details of his face that she had forgotten.

"Your instructor is a Top Gun graduate with real-world experience in every mission aspect you will be expected to master." She turned her gaze away from him, focusing her attention back on the admiral. "His exploits are legendary. And he's considered to be one of the finest pilots this program has ever produced. What he has to teach you may very well mean the difference between life and death." Footsteps got closer, and she looked up just as a figure passed, a familiar one.

"I give you captain Pete Mitchell. Call sign: 'Maverick.'" No. No, please. She pinched the skin of her sore palm, eyes wide and alert.

Pete Mitchell. Her father. The one she had cut all contact with last year, along with everyone else she knew cared about her.

He walked to the podium, setting his things down and focusing his attention on the group with a small smile that flickered when his gaze fell on her.

"Good morning." He held up a giant binder. "The F-18 NATOPS. It contains everything they want you to know about your aircraft. I'm assuming you know the book inside and out."

A chorus of agreement sounded through the room, but Willow remained silent. She flinched when the book dropped into the trash can and echoed through the room. "So does your enemy."

"But what the enemy doesn't know is your limits. I intend to find them, test them, push beyond." Maverick smirks, eyes landing on his daughter in the far back. He couldn't decipher the look in her eyes. Disdain? Anger? Sorrow?

"Today we'll start with what you only think you know. You show me what you're made of." With that, they were dismissed, and Willow was the first to stand, rushing off in the opposite direction. She walked quickly down the halls, nodding in greeting to those who passed. When she finally reached the door she was searching for, she knocked politely.

"Come in," came the monotone voice inside.
She stepped inside, "Admiral." She nodded, standing straight in front of his desk.

"Lieutenant." Cyclone looked up, setting his pen down. "Is there something you need?"

"I had a question, sir." She shifted nervously, "Why was I recalled? I haven't been on active duty in over a year. I'm not sure how useful I'll be for this mission."

"Shut the door." She quickly did, walking back to her spot. Cyclone sighed and sat back in his chair.

"Truthfully, I was hoping they wouldn't recall you, but someone believed you could be valuable."

"I'm not sure I'll be able to do this. I don't think I hold any value to the Navy anymore." Willow spoke truthfully, a furrow in her brows.

"You have experience, Lieutenant. You and Seresin. You're the only two in the entirety of the Navy that have experience in a mission of this gravity." Cyclone stared at her in all seriousness, clearing his throat.

Willow looked down at her shoes, a lump forming in her throat. She remained silent, only giving a small nod. "I understand."

Cyclone looked at her with pity, tilting his head. "I was reviewing your files. It says you stopped showing up to therapy. Why is that?"

She tried to form an excuse. "She didn't help. Only made me feel worse. I saw no point."

"You should talk to someone. It doesn't have to be a therapist, but it may help you and your ability to fly this mission if the need arises." Cyclone offered, leaning forward.

"I will. Thank you, Admiral." Willow smiled a taut grin, knowing she would never actually act on the advice.

"You're dismissed, Lieutenant."

•••

Deafening engines sent an immediate headache to her head as she walked on the hot pavement, eyes scanning the entirety of the runway.

She zoned out as she saw Jake standing by their plane, running through checks. The side of the plane held their names and callsigns in big block letters.
"Willow!" She ignored the call behind her, hoping she was hearing things. At least then she could prove everyone right that she was crazy. "Siren!" Nope, it was definitely there. "Lieutenant Mitchell!" Her father called, jogging to stand right behind her.

She exhaled a shaky sigh before turning, shoulders tense. "Captain." Willow cleared her throat to rid it of the crack as she nodded curtly.

"Don't do that." Maverick shook his head, looking at his daughter with hurt written all over his face. "Where have you been?"

Willow looked at her boots that suddenly captured her attention. She just shrugged, shrinking under his stare. She felt like a scolded child standing before him.

"Really? That's all I get after a year." Mav stared at her, swallowing the emotion forming the pit in his throat. "Just tell me what I did wrong." He pleaded, taking a step closer and placing a hand on her shoulder.

She couldn't. Because he hadn't done anything wrong. Everything had been her fault. It's her fault. Her fault. Her fault. Herfaultherfaultherfaultherfaultherfault-

Willow stepped back, away from her father's
comforting grip. She stared at him, face stone cold. "I have to run checks, sir."

"Willow-" But she was already gone and turned around to face her other problem.

Jake stared at her with a furrow in his brows, concern written in his eyes. She ignored his gaze as she climbed up in the jet, noticing his hovering hands over her back, ensuring she wouldn't fall.

When she was in the backseat, she placed the helmet over her head, breathing in deep as the world seemed to collapse around her. No matter how hard she tried to focus on her breathing, the familiarity of her surroundings brought the erratic beat of fists against her heart.

But Jake Seresin seemed to calm it when he sat down at the controls, taking her mind off her stuttering lungs.
"Look at us, Siren. Back in the air just in time to kick everyone's ass." His cocky words lacked all humor as he prayed for a response. One she used to spew his way, full of sarcasm and love.

But all he got was a hum, words blocked by heartbreak and grief.

They may have been back in their jet, but they were not the same people who had walked this same path a year ago.

They had changed.

And it was all his fault.