Copilot | Top Gun

three

Clover slammed his fist on the counter. "I can't fly with her anymore."

Your mouth dropped open in shock.

"I'm afraid I don't understand, Mister Langfield," the polite receptionist said.

Clover had an uncharacteristically menacing look on his face. "I said, I refuse to fly with Arrow. I want a new Sharper." 

You backed away from the counter, your legs wobbling like jelly.

It had taken a considerable amount of Clover's coaxing to get you out of your room. If you had known this was what he had been planning to do, you would have never left your bunk.

"We require a reason for your termination file." The man taking down the incident replied.

"Instability." Clover said viciously. "Inability to function. Breakdowns and mood swings. Too much for a pilot to handle."

You left the entry without looking back. Tears threatened to spill down your face again. Inability to function? Breakdowns? Instability? Was that all true? Were you unfit for TopGun after all?

You ran straight into another person.

"Woah, woah, take it easy, girl. Where're you headed in such a rush?"

Horrified, you realized you recognized that voice. You looked up into Brett Fletcher's eyes. You tried to back away but he held your wrists tight.

"Let me go, Gator."

He laughed. "Now where would be the fun of that?"

"Let her go," Another voice said.

Gator swiveled to see Maverick in the doorway.

"Right now, or I'm calling the commander." Maverick approached the two of you.

Gator sneered. "Tattling now?"

When Maverick didn't stop walking, Gator relinquished you, but kept his eyes narrowed. "I'm watching you," he whispered in your ear as he let you go.

You fell into Maverick's arms and he stood you up straight. "Hey, hey, don't worry. He's history."

You wished that were true.

"What was that about, anyway?" He asked, letting you stand on your own two feet.

"Oh, uh, we've uh, just— well... you see,"

But just then Clover stalked past you and a fresh bout of tears came.

Uncertainly, Maverick offered you a handkerchief.

You accepted it, miserably. "I'm so sorry, today has just been an awful day."

Maverick laughed good-naturedly. "Don't worry about it, we're friends, remember? Friends help each other out."

You thanked him.

"So, you coming to the dance?"

You looked down at your clothes. You hadn't showered since your flight earlier that day and you hadn't had a chance to change.

"Come on, no one cares about your outfit, it'll be fun."

Wanting more than anything to just go to sleep, you tried to make the excuse of your outfit.

But Maverick wouldn't have it. "Look, I'll come with you then and you can change, but you're coming to that dance, if it kills me. By all things, you need some dancing in your life."

You grumbled, but eventually you were walking into the mess hall with a new white skirt and tank top on. Maverick at your side.

Red and Bluejay hailed you from the bar, and you could see Gator chumming up to the girls from the karaoke.

You could tell Maverick wanted to dance right away, but you needed something to eat. You had skipped dinner.

Quickly, you reached the bar and ordered a chip dip to keep your stomach from hating you too much.

Maverick downed a beer while you finished your plate of food.

"Shall we?" He asked, offering his hand.

You hesitated.

Something faltered in his eyes. "W— what is it?" 

You sighed.

He put his hand down. "Arrow, are you really okay?"

You shook your head.

Maverick moved in a bit closer. "Do you want to tell me about it?" He said, uncertainly.

You did. He was a good listener. You told him about the crash with Chelsea before you had come here. How you blamed yourself and how the accident today had been so real. Then you mentioned Clover quitting on you. That had stung you. You had been nothing but nice to him, and he had turned right around and left you in the dust.

When you finished, Maverick's eyes were far away. He looked as sad as you felt.

"I know what you're going through," He finally said. "When Goose..." he trailed off.

But you knew what he would say. You couldn't believe you had forgotten that he too had lost a wingman before.

Gently, you took his hand in yours and held it, comforting him, while also taking comfort yourself.

Neither of you were alone. And that would make it bearable, right?

"You still want that dance?" You asked, your eyes finally dry.

Maverick looked up, a smile gracing his lips.

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