Top Gun Oneshots

"Ok" Is An Overstatement - Iceman

The words on the page in front of me have become blurred from how many times I've read them over, the pen in my hand idly tracing patterns and key phrases down onto the notebook to the side of the page, boredom having taken its toll on me. Yawning, I stretch out my arms and back, cracking my neck as I let out a sigh of exhaustion, having spent the last two hours doing theory work, the four hours before doing practical, my body feeling completely wiped out, eyelids heavy as I try not to fall asleep at my desk. Dropping the pen, I lean back in my seat, my head falling back against the wall behind me, my work momentarily forgotten as I listen in to the noises around me; there's only a few other aviators in the room with me, some of them conversing with each other, a variety of ground staff walking past the room in the corridor outside, their footsteps loud on the smooth floor beneath them.

My eyes are just closing, sleep finally taking me, when I hear the raised voices coming down the hall towards us, pounding footsteps announcing the arrival of a panicked pilot as he bursts into the room, snapping my attention to the doorway. Confusion floods me as I catch sight of him, taking note of his disheveled appearance and messy uniform, his words short and broken, clearly out of breath.

"There's been...there's been a crash...a bad one. One of the planes...spun out...one of them didn't make it..." He pants out, a wave of horror rippling through the room as the rest of us stand up from our positions, words of disbelief echoing from us.

"Who was out today?" A RIO across the room questions, body as tense as the atmosphere as he steps forwards.

"It was Maverick and Goose, and Iceman and Slider, right?" Someone responds, though I barely hear it, instantly running from the room as I register one of the names.

Pushing past the pilot in the door, I break out into a sprint, charging through the corridors with little care for who I have to shove out of my way, focused on only one thing, dread coursing with the adrenaline in my veins. A commander shouts at me as i pass, but i don't pay attention, choosing instead to carry on, arms and legs pumping to carry me faster down the corridor, towards the hangars. Rapid thoughts flash through my mind: was Iceman involved? Was he in the crash?

Was he the one who died?

I try not to think too hard on that, doing my best to focus on the motions of running through the sparse crowds of people, aiming for the changing rooms, when I suddenly crash into a firm body. Stumbling back, I look up momentarily, freezing in place when I see who it is, my jaw clenching as I swallow down my sudden trepidation. Viper.

"Lieutenant (Y/L/N). I assume you've found out about what's happened." He sighs, dusting himself down with a grave expression on his face, eyes looking over my panicked countenance.

"I have, sir." I reply, shifting in place.

"Then I think you should know that the outcome of this has been a particularly bad one. The aviators involved are in the changing rooms." He informs me, sighing to himself as I hastily thank him and continue on my path towards my destination.

Finally, I reach the changing rooms, bursting through the doors into the men's ones, swiftly scanning the area, taking in the one person standing by his locker: Slider. He looks up as I enter, giving me   a tight smile as he walks over, having dressed very quickly given the circumstances, obviously noticing my urgency.

"Are you ok?" I question him briefly, pulling the taller RIO into a quick embrace as he let's out a dry chuckle.

"Ok is an overstatement, but I'll survive. It's the others that I'd worry about." He reassures me, pulling away and leaving the room with a brief gesture to the showers.

Smiling at him, I try to ignore the rising sense of dread as I make my way over to the tiled area, looking hesitantly around the corner, quickly finding the one person standing there, still in flight gear, leaning against the wall at the far end, blue eyes trained on the floor, arms wrapped around his torso. A sob of relief threatens to escape me as I move further into the area, my shoes slipping slightly on the tiles, drawing Iceman's attention to me, his jaw clenching at the sight of me. I stop a metre or so away from him, breathing uneven as I try to calm myself down, emotions suddenly exploding in my head, tears trying to spill out over my cheeks as I take over his appearance, as if reassuring myself that he's really there. When I open my mouth to speak, nothing comes out at first, the air whistling out between my teeth as my throat suddenly turns dry, coherent words only forming when I swallow down the scratchy sensation.

"I thought you were dead..." I finally manage, making eye contact with him as he let's out a bitter huff of air.

"Unfortunately not." He growls out quietly, looking down at the floor again, arms tightening around his body, giving him a much more vulnerable demeanor.

"What are you talking about?" I breathe out, incredulous at his response, my body itching to wrap the pilot into an embrace, "What happened? Where are Maverick and Goo- it's one of them, isn't it?"

Iceman doesn't say anything, instead nodding almost indiscernibly, breath hitching at the reminder, knuckles turning white as he digs his fingers into his arms.

"It was Goose...he didn't make it." The pilot grits out, closing his eyes tightly, "And it's all my fault."

My eyes snap back to him at this, finding it hard to believe that it could've been his fault, especially after having flown with him before, knowing he's an incredibly good and safe flyer, and always looks out for his wingman.

"What makes you say that?" I question him, before immediately regretting my words.

His knuckles whiten.

"It was my jet wash they flew through. We were chasing a mig, and Maverick had a clear shot. I didn't let him take it, because I really wanted to take this one. I was too damn cocky. I realised I couldn't get it, and moved out of the way, and Maverick flew right into the jet wash. They entered a flat spin..." His voice breaks off, words hitching as he recalls the events, " It's my fault that Goose died."

Hearing this, I try not to let my tears fall from my eyes, knowing that it'll break him to see them, stepping forwards to place my hands on his shoulders, rubbing soothing circles into the muscle under his shirt.

"Don't say that, it's not your fault! You couldn't have known they were going to fly into your jet wash!" I say to him, following his head as he moves to look away from me.

"If I just let Maverick take the shot..." He starts, biting his lip as he closes his eyes, only to open them again when my hands move up to cup his cheeks.

"Please don't think like that, Tom. Accidents happen, and this one just happened to have a worse outcome than it should've had. What's happened has happened, and it isn't your fault, so please don't believe that." I reassure him, watching as he seems to fight with some urge.

His resolve seems to finally break, the pilot stepping forwards to wrap his arms around me, burying his face into my shoulder as he starts to cry, sobs violently wracking his body. I instinctually return the embrace, looping my arms around his torso, rubbing his back until his knees seem to give out, the two of us sinking to the floor, the tile cold and hard under my heated skin. Carefully, I manoeuvre us so that I'm leaning back against the wall behind us, cradling Tom against my chest, where he clutches at my shirt, needing something to hold onto to ground himself, my fingers running through his hair, palms rubbing down his back reassuringly as I whisper sweet nothings to him. I try to hold it together for him, fighting the urge to let my own emotions out, trying to make sure he has someone to support him and help him through this time, my head falling back against the wall as tears threaten to spill. Clenching my jaw, I look back down at him, pressing a soft kiss to his hairline, watching as he moves to press himself closer, uncaring of whether or not anyone walks in and sees us, knowing that this is the best thing for him at this moment.

For what feels like hours, we remain together on the floor, neither of us saying much as we relish each other's closeness, knowing that the both if us need it, only looking up when someone walks in: a distraught, numb looking Maverick. As soon as he sees us, his face scrunched up into a sob, looking as if he longs for the same contact, the pilot's knees buckling slightly. Wordlessly, I extend an arm to him, wrapping it around him as he joins us on the floor, reassuring both pilots as they seek help.