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roosterforme · 1 year

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Airplane Mode Part 1 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: When Bradley finds himself on a commercial flight with the cutest flight attendant in the world, he can't keep himself from flirting with you.

Warnings: Fluff, adult banter, swearing

Length: 4400 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This is part 1 of 2! Check my masterlist for more Top Gun fun!

Bradley was on his fourth deployment of the year, and it was only September. As he packed his flight suits and uniforms, he checked his boarding pass for the flight from San Diego International to Tokyo. His flight left in just three hours, so he needed to move.

The only way Bradley took commercial flights was begrudgingly. He much preferred his own Super Hornet, with his name emblazoned on the side, or his vintage Bronco. Nothing else felt as comfortable, as personal. But really, nothing was worse than a commercial airline.

He would probably have to sit next to someone who wanted to chat for the twelve hour flight. Or worse, get assigned the middle seat. But there wasn't really any other way to get him out into the western Pacific and onto the deck of the USS Nimitz in time for his surprise assignment.

"God bless America," he muttered, rolling his eyes as he stuffed some clean underwear and his toothbrush into his bag. Then he locked up his house, unsure about when he would be back, and headed out in the Bronco.

Thankfully, his military credentials got him through the long security lines quickly, because he did not leave himself with very much time. He checked in with the airline and narrowed his eyes skeptically at the man working behind the desk.

"You've been upgraded to first class," the man told him.

"That seems suspicious," Bradley replied, earning a chuckle. "No, really. The Navy usually gives me the middle seat in the last row, right behind a screaming child. What gives?"

"Hmm, well, this flight is only at half capacity since it's a brand new itinerary. So we upgraded you, another military officer, and an elderly customer."

"And the screaming child?"

"Not upgraded that I know of, sir."

"Thanks," Bradley replied with a nod as he scanned his boarding pass and made his way to first class. He had the window seat in the front row, so he stowed his carry-on bag and made himself comfortable while the other passengers took their seats.

He could hear soft laughter coming from the curtained off area next to the cockpit, and a second later he was looking at a beautiful woman.

"Welcome aboard, sir," you told him with a smile. "Can I get you anything before we take off?"

Bradley swallowed hard and tried his best not to stare. "Uh, I'm fine," he managed to tell you. "Just....fine."

"Right. Well, let me know if you need anything."

You turned to greet another passenger, and Bradley found himself sitting up straighter as he blurted out, "Your name?"

You turned back to him and leaned his way. "Pardon?"

He met your eyes, and he grinned. "I need your name. You know, just in case I think of something you can get for me."

Your smile was more of a smirk this time, but you licked your perfect lips and told him what he wanted to know. Bradley tested your name out, and your smirk grew. "Yep. That's a good name."

You shook your head a bit. "You should get buckled in. I'll go over the exit row safety procedures with you in a few minutes."

"I can't wait," Bradley replied, and this time, when you turned away from him, he couldn't help himself. He looked at your body for a few seconds until he forced himself to face the front of the aircraft. He closed his eyes and counted to ten. This was going to be a long flight.

He was lonely. It had been ages since he had dated anyone and quite awhile since he'd met a woman he even wanted to sleep with. That had to be why he was sweating a little bit right now.

Bradley buckled his seatbelt and tried not to watch you out of the corner of his eye. The sway of your hips when you walked was mesmerizing, as was the soft lilt of your voice. He listened to you charm every single person seated in first class, and he was already craving your attention again.

When you came to a stop in front of him a moment later, he let his eyes travel from your sensible shoes up your bare legs, over your cute uniform dress, and up to your face. "Ready for your safety briefing?"

"Oh, absolutely," he said, his voice ridiculously needy to his own ears.

You just smiled and gestured toward the handle to Bradley's right. "You are seated in my exit row. Can you verbally confirm for me that you are able and willing to help me in the event of an emergency?"

"Definitely. I'd be happy to help you."

"Can you push, pull or lift at least fifty pounds?" you asked, your eyes taking in the bulge of his biceps and his broad chest.

Bradley smirked and watched you lick your lips. "Sure can."

You pressed your lips together and eyed him briefly. "I don't know... are you sure you're strong enough to open the door?" Your voice was teasing, and Bradley swallowed hard as you shifted your weight from one leg to the other.

"I'm strong enough to do anything you might want or need."

Bradley's grin grew as he watched your face light up, and the cutest giggle escaped your lips. "I'll keep that in mind," you told him with a nod before turning and disappearing behind that damned curtain.

He rubbed his hands over his face before putting his phone into airplane mode. Flirting with you was pointless. He really shouldn't be doing it. But where the hell were the women who looked and sounded like you when he wanted to go on a date? Apparently they were thirty six thousand feet in the air, wearing tight navy blue dresses and ugly loafers.

Bradley would do anything to be able to run into you at the Hard Deck. You probably didn't even live in San Diego though. And odds were good you were married or something. So he just settled back in his seat and watched the setting sun through the open window sash. Pretty soon he would be landing in Tokyo, he'd never see you again, and you would forget all about the guy who asked for your name and looked at your loafers.

Then, as if conjured by his imagination, you were standing in front of him again. This time you were folding down the seat that was used by flight attendants during takeoffs and landings. Bradley watched every move you made as you sat down facing him, your knees brushing against his as you settled into the seat.

"Sorry," you told him softly. Your perfect lips parted again before you added, "You must be tall. I don't usually have this problem." You were trying to scoot yourself back further in your uncomfortable looking seat, keeping yourself from touching him again as you buckled in.

"I don't mind," he replied softly, repositioning his legs so that both of your knees were between his.

Your eyes went a little wide as you whispered, "Okay," before clearing your throat. Bradley saw you glance at his thighs as he stretched his legs out a bit more comfortably, and then you immediately turned to look out the window as the pilot started to taxi toward the runway.

The warm San Diego sunset had your skin bathed in orange light, making you look impossibly pretty, and Bradley was instantly regretting not bringing a book with him. No way he'd make it twelve hours in close proximity to you without embarrassing himself.

"How tall are you?" you suddenly asked him.

He shrugged. "About six foot one inch, I guess."

"I'm sorry, I should have had you move to the aisle seat since it's empty. It's too late now, since we're about to take off, but you can move over later so we don't have this problem all night long."

Bradley shrugged again. "I wouldn't call it a problem. More like an added perk. I thought perhaps getting to sit by you was part of the upgrade to first class."

You kept eye contact with him but narrowed your eyes, and Bradley squirmed a bit in his seat. "You're flirting with me."

He chuckled. "Well, I'm trying. Based on your response, I must be doing a shitty job."

After examining his face for a few seconds, you sighed and looked out the window again. "No, you're doing alright. But I'm not allowed to flirt back. Whatever your name is."

"Bradley," he told you, holding out his hand. After you shook it, he said, "How about I do all the flirting, and you just pretend you're completely immune to me. Meanwhile, inside, you're totally falling head over heels."

You tried to hide your smile as the plane left the ground, and the jolt of excitement in Bradley's belly rivaled even the force of gravity.

You didn't answer him, and you didn't look at him again, but Bradley felt your right knee bump against his leg as the plane gained altitude, and he heard you sigh.

"Can you at least tell me if you'd flirt with me if I met you at a bar or something?" he asked after a while.

You finally met his eyes just as the fasten seatbelt light was turned off, and you started to unbuckle your harness.

"I'm afraid the answer to that question might sound as if I'm flirting with you."

Bradley leaned forward as you stood and started turning away from him. "So is that a yes?"

You turned and looked at him over your shoulder, and you nodded.

Bradley gaped at you, and he had to fight the urge to follow you behind the curtain this time.

"Fuck." He was absolutely squirming in his seat now. He could hear you and see your shoes, but you didn't emerge again for a while. And you didn't look at him as you took the dinner orders for everyone else in first class, leaving him for last.

Bradley told you what he wanted to eat, speaking slowly so he had time to look at you looking at him.

"And would you like a drink? Maybe a cocktail or a beer? A glass of wine?"

As Bradley was just about to respond, you smirked at him. "You don't drink wine, do you?" you asked him.

"No, actually." He gave you a puzzled look.

You smiled at him. "I can guess what people are going to order with a scary level of accuracy. You like beer, specifically European imports. Stella? Maybe Heineken? And I think you also enjoy an occasional glass of scotch, neat. But you're also quite fond of "girly" cocktails, and you're not afraid to order them when you go out."

"Holy. Shit."

You laughed at his response, and Bradley wanted to pull you down against him, listen to that laughter even closer.

"Want me to make you a cosmopolitan?" you asked with a grin that had him practically stuttering.

"Please." He managed to say that one word without too much trouble. You just nodded and strolled away from him again.

Bradley sat, impatiently waiting for you to reappear as he messed with his hair. He was really wishing he had taken more time getting ready. He was wearing faded jeans and a black tee shirt, cursing himself for looking like he dressed with no effort at all.

He was absolutely going to try to get your number or give you his, and if he was going to get shot down, he liked to know he had at least put his best foot forward.

You reemerged with a drink tray, and you took his breath away. He watched while you served everyone else, bringing him his martini glass filled with pink liquid last.

"And a cosmo for you."

Bradley took the drink and set it down on his tray table after taking a sip. "Delicious. Even better than my friend Natasha makes, and hers are great."

You tucked your hands behind your back and asked, "Is she your girlfriend?"

"No. I am one hundred percent single," he told you immediately. "Maybe even more than that."

The grin returned to your face, and Bradley was feeling ridiculously excited.

"I'll bring your dinner out shortly."

"Wait, are you?" he asked, trying to keep your attention before you vanished again. "Are you single?"

You ignored him completely now, but you were still smiling. And you dropped off his dinner tray with nothing more than, "Enjoy your meal." So he ate his food and then you collected his tray and then he waited.

He was pretty sure you'd have to return to your little fold down seat at some point during the evening. He was also pretty sure you'd have to stay awake all night. His plan was to wait you out. Beyond that he had no clue what he should do.

But it was getting late now, and you were still somewhere up behind that curtain. He'd long ago finished his drink, and he had the brilliant idea to ask you for another one. He pressed the button to call for you, and then you were there.

"What can I do for you?"

He smiled so hard. "Are you telling me that anytime I push that little white button, you'll appear?"

You had to hide your laughter behind your hand. "Yes. That's literally my job."

He shook his head slowly. "You've given me too much power. Will you make me another cosmopolitan?"

"Of course."

And when you brought him a second pink drink a few minutes later, he asked, "Are you allowed to sit with me again? In your little fold down seat?"

You chuckled and nodded. "Yeah, pretty soon I'll be sitting down for a while. You can move to the aisle seat whenever you want."

But Bradley didn't move. He wanted to be as close to you as he possibly could. He just didn't realize that you might find that creepy or annoying until you were headed for your folding seat.

"You're not moving?" you asked softly, just as the captain dimmed the overhead lights.

"I'm sorry, I can move so you have more room," he said, scrambling to unbuckle his safety belt. God, now he looked like a fucking creep.

But you just shrugged at him. "You can stay in the window seat if you want. If you don't mind me bumping you."

Then you folded the seat down once more and took a seat before he could move. So he buckled himself in again, and let you get settled so that your knees were tucked neatly between his long legs.

Just as you were starting to buckle your harness, the captain flew through some turbulence, and Bradley felt your hands come to rest on his thighs as you were bumped out of your seat.

"I'm so sorry," you whispered, pulling your hands away like you had been burned. "I didn't mean to."

Bradley certainly didn't mind. He'd be more than happy to have your hands all over him. But of course he wasn't about to voice that idea.

"It's okay," he promised, meeting your eyes in the dim light. Another turbulent patch had you reaching for him again, but once you had your harness clasped closed, you wouldn't even look at him again.

"Sorry it's so turbulent," you managed to say, looking across the aisle at another passenger who had fallen asleep. "Usually I have someone losing their mind when it gets like this. But you seem very relaxed."

Bradley shifted in his seat, and his leg bumped yours. "I should hope so. I'm a pilot."

Your eyes snapped back to meet his. "Really? Which airline?"

Bradley just chuckled. "US Naval aviator. Top Gun."

"Oh," you said with a soft laugh. "I should have known. All you guys have a certain look."

Bradley licked his lips and crossed his arms. "What kind of look?"

You cradled your face in your palms. "Pretend I never mentioned it."

He shook his head. "I don't like pretending."

Sighing, you told him, "Aviators are always... big... strong looking. And overly confident."

"Huh," Bradley grunted. He supposed if you flew a San Diego route, you must see your fair share of aviators. You must also get hit on by most of them. God, you were beautiful.

"You're not like most of them, though," you added quickly. "Occasionally I have to excuse myself if they get crude."

Bradley's brow furrowed. "Crude?"

You shrugged again, checking to see if anyone had pushed their call button. "Yeah... it happens sometimes."

"I don't like the sound of that," Bradley growled.

But you just laughed lightly. "What are you planning to do about it? Follow me back and forth between San Diego and Tokyo and flex your muscles every time someone calls me baby or touches my butt?"

"Shit," Bradley whispered. "That really happens?" This information was swirling around his mind, and it made him feel sick. You were just doing your job; you didn't deserve to be harassed by aviators or anyone else.

"You'd be surprised." Another bump of turbulence had your leg rubbing against his.

Eventually Bradley whispered, "I would, you know."

You just looked at him for a few seconds. "You would what?"

Bradley smiled at you, and your lips curled into an involuntary smile as well. "Fly back and forth. Between San Diego and Tokyo. Flex my muscles and tell the assholes to leave you alone."

As you bit your knuckle to try to stifle your laughter, Bradley could practically feel how good it would be to have your teeth grazing his flesh. But the idea that you sometimes had guys giving you unwelcome touches had him ready to go through the roof.

Then his mind shifted back to something you said. You flew from San Diego to Tokyo all the time.

"Do you live in San Diego?" he asked quickly, and you bit your lip a little nervously, like you didn't want to answer him.

But you searched his face in the darkness and finally said, "Yeah. I do."

Bradley's heart was thudding in his chest. He didn't want to press his luck.

"What has you flying commercial to Tokyo? You must hate this! Are you being deployed?" you asked, drawing his attention to your words.

"Yeah. Hopefully a very short one. It's a special assignment."

Your smirk was back, even though he could barely see it in the dark. "Top Gun. Special assignment. First class upgrade. Sounds very exciting."

Bradley chuckled. "Listen, the best part of this whole thing was getting to sit with you between my legs.... Oh, God. Oh, no! I didn't mean it like that!"

What the fuck had he just said?!

Bradley was frozen in panic with his hands halfway to his face, but you were laughing hysterically now. He watched you press your lips together to try to keep quiet as you shook with laughter.

"I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to say that! I just...I'm really enjoying sitting here with you, that's all!"

You waved your hand in the air and managed to say, "It's okay, Bradley. Oh, you look completely mortified!"

"I am completely mortified. You'll never let me have your phone number now!"

Then you smiled at him, but your eyes looked sad. "I can't go giving my phone number out to all you Top Gun guys."

Bradley ran his fingers through his hair. "Shit."

You sighed and tapped his knee with your fingers until he was looking at you again. Bradley let his hand settle just above his knee, and he wanted to unbuckle himself and reach for you when your fingers touched his.

"When do you fly back?" you asked quietly

"Unsure," he replied. "No return ticket yet."

"Hm," you hummed softly. You ran your fingertips along his, and he'd had just about as much as he could handle.

"Please, tell me your schedule. Something. Anything. I need to see you again."

You were quiet for so long, Bradley let the back of his head hit the headrest. You'd withdrawn your hand from his body, and he was so disappointed.

"I usually fly overnights on the way back to San Diego as well."

He leaned closer to you again. "Which days?"

"It varies," you said, glancing across the aisle and undoing your harness. "But I'd like it if you were on my flight again." You stood to take care of a different passenger, and Bradley's eyes tracked you in the darkness.

He was done for. Over the next several hours, he got to feel your body bump his every time you got in or out of your seat. He could smell your perfume or shampoo whenever you glided past him. He strained to hear every word that you spoke, whether to him or another passenger. But when you were seated in your seat, you and he exchanged little stories and flirtations.

One time he even reached across and folded the seat down for you to sit. "Handsome and mannerly," you muttered as you buckled in.

"I thought you told me you weren't allowed to flirt back," he commented as the sky was starting to lighten outside his window.

You met his eyes and grinned. "A girl can only take so much."

"Are you single? You never told me. Please don't devastate me right now," his voice took on a teasing, pleading tone that made you laugh again.

"Yeah. I'm single. It's impossible to date with this job, honestly."

Bradley's heart soared like the airplane he was sitting in. You lived in San Diego. You were single. You were sexy and appealing.

"Guys always think I'm going to cheat on them. But you want to know what I actually do in my hotel room on my overnights in Tokyo?"

"Tell me."

"I eat the best sushi in the world and watch this one Japanese soap opera with the subtitles on. I am completely addicted to it."

"Jesus. I can get behind that one hundred percent. When I'm deployed on land, all I end up doing is eating the local foods. And I love sushi. Would be nice to have someone to call and talk to about it. I'd even be willing to get caught up with this Japanese soap opera so we could discuss it." There he said it. He was too afraid to be more explicit than that.

You eyed him up and down, your body still except for the rise and fall of your chest and shoulders as you breathed. "I think-"

Your words were cut off by the sound of the fasten seatbelt light being turned off. Immediately you were unbuckling again and folding the seat up. "I think I need to start the breakfast service."

Now you looked flustered as you vanished behind the curtain. Bradley waited and waited for you to return. He could smell fresh coffee brewing, and his stomach started growling. The sun rose over the Pacific Ocean outside his window, and he could see islands in the distance, but he did not want this flight to end yet. He hadn't slept all night, but he would gladly stay up another twelve hours talking to you if you'd let him.

"What would you like for breakfast?" you asked him as you started taking orders.

"Black coffee and a muffin."

"That's it?"

"Yeah," he replied. "I'm planning on finding some sushi as soon as we land. You could join me?"

You bit your lip and shook your head. "Sounds appealing...but I'm working a turnaround."

"Right," Bradley rasped. So he watched you work, serving everyone with a smile, helping with whatever was needed. He ate his muffin and drank his coffee quietly. And when the captain announced the final descent into Tokyo, you took your seat across from him one last time.

You were both silent, just looking at each other until one of you inevitably let their gaze fall to the other's lips. Then you would both look away until drawn back in to let it happen over again.

As the wheels touched down on the runway, and the sound of the wings dampening the air flow took over the small space, Bradley leaned forward. "Can I give you my phone number? Just in case you ever want to watch Japanese soap operas or eat subpar San Diego sushi with me?"

You smirked, but after a few seconds you nodded slightly. "Just don't hold your breath that I'll use it, okay? I'm basically never home. I can't even get a cat, let alone go on a date. And you would get tired of my schedule. I can guarantee that."

Bradley listened to your words, although he didn't agree with them. But he pulled a pen out of his backpack and wrote his first name and his phone number on the beverage napkin he still had. When he handed it to you, he watched you look at it before folding it in half and tucking it into your pocket.

And then you were up, helping all of the passengers unload from the aircraft. He watched you pull luggage down for the first class passengers before sending them on their way, but he didn't move yet. He sat for nearly a half an hour, until everyone else had unloaded and the captain and co-captain had exited the cockpit and came to stand amongst the flight attendants. But you had looked at him as often as he had been looking at you.

Now that he was the last one onboard, he stood, watching you examine his height and entire body for the first time.

"Fly safely," you told him with a smile.

"You, too," Bradley replied. "I'm going to be hoping I manage to get on one of your return flights. Hoping so hard." Bradley's heart was pounding again as you gave him a little nod before he walked out of the plane and made his way onto Japanese soil.

--------------------------

Thank you for reading this one! Please leave some love and stay tuned for the conclusion! And thanks to @bradshawsbitch for sharing her knowledge of life as a flight attendant!

PART 2

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the-authoress-writes · 6 months

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Wherever You Go

Prologue

Tom “Iceman” Kazansky x Aviator!reader (Callsign: Thorn)

Moodboard by @bradshawsbaby

Written for @roosterforme’s Top Gun Rocktober Playlist Fic Challenge

Synopsis: Tom Kazansky made a mistake.

Or rather, a series of mistakes.

He chose to take the assignment as an instructor at TOPGUN.

He fell in love with one of his students.

He broke her heart.

He chose to leave TOPGUN, and redeploy.

Now, he was stuck onboard the USS Nimitz with the woman whose heart he broke, with no way out.

Unbelievably, that’s not the problem.

Problem is, he still loves her.

Series Warnings: Teacher/Student relationship (but you already knew that) with no real age gap, warnings will be updated as the series progresses.

Warnings: Here be some cursing, because they are men in the Navy—they will curse.

Other than that, nothing really.

Author’s Note: “It’s only going to be a oneshot.”

Every author knows that those are the famous last words, and that is no truer than with this story.

I really, really thought I could make this into a oneshot but then I gave up on that.

Because I am so in love with this storyline, that it deserves space to breathe.

So this one shot is now going to be at most (hopefully), a six-part series.

*sigh*

Darn it, Val, what have you done to me?

Thank you so, so very much to @roosterforme for hosting the Top Gun Rocktober Fic Challenge, and for allowing me to use one of my favorite 80s rock ballads, “The Flame” by Cheap Trick.

Lyrics from the song will be peppered in throughout this series, because it’s too good not to, and the song is the reason this story exists, as it is what birthed the plotline.

Another thank you goes to the incredible @bradshawsbaby for making the stunning moodboard for this fic, which was beyond my wildest dreams!

Special thanks also to @valmare, the fact that I am writing Tom Kazansky x reader! fic is all your fault; but thank you so much for dragging me down with you, it’s been an absolute joy!

Not much plot happens in this prologue, but I think it’s important to set up the narrative.

Ice cold, no mistakes.

That’s what everyone said about him, and he knew it.

He’d be lying to himself if he said that some part of him didn’t enjoy it, that reputation for perfection.

But now, as Tom watched her doing preflight for her CAP in the shadows of his little nook in the superstructure of the Nimitz, he knew that he was staring at the biggest mistake of his life.

He watched her hands lovingly run across the airframe of her F-14, and he inhaled sharply in remembrance.

He’d only been able to feel her touch him like that once, but it was more than enough to burn it into his memory forever.

As he watched, the large form of her RIO, LTJG Emmett “Romeo” Kinford, came up behind her, slapping her on the shoulder, which elicited a bright smile from her.

It tugged at his heart, to see her smile, even though it wasn’t the same smile she used to smile at him.

What he wouldn’t give to have her smile at him again.

She was the first woman he’d ever really loved, and he knew she’d be the last.

But he’d broken her heart two months ago.

It tore him apart to have to do that, but he had no choice—not if he wanted her to keep her wings, much less her title as Top Gun of TOPGUN Class 1, 1987.

And he knew she belonged in the sky, so he made the bitter choice, and he suffered for it—they both did.

He was still suffering.

It was why he’d chosen to redeploy, even though he loved teaching at TOPGUN, could easily have seen himself doing it for at least another few years, because he couldn’t stand to stay at Miramar, where he had so many memories of her, about her, with her.

He hadn’t missed the half-pitying, half-understanding look Viper had given him as he turned in his transfer papers—the now-Captain had always been intuitive.

“You’re a damn good instructor, Kazansky, we’ll be sad to see you go.”

“I’m sad to go, sir, but I… feel that I need to do this.”

A nod.

“Alright, son.

I’ll turn these in.

You and Kerner should get your new orders in two weeks.”

Within a week, he and Slider were deployed on the Nimitz.

One week after that, VF-1 chopped in, Mav and Merlin included.

“What the hell are you doing here, Mav?” Tom grinned, smiling for what felt like the first time in weeks as he hugged his wingman while Slider did the same for their former Academy classmate.

“I quit teaching.”

“What?!” Tom and Slider exclaimed, while Merlin sighed longsufferingly, shaking his head.

“You loved teaching!” Tom continued.

The dark-haired aviator shrugged. “It was boring without you there—no one else gave me a run for my money.”

“Sounds an awful lot like you’re admitting that I’m the better pilot, Mav.”

“In your dreams,” Mav scoffed. “But again, I will admit it was boring without you there.”

Tom smirked. “Love you too, Mav.”

“Fuck you, Kazansky,” his wingman retorted with a grin.

“No thanks, not in the mood,” Tom deadpanned.

Mav guffawed, making Tom’s deadpan melt into another grin, before the other pilot threw one arm around his shoulder, the other around Merlin’s upper back (as that was as high as it would go without effort, given the RIO’s borderline absurd height of 6’ 5”). “The Layton Boys are back!”

Slider interjected, “Technically, we’re missing Wood and Wolf.”

Mav rolled his eyes, “Okay, most of the Layton Boys are back—better, Ronald?”

Tom sighed, preparing for the bitchfest he knew was coming—he’d learned at Annapolis how much Slider hated his full first name.

(That wasn’t even mentioning the absolute hissyfit that would occur if the middle name was whipped out: Evelyn.)

(It was his great-grandfather’s name.)

“Yeah, Peter,” Slider retorted.

Okay—nothing was going to stop this now, to paraphrase the song—Mav was just as bad; Goose was the only one who could call him “Peter” and get away with it.

An all-too familiar pissy look came over Mav’s face. “Dickhead.”

“Yardstick.”

“Asswipe.”

“Petey Pocket.”

That was new—he and Merlin held their breath to see what would happen next.

Mav stared.

Slider stared right back.

A black-haired blur rushed forward, and Slider took off running, the flight deck now thankfully free of planes, the next CAP not starting preflight for another hour.

“Should we stop them?” Tom asked Merlin, as they watched the other pilot and RIO run across the Nimitz, a faint “Come back here, asshole!” carrying on the sea wind.

“If it’s all the same to you, I say let them go; you don’t know how wound up Mav’s been.”

He chuckled. “Fair enough—Sli could use the exercise.”

Eventually, Slider finally slipped up, and half-tripped on a padeye, allowing the smaller man to tackle him, the chase devolving into a wrestling match, which further devolved into what could only be described as a third grade slap-fight, before it finally ended with both men on their backs, heaving breaths into their lungs.

Tom and Merlin looked at each other, and in unspoken agreement, headed over to their RIO and pilot.

“Missed you too, Shortstack,” he heard Slider mutter, once he and Merlin came close enough.

“Didn’t say anything.”

“I know.”

“You done, you little gremlin?” Merlin asked, a wry expression on his face.

Mav glanced warningly at Slider, who silently raised his hands in surrender. “Yeah, we’re done.”

“Alrighty,” Merlin sighed, offering his pilot a hand up, Tom doing the same for his RIO.

Once both of them were hauled off of the flight deck, the aviators/infants stared at each other once more, and Tom was just about to pinch the bridge of his nose in exasperation, when Slider extended his hand. “Truce?”

Mav considered the extended hand for a beat, before slapping his hand into the other man’s. “Truce.”

Slider grinned, and used their clasped hands to pull the diminutive pilot into a hug. “It’s good to see you, Mav.”

A sigh. “You too, Sli.”

They finally made their way below deck, Mav and Merlin dashing off to report to the Air Boss, before they met again in the Officer’s Mess, the quartet eating dinner leisurely, as none of them had a CAP until tomorrow.

To their surprise, Tom and Slider found out that Mav and Merlin would be sharing their berthing, and Tom couldn’t help but wonder at the Hand of God making such happy coincidences occur (or perhaps the hand of a certain TOPGUN instructor).

The four of them easily settled into the layout they had set up on the Enterprise; who would take which bunk or locker, which segued into the boisterous exchange of stories between them.

In the midst of the familiar camaraderie, Tom could almost forget the ever-present gaping hole in his heart, ignore the pain which always threatened to swallow him whole when he was alone.

But bedtime soon came upon them, which drew the exchange of stories to a close, and had them all lying in their respective bunks, and soon, Merlin’s deep breaths could be heard, indicating the man was asleep.

Mav was, as usual, dead silent, which always made him unsure if his wingman was actually asleep.

And he’d tried to see if there were any auditory tells in the other pilot’s sleep, but there were none.

Maybe eventually, he would figure something out to give away a sleeping Mav, but hopefully, he was asleep.

Slider, however, was pitifully attempting to convey sleep, his deep breaths a little too measured, Tom knowing all too well how the man breathed when he was actually asleep.

Ron, loyal brother that he was, wanted to make sure Tom was asleep before allowing himself to drift off.

So he allowed his breathing to slow, gradually adding the slight rasp in his breath that he knew Slider was listening for.

The last week of being back in a berthing with Slider had been a testament to his acting skills, not having had to hide how he was sleeping (or not, rather) from the other man since the Academy.

Eventually, his RIO succumbed to the siren call of sleep, and Tom settled in for another cold night, in more ways than one.

He blinked up at the ceiling, seconds passing like sand through an hourglass, and though he could feel fatigue pressing in on him, he couldn’t fall asleep, despite all the techniques the Navy had taught him, his restlessness punctuated by the sound of the launch and recovery of two night CAPs.

But eventually, between one blink and the next, Tom woke up to the alarm clock going off.

Realistically, he knew he slept, but it really didn’t feel like it, he felt just as tired and weary as he always did.

He dragged himself out of his bunk, swiftly silencing the clock, as the Slider-shaped mass of blankets began to stir.

“Ugh—I hate mornings,” his RIO moaned.

“Shouldn’t have joined the Navy then, Sli,” Merlin cheerily fired back, feet thudding onto the berthing’s floor from the top bunk.

“Yeah, what the hell were you thinking, Kerner?” Mav grinned, already in the act of making his bunk.

“Why, oh why, God, did I have to be cursed with morning people,” Slider declared, finally throwing off his blanket.

“You love us, Ron,” Tom smirked, unable to help himself, the affectionate snark coming easy to him amidst his brothers, despite his exhaustion.

“Ehh—ask me again after I’ve had a coffee.

Or a dozen.”

The berthing rang with laughter, and as the day progressed, it confirmed to Tom that he’d made the right choice to redeploy, the brotherhood they had, the self-proclaimed “Layton Boys”, being exactly what he needed to nurse his broken heart.

Their CAP was uneventful, being flown with Mav and Merlin, the guard frequency filled with their light-hearted teasing and conversation, and they had to be the cheeriest four men on deployment in the Navy’s history.

But inevitably, another night slowly closed in, leaving Tom alone with his thoughts, his loneliness and pain threatening to overwhelm him as usual, and all the façades in the world couldn’t do a damn thing against thoughts and feelings from your own mind and soul.

The call was, as they said, coming from inside the house.

He felt like he was going crazy; he was losing sleep, he knew he was in too far, in way too deep over her, and he wasn’t sure when he would ever stop feeling like the world had fallen out from under him.

As he fought the urge to toss and sigh for the umpteenth time, he heard a soft “Can’t sleep?” from across the berthing.

Tom fought the urge to sit bolt upright, which was a good thing, as it kept him from banging his head on the top of his bunk.

When he caught his breath and calmed his heart some, he whispered, “Mav?”

“That’s me.”

“What are you doing up?” Tom hissed.

“Pot, kettle.”

“I—sometimes people can’t sleep, Mav.”

“Bullshit.

You couldn’t sleep last night either.”

“How do you know that?”

Mav kept silent.

“I knew you had to be awake,” Tom scoffed.

“Yeah, well.”

Here, Merlin stirred, turning in the bunk above Mav, which caused Slider to also stir and the two pilots held their breath, waiting for their respective RIOs to still.

When they did, Mav crept out of his bunk, grabbing something out from under his mattress, before leaning over Tom. “Come on—if we’re going to be awake, might as well be awake together.”

Tom sighed, nodding.

Maybe if he got up, he’d have some hope of feeling sleepy, and he’d be able to get some sleep.

Mav led him to the unoccupied half of the berthing, on the other side of the lockers, and plopped himself down on the floor between the empty bunks.

Tom took that as invitation to sit next to his wingman, and he leaned his head against the mattress behind him.

A soft noise which he belatedly recognized as the sound of a zip bag opening had him looking down.

Despite the darkness, his eyes had long since adjusted enough to see Mav holding out what appeared to be a cookie of some sort—chocolate chip, if his nose didn’t deceive him.

“Carole made these fresh before I shipped out.

Have some.”

“Thanks, Mav.”

“No problem,” the other pilot murmured, mouth already full.

Tom bit into the cookie, just the right amount of chewy and sweet, with the perfect amount of chocolate chips.

He must’ve made some sort of sound, because Mav chuckled. “Good, huh?”

“Don’t interrupt me, I’m enjoying my cookie.”

“I keep telling Care she can sell these suckers—heaven in a cookie, am I right?”

“Mmm.”

For the next few minutes, neither said anything, and no noise was heard save the sound of plastic rustling, cookies being eaten, and the distant sounds indicating deep sleep from their RIOs.

But then.

“You’re thinking about her, aren’t you?

That’s why you can’t sleep.”

Missile lock—tone.

Sigh.

“How’d you know?”

“Doesn’t take a genius, Ice, even if I am one.”

Tom scoffed, lightly bumping Mav’s shoulder, even though he knew his wingman wasn’t being hyperbolic—the younger pilot had a Master’s in Aerospace Engineering.

Mav good-naturedly took the bump, bumping right back.

When they had settled again, Tom whispered, “Can you blame me?”

“No, I don’t.

But you had no choice, Ice, Jester made that clear.

You were between the proverbial rock and hard place.”

“I loved her, Mav—I still love her.

And she loved me too.

And I broke her heart.

I can’t just… forget that,” he frustratedly said, running a hand through his hair.

“I’m not asking you to,” came the even reply. “All I’m asking is that you admit it.

It’s not good for you to keep this all in, you know?

Isn’t that what you told me before?”

“Yeah, it is,” Tom sighed—he felt like he’d been doing a lot of that lately.

“Have you told Sli?”

“Kind of,” he muttered.

Mav hissed, “What does ‘Kind of’ mean?”

“He… he knows that I was in a relationship that ended badly while I was at Miramar, but he doesn’t know that—” despite the fact that the two of them were the only ones awake in the berthing, he whispered, “that she was my student.”

Tom didn’t know it was possible to hear a shocked expression. “Way to bury the lede, Ice.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.

I just—I didn’t want to talk about it.”

“So you stonewalled your RIO?”Disbelief dripped from the sentence.

“I…” Tom vaguely gestured, “gently led him around the full truth.”

“You fucking Obi-Wan Kenobi-ed him.”

He sent the other man a glare even if he wasn’t sure Mav could see it. “You’re the worst therapist ever, you know that?”

“I’m a naval aviator and an engineer, Ice, forgive the slight fumbling.”

“‘Slight’?” Tom scoffed humorously, and in the darkness, he could see an ebony-haired head shake.

There was a joke that a more uncharitable person could have made about engineering in regards to him, but he and Mav were long past that, and he was grateful, something he never would have said before.

“You should tell him, you should have someone other than me who understands, who knows what you went through, Ice.”

Tom could see the point.

And it would feel better, he had to admit, even if it would trigger Slider’s mother hen instincts to the max, even more than they were right now.

“I’ll think about it.

And don’t think I forgot that you were just as sleepless as I was.”

“This about you, not me.”

“Uh-huh, sure—for now, you little shit.

Now hand over another cookie, will you, Mav?”

“The things I do for you.”

The plastic rustled again, and a cookie was placed in his hand.

And as he ate Carole’s heavenly consolation in a cookie, Tom reflected on just how he’d ended up in this position.

To be continued…

Next Part

CAP: Combat Air Patrol

Women were not allowed to participate in combat units and fly combat missions until 1993, so a healthy suspension of disbelief is required to read this story, 😂…

The USS Nimitz (CVN-68) is the lead ship of her namesake class; commissioned in May 1975, she is the oldest US Navy aircraft carrier in service, and the oldest serving aircraft carrier in the world.

If you look at the nametags they’re all wearing in TG86, the second row says “TOPGUN 1”, so I’m assuming that there’s more than one TOPGUN session a year, at least in the TG/TG:M universe.

VF-1, a now inactive squadron based out of NAS Miramar, is the squadron that Mav and Goose belonged to before they went to TOPGUN, although it must be noted that, like most of the squadron patch designs in Top Gun, the patch design as seen on Mav and Goose’s flight suits, is incorrect and not matching the squadron designation.

I am assuming, though I have no confirmation, that Merlin was also part of Tom and Slider’s USNA class.

The “Petey Pocket” insult is a reference to the toy Polly Pocket, which is a toy from the late 80s, notable for its tiny size, which is being sold again by Mattel.

However, the toys did not come out until 1989, and they did not come out until much later than that in the States, and despite my best efforts to find a more period-accurate insult/comparison, the insult was too good not to put, so again, healthy suspension of disbelief.

“Nothing’s Gonna Stop Us Now” by Starship, from the 1987 film Mannequin, is the song Tom references.

A padeye is used to secure aircraft to the flight deck.