Below The Hard Deck | A Top Gun Fanfiction

CHAPTER II

Despite having not visited the area since '86, the memories come flooding back to me as soon as I drive up alongside the runway. To my right, a jet is taking off into the sky, quickly flying out of sight. Top Gun is such a unique experience that no one can truly understand unless they've been through it. Given that a very small percent of people have, it's hard to find others you can reminisce with. A feeling of warmth spreads throughout my body as I pull into a parking space. I'm home.

As I push open the doors to the Pacific Naval Fleet building, a blast of cool air provides a sharp contrast to the warm temperature outside. At least they've upgraded the AC units since the 1980s. Fans could only do so much and, in a room with a bunch of sweaty men, no amount of deodorant or air freshener can save you. I pace around the entrance area, taking in my surroundings while I wait to be called in for the official briefing. On the wall, there's a picture of Iceman, a plaque reading "Commander" beneath it. I chuckle a bit at the sight. Always Mr. Serious.

My grin fades as my eyes move to the picture beside it. Maverick and Ice fresh out of their jets after our big mission together, smiles on their faces as they shake hands. I'm standing slightly behind them, my arm still wrapped around Mav's waist as I beam at the sight of the two men finally becoming friends. God, we were so young back then. Where did all the time go?

The door behind me opens, my whole body tensing up at the sound. I don't have to turn around to know who it is. I should just face him, bite the bullet and get the hard part over with, but my feet seemed glued to the ground. I feel him pause behind me, my heart rate increasing ever so slightly in his presence.

"I miss those days." His voice sends a shiver down my spine. The last time I had heard it outside a formal setting, it hasn't been nearly as calm. This is the voice I remember him having, the one I came to love. "How have you been?"

I finally work the courage to face him, my breath getting trapped in my throat. Even after how long it's been, the only obvious signs of aging are the crinkles around his eyes and a few deeper lines sprinkled along his face. When his green eyes meet my own, it's feels like barely any time passed since we last saw each other.

I awkwardly clear my throat. "Good. You?"

"Good, good." Silence. "Rear Admiral, huh?" He motions to the ranking on my uniform.

"Yeah. Have been for a few years now." I smile, motioning to his bomber jacket. I shouldn't have expected him to be dressed in anything else. Paired with a white t-shirt, beat up jeans, and aviators hanging off his collar, part of me wonders if he's been shopping since the 80s. "See you still have that old thing."

He pulls up the sides of the coat, the same familiar smirk I remember once again on his face. "Can't mess with the classics, Claddagh."

God, even the way he says my name stirs up something in me. You'd think I was I pre-teen girl with the way I'm acting. I've got to pull myself together or this is going to be a long couple of weeks. I straighten up, holding out my hand to him. "Good to see you again, Captain Mitchell."

His face falls slightly, though he manages to keep a sliver of a smile as he returns my gesture. "We're addressing each other by our ranks now?"

"That tends to be what we do in the Navy. That or call signs."

He nods, putting his hands in his pockets as he rocks back and forth on his feet. "Whatever you say, Admiral." He purposely emphasizes the final word, a playful grin on his face that I can't resist returning.

"Captain Mitchell, Admiral Moran." The two of us turn to face the voice. I immediately recognize him as Rear Admiral Solomon "Warlock" Bates. A bit older than me, his dark hair has started to gray with age. In the few times we've ran into each other, I've always taken a liking to him. The dark-skinned man motions towards a door. "Please come in."