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“You okay, Mav?” Merlin asks through the headset as they approach the carrier.
“Yeah. I’m fine.”
Things were not actually fine. An unexpected cross wind took them by surprise and they teetered on the edge of a flat spin. He’d recovered but not before the sky had begun to spin around him.
Perhaps this is how Cougar felt, he wonders briefly as he calls the ball, following Ice and Slider onto the deck. A passenger in his own body as the world keeps spinning around and around and all he can do is watch as it goes. It’s disconcerting and landing feels almost impossible.
The landing is not his cleanest but they make it safely back. After a day like today, that’s not something to take for granted. Things can go so easily wrong, he knows that. These day it feels like there’s a close call in every hop and most of them have nothing to do with him. Except he can’t shake the feeling like it’s all his fault, evey minor thing.
As the jet is taxied, he screws up his eyes tight, willing everything to stop moving. The vertigo makes him sick to the stomach. He forces air from his lungs, hoping some deep breathing will help.
He never gets vertigo or dizzy or nauseous. Nothing. Except the extremely rare occasions when he does , it sucks a million times more for some reason. As if his body hits a threshold where it just can’t cope anymore.
When his feet hit the flight deck, the roll of the boat reverberates up his legs. He needs a shower and crackers.
Mav tugs his helmet off to relieve the pressure around his skull. Usually his sea legs are better than this so he has to put a lot of effort into making his way below deck. Eyes fixed firmly on the constantly moving ground beneath him.
Someone calls out to him but he's focusing on putting one leg in front of another.
You’d think he’d see it, if he was so focused on walking straight.
One moment the ground is beneath him and in another he’s free falling.
—-
“Fuck!” Merlin’s panicked shout alerts half the flight deck crew.
Ice and Slider’s heads swivel to their wingman’s RIO from whether they were securing their own jet. The mountain of a man is frozen near the precarious edge of the ship, the pilot nowhere to be seen.
Simultaneously breaking into a run they approach the RIO who’s moving towards the edge.
“Merlin!”
He looks back as Slider calls his name. “Maverick went over the edge!”
The three men scramble into action. There are nets, thankfully, they’re right by the LSO tower, but he could have gone over. Why else hasn’t he got up?
They arrive at the edge and carefully look over and breathe a sigh of relief before holding it again.
Maverick lays in the nets a meter below like a puppet with its strings cut. All his limbs are lax and splayed out awkwardly. His head rests on the metal support beam.
Without thinking, Ice starts to descend into the net before Slider grips his forearm. “You’ll get your ass chewed out for going down there.”
Merlin stands up. “Hey! We need a medic over here!”
Various people jump into action and there’s a crew within minutes. Two medics are harnessed and start to move in to treat Maverick. The aviators are pushed back to give them space to work. Ice steps side to side, anxious to get a glimpse of Mav as they strap him to a litter carry in order to get him back up onto the deck.
When he finally emerges, Ice rushes in to help with the carry, Merlin and Slider hot on his heels.
He’s awake on the stretches, pale and dazed.
“Hey Mav,” he says softly.
“Ice,” he mumbles, eyes sliding over him. The medics direct them to set the Mav down on a rolling stretcher. He rests a hand on his shoulder before letting the medics take control.
—
They don’t let them see him for over an hour. Ice taps his foot, sandwiched between the two giant RIO’s where they stand against the wall.
All the thoughts of what caused Maverick to fall off the edge and what’s happened to his head since falling roll around his brain. To hit the metal from that height, they’ll be wishing on stars for a positive outcome. He can’t shake the image from his head, the way Mav lay in the nets.
Like a rabbit caught in a snare, curled over and limp. Vulnerable and hurt.
“What happened?” Slider asks the nth time.
Merlin shakes his head. “He got out of the plane, seemed unsteady and before I could get any closer he walked himself right off the deck. He was shaken up by that cross wind. Maybe it was vertigo.”
Eventually a wry looking doctor comes out and gives them an appraising look.
“Friends of the young lieutenant, I presume?” She says dryly but with a smile.
“Is he alright?” Merlin asks without preamble.
“He’s concussed,” declares the doctor. “Blunt force trauma to the side of his head from where he made contact with the beam. But he’ll live and be fine in a week. We’re still not sure how he ended up over the edge.”
“I think he got vertigo during the flight. Almost stalled and went into a flat spin. When we landed he was really unsteady on his feet,” explains Merlin.
“Well I’m not risking hellfire by letting you all in today. But to spare you from making the sacrifice yourselves, he’s asking after Kazansky.” She gives a knowing smile. “He’s on some sedation as he got agitated during our tests.”
Ice can’t process what she means by that until he’s shown Mav’s room. The pilot looks fragile on the bed, eyes half lidded. But his face lights up when he clocks Ice coming closer.
“Ice!” He drags the syllables out. “You came.”
He takes a perch on the edge of the bed and pats his shoulder gently. “You called.”