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Maverick jogs his leg. The scratch of pen against paper is the only sound in the room. Silence, a stifling companion. Woe is he. Maybe he’s being dramatic. It doesn’t feel like a miniscule punishment, not to him.
Flying is everything to him. It’s always been everything. So staying stuck on this boat, in his quarters, by himself, isn’t the problem. The problem is that he’s stuck on this boat, in his quarters, by himself whilst everyone else gets to venture out into Honolulu.
Whilst Ice ventures out into Honolulu.
Without him.
It makes his heart ache that the one rare opportunity he had to spend time with Ice, alone, was thwarted because of his mistakes. His fuck ups.
He forces air in and out of his lungs and tries to think about all the nice things he’ll do with Ice one day. But for every dinner date or night out under the stars, another voice reminds him that Ice won’t hang around with someone who makes mistakes that easily.
Everything comes easily to Ice. Promotions, respect. Why would he associate himself with people who have to fight for every opportunity?
People like Maverick.
It makes his skin crawl and stomach turn. He’s incompetent on the ground, a poor soldier at best. The risks he takes in the sky are only acceptable because the Navy needs a few men like him, a few sacrificial lambs. He’s the best, but not good enough to be liked.
A great man. Not a good man.
Scritch, scritch.
He keeps writing.
—
Being alone on the boat is disconcerting. The mess hall is hauntingly empty. So are the corridors that run unadulterated for what feels like miles. Just from his presence, they know why he’s here alone.
Some officers filter in and out, splitting the day between shore leave and keeping everything in order. A few essential skeleton staff stay.
But then there is Maverick.
Alone in the bunks, alone in the mess.
It would drive him crazy if he wasn’t so intent on not psyching himself out. It’s so lonely. The ship is never lonely. Not with a five thousand man crew. Not with his friends, not with Ice. But he is lonely. And it’s creeping him the fuck out.
Long, echoey hours spent deep in the bowels of the ship threaten to drive him out of his mind.
So he keeps writing.
—-
“Oh shit, Mav left this behind.”
Ice looks over at where Slider is crouched on the floor, a slim book in hand. That morning Maverick had flown out alone on transport for a black ops. Ice’s stomach hadn’t stopped churning since he left.
“What is it?”
“I don’t know. But it’s under his bed. Must have dropped it when he was packing.” Slider flips rapidly through the pages. “Aw shit.”
“ What?” Ice presses anxiously.
“It’s a journal. We have to keep this safe.”
Slider stands and starts looking for a secure place to keep the book when a slip of paper falls from between the pages. He swipes it from the floor.
“Oh.” He extends both the book and paper to Ice. “I think he wanted you to find this.”
Ice. Nervously, he opens up to the first page.
Day one of HACQ, I’ve been abandoned :(
I’m kidding. I’m glad you guys got shore leave. I think one more day stuck with Slider taking up every square inch of available space would have driven me insane. Man thinks the whole place is free real estate. Anyway, I thought I’d document my time alone for future archeologists to find and wonder what was wrong with society.
Or actually, what’s so wrong with Pete Mitchell that he’s spending yet another time in HACQ. What’s your secret to self-restraint Ice? Seriously. I don’t understand.
Ice sinks onto his bunk.
It’s only a few days, I’ll be fine. Goose used to offer to stay with me but I’d never let him. It’s a certain type of hell staying on the ship when everyone else leaves you. It’s never bothered me though. I don’t know why. I think maybe flying has always been enough for me. It’s been my everything, why would I need something else? Why would I go into a job where I spend months at sea if I didn’t enjoy spending months at sea?
No one waits around for people like that. Which is good because I don’t have people to wait around for me and I wouldn’t want them too. My mother
So it’s fine, really. Being in HACQ doesn’t bother me. Maybe it should haha.
Day two of HACQ.
I’m bored as fuck. Only essential staff are on board and fuck me, no ones talking to me. It’s like they all know I’ve been bad. I wish I was with you guys. I wish I could stop fucking up, fucking around. You’d think I would have stopped doing dumb shit by now…after everything.
I guess maybe I feel like I used to when I do dumb shit. He always encouraged it, to a degree. Like the buzzing of towers and the inverted dives. You’d think the same guy who did stuff like that and the same guy who was at the stick when he died, wouldn’t be the same guy I am now.
You’d think I’d be better than I was. Sometimes I think I am. That I’ve grown and I’m better and at least his death meant I became a better person. But no. I’m no better than I was and he died for nothing.
And maybe that’s disrespectful saying he died for nothing. But we weren’t in combat, we weren’t even training for a mission. He died because I’m a fucking idiot and I’m still a fucking idiot. Jesus, how am I still that guy? I’ve not changed. I’ve not grown.
“I can’t read this, Sli,” Ice mutters, his voice cracking. “I don’t think I can do this.”
He looks up at his RIO, eyes glistening. The taller man looks at him with soft eyes and hears the silent plea. Gently, he takes the notebook and finds the spot he’s looking for.
“That’s how it feels a lot of the time,” he starts slowly, his voice rough. “Like I’m still a stupid kid who broke the vase and is trying to hide it…”
But then I look at him and know that a man as good as that would never spare a moment of time on me if I wasn’t worth it. And maybe I’m not, not all the time anyway. Goose got on with everyone, loved everyone, he was a lover. But not him. Love doesn’t come easy to him and I’m grateful for every ounce. He’s better than me in every way but yet he stays on my wing, steady and cool as ice.
He’s a fighter, a lone wolf. A man like that shouldn’t be wasting his time on someone like me. But he does, for some reason. A man who’s never wrong. So maybe I should trust that he isn’t wrong about this. He isn’t wrong about me.
“Make it stop,” Ice whispers.
Slider talks for a few more minutes, his own voice cracking as he unearths the inner workings of their friend's- mind.
Day four, last day alone!
This boat is freaking me the fuck out. I keep feeling like I’m gonna get forgotten here. I had a dream about it last night. My mother was there for some reason. Not sure why. We were just walking around the halls talking, but I don’t know what she said or what I said or what her voice sounded like. Then I got really upset because her mouth was moving but I couldn’t hear her voice. I don’t know what her voice sounds like.
I used to think I’d die like my parents. Felt like I was gonna die like my dad in that flat spin. Then afterwards like my mother, drowning in my own sadness. I don’t feel like that so much these days. I’ve never been afraid of dying because when I was a kid it felt like I had no one. My parents were not in this world, so surely the next would have them.
And obviously I don’t want to die, not anymore. But I’m not scared of it. Because Goose is in the next one, and I’ve always felt safe with him.
I’m not planning on dying any time soon, but if an untimely death would occur, not that any death isn’t untimely, I better not be seeing any of you fuckers for a very long time. Me and Goose will want to laugh at you dumbasses for a good long time.
I only feared dying once and that was when we were going down, because I realised I hadn’t done enough. That’s what pissed me off more than anything about being in HACQ during shore leave. I wasted another opportunity to spend time with people I care about because I didn’t think.
So I’m sorry.
I’m sorry.
—
Ice falls into Maverick’s arms in their quiet and darkened flat in the late hours of the evening; home at last.
“I love you,” he says. “You haven’t wasted anything. You’re so good, you’re so good. I love you. I love you. I love you.”