Pitch black. A high-pitched beep at regular intervals. Muffled voices, somewhere. Hurried steps. Diffuse pain.
Maverick stirred, moved his fingers, clenched his fists. Slowly, with disproportionate effort, he managed to open his eyes a bit. All he could see at first was a huge blur; then the blur slowly turned into colours, shapes, and silhouettes.
"Maverick, thank God", sighed a feminine voice to his left. He turned his head with difficulty; on a chair next to the bed sat a blonde, curly-haired woman. "Just in time", she smiled, obviously relieved. "My plane is leaving in an hour and a half – I was terrified at the thought that you might not wake up before that, but here you are!" She leant forward and kissed him on the forehead. "I've got to go. I've left you my Washington number on the bedside table. Call me tonight, okay?"
Maverick frowned, and watched her leave. As hard as he tried, he couldn't figure out why he was in a hospital, with the number of a woman he didn't know on his bedside table, and why he was supposed to call her.
A moment later, a white-dressed nurse came by, a weary look on her face.
"You're awake", she observed. "How do you feel?"
"What happened?" he asked.
"You had a motorcycle accident, darling. Do you remember?"
Again, he searched his brain for memories. And suddenly, he realized that he did know the blonde woman: it was Charlie. They'd been flirting… he'd been at her house once, but nothing more. She was an instructor… Top Gun instructor. He was a pilot, and he was at Top Gun, with his R.I.O Goose. The memories seemed to come back one after the other. He remembered flying by the tower after having 'killed' one of the flight instructors, Jester. That was one of the most recent memories.
"Mr. Mitchell, do you remember?" the nurse repeated.
"I don't remember anything about a motorcycle accident", he murmured.
"Well, the police said you were hit by a car at a crossroad. It had gone through a red light – they're responsible. Fortunately, nothing broken, but you hit your head pretty hard and you didn't have a helmet."
He closed his eyes, trying again to find that memory. He couldn't.
"How long have I been out?" he asked.
"Three days… your girlfriend and a friend of yours have been visiting a few times a day."
"Goose", he said.
"I guess. Tall, blond–"
Maverick frowned. "Not blond."
"Well, he was definitely blond."
The face came to his mind. Iceman. Iceman had been visiting? They kind of hated each other… And Goose hadn't come. That was weird.
"Speak of the devil", exclaimed the nurse. "He's right here."
In the doorframe in front of Maverick's bed was standing a tall silhouette, arms along his body. They looked at each other, Maverick still trying to figure out why on earth Iceman would come and visit him here, when they were rivals.
"Mitchell", Iceman nodded. "How you feeling?"
"Weird", he responded.
The nurse smiled at them both and left. Iceman walked towards Maverick's bed.
"Why are you here?", Maverick asked point-blank.
Iceman seemed surprised. After an instant, he answered: "Well… I was worried about you…"
Not convinced at all, Maverick glowered at him. He finally decided to worry about this sudden change of sentiment later. He had another concern in mind:
"Where is Goose?"
Iceman's eyes widened, his brow knitted. He pressed his lips together, looked around, and finally laid his eyes back on Maverick, still frowning.
"What… what do you remember, Mitchell?"
Maverick shrugged. "The last thing I remember is we killed Jester and flew by the tower. Oh, and that night I couldn't sleep and Goose came to me and we talked."
"That's all?"
"Pretty much… must be the most recent memory I have."
Maverick couldn't help but notice that Iceman's eyes showed a huge concern.
"What is it, Ice?" he asked.
Iceman gulped.
"You…" he began. "You're sure you don't remember anything after that?"
"No", Maverick said after a moment of thinking.
The blond pilot looked away, and shook his head slowly.
"You…" he began. "Well, your last memory is from, like, two or three weeks ago…"
Two or three weeks ago, Maverick repeated in his head. How was that possible? The nurse's words resonated in his mind: You hit your head pretty hard.
Suddenly very alarmed, Maverick murmured: "I… I have a memory loss?"
Iceman looked at him again; he seemed sorry now. "It seems so".
"What happened? What did I forget?"
"Well… a lot of things happened", Ice said, careful of his every word.
"Like what, Ice? Tell me."
"We were flying. You were my wingman, and I – I cleared to let you get a clean shot on whoever we were supposed to kill. You flew into my jetwash… you lost control. Flat spin. You had to eject… Goose hit the canopy."
Maverick looked at him, horrified. He couldn't get a word out. Iceman gulped again, and looked down.
"He died instantly."
Everything inside of him was suddenly burning. He couldn't even form a thought anymore. It wasn't possible. It didn't happen. Goose couldn't… he couldn't be dead. His best friend couldn't be dead.
He felt a warm hand around his. "I'm sorry, Maverick. I'm so sorry", Ice mumbled in a shaky voice.
He sat there for a while, helpless spectator of Maverick's shock for the second time. He didn't let go of his hand until the nurse told him that it was time to let him rest. They both went out of the room and in the corridor, then Iceman told her. She said it was more than likely after the concussion he'd suffered; that she'd inform the doctor, and that they'd have him fully checked again. Iceman thanked her weakly and left.