Chapter 7

Sydney walks through the door just as Maverick puts away the last of the dishes into the cupboard. He peeks out from around the corner, eyeing her expectantly, but she doesn't look up at him as she removes her jacket and hangs it on the hook.

"How was the rest of your night?" he asks.

She glances up at him with a sigh. "Just ask what you want to ask," she says irritably.

He presses his lips together into a slight frown. "I take it you saw your mother, then."

Sydney picks up her bookbag and walks through the front hall. "Good guess," she says, walking past him toward the stairs.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asks.

Sydney stops at the foot of the stairs and looks back at him. "Do you?" she says coldly.

He shrugs. "I wouldn't mind."

Sydney lets out another sigh and drops her bag. She heads for the couch in the living room and Maverick takes the dish towel off his shoulder, leaving it on the counter and following her.

He sits down on the opposite end of the couch, watching her wring her hands in her lap uncomfortably. He furrows his eyebrows, trying to figure out a way to learn the purpose of her visit without offending her.

"She told you, didn't she?" Sydney finally says.

Maverick watches her with a puzzled expression. "Actually," he says with a small smile. "She said very little to me."

Sydney eyes him skeptically. She bites her lip, lowering her gaze. She drops her head into her hands, staring at the flower pattern of the carpet miserably.

"Are you okay?" he asks, even though he can tell that she's not.

She closes her eyes as her lips begin to tremble.

"Sydney," he says, leaning forward as every muscle in his body tenses. "What happened?"

She sniffles. "I fucked up," she says.

"What did you fuck up?"

"My interview," she says with a whimper. "I didn't make it into the program. All these years wasted."

Maverick watches her compassionately and, after several moments of deliberation, he reaches out to place his hand on her shoulder. "Can you reapply?" he asks, to which she gives him a resentful look.

"Next year," she responds dully.

Maverick purses his lips and lets out a steady breath. "I suppose that's not ideal," he says.

Sydney raises her head from her hands and glares at him. "You think?" Her eyes are red and glistening, and her jaw is tight.

Maverick eyes the bookbag at the foot of the stairs. "If you didn't get in, what's with all the literature?"

Sydney stares past him blankly, not bothering to follow his gaze. She sniffs. "There's another school," she says. "It's here, in San Diego. Their admission deadline is in a couple of weeks. I'm writing my letter of intent."

Maverick raises his eyebrows with a grin. "You want to do your PhD here? In San Diego?"

Sydney shrugs her shoulders, looking over at him. "They've got a decent program. And I've been in contact with some potential supervisors."

Maverick nods. "I think that's great."

Sydney gives him a forced smile. "Yeah, rejection is awesome."

Maverick chuckles, shaking his head. "I mean that you're revising your plan rather than sitting idly by when life throws you for a loop."

She watches him solemnly. "Is that what you did?"

He scoffs, lifting his hand off her shoulder. He runs it over his face tiredly, and then he starts inspecting the design on the carpet much like Sydney had done several minutes prior. "Where is your mother staying?" he asks.

Sydney rises from the couch. "Not here."

Maverick blinks up at her jadedly. "Well, I gathered that."

After she heads upstairs, Maverick pulls out his phone, holding it in his hand for several moments before sliding it back into his pocket. He sighs, bringing his hands over his face.

Seeing Amelia that evening has certainly thrown him for a loop. Unlike his daughter, he's never been successful in revising that plan. It's not like Amelia is a graduate program, he reasons as a rational part of his brain wonders why he's never been able to just substitute her for another instead of sitting idly by.

He takes his phone out again, frowning at the screen after opening the last message he received from her.

I don't need to know where you're going.

She'd sent it after he texted her the details of his assignment nearly a year ago. He understands her logic, even though, at the time, it infuriated him. Sydney was grown up; he was perfectly capable of keeping her informed without involving her mother. Still, it had become a habit so, when Amelia had decided to put a stop to it, it stung.

He swallows, his thumbs hovering over the keyboard in his phone.

It was good to see you, he types. He takes a breath, closing his eyes, and deletes the message before sending it out.

He tries again. Did you get home alright? But he starts deleting the words before he's even finished writing them. He shakes his head, staring at the screen until it makes his eyes water.

He lets out a sigh. Can I buy you a drink? His thumb twitches as he hits the send button. Immediately, his heart starts to hammer rapidly against his ribcage. He sets his phone aside and buries his face in his hands again.

Then, his phone buzzes. He looks over at it with dread. He lifts it off the couch and turns it over to look at the message.

Don't start.

Maverick grins at Amelia's response. His fingers are typing out his next message before he can stop himself.

I don't think I ever stopped.

His heart pounds uncomfortably in his chest, but he welcomes the sensation. This time, he keeps his phone in his hand, waiting for her to answer. A minute later, she responds.

Don't continue?

He chuckles. Nightcap? he types.

Mav...

He smiles at his phone, hearing her say it even through text format means everything to him. For old time's sake.

Absolutely not.

In that case, can I interest you in a long walk on the beach? He cringes but sends the message anyway.

It's raining.

He laughs. Even better.

There's a short pause after his last message during which he stares anxiously at the screen. Then, she responds. There are better ways to get me wet.

Maverick laughs. I might be up for the challenge, he writes.

I don't recall you ever finding that particularly challenging.

Maverick stares at the screen. He brings his phone up to his temple, closing his eyes. Sure, he's missed her. He's missed her so much that it's been like learning to live without a part of his soul for years. But conversing with her, flirting with her, appreciating her sense of humor – all of this conjures up feelings that he's exerted a considerable amount of energy to bury. And he's not all too confident that he would be strong enough to go through it again. But he also knows that no amount of potential pain could deter him from trying to reconcile if she would give him a chance.

He holds the phone in his hands, concentrating on the empty text box above the keyboard. Will I see you again? he types. His thumb hovers over the send button uncertainly before shifting to delete the message.

He rubs his forehead. When are you leaving? He shakes his head in frustration and deletes this message too.

We can test that theory. Tomorrow. Hangar One. He grimaces at his phone after sending the message. Somehow, having time to reflect before every response makes each word that much more significant. Not to mention permanent.

After several moments, Amelia replies with: Goodnight, Maverick.

His heart twists in on itself. On the one hand, their conversation is over and he aches to keep talking to her. On the other, he's somewhat relieved that he didn't completely fuck it up and it's probably to his benefit that he won't get that opportunity.

Goodnight, Amelia.

...

A/N: These two make my heart hurt lol I'm really enjoying writing from Mav's perspective after writing most of the last book from Amelia's, although, I will most likely be switching to Amelia's perspective occasionally, as well as Rooster's and, of course, Sydney's. Whose perspective are you most drawn to?

Thank you so much to everyone who is reading and reviewing! You guys are seriously the best! I am so happy that I can share my love of Top Gun with all of you :D