Top Gun: Maverick
Love Letters

by Mirwalker

Part 3

Taking a long, deep breath, Floyd felt a growing need to achieve something constructive, immediately. A ringing bell and shouts inside suggested a focus for his frustration; so he bussed their table, taking everything inside to trade "Penny" for another drink.

Setting the plate and glasses on the busy bar, he saw his mission mates at the far end of the room—gathered around the pool table as they were most nights, but with considerably less energy than on their first day. While the competition among them hadn't dissipated, and bonds were growing, they had all been severely sobered by the hard lessons learned so far. Especially by the high risks and the repeatedly proven likelihood not just of failure, but of… loss.

There it was again, the "L" word. A concept that the best of the best of the best weren't accustomed to, and an outcome they certainly wouldn't tolerate. They couldn't. Including him, even if he was less in-your-face about it than the motley crew across the bar, or even back in his home squadron.

So, given how stunningly unsuccessful the past week had been overall—runaway egos, tarmac pushups, mission time overruns (and so virtual death by enemy plane or missile), crash of a multi-million dollar piece of government property—it was actually really nice to see Nico's familiar face, hear his comforting voice, even feel the warmth…

Until his own choices, past and present, had let—had sent away that precious relief. Convincing himself it was still for the best despite being surrounded by people who didn't lose, Robért had lost Nicolas. Again. Perhaps publicly. Perhaps finally. And worst of all, had hurt him again in the process.

Everyone loses.

Fuck that! The empty pint glass shattered in his grip.

The customers to either side of him pulled away instinctively. Halfway down the bar, Penny looked up in irritation, and then concern. There were even a few glances from the sharp-sensed billiards crew.

Before anyone could say anything, the miraculously not bleeding officer had brushed his hand clean and urgently, but politely, pushed his way to the front door.

Reaching the crowded parking lot, Floyd's sharp WSO eyes searched the roads east and south for the ancient Bronco Nico somehow kept getting past state emissions. He looked beyond the immediate blocks, as if he might somehow single it out in the dusk on the high, arcing bridge to the mainland, or amongst the multiple headlights and buildings of San Diego. Not surprisingly not successful, he slowly scanned the cars around him, in a last hope that Nico hadn't continued his determined departure.

And so he was almost shocked to see Nico standing in the open door of the truck in a space nearer the building—he'd been among the earliest arrivals. Arms rested on the roof and his head bowed between them, Nico was silent but not still; just taking long, slow, deep breaths.

"Nico!" he shouted too honestly.

Nico froze, recognizing that he'd been found and by whom. He turned and dropped his hands to his sides, jangling keys the only sound. His face was dry and calm, but even more haggard in the harsh outdoor lighting.

Robby walked right up to him, eyes, mouth and hands still trying to determine exactly what he intended them to do.

They blinked through several moments before Robby bowed his head briefly, swallowed in resolve, and then matched the scruffier man's curious and uncertain gaze. "When this… mission is… over… I owe you a drink at least..." His expression made the statement so much more a question, an offer, an apology, a plea, a confession.

Unmoving, Nico just looked at him for what seemed like an eternity, no reaction apparent through the tired lines and lashes.

Robby couldn't tell whether Nico had caught the change in the description of his current orders, or understood the deeper shift in stance the officer was signaling. He could only hope.

And so he didn't breathe until Nico's lips parted just enough to demand quietly, "Promise?" Truly? Differently? Meaningfully? Permanently?

Never one to say much, Robby simply said it all. "I do."

Across the gap, Nico understood enough, accepted, and finally exhaled, a sliver of his trademark smile returning some life to his eyes.

Stepping over into a mutually aching embrace, Robby soaked in the scent, and size, and squeeze, and spirit—reciprocating, relishing, stockpiling for the weeks ahead. He would find a way to come to back to this, and to settle in.

But for now… He clenched his hands in a final connection, pulling back with a Floyd-typical shy smile. "I'll talk to you soon," he took Nico's free hand, and cupped his opposite cheek—as much as he dared allow himself under the circumstances and streetlamp. "Take care of yourself."

"You do the same," Nico ordered, perhaps not fully appreciating the wish's special relevance for the coming fortnight. Bringing their foreheads together for another moment of contact, he inhaled deeply, and then hurriedly climbed into the car before the circumstances could change again.

Beaming and waving as Nico drove away, Robby didn't take his eyes off the car until it turned the corner, nor his hand off the letter in his pocket. He'd begun to honor its knowing request, even if only setting up the need for another reunion to complete that mission.

"Bob? Everything OK?" Phoenix approached behind him, either having just followed him out, or waited for the appropriate moment to make herself known.

He faced her with a resolve she hadn't seen before, even on his typically focused mug. "We are completing this mission and coming home," he pronounced matter-of-factly, and then turned back into the bar to clean up his second mess of the evening.

Despite his first good night's sleep since arriving at North Island, Floyd's next day was no better on the training route. Oh for another three runs.

No less resolved to succeed, but reminded that having a backup was wise when possible, Robby sat down at the small desk in his temporary quarters, pulled a few pages from his notepad, and started a letter whose content he fully intended to deliver in person:

My dear Nico…

To be continued?

(I have some follow-up scene ideas if there's interest.)