Top Gun: Maverick
Love Letters

by Mirwalker


Part 2

And so I'm stickin' my neck out, and my nose in, and askin' whether you and he… might be y'all again.

Robby's eyes opened wide, his mouth pinching in lines to match the furrow on his brow.

Since that first fall at Tulane, you and Nico been fast friends. So good together. Over time, I think you loved him. And I know my boy love you still. He don't say it so direct no more. But he got your picture on his phone. His eyes, they light up ev'ry time your name come up—and it often do. And a mama, she just know what makes her child happy… And I want so desperately for him to be happy. For y'all both to be.

What I don't know is why y'all grew apart. If my need of him was any part of that, I am truly sorry, cher. (1) And any which way, I hope you can see his time back in Houma as showin' how loyal he can be to those he love. I just happened to know him a little longer is all, to need him a little more of late.

So, if you did care for him, if you do still… then I am askin' you to tell him so. He's a good boy. And if he done as I asked, he's with you right there, right now to tell.

Nico saw Robby's eyes flash toward him, without fully looking up. The blush that followed suggested some impact, but no details of what his mother had written.

Be there for him, please. Remind him he is SO loved. Love him. If not like he love you, then as best a friend can.

You are a good man, Robért. My defan Etienne often said so too! I am glad you been in my life, my home, my family. And Nico's. For all that, I'll put in a good word with the Lord for you.

My eternal love and thanks,

Aimee Cormier Hebert

PS: Thank you for all the lovely picture cards from along your travels. (Good man!)

"Robby?" Nico's tone was curious, as he'd only been able to see the reader's face swing between amusement and anguish.

Through both his personal and professional circles, Lieutenant Robert Floyd was not known as an excitable, emotional, or particularly expressive man. Friendly, cheerful, honest, loyal—but not too openly, excessively… anything. He saw himself as affable, thoughtful and, steady, as his job required and his training reinforced. Through the years, Nico had learned not to expect quick, sudden or large outpourings, positive or negative. So that Floyd stood abruptly and stepped to the porch railing with a deep exhale, surprised them both.

"Robby?" Nico was now concerned. "What? What did she say?"

"You don't know?" he managed to eke out, stalling and honestly unsure.

"She wrote and sealed it. How would I? What did she say?" His final, quieter question didn't seem bothered; just that he wouldn't be surprised if she had. "She asked after us, didn't she?"

Floyd turned and leaned against the handrail, facing Nico who now sat uneasily, squinting toward him against the bright beach backdrop, watching him fumble with the plaintive pages.

What could he say? Here was this flavorful ghost from the bayous asking—more honestly telling him—to reconnect with her son because that beautiful boy had just lost her. Floyd mourned good Mama Hebert to be sure, and generally didn't spare much thought for his own mortality. But by honoring her request, if Nico even felt the same, wouldn't the honesty just be setting him up for more grief?

After all, he was still a naval aviator for the United States of America, routinely being shot from a giant, rocking warship, and landing again at full speed, stopped only by a wire. Less than forty-eight hours earlier, he'd been strapped inside a spiraling jet as it desperately tried to merge with a mountainside, saved only by being explosively thrown out of it at a slightly lower speed. And after an overnight observation at the Pink Palace,(2) he was already back to almost daily supersonic flights, hoping to be selected for what no one had quite said aloud was likely a suicide mission.

And beyond the risk he would not wish on the deeply loving Nico, by even considering this grave ask, wasn't he also inviting a distraction—a powerful one—for himself just when he needed to focus on work the most? The team, the mission, the nation, needed Bob at his best. Wasn't everyone already concerned by whatever was eating at Rooster's attentions? And if cutthroat Hangman got wind of any personal drama…

He suddenly realized a worried Nico had leaned across the table toward him, eyes searching what was probably a frozen, wide-eyed gawk. Robby blinked repeatedly, cleared his throat a little, and reached for his beer. "I'm OK. Just tough…"

Mindful the bar was getting busier inside, and not knowing quite what to say to the understandably curious survivor, Robby nodded them back to their seats. Not just to keep it from fluttering away, he stuffed the envelope into his pocket, as he emptied the gifted bottle more swiftly than he should have, for various reasons.

Like his gaze, Nico's clear interest didn't wane as he bit his lower lip and sat down facing the again silent correspondent.

Robby leaned on crossed arms, trying to project more comfort than he was feeling. "She said... she was sorry we didn't get to say goodbye in person. She said she loves you, very, very much. And she asked me to keep an eye on you, to help make sure you're alright." All true.

"Is that all?"

"Is there more you wanted her to say?" he genuinely wondered.

"Please don't play games," Nico asked plainly, looking more tired than troubled. He never did puppy dog eyes, but his earnest tone had much the same effect on people. "Your reaction was bigger than 'keep an eye on' me…"

Matching the look with genuine warmth, Robby shared, "Beyond your mom's ask, I want to know how you are, to help. I know you can't be yet; but I want you to be OK." He nudged the nearly full soda in a sign of that genuine intent and attention.

Not immediately reaching for a sip, the southern California resident just took him in for a moment, before questioning not the reality, but the reasonableness, of the desire. "I don't doubt that, I don't. And, I know you're only able to be here because of orders, and only for what, a couple of weeks…?"

Robby winced at the reminder of that chronic fact, as that most tangible challenge sat between them once again.

While the surf hadn't changed much, the swell of sound and activity inside continued to grow.

"This… assignment is only going to get… busier," he conceded further, with a deep breath and noticeable fidget.

Nico recognized this awkward earnestness as just how Robby was when he wanted to do right by others but wasn't entirely sure how to do that. He remembered a fumbling first kiss under a sweeping oak in Audubon Park. The giddy midshipman nearly dropping the boutonniere while pinning it to Nico's tux before senior year Joint Service Ball. Every regret-stuttered update on how far away his next duty station would be.

Nico took a deep breath, balancing his own reaction to the apparent intended care, present and posthumous. "I appreciate your concern, and mama's. But I will be fine. And… like you've just said, you won't have time…"

"I've never said I don't want to…"

They both recalled the long series of difficult conversations that ultimately led to today's engineered reunion: Mutual concern that careers were unlikely to put them in the same place often or for long. Almost competing over whose khaki-clad job was actually more dangerous—killer planes or meat-eating reptiles; and so whether there was any difference to really matter. And the morning Robby finally named that perhaps it was best they not be tied to one another, protectively taking the stand he thought would spare Nico from guaranteed separation and potential loss. Nico rejecting the decision as selfish and patronizing, but having no ability to override it. All the exchanges heated and no less hurtful because they both cared so much.

"Yet here we are." Nico inhaled deeply and ran his hands over his face, before he peered back out to the ocean. "I'm not doing this again. I can't…"

Robby could see the exhaustion and exasperation on him. He swallowed, torn between a dying wish, and how that honest affection could devastate them both, especially in the next few weeks. With some ill-timed, peppy tune playing on the jukebox inside, he reached over to offer some connection or consolation.

Without looking back, Nico sat up and reached for his bag. "I delivered mama's letter. Rush hour's probably letting up a little by now. And I'm covering a shift up at the Safari Park early tomorrow."

Freshly dejected, but understanding this was ultimately what his decision continued to mean, Robby sighed and stood as well.

"Thanks for making time today. It was good to see you," Nico shouldered his bag, and stuck out his hand.

Dropping his embrace-ready other arm, Robby accepted the intentionally formal goodbye. "You too, always."

"Maybe send me a postcard when you can?" Nico half-smiled, as he turned and headed around the building to his car without waiting for any response.

Robby nodded after the good-mannered gesture, his face dropping and hands wringing as soon as Nico was out of sight. A fresh failure on top of the rest of the week's mounting inadequacies.


to be continued...

NOTES

1. Cajun terms: cher ("sha") = dear/beloved, defan = passed away

2. Informal name for the huge Naval Medical Center San Diego, located at the southern end of famous Balboa Park, on the hill above Coronado and downtown.