Top Gun: Maverick
Love Letters

by Mirwalker

Part 6


FRIDAY

"We could go to Bud's for breakfast tomorrow, if you're hankering for something South LA…,"(1) Nico offered half-selfishly, adjusting the pub to-go boxes at his feet. Settling upright in his seat, he glanced back over his shoulder in confusion. "That was the ramp…"

"For northbound," Robby acknowledged with a slight smile.

With leftover English brunch warming on the floorboard, Nico wondered where else in the world Robby planned to go—even the long way home around the city. He teased, "Is the Wizzo out of his element in the driver's seat?"

"Thanks a lot. Like I don't get enough of that from my squadron," Robby grinned back, more deeply pleased at the continued playful energy. "You let me drive…"

"Better for my leg. I'm just curious."

Robby just shrugged, fingers drumming gleefully on the wheel.

"Just remember we have speed limits down here on the ground. Low ones..." Not wanting to block the gearshift, Nico rested his hand on Robby's nearer shoulder, and gave the back of his neck a quick strum. "Should I ask why you seem to be heading deeper downtown?" Toward work, Navy medical, Tijuana?

Sharing only another mischievous grin, Robby continued them along the southbound freeway, his Clark Kent-ish forehead curl dancing in the open-top breeze.

Still more than a little curious, Nico contented himself to simply enjoy the sunshine and reassuring company. As they arced west toward the Bay, tall bridge, and Island beyond, Nico again glanced quizzically over at his driver; but got no response beyond his default, pleasant smile.

Once on the island, a left turn at Orange Avenue brought a slight sigh of relief—not heading to the Air Station itself; but the hook farther south, rather than toward the near-base aviator bar prompted him to name his confusion. "Robby?"

"Before you say anything, it's my money; I get an active-duty discount; and we deserve it…"

Nico was now fully upright in his seat, not entirely believing they were actually pulling up to, and not just passing by, the famous, and fancy, Del hotel.(2)

"Surprise!" Robby said simply, before Nico could protest further, and as the valet approached. "I'm asking, please just roll with it, and enjoy? You deserve it."

The earnest look, amplified by the signature giant lenses, was more than Nico could resist. He swallowed his protest, nodded in silent gratitude, and consoled himself with intentions for the future fight over meals, drinks, or the final bill itself.


SATURDAY

"Are these too long?" Robby asked as he came out of the bathroom, peering down at the legs of the slacks borrowed from the slightly shorter man. Not anticipating a relevant occasion, he hadn't brought formal civilian clothes with him on the special detachment; and while on leave, he couldn't wear the dress blues he had brought. He'd also hoped the collection of fancier pieces he'd secretly packed at the apartment didn't include the suit Nico had certainly worn for his mother's funeral—this getaway was meant to be a joyful, fresh start. So focusing attention on his hem-length could be another good distraction, beyond fashion-attentive.

Looking up to gauge his advisor's honest opinion, he saw instead that Nico was standing stock still at the end of the king-sized bed, his eyes and mouth agape.

In front of him, on the suite's television, the announcer explained, "The regime also released these photos of what it claims are two US warplanes downed by their defense forces. While not responding directly to the alleged attack, the Pentagon stated simply that no American military personnel have been killed or captured anywhere in the world…" The large screen looped brief, grainy videos of fires, cratered cement, covered stretchers, and mangled wreckage of multiple somethings.

So word is out; it's getting real for everyone else. And his zookeeper was no fool-making attire the least of Robby's concerns."Nicky?" he called softly, moving to tap the power button. "This is what I worried…"

His reminder was cut off as Nico threw himself at the new voice, wrapping him in a crushing embrace, seeming to reel from the external reminder of their risk, and with gratitude that they had somehow been spared. This time.

Robby gently wrapped his arms around the raw bundle of feelings, and knowing better than to try again to minimize or explain, he simply confirmed, "I'm here. I'm OK." Relived in his own right, he relished Nico's presence, with only the occasional sniffle, boxy breath, or tightened squeeze punctuating the needed moment of direct, grateful, precious connection.

Finally leaning back just far enough to make eye contact, the still teary Cajun nodded knowingly with a sad smile, not needing to name the near miss they'd long feared. He didn't like, but he understood. He'd recently lost a precious person, and now knew he'd narrowly missed losing another. Taking the anguished aviator's face in his hands, he cut off any unspoken told-you-so, and reminded them his own needs weren't the only ones he understood. "If you ever need to talk about your… snakes…"

Pulling the confidant in for a grateful kiss to the top of the head, Robby affirmed the offer and the deeper appreciation between them. "I love you. Even if you probably just got snot all over our only spare dress shirt…"


Nico focused on the surrounding warmth of Robby's hand, tender but strong, as they ambled slowly down the ramp from the nice restaurant toward the beach. Belly and heart full, his unbraced knee was less pleased with the romantic promenade. "Much as I want to, I don't think I should do the sand… Maybe we could just watch the surf from The Deck?"

Robby nodded understandingly, "I thought about offering a piggyback ride, but that probably wouldn't be much better. Besides, we have another reservation, if you can push just a little more." He steered them toward a fire pit just a few steps off the boardwalk.

Nico stopped and stared at the two draped Adirondack chairs, bulging picnic basket, bottle of something on ice, and a "Reserved – Flobert party" sign.

Pulled taut by his held hand, Robby turned back and offered with a mischievous—even smug—grin. "I will carry you if I need to." He held out his other arm.

Taken aback by the growing rash of romance of the weekend, Nico's face squished in genuine curiosity, "Who even are you?"

"Someone trying really hard to be who you need, who you deserve."

Nico's eyebrows shot up, surprised, heartened, and amused. "Okay, Hallmark Channel. Where did you get all this, this…?"

But Robby looked wounded.

Nico pulled him closer. "I'm touched; I am. But, flowers, surprise hotel stays, surf and turf dinner, and now…"

"You don't like—?"

"I love… you. I don't need all this." He tapped his forehead against Robby's, emphasizing his simpler, less clichéd satisfaction.

"I know," the Oklahoman conceded, knowing that Nico appreciated the effort, even if he didn't require it. "But no refunds on the 'Flobert' party's beachside s'mores; so can I spoil us just a little more?" Not that he needed to try, or was any good, but his attempt at puppy dog eyes was more than convincing.

Nico nodded with his own adoring look, earning a heart-melting grin that had first caught his eye years before. "Just promise not to char my marshmallow…," he conditioned, as he let the glowing sailor lead him carefully to the fireside seats.

Pulling the chairs closer to the fire pit, Robby then helped him sit; and they laughed and jostled one another through the prep, roast, clamp, and squishy bite of the gooey campfire treats.

Eventually thumbing a stray streak of chocolate from Nico's smeared chin, Robby suddenly fell still and wistful.

"What?" Nico dabbed at his lips and cheek.

Pulling the quickly cleaned thumb from his mouth, Robby explained matter-of-factly. "I missed you." He shook his head mournfully. "I should never have left. I'm sorry."

"You shouldn't have...," Nico agreed. "But you came back, and you're usually a much better person and beau than that. So, if we're gonna do more than romantic weekends while you're on shore leave… I need to know you're really gonna stay–at least as much as orders allow."

Robby nodded, affirming that and more. "I have something for you." He set down his roasting fork, and turned to the black bag beside him.

"So that's why you were carrying that to dinner?"

Robby raised his eyebrows in innocent non-commitment, unzipped the backpack, shifted aside the fabric brace and bottle of ibuprofen, and pulled out a small stack of… paper.

Almost hesitantly, he held out a familiar white envelope.

Recognizing the handwriting immediately, Nico's expression darkened at this unexpected turn. "Mama's letter."

Robby shifted a little closer, ready to console and confirm. "Insightful and blunt as ever, she knew I still loved you, and asked me to tell you so. Told me to."

Nico looked up, eyes brimming but stern at his clear recall that the honesty had not happened.

"I wanted to; you know I did. But I was afraid. Given the mission…, the bird strike."

But. "Then, you followed me to the parking lot…?"

"I also didn't say I was smart or strong," Robby grinned with earnest self-deprecation. "Just selfish, and…," nodding to the letter, "eventually obedient."

"Should I read it?"

Robby closed his hand around it, confirming the gift; but suggested, "Later, when you're ready?"

Knowing the delay was not about interrupting this moment, Nico passed the memory back for safe keeping.

Sliding it deftly into the nearby satchel, Robby returned his hand and eyes to the larger, manila packet still on his lap. He ran paused, took a breath, and then pulled out a thick stack of crinkled papers.

Nico recognized the neat, printed writing that seemed to cover at least the entire top page; but couldn't make out any specific words as Robby flexed and tidied the pile.

"After seeing you at the beach that night. Getting her letter, but not being able to bring myself to say so in person. And knowing what I was facing, I—I started a letter to you…"

Not making eye contact, regretful, self-conscious or nervous more than embarrassed, the author rotated and hand over what was now clear to begin with a bulleted list.

I wanted you to know that I loved you. And what and why…"

"My dear Nico," the text began; and Nico's eye was caught by random statements down the first page, and others as he flipped through just a few. "I love…

*That your tan lines have never changed in all the years I've known you.

*When you laugh yourself breathless at something I do or say. Especially, when I was trying to make you laugh.

*The constellation of moles over your left shoulder, and the alleged giraffe kick scar on your right."

Overwhelmed, Nico looked up at the large eyes anxious to confirm his affection was being communicated as intended.

Robby explained, "Since then, I added to it whenever I could. And just in case, I made arrangements for it to be sent to you if…" He shrugged the unspeakable possibility, and all the nervous energy drained away as he leaned into the hand Nico cupped against his cheek.

"I could really have used this at the Hard Deck; but I understand. And it means the world to me, my favorite aerospace engineer."

Robby smiled in relief.

Patting the glowing cheek, Nico reminded with mock afront, "And I did get kicked by a giraffe. You saw the paperwork…"

"I saw the workman's comp claim," Robby laughed, catching the hand, and keeping hold of it. "I have one more thing."

Fighting the urge to relish more of the manifest, Nico dutifully tucked the list under his leg, and turned his full attention to his generous s'more partner.

Robby fidgeted with the single, small item in his other hand, and looked intently at the tan face opposite him, speckled by freckles and fire. Caressing the hand he held, he held out a postcard into the firelight, angling it so Nico could see the beach, The Del and "Sunny San Diego!" scrawled across it.

Nico wasn't sure if he was just displaying the "you are here" memento, or offering it, much less why.

"As you head back to work Monday, I'll report back to base for some initial mishap board interviews." The mission over, the Navy bureaucracy wouldn't be delayed any longer. He wiggled the postcard, "I don't have paperwork to show you tonight. But I thought, if you were agreeable, that I might also put in request for transfer to North Island…

Nico's gasped silently with his entire body.

"While I think have some caché with command right now, it couldn't hurt to list among reasons… that it's to join my… fiancé." Purse-lipped and plaintive, Robby turned over the card to display four words whose hope was magnified by his expression and glasses:

Cher Nicky, Marry me?


NOTES

1. Bud's Louisiana Café, a real Creole eatery, well north of downtown San Diego. "Southern LA" is a joking reference to southern Louisiana (postal abbreviation LA), as if to the fanciness of Los Angeles.

2. The Hotel del Coronado is a famous, historic Pacific beach hotel west of downtown San Diego, and just south of Naval Air Station North Island.