Chapter Text
The Naval Academy
Jake Seresin, or rather Ensign Seresin doesn’t exactly meet her when he first gets to know of her. He hears from Javy, as in Ensign Machando, his best friend, his ride or die. Javy bursts in one morning, while Jake is still in his morning routine of sticking his hair together with the gel, making sure not one strand of hair is out of place, rather that they are all slicked back nicely.
“Guess what I just saw?” Javy pants, breathless from the obvious running he has been doing.
Jake is unamused, doesn’t even look away from the mirror when he replies, “What?”
“There’s a chick.” Javy smirks, very proud of his discovery as he stands right behind Jake and checks his teeth in the mirror.
Jake spins around, a look of annoyance across his brows, his perfectly blond hair perfectly in place, finally. “You mean a girl?”
“Oh no, she’s a chick alright, she’s hot.” Javy insists.
Jake scowls. Having been raised by Southern parents, and with two older sisters, his Mama has raised him to be nice to the ladies, and to always be polite. He rolls his eyes, refusing to continue this conversation with Javy, but he makes a mental note to check it out when he can, it shouldn’t be too hard, considering the male dominated industry they were in. If she were here, she would have to be really good, the best of the best.
He avoids the conversation with Javy for the rest of the day, but he spots her easily, in the crowd, when he makes his way to the hall. The dark hair pulled back and slicked back into a tightly wound bun, probably uses as much gel as he does, he might even use more.
He catches her eye when she looks up, for he is probably staring for far too long. He shoots her a smile, that charming grin, which would have any other lady in a bar swooning. But she’s an officer, like him, and she’s professional, well not that professional, because she gives him an eye roll before a tight lipped smile and a nod. Jake looks away, smiling to himself.
Jake later walks past her and catches a glimpse of her name, Trace. Ensign Trace, he liked the ring of that. He stops himself from staring too long, because of the unfortunate placement of the badge, he doesn’t want to be caught staring at places he shouldn’t be staring at. He shoots her another smile on his way past her, this time toning down the charm, more of a friendly smile. She picks up on his tone, following up with a smile of her own.
He hears about her a lot. She’s not in his class, she’s the year below him, but she’s good. It’s always Ensign Trace this, Ensign Trace that. Rumours of her spread like wildfire, about how she’s supposedly involved with a certain Ensign Bradshaw. Jake knows who Bradshaw is, almost everyone does; he’s older than everyone else, has that dreadful 80s pornstache that Jake hates with a passion, and he’s slow, too slow, to the point where it will cost him in the future.
He finally catches her first name while out in the hallway, Bradshaw was saying something to another aviator, when she walks by. “Natasha-” Jake smiles to himself. But she looks upset, shrugging Bradshaw off and walking in the other direction, almost colliding into Jake, as she doesn’t look up, mumbles a few apologies, and walks the other way.
Jake follows her down the hallway, out of the base, finding her sitting on the sand, legs curled up, looking out onto the sea. He approaches apprehensively, as she turns for a fleeting moment, before glancing away again. “May I?” He asks, waiting for her permission, a nod, before taking a seat next to her, stretching his legs out, kicking his shoes and socks off, tucking it behind, as he lets his toes curl in the sand.
He wants to say something comforting, or ask how she is, but the words don’t come to him. Instead, she speaks first. “I grew up in California, so the beaches always bring me comfort.” She doesn’t look away from the sea, as her right hand traces something in the sea.
“Oh,” is all he manages to say, as she turns to him with a glare.
She raises her eyebrows at him. “I just told you a little about me and all you can say is ‘Oh’?”
He flashes her a grin, a cocky smirk maybe. “I’m from Texas, born and raised,” He holds out a hand. “The name’s Seresin, Jake Seresin.”
Now it’s her turn to grin. “I know.” She shakes his hand, out of being polite and he smiles. “Natasha Trace.”
Jake smiles, leaning back further into the sand. Natasha turns to him with a glare.
He graduates later that year, and hears about her on missions and what not, but doesn’t see her again until Top Gun. He sees her on a base in Utah, but she’s busy, and so is he, so they never really interact.
Top Gun
Lieutenant Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin knows she’s there even before he walks into the base. He recognises her car from years ago, the same red fiery one, sleek and classy, like her. A Phoenix, rising from the ashes, like her. He saunters into the room, that same old saunter with the overly cocky and egotistical attitude that only she could dial down.
She stands up immediately, her head turning towards him. She looks exactly the same, except maybe even more stunning than before. “Well, if it isn’t Hangman,” She matches his smirk, the walls building a cocky exterior to her too. The years of being a naval aviator had made her that way, and she was undeniably good, almost as good as him. His eyes glance towards her lips for a fleeting moment, the lips he’s wanted to kiss ever since that night at the beach. She rolls her eyes. “Eyes up here Bagman.”
He smirks back. “Oh Nix, you know I only have eyes for you.” The other aviators glance between both of them. Jake spots another familiar face, Bradley Bradshaw, and is about to say something, but is stopped when their instructor walks in. Natasha takes a seat next to Bradley, as Jake sulks and scoffs behind her. She turns around with an icy glare, and something stops in Jake, as he gives her a charming grin, the toothpick rolling around in his mouth.
They fight, a lot, like a married couple on the verge of divorce. Over who’s the best pilot mainly, or over a mistake one made in the air. But they get paired together in every training exercise. The other pilots steer clear of them when they do, it’s a chaotic explosion of ego, one too cocky and the other too feisty. They both live up to their call signs, Jake leaves his wingmen, or wing woman hanging without fail. Natasha is above all that but seething with rage.
“What was that for?” She snaps, a little too many training sessions later. He shrugs nonchalantly, playing it cool with the toothpick in his mouth, chewing nervously. She slams him against the nearest wall, pinning him under her weight. And he can easily flip this around for him, but he doesn’t, letting her let it all out. “You could have gotten us all killed,” She rips the toothpick out of his mouth aggressively, fingers brushing against his lips for a second and it takes everything in him not to flip her around and kiss her instead. “Screw you Seresin,” She says, turning and walking away.
“You would like that, wouldn’t you?” He calls out, as she stops dead in her tracks. He catches up to her, as she turns around, the glare in her eyes as strong as his. “You know you want to,” He raises his hands, mocking her.
“You’re an ass,” She whispers into his ear, dangerously close, her body pressed up against his.
He smirks. “I know.”
She moves away, glaring up into his green orbs, shaking her head, as she looks away for a moment. She hesitates for a moment, but crashes her lips into his, her arm around his neck, on her tip toes, as his arm goes around her waist. When she pulls away, there’s a look of guilt in her eyes. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have.”
He gives her a look. “Don’t-” She shrugs and walks away. And he lets her.
But he doesn’t question when she shows up at the door of his room later that night, and does the same. And they don’t say a word to one another throughout the whole thing, or even after. No snarky remarks from him, no witty come backs from her. They simply get dressed and leave it as it is. And they don’t talk about it, not when they’re fighting over tactics, or glancing at one another across the room, not when he smiles a lot more when she’s around and the smile fades when she leaves the room. Javy, gives him weird looks, which he plays off.
She tries to bring it up one night, before they start something again. “What are we?”
He doesn’t have a snarky remark for this. “I don’t know. What do you want to be?” She doesn’t have an answer for him. “We can be whatever we want to be,” And they leave it at that.
This goes on for the rest of their time at Top Gun. And no one notices, or if they do, no one questions it. No one asks why Jake and Natasha show up late to meetings together but fight like hell at them. No one asks why Jake and Natasha are missing from breakfast, when they’re off somewhere off base having breakfast, just two of them. Maple syrup, pancakes for two.
By the end of Top Gun, when Jake finishes first and Natasha finishes a close second, they’ve had moved into one another’s places, and are rushing off after the ceremony together. They elope, in Vegas, sign a couple of papers for the military and are deployed on their next missions without any question.
Jake’s the happiest he’s ever been, and Natasha is head over heels. They fit, they work, and they can’t stay away from one another, no distance can keep them apart, which is why they are both thrilled to be back at Top Gun together years later.