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"Listen, I'm just saying. You could do a lot worse than Seresin." Josh was walking beside you on your way to a meeting. "I mean, you haven't dated in good long while. I'm starting to worry about you."
Your amusement is evident when you turn your head to face him. "Seriously, J? You're trying to set me up with the Navy's number one playboy?" While you appreciated your best friend's concern, there was no way in hell you were going to pursue Jake "Hangman" Seresin.
"Oh, c'mon, he's not that bad." He sounded unconvinced, even to himself, and it pulled a laugh from you as you entered the classroom. "I mean, he's hot, isn't he?"
"I mean, sure." You relent. "But I'm not looking to mess around right now, you know? I want to wait for my soulmate." The last half of your sentence was more whispered than said, and the look your WSO gave you was one of worry.
You took a seat next to Josh in preparation for the meeting. You were barely listening as your instructor for the mission was announced. You knew the call sign, of course. Captain Pete "Maverick" Mitchell was an absolute legend in the Navy. He was your instructor for this mission, the one that was top secret, which surprised you. He was pretty well known to never follow the rules set in place. He listened to no one but himself.
You started paying more attention when he started walking between the aisles of the tables you were sitting at. You caught sight of strong arms and a handsome face with messy black hair.
And when he reached the front and turned around, you caught sight of yet more of his strong, handsome face. He was a little on the older side, but still devastatingly gorgeous. When he removed his aviators, intense blue eyes met yours from across the room. Your breath left your lungs in a split second.
And because of the golden thread that was now gleaming against your skin, tying your wrist to his, he was also, evidently, your soulmate.
His eyes were blinking owlishly at you, confusion written in the gorgeous blue and in the tight line of his lips. The color of his string looked beautiful against the backdrop of the tanned skin on his left wrist. It was branded into him like a tattoo, just as it was on your right wrist.
You quickly slid your hand under your desk, sliding the sleeve of your flight suit down over your string. You looked around quickly, but it didn't seem like anyone else had seen anything. Rooster was too busy looking annoyed at Hangman; Hangman was snickering at him; and the rest were looking down at their desks or at each other.
To his credit, he didn't miss a beat. He copied you, sliding his flight suit sleeve down over his wrist. He played it cool, even if his intense gaze drifted to you constantly as he was talking.
---
It was hours later, and you were still walking around in a stupor. All you could think about was Captain Pete Mitchell. You could feel his presence, which was reassuring as the golden tattoo around your wrist pulsed. You weren't alone in the world anymore, because he was yours.
Just like you were his.
"Hey, Chaos. You wanna play some pool?"
The voice belonged to Rooster, and you looked up from your drink to see Bradley offering you a poolstick. You blinked at him for a second before you smiled. "Nah, I'm good. Last time I played pool here, I overshot majorly and broke a window."
"She totally did; Penny was not thrilled." Josh bumps into your side, his signature golden-retriever smile on his lips. "Basically banned her and me from playing from then on."
Rooster found this outrageously funny, and you managed a meek smile as he and the others laughed at your antics. There was a reason why you and Josh were "Agent" and "Chaos." Agents of Chaos.
Your tattoo pulsed again, the string pulling tighter, and you turned your head toward the bar. Blue eyes were watching you, their intensity causing a shiver to roll down your spine. When he noticed you looking back at him, he offered a slight nod of his chin.
Well, at least he'd acknowledged you.
You copied him, lifting your drink up slightly. You wanted to go over to him, talk with him, and figure out just how you'd fit into his life. But the look on his face stopped you. He looked almost disappointed.
"It's not disappointment aimed at you." His voice was deeper and warmer in your head than it was out loud. It startled you, but you sat on your bar stool and listened carefully. "But you realize that this can't happen, right? This is a bad idea."
He watched as your mouth twisted into a devastating little pout, looking down at your drink now. He took a moment to study you, looking at your form-fitting blue jeans, your boots, and the shirt that hugged your curves. You were beautiful, and his chest ached with want.
"You don't even want to try?" You answered; your voice was now in his head, honeyed and sweet. He savored it. "If we explain what happened, Admiral Simpson can't keep us apart; there are laws against separating soulmates."
"I know." He sighs in your head, and your eyes flick back from the drink in your hand to his face. He looks pained. "But Cyclone already hates me, and getting involved with a student would make things worse. We can't."
Your throat suddenly felt too tight, the room too warm, and you just had to get out of there. You turn away, presenting Maverick with your back, and hand Josh your glass. "Hey, I'm feeling kind of tired. I think I'm going to head back a little early."
Josh hopped off his bar stool, concern for you in his deep brown eyes. "You want me to come with you?"
"Nah, I'll be alright. You stay and have fun, okay? I'll see you tomorrow." He looks like he wants to argue with you, but you gently push him back towards your friends. "Seriously, just go and have fun."
He sighs, but he knows it's pointless to argue with you, and he turns his attention back to a story that Hangman was telling. You turn away and start heading out when his voice fills your mind once again.
"Where are you going?"
You ignore him this time, slamming your mental block down so hard that you see him jolt in his seat from the corner of your eye, startled.
It makes you feel a little bad, but you walk right past him and out the door of the bar. It's a cool night, with the ocean crashing nearby. You wish you'd had the foresight to grab a jacket before you'd left for the Hard Deck that night.
You make it maybe five minutes down the road when a motorcycle comes roaring up behind you, stopping a few feet away with dust flying all around.
"First of all," He steps off of the motorcycle, and the light from the streetlamp throws his face into shadows. "I probably deserved you shutting me out, but it fucking hurt." He's shrugging out of his bomber jacket and stepping into your space so he can throw it around your shoulders.
You're so startled by his sudden appearance that you let him.
"Second of all," he continues, "you should not be walking around out here alone. It's not safe. And without a jacket? C'mon, Chaos."
You open your mouth to argue; you're not a toddler. You're a fighter pilot in the United States Navy, for God's sake, but then he steps into your space a little more, and you get distracted by his eyes. His cologne dances with the wind, the scent of sandalwood and leather, and something that can only be described as himfloods your senses.
He's staring at you now, his hands still on his jacket, and he's tugging it around you. You can feel the warmth of his skin bleeding into you, and it feels so right. You've never felt so at peace before, but when he's touching you it feels like everything is going to be okay.
"You did deserve it." You finally spoke up. He raises an eyebrow but lets you continue without interruption. "The Pete Mitchell I heard stories about in basic was fearless. Unstoppable. He always marched to the beat of his own drum."
He opens his mouth, but you push on. "And here you are, giving up on us before we even got started. All because you're scared of what, Admiral Simpson? Losing your job?"
"I'm not scared of him." He grumbles. "I have a responsibility to you and the rest of those kids whose lives are in danger because of this mission. I can't afford a distraction. And in case you haven't noticed, I'm a little too old for you."
You huff out an irritated sound, moving away from him so you have space to breathe. You can't think straight when he's so close. "Bullshit. I know you don't believe that."
"Look, obviously the universe made some kind of cosmic mistake here." He steps in toward you again, and you throw his jacket off and shove it back into his startled hands.
A mistake. Pete Mitchell, your soulmate, had just called your connection to him a mistake.
He tries to backtrack immediately when he sees the tears beginning to form in your eyes. He hadn't meant it that way, but he knows how it sounds, and he could feel your pain. You were wounded by his words.
"I'm so sorry." He murmured, watching you shiver and stare at the ground. "I really didn't—sweetheart, don't. Don't cry, please? I didn't mean it like that."
You're devastated, and you just shake your head. "Please go, Captain Mitchell." You don't use his call sign or his name, and somehow that feels wrong to him. All of this is making his head ache, but he doesn't move.
"At least let me take you home." His voice is soft. Tender, almost. You wipe your eyes and look back at him. "Please? I can't stomach the thought of you wandering around out here by yourself. Just let me get you home."
You almost say no. He'd rejected you twice and called you a mistake (whether he'd meant to or not, he'd still said it), and yet you found it hard to deny him anything. After a moment of hesitation, you nod slightly. "Okay."
After practically ordering you to put his jacket back on so as not to catch your death, he helps you onto his bike, swinging his leg over and settling down with a practiced ease onto the seat in front of you. It's clear that he's been doing this for years. "You gotta hold on, sweetheart. Put your arms around me."
There's yet another moment of hesitation before you do as he says, sliding your arms around his waist. Your cheek rests against his back as he starts the bike back up and peels out onto the road.
The ride back to your place is tense. You want to relax into his warmth and cherish this time with him before it's gone for good. But there's no telling if he'll ever be this close to you again, and you don't want to get too close. You miss him already, and you quietly mourn the life you could've had with this man.
---
When the bike pulls into the driveway of your bungalow, you slide off quickly, nearly tripping and falling flat on your face. He catches you before you do, his strong arm sliding around you to keep you on your feet. Your shirt had ridden up, and you could feel his skin on yours. You did your best to ignore the warmth that was forming deep in your belly.
"Careful, sweetheart." He murmured, climbing off the bike. Suddenly, you felt small, looking up at him. "Don't want you getting hurt."
You huffed out a humorless laugh at that. "A little too late for that."
Turning your back, you left Captain Pete Mitchell in your driveway, watching your retreating form as he stood alone. He didn't let you get very far before he was moving your way.
"Can we please talk about this?"
You were at the door, your hand resting on the surface. You don't bother to turn around. "What's there to talk about, sir? You made your decision perfectly clear. You don't want this. You don't want me."
"Hey, I never said that." His tone is stern, and that sound makes you swoon just the tiniest bit. "Did I say those words out loud to you?"
You lean your forehead against the door, rolling your eyes. "You didn't need to, Mr. 'This Is A Cosmic Mistake'." Your heart twinges again at the memory. You'd never felt that kind of sharp pain before.
He's so close to you that you can feel the warm air fanning over the back of your neck when he breathes out. His chest was very nearly pressed into your back, and his body heat cuts through the chill in the air.
His hand is on your shoulder, gently pulling you around to face him. You stubbornly refuse to meet his eyes, choosing instead to stare directly at his chest. This seems to amuse him, because he lets a soft chuckle escape his lips.
"I'm sorry." His thumb and pointer finger take your chin gently, tipping your head up so he can see your face. "I really am. I didn't mean that you were a mistake, sweetheart. I just meant..." He trails off for a moment before he continues. "I'm an old man. You deserve someone closer to your own age."
You shake your head, your hand coming up to wrap around his wrist. "Maverick, I don't care about the age gap." Your eyes meet his, finally, and he's blown away by the emotions he can see swirling in their depths. "I don't care that you're my instructor, and I don't care that you're the most stubborn man I've ever met. I want you."
He seems to be frozen in place, his hand still holding your face in place. His eyes are searching your face, almost like he's looking for something. When you resolve doesn't waiver, he sighs.
"You are something else." He says, his other hand coming up to cup your face. His thumb smooths over the skin of your cheekbone, and he leans his forehead against yours. He's still fighting an internal battle, but he gives himself this. A quiet moment with you.