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You never liked wearing your full-service dress uniform. The whites meant shipping off, and the blacks always seemed so morose. And wearing it for Tom Kazansky's funeral, well, it was difficult to even get it on. Honestly, if Jake hadn't knocked on your door, you're not sure you would've been able to do it.
But he did.
He stood, fully dressed, and didn't say anything when he saw you still in your pajamas. Simply squeezed into your barrack and directed you to the shower. When you came out, he had your service dress laid out on your bed. he waited, back turned while you put them on, and then sat you down and did your hair. You focused on him while he did. The careful movements, the gentle brushes. You knew he had a sister, but this was much more of Jake than of Hangman.
He didn't ask you about it, even though you know he probably wanted to. He knew that your dad had been close with Ice; they'd been in the same Top Gun class, and that was all he needed to know for now.
So he helped you get ready.
He gave you a protein bar because he knew you wouldn't eat anything otherwise; quite frankly, you weren't sure you could stomach even that, but he patiently waited, watching, making sure you ate something. The blank look in your eyes was alarming because in the years he'd known you now, he'd seen your eyes get glassy with nostalgia, sadness, and heartbreak. He's witnessed the fire from anger, ferocity, and challenge; he's melted at your softness, your light; and been in awe of your mischievous streak, and cunning mind. He's never seen this, though, the blank dis-attached expression.
He guided you to the atrium where the rest of the recalled aviators were meeting before you'd all participate in the procession to the burial site. Hand pressed to your back, as you seemed to disassociate with everything around you.
Your dad was already on site when you arrived. Staring at the photo of Ice, and while he looked every inch the PACFLEET Commander that he was, you much preferred the collection of photos that you had. Polaroids and film shots from you as a toddler on his shoulders or in his lap, the collection that grew with each of your father's deployments spent in his home, of barbecues and beach days. This man helped raise you. He filled in the role of father when yours was on a deployment. He signed permission slips and stayed up with you that first night of every deployment when you were too anxious to sleep.
Goose had been your godfather, the one who you would go to if something ever happened to Mav, and then Goose was the one who was gone. And Mav changed the papers. He changed it because how could he place that pressure on Carole when she's battling her heartbreak and raising Bradley? Ice and Sarah were the ones who would assume you if he took his last flight before you were old enough to take care of yourself.
When your dad spotted you, he waved you over. You felt Jake's hand at your back reassuringly before you left the rest of the team.
Approaching your dad, you notice who is next to him, and you have to fight to not break down at the sight of Aunt Sarah.
"Ma'am," your voice cracked as you stood at attention.
There were tears in her eyes as she looked at you, "Stop, no," she corrected, arm grabbing you. "You're our girl, remember? I don't want Ma'am's, not from you, never from you," her whispers bring more tears to your eyes, and your vision swims as you try to breathe through it.
"Lieutenant Mitchell," you straighten at Cyclone's voice and turn to him. "A word before we begin," he calls, and you nod. "Apologies, Mrs. Kazansky, for the interruption.”
You squeeze Aunt Sarah's hand before walking over to the Vice Admiral, "Yes Sir," you respond, standing at attention.
"The Kazansky family has made a request," he begins, and you swallow the lump in your throat.
"Sir?" you ask.
"Mrs. Kazansky, has indicated that following the conclusion of TAPS, she would like the flag presented to her children," he explains.
"I'm sorry, Sir. But it was my understanding that you would be presenting the flag?" you finally ask, though your voice lacks its normal luster.
"In his instructions, Tom Kazansky requested that you present the flag to his family, Lieutenant," Cyclone says, and you freeze.
He did what?
Your eyes meet the Vice Admirals, and you're not sure how to react or what to say.
"Do you accept this final order from former PACFLEET Commandar Tom Kazansky, Lieutenant?" he presses when you stay silent too long.
"Sir, yes, Sir," you affirm.
"Good. You will honor his flag, Lieutenant, assume your position," he nods to the space where you assumed he would have been, but you nod your head in affirmation.
"Yes, Sir," you repeat.
He nods once more, a look in his eyes, but doesn't say anything else, instead walking away. You took a moment to breathe, then you turned and assumed the position across from Cyclone. Your eyes focused for a moment on the coffin in front of you. The resting place for the man who helped raise you. You swallowed the lump in your throat again and then assumed a position at attention. You made eye contact with your dad, who nodded at you with glassy eyes, with Natasha, who offered a sad smile in support, with Jake, whose expression was nearly unreadable but whose eyes were focused entirely on you, and finally with Bradley, who looked like he was in a similar boat, keeping back tears and swallowing the distress in his throat. He was so much bigger, so much older than when his mom passed, but his tells hadn't changed all that much. You focus on him for a moment, and despite the rift, the still uneven footing you both have with each other, there's something there in this moment, brought on by the man who loved you both the way he loved his own kids.
When TAPS began, a chill went down your spine, a finality of what it all meant settled over you, and a tear escaped. You sniffed but remained silent. Warlock was on your left, and Cyclone was across you. You followed the motions, folded the flag, and when the ends were tucked in, you approached Aunt Sarah. She nodded with a sad smile, and you continued, stopping beside Ryan and Elizabeth. Ryan and Elizabeth, who had been your younger siblings, who you love so much, and who you used to play with in their playpens. Ryan and Elizabeth who were both married with their own kids now. They looked so incredibly sad, but as they stared at you, Elizabeth started shaking her head like she couldn't believe this was happening. And when you held out your hands, flag proffered. Ryan's hands clenched, but he waited for Elizabeth. When he looked at you for help, you cast a sideways glance at Aunt Sarah, who was crying silently now.
"Lizzie," you whisper, and Ryan's eyes blow wide.
Talking was not a part of the process, especially informally, not when presenting honors to a grieving family, but this was your family, too.
"Lizzie, take the flag," you whisper again, and this time she meets your eyes, and you nod encouragingly at her. "Take the flag, kid," you repeat, and this time, she uses one hand to hold her brothers as she accepts the flag. Ryan's other hand supports it, and if you squeeze his hand gently as you hand it off, no one else needs to realize it except him.
You step back and salute the Kazansky family, and your father steps up to do his part. His wingman until the end, you watched, arm still raised, as your father approached the head of the casket and placed the aviation wings at the head, pounding it into the casket.
His final flight.
The sound of the pin pounded in place and echoed in your ears long after the jets of salute and the sound of TAPS.
When it was over, and the civilians began to walk away, you moved to fall in line with the aviators. A space had appeared beside Bradley and Hondo. You swallowed as you stepped into it. You could feel his eyes on you as you did.
When the call for dismissal was stated, your whole body seemed to sag a bit, tired, strung out, and heartbroken.
"(Y/n)-" Bradley's the one who said your name so softly, so broken, that you almost caved. You almost caved and launched yourself at him the way you would have in the past.
Almost.
Because Ryan and Elizabeth were walking straight up to you at the same time, calling you with a wavering, "Miss Mitchell," the tone nearly reminiscent of when you were kids.
"Kid Kazansky," you greet in kind, matching his tone.
"Is it bad form to hug you now?" Elizabeth asks though she doesn't really wait; instead, she lunges at you.
You rock back a bit and feel Bradley's arm steady you before it retreats.
"Never bad form for a Lizzie hug," you whisper, and she sobs a little.
"Bradley?" Ryan's surprise is evident as he stares at the man beside you. His eyes jumped at you and then Bradley like he couldn't figure out the puzzle before him, not that you blamed him; you were having a hard time, too.
"Wait, Brad?" Lizzie asks, turning to catch as Ryan and Brad shake hands.
"You two grew up," he notes sadly.
"Well you'd know-" you pinch at Lizzie's side, she had a smart mouth, something Ice and Sarah liked to blame on you, but now was not the time, and this was not the place.
Elizabeth huffed but stepped aside to stare at Bradley, and he stood and took it while Ryan stepped up and hugged you. If he squeezed tight, you squeezed back, and when he pulled back, you could see today's toll on him.
The Kazansky kids have been prepared for this day from the moment Ice was diagnosed, maybe even earlier when you consider all the deployments, but just because it was a possibility, the reality of it was painful to experience and to witness.
"Mom wants to know if you're able to come to dinner tonight, she said to add she's not afraid to pull the grieving widow card," Ryan asks, and you smile ruefully.
"I-" you begin, but Lizzie cuts in.
"We understand, though, if it won't work," she reassures you. "Dad mentioned some special detachment as the reason you were back for a bit," she admits.
"Time sensitive and top secret," Ryan supplies, and you frown at them.
"When'd you two get so smart?" you ask with a frown, bringing a small watery chuckle out of Aunt Sarah, who'd finally walked over herself.
"Probably around the same time you did, sweetheart," she says gently, taking your face in her hands.
"I am so proud of you," she begins, and the tears reappear in an instant.
"Aunt Sarah-" you try to stop her, all too aware of how the rest of the detachment is unabashed in witnessing this moment.
"I am so incredibly proud of you, Lieutenant Mitchell, but I am even more proud of (Y/n)," she begins again. "And he was too. He was so, so proud of you. And folding the flag, it was unfair of him to ask that of you, but I am so proud of you and so grateful that it was you handing it off, holding his honor," she says, and you break.
A sob slips past your lips, and she pulls you forward and presses a kiss to your forehead, mindful of your cap. "I will see you at dinner, Lieutenant. It's perfectly alright if you're late. We've spent a lifetime on the Navy's clock; we can last another day," she says finally, and you nod. "Good, bring your dad," she adds as an afterthought.
"Yes, Aunt Sarah," you nod.
"Good girl," she smiles again, still holding your face, and when she lets go, she straightens your coat, just like she did after hugging you at your graduation. She finally looks down the line at the aviators standing nearby. She starts with Bradley, directly on your left, "You too Bradley Bradshaw, I expect to see you at dinner, and I demand one song, any song," she says forcefully, staring hard until he nods his affirmation at her, lips sealed shut.
She looks down the line; you know she recognizes Yale and Harvard from when you were in Top Gun originally; the two had become your guests for poker nights and barbecues. She turns back to you, "Bring all twelve of them," she finally decides, and you hear the intake of breath beside you.
"Aunt Sarah-" you begin.
"Let's teach them who he really was, huh?" she says softly, and you nod.
"Yes, Ma'am," you agree.
She smiles, tapping your cheek one last time before turning to her kids. Each loops an arm with her, and they walk back toward their cars. The second they're away, you sag fully, all but ripping your cap off, breathing too fast; you know you are.
Bradley reaches for you first, but you flinch away, and he freezes. Nat's calling your name, and the rest of the team is lining up around you protectively. The first set of eyes you meet are green. Jake. Slowly, he shows you his hands, and one starts at your shoulder, skims down your arm, and takes your hand, pulling it into his chest.
"C'mon, 'Thena," he whispers softly, "five senses," he adds, and you nod jerkily.
Five things you can see: green eyes, Jake's ribbons, Bradley still hovering beside you, the grass, the jet trail in the sky
four things you can touch: Jake's dress shirt, the cufflink of Jake's coat, his hand, which is holding yours in place, the chain of your dog tags around your neck.
Three things you can hear: distant chattering of all the funeral attendees, Jake's gentle affirmations, Hondo on the phone
Two things you can smell: Bradley's cologne, the fresh dirt, and topsoil.
One thing you can taste is blood from where you'd bitten your lip during the ceremony.
You take a staggering breath at the end and let go of Jake, who straightens beside you and waits for your next move. He allows you a moment to continue evening out your breathing.
"Two feet on the ground, right?" he asks.
"Copy, you," you confirm.
He nods, satisfied by your response.
You finally look around at how the team had shuffled to keep you out of sight from anyone else. Yale and Harvard are sending you concerned glances as they stand guard.
"I'm fine," you tell them, waving off the concern. "I'm fine, it was just too much, at once, but, I'm fine," you say, readjusting your cap back on your head.
"Maybe you should take a minute, Athena," Bradley cuts in.
"I said I'm fine," you negate.
"Just take a breath! Do your box breathing-"
"Box breathing? Are you serious Bradley?" your tone finally loses the flat edge it's had all morning, giving way to incredulity. To his credit, his eyes blew wide at it. "Box breathing hasn't worked since I started pulling Gs regularly," you scoff. "I said, I'm fine!"
"You don't look fine!" he argues, the two of you facing off across each other now.
"And how would you know?" you challenge, voice dropping back to a reasonable level, but suddenly so cold. "How could you possibly know what fine looks like for me now?"
He freezes again; it's a direct dig, more so than any of the wave-offs you've done when he tries to talk to you since you both got reassigned.
"If Athena says she's fine, then she's fine. I'd take her at her word any day," Harvard cuts in, and you look at your friend gratefully.
"Seconded, c'mon, we can give you a lift back to base," Yale agrees, and you nod.
You spare another glance back, focusing on Jake. He nods at you, though you can see the concern in his eyes, and you nod again, turning and walking in line with Harvard and Yale.
"My saviors," you whisper to them.
"It's a hard day, and the absolute least we could do," Harvard offers.
"You're getting softer with age, Brigham," you chirp, but there's no heat behind it.
"Speaking of soft," Yale hedges, and you side-eye Logan. "Hangman knows about your anxiety attacks?"
"Not only does he know, he knows how to talk you down," Harvard supplies.
"Don't," you warn them.
"Today is hard, we know. We know it's going to be hard for a long time," Harvard back peddles.
"We just… we wanna look out for you Athena, you always did for us, you still do," Yale clarifies. "Look, Hangman's a cocky bastard-"
"I believe Phoenix was the one to coin the term Texan Douchewad," Harvard supplies.
"But," Yale sends his WSO a look, "it's obvious, he's different with you."
You were content to ignore the prodding, but Harvard stopped, handing over the passenger seat door. He planed to open it for you but pauses and holds out a hand.
"Just hold on a second, please," Harvard asks when you start glaring at him. You huff but pause. "Look, today… today sucks, but seeing him help you makes him suck slightly less in my book. You're the only person he didn't ditch during the dogfights. We assumed he was brown-nosing because Mav's your dad, but obviously there's more there. Ice was… he was so much more than PACFLEET Commander to you, we know that. We've seen what you and he were like together. I consider myself really fucking lucky that you trusted us enough to share that shit with us, and clearly Hangman knows it too, but he hasn't made a single Nepo-Baby joke the entire detachment," he lines out, and when you drop his gaze, he sighs.
"Athena, we learned day fucking one at Top Gun that you are a force and a half, we have always got your back, we just… we need to know the play is, that's all," Yale tags on.
You lift your gaze and stare at the two; Brigham and Logan were the only Aviator/WSO team that got recalled. Payback and Fanboy hadn't worked together before, nor Phoenix and Bob, or even Fritz and Halo, just them. You're stuck on how well they know each other for a second, and you are so glad they got called back, too.
"The play.. the playbook is on fire," you admit, and they share a nervous glance. "It's in a fucking dumpster fire, with jet fuel poured on top," you tell them, and they wince. "But, the plan is we go back to base, we finish the day, we go to dinner. I'll probably cry my fucking eyes out, so hopefully, one of you will bring tissues, and then tomorrow we go back to work because Ice died, but the clock doesn't stop, and he'd be pissed if I let Jake or Bradley make Team Leader over me," you huff out.
It hurts so much because his phrasing would have been over my dead body will you let cocky aviators walk over you, but he is dead.
You just buried his body.
That doesn't change the point, Kiddo.
Your heart clenches at the response because it even sounds like Ice.
Ice cold, no mistakes, the voice continues.
"Ice cold, no mistakes," you repeat softly.
"Then that's the play," Brigham nods, finally opening the door for you.