𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐎

↳ 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐝𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠
'on top of the world
looking over the edge'

━━ 𓄼 𓄹 ━━

PENSACOLA BEACH, FLORIDA
twelve years later

BASIL was impossible to tire.

Cam extended a sunburnt arm and threw the frisbee. The golden retriever barked as he ran and caught it again. It was a loop: throw, retrieve, throw. Turquoise waves flowed with a gentle thrum against the shore, and the sand was white as powdered sugar.

A young girl, barely five years old, chased after Basil. The dog was trying to keep out of her reach almost as much as he was trying to catch the toy. Amari only covered a third of the distance of his canine legs before he had pivoted in the white sand to run back. Still, she only shrieked and continued the game.

Cam laughed, throwing the frisbee even further this time.

Amari ran back over to Cam and flopped down on the sand in front of her, utterly exhausted. Her hazel eyes reflected like coins in the bright sun. "Tía, can I ride Basil?"

For the third time that day, Cam was forced to tell her, "No, you can't ride Basil. You're too big."

"I'm actually very small," Amari argued. She grabbed a fistfull of sand and let it flow between her fingers.

Cam had to laugh. "Not small enough. You'd have to be the size of that sand crab you found earlier."

It had popped right up out of the ground while Amari was filling a bucket for her sand castle. Immediately, Amari had screamed and almost started crying, but then Max had held her hand and let her look at it up close. It had scurried away with Basil in hot pursuit.

"Do crabs have families?" Amari asked, squinting against the sunlight.

"Hm," Cam considered the statement. "I think they do."

"Joanna is just like a big crab," Amari said sourly, focus already drifting from her original question. "Crabby. All the time."

Basil barked, as if he too were laughing.

"Can we get ice cream?"

Cam glanced over her shoulder to where her older brother was still laying on sand, face towards the sky. He wasn't listening, and even if he was, Cam had the reputation of fun aunt to maintain.  "I don't see why not. Let's ask your sister if she wants to come."

At this, Amari bent at the knees and flopped back onto the sand like a dead fish. "No, she's no fun," she moaned.

Cam brushed a stray brown curl away from her face. "Then you'll just have to be extra fun."

Basil fell into step next to her, fluffy tail swishing with expectant glee as they walked back towards the towels. A red kite floated in the wind, held by some invisible figure up on the pier. Every so often, a Navy plane would cut across the blue sky. For today, though, Cam only paid mind to the kites and clouds.

Their towels were all set out in a multi-colored row. Max's wife Sofia was laying next to him. Joanna, nine years old and already embarrassed to be seen with them in public, sat a healthy distance away from her parents, sunglasses on and book in hand.

Cam stood over her oldest niece, placing her hands on her hips. "JoJo, do you want to come with us to get ice cream?"

She frowned. "I'm not a little kid anymore. You don't need to call me JoJo."

"Okay JoJo." Cam nodded. "Ice cream or no?"

Acting as if it was the largest inconvenience she had ever experienced, Joanna stood up and brushed the sand from her legs. "I guess I'll go with you."

"Hold on," Sofia said, suddenly sitting up from her towel and grabbing Amari gently by the arm. "Let me put your hair in a bun."

"Why?" She wrinkled her tiny nose and tried to squirm away. "I'm not a cheeseburger."

Sofia heaved a great sigh as she scraped Amari's dark curls away from the brown skin of her face. "Your hair is going to get tangled if I don't."

"Can we have cheeseburgers for dinner?" Joanna asked, interest piqued.

This was the first time she had shown a remote interest in anything all day. Max immediately said, "Of course."

And just like that, her mood visibly brightened.

He turned his attention to Cam, discreetly asking, "Estás bien?"

"Ya me preguntaste," she said evenly. "Todo bien."

He didn't believe a word of it. She could say she was fine, smile into the ocean breeze and breathe the smell of coconut sunscreen in her lungs, pretending this was like any other day. Max would always see the truth.

Max told Amari and Jo that they were going on a beach vacation, a cross-country trip from Temecula, California to visit Cameron in Florida. They didn't ask questions; they were too young to understand the reality. In truth, it was not a vacation. It was Max Mejia continuing to be the protective oldest child that he always had been.

They had come because they didn't want Cam to be alone today. In her one person apartment three miles from the Navy airstrip, she kept one set of dishes and silverware, only one extra fork for the sake of doing dishes less often. Her groceries consisted of food for one person and one dog. She entertained no guests; there were none to be had. The ease of independence had become her way to make peace with the world.

It hadn't always been like this. The apartment she had before had been a small townhouse outside of Lemoore. Far more social, closer to people her age, near enough to friends that she had people around whenever she had precious free time. The golden coast still held the beaches she called home in her memories, but that place belonged to someone else. California was tarnished.

And now, three hundred and sixty five sunrises away from the day her F-18 had plummeted into the Pacific Ocean, Cam still couldn't find it in her heart to return home. Ever since she left California, she hadn't even been back to visit.

"You sure?" Max asked again, pushing his sunglasses up into his mess of dark curly hair.

Sofia shoved him in the shoulder with a manicured hand. "You keep asking as if you want her answer to change."

Cam forced herself to smile. They had come all this way, the least she could do was be pleasant. Even when every little annoyance was threatening to send her anxiety spiking and there was sand in every crevice of her body and she was starting to get a headache from the ruthless sun. "I promise, I'm fine."

Max saw straight through her lies, raising a dark brow expectantly. Cam pretended she didn't notice. Never one to dwell, she clipped Basil's leaf-patterned green leash on and led their small group up to the boardwalk.

Today marked a year. The anniversary of Nikita Kasper's death. Another tally mark drawn upon her heart. She had to wonder how many days it would take before it would scar over. Maybe it was better that it never did.

Her sandalled feet thumped with an even cadence on the wooden boardwalk, camera strapped over her chest.  The hobby had only grown since she had bought her first camera when she was sixteen. Amari and Joanna had already run on up ahead, racing to see who would get their ice cream first. Even at the sight of her nieces, young and unburdened, Cam's heart still seized with fear.

Basil yanked on the leash impatiently. She lifted the lens to her eye, zooming in on the red kite above the pier. It was aimless. Floating on a breeze unhindered.

It's a beautiful day, she reminded herself, pleading for a day of peace. It's a beautiful day today.

𓄼 𓄹

WHITING FIELD NAVAL AIR STATION
Milton, Florida

THE starched collar of her shirt was starting to itch.

It always got uncomfortable after lunch. Her tan uniform was a piece of her now, but it was still a restrictive nuisance after a day walking in and out of buildings in a Floridian summer.

Freshly returned from her three-day leave, Cameron Mejia trekked with purpose across the airfield. She walked past the wings of a T-6 Beechcraft, the standard training plane for pilots beginning the route to earning their wings. The goal was to head to her office, input records, and head home where Basil would be impatiently waiting for her.

Beginning to intermediate flight training took place here before pilots were selected for squadron roles and shipped off to a different base. Cam's days alternated between being in the air and on the ground. The ground part was a nuisance. Entering attendance records into an excel spreadsheet was not exactly her favorite pastime.

And that was where she was currently headed. That is, until she was stopped by the sight of a trio of male pilots headed out to another flight lesson.

The lead one gestured to her. "That her?"

Not so quietly, the one to his right nodded. "Yeah. Heinous bitch. She went after an ensign earlier for exiting the flight pattern too fast. Any slower and he would have been going fucking backwards."

The other two began to laugh.

For the first few weeks at Whiting Field, she was invisible. Time went on and as she spent more time up in the air training new pilots, her reputation settled. Berlin, the former Top Gun F-18 pilot who had outlived her glory days. Former this, former that, now spending her days training pilots who called her a heinous bitch.

Every few months, there was a crop of new arrivals. Her favorite, undoubtedly the most gullible and full of themselves. These three looked like the perfect targets. The stress of the afternoon rolled off her back, melting into a neat little ball of spite.

"Something funny?" she asked the pilot nearest to her.

He coughed to clear his throat. "Just a joke. I don't think you'd understand." His voice grated with a deep southern accent.

Cam's glare hardened. "What's your name, pilot?"

"Zeus," he said, with a rakish grin. His chest puffed up with pride.

Zeus, lord of the skies. A funny callsign for a boy who appeared barely older than twenty, chin dotted with the sorry start of facial hair. His olive green flight suit dwarfed his gangly limbs.

"Zeus, as in, Zero Effort Unless Supervised?" Cam said thoughtfully, tucking her clipboard under her arm.

He tried to play it off with another laugh. Unfortunately, the kid to his left let out a snort of laughter at his expense. "No sir. Like the god."

Sir. It used to get under her skin when the testosterone-filled pilots would refuse to call her by her rank, callsign, or even ma'am. They would refer to her as sir, derogatory and laughing. Even though they were all ranked below her, petty officers at best. None of them had flown combat missions, all still in training. None of them had seen the things she had.

"I see," Cam said, withering gaze enough to make him shrink the slightest bit. "Let's see what you're made of, god of the skies. On the ground."

He paled. "You're not serious."

"You bet your skinny ass I am. Down!"

"Lieutenant, I'm gonna miss my–"

"Down!" she barked.

Cheeks finally reddened, he complied. A snicker went through his friends

She raised a sculpted brow. "If any of you would like to join him, there's more than enough room."

They turned tail and walked away. A good officer wouldn't find joy in this. For Cam, it was one of the few things left that lifted her mood.

In between push ups, she said, "Word of advice, Zeus. Find yourself some better friends."

"Yes ma'am," he said weakly.

Once finished terrorizing Zeus for the day, Cam made it to the air conditioned interior of the administrative building. Past the front desk and back three hallways. Her office was the last one on the left.

And it wasn't empty. In front of the window, an imposing man stood with his arms clasped behind his back.

"Rear Admiral Mendez," Cam addressed him cautiously. "I didn't expect to see you."

If he wasn't chastising her for implementing more punishments than was necessary, he was coming to her with a new responsibility. He had never been in her office, she was always in his. The second clue that this situation was not ordinary was his pleasant expression. She would rather he be stern. It looked far more natural on his tanned face.

"Berlin," he greeted. Arms still clasped behind his back, he turned fully away from the window with a grin. "This is a nice little office space they carved out for you. Beautiful view."

It faced the rolling hills, only a section of runway tucked in the corner. A row of green trees stood guard of a crisp blue sky. It held nothing to California.

It crossed her mind like a car on a busy street. A memory plucked from her time growing up outside San Diego: rolling hills in the summer, laid out like a quilt under her bare feet.

"I can't say I spend much time in here." Cam put her clipboard down on the desk.

"How are you holding up?" He asked this now as a friend, not as her commanding officer. A rare sliver of humanity that she knew not to take for granted.

"Better. Time here helping with the next generation of pilots has helped." Could he tell she was lying through her teeth? Probably.

"And I heard your family was visiting."

"They were.  Just left yesterday, actually."

"Well," he cleared his throat, finally getting to business. "It'll be much easier to see them in the coming future."

Cam shook her head with a small laugh. "I'm not sure I follow."

"Unfortunately, I didn't just come here to chat. I'm also the bearer of good news," he glanced up to see her frowning. "Or bad. All depends on your reaction."

She schooled her features. "Am I being relocated?"

"Even better. You're being called back to active duty."

Cam was unable to hide her surprise. She had bargained and pleaded for her time in the reserves to be extended, but apparently the request had been tossed out a window. And then promptly run over by a semi.

"With all due respect, Sir, I haven't been in an F-18 cockpit in nearly three months, and it's no secret that I haven't flown in an active assignment for almost a year. It would be unrealistic to assume my abilities are at the same caliber."

And dangerous, she added in her mind.

"A valid concern, lieutenant, but your current position is training pilots. If you weren't up to snuff, they would've sent you to, I don't know–" absently, he waved a hand "–some desk job a long time ago. Your skills have been kept sharp, certainly."

"I'd disagree. Respectfully," she added.

Thankfully, Mendez was one of her few commanding officers who retained a sense of humor. He thumbed through the manila folder he brought with him. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but are you the Cameron Mejia who competed in a civilian air race a month ago?"

She winced. "Possibly."

"Clearly, you've taken advantage of the greater freedom offered in the reserves. I'm not here to reprimand you, you've done nothing wrong. It's just abundantly clear that you belong back up in the sky."

She bit back a snort. "In a Cessna, yes. Not in an F-18."

"We'll chalk it up to muscle memory. You will submit for reconditioning tomorrow and undergo basic flight tests to assess your ability. Coincidentally, you happen to be stationed at a training base," he told her with a withering grin. "You'll be up in the air with a WSO by the end of the week."

Cam almost choked on her spit. "Sir—"

"This is not a negotiation," he reminded her, sunlight flickering off the silver stars on his lapel. "It is an order. And if I find out you're pulling punches to remain at Whiting Field, I will have you grounded permanently. There will be no prolonging the inevitable."

She set her jaw. "Of course, Rear Admiral."

Softening a little, he set the folder down with a short sigh. "Listen, Cameron, I've pulled as much spare time for you as I can. I read your request, but I sincerely believe this is for the best."

"Is this really my only option?" There were always other choices, always.

"I'm not here to name names, but a request was also recently filed calling for your removal from this position," he told her. "You aren't suited for it. You're a fine pilot, extremely talented, but not all of us are cut out to teach what we know."

She pursed her lips. "That was a very kind way of putting it."

His smile looked more like a grimace. "I know you don't want me to sugar coat this, so I'll give it to you straight. These opportunities don't come by every day. This is your final chance to prove to me, to all of us, that you still want a part in this."

"And if I don't?" She had to ask.

"Then I believe your years flying with the naval air force have reached their end."

Her leg twitched with the dull, phantom pain of the crash. There was a part of her that knew she wouldn't be happy on the ground. Even in the purgatory-like limbo of training pilots at Whiting Field, she longed for the unrestrained freedom of an F-18. But then the old fears doubled back, and it was the last thing she wanted. Everything and nothing, all at once.

"What squadron will I be flying with?"

"You'll receive the same rank and position you held with the Stingers, still based in Lemoore. First, though, you'll be reporting to North Island for Top Gun training. As I said before, you'll be going up in a dual seat with a weapons system officer–"

No longer caring that she was interrupting him, Cameron held up a hand. "Hold on, Top Gun?"

"That is what I said."

"What is this, some special detachment? I didn't even graduate at the top of my class."

"Yes, but you were a close second."

"The last mission I flew with the Stingers was eleven months ago."

"And your combat history before that cements you as a prime candidate."

There was something more to this. "Was there a specific request for my attendance?" She pressed.

He let out a sharp breath of frustration. "They were interested in Nikita Kasper. I had to be the one to tell them that she is no longer with us," he told her slowly.

It was a swift blow to her chest. Kit. Even in death, she was unavoidable.

"I was the second choice." Suddenly, she wished she was back outside running laps with the pilots who had landed with the lowest scores during flight practice.

"Don't take it to heart." It was more chastising than comforting.

If she were here, Cam wanted to say, but what good would that do? Kit was not here; Cam was on her own to solve this.

At the very least, she could enter this situation with the upper hand. "Am I permitted to see the list of the other pilots being recruited?"

He hesitated for a moment. She had already asked him more questions than he would've liked. "There's twelve in total, that I can tell you. As of right now, the list isn't set in stone. Details are still being sorted, but I wanted you to have a head start since your situation is the most, well, unique."

"That's a word," Cam muttered.

A bushy eyebrow rose. "Pardon?"

"Nothing."

"You're representing Nikita Kasper's spirit, Berlin," he told her as he stood to leave. "Don't let her down."

Dust motes drifted in the air, highlighted by slivers of sunlight that shot through the window. The door shut, and Cameron sank into the chair at her desk, thumbing through the attendance records she was supposed to be inputting. Still, frustrated anger was winning over. Her eight years of full service in the Navy had managed to knock out most of her insubordination.  The death of Nikita Kasper drained her of what remained. She would be compliant; being grounded permanently was a large enough threat as it was.

There were a handful of pictures that sat framed on her narrow desk. One of Amari and Joanna, and then several of her and Kit standing on the airstrip, sitting in a bar, perched on a fence rail at a strawberry farm. Then the odd one out: an old picture of a teenage boy standing on the roof of a red pickup truck, blonde hair reflecting the desert sun.

She held onto everything. The memories cluttered her mind, sticking to a nostalgic heart that couldn't bear to let go.

The duo that Kit and Berlin had made during their time flying with the Stingers was unbreakable. Both competitive to the point of near ruthlessness, they had found a healthy respect that blossomed into a friendship. It was so shatteringly surprising to find how much they had in common, to realize that they were made from the same fears.

When they were both selected to attend training at Top Gun, Cam had found that she no longer cared that she was still playing second best to Nikita Kasper. The heart of gold and the silver tongue. Kit had bailed out Berlin's recklessness and in return, Berlin had defended her closest friend to the very last.

Until it mattered most. That time, Cam had failed.

Memories of the accident still stung like a fresh wound, even after months spent running away from the past. Kit's death could have been a rallying point. It should have been Cam's time to step up, to prove that she could get back on the horse. Instead, she had flown one more assignment with the Stingers before succumbing to an extended leave in the form of time within the Naval reserves.

She looked out the window once more. Prove to me, to all of us, that you still want a part in this.

The answer echoed back quicker than she would have liked. Do I?

In the hallway, Cam was met by another unexpected sight. Dressed in a khaki shirt and black pants, Billy Avalone was walking towards her. Of all the people who could be wandering around Whiting Field.

"Berlin!" His face lit up. "You're incredibly hard to find these days."

She hadn't seen him in almost a year.  Of all the people she had left without a goodbye, she felt the worst about doing it to him.  "Fritz? What the hell are you doing here?"

He gave her a boyish grin. "They dragged me all the way out here because of you. Florida? Could you have picked a different state? The humidity is atrocious."

"I weep."

He put a hand on his chest. "You wound me."

Cam nodded a greeting to another lieutenant as they passed. Still putting together her shock of seeing Fritz here, she said, "I assume you didn't come to Whiting Field for a flight lesson."

"Clearly," he said, falling into step next to her. Their rhythm immediately returned as if he had just seen her yesterday. "The Rear Admiral was supposed to tell you I was here."

"I think he tried." She brushed a flyaway back into the tight bun at the nape of her neck. "I wasted too much of his time trying to talk him out of it."

"I'm not surprised."

"I wish you were."

"Berlin, no one has heard from you in eleven months. Forgive me that I'm not shocked you aren't exactly jumping at the chance to get back at it. You're hiding."

She squinted at him. "I hate when you do that."

"What?"

"Read my mind. It's freaky and unnerving."

"And it's saved your life up in the sky," he reminded her. He ran a hand through his close-cropped black curls. "They transferred me to the Bounty Hunters when things shifted around after the accident. That and your refusal to fly with a WSO."

She gave a hollow laugh. "Can you blame me?"

He considered the question. "Well, yeah."

Cam let out a bark of honest laughter. This was infinitely better than any of the pity Fritz could have offered her. "All of that refusal is doing me no favors now."

"Ah." He clapped a hand onto her shoulder. "It's not so bad. You get to fly with me again, there are people who'd kill to have me as their WSO."

She blinked at him, unamused.

"Poor choice of words. You get the point," he said with ease, still full of charm. He hadn't changed at all.

Cam had, though. She was not the pilot he remembered, one willing to take any risk if it guaranteed success. She had become cautious, even the pilots she worked with on Whiting Field had noticed. People ranked above her saw it as her singular virtue, but those ranked below saw it as an oddity. Mendez, in the midst of one of his signature lectures, had once told her it was a rare marvel indeed that someone could run their mouth faster than they flew a plane.

"What will you do, mija?" she heard her father saying. She was fifteen years old, crying on the back steps because her soccer coach refused to give her more time on the field. "Will you let him be right? Or can you find it in yourself to prove him wrong?"

Her answer had always been to barrel forward, to claim everything as hers including the collateral damage of her impulse.

She wasn't going to wilt like a rose in heat because things had begun to grow difficult.  She had spent the last year alone working through her hardships, teaching herself how to live with an unforgivable mistake. This call to Top Gun was an opportunity, not an insurmountable challenge.

Keep that attitude, she reminded herself. It won't be so easy to hold onto in California.

━━ 𓄼 𓄹 ━━

a/n ^^basil's general effect on cam

ahhhh welcome to the wild world of cameron mejia!! she's got a bit of a zoya nazyalensky streak in her.    

SO if you were paying attention during the movie, you'll note that Billy 'Fritz' Avalone is indeed a real character that is mentioned approximately once in the movie. I re-casted him and gave him quite a substantial role, as is my way hehe.  slooowly tossing you scraps of the accident that resulted in the death of nikita kasper and all the fun stuff that happened in the last twelve years of cam's life.

up next is north island & the hard deck 👀 I promised myself I'd cap these chapters at 3,500 words but I broke the rule by 700 😬 apologies for the long chapter.  updates are officially tuesdays!!

thoughts?  comments? 
--nat