𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑

↳ 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭
'I try to discover,
 a little something
to make me sweeter'

━━ 𓄼 𓄹 ━━

NORTH ISLAND NAVAL AIR STATION
Coronado, California

𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐅-𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 of the morning, there was nothing on her mind but regret.

There was an exact moment that she regretted leaving Whiting Field. The regret that, maybe, if she would have been more compliant and easy-going, she would have had more options.

She had woken up that morning with such abrupt panic that Basil launched himself off the bed and began barking at the walls. Her breathing steadied, she remembered she was in the cramped Coronado apartment, and then she remembered where she was supposed to be in a mere hour.

And then she wanted to hop in her truck and not stop driving until she was out of California.

Cam stood in front of the dingy bathroom mirror and stared at the patches of her olive coveralls. The one on the right had the bright primary colors of the yellow jacket Stingers' crest, and the one above her heart was the pair of aviator wings and the word BERLIN.

It was a form of pride to wear them, but all of it felt like she was living someone else's life. The life of a woman who knew who she was. One who's secrets weren't held in the blue depths of the Pacific Ocean.

Back at Top Gun, the playing field was effectively leveled. Relatively the same caliber of skill sets, slightly different specialties. When every one of them was special, no one was.

The twelve of them were seated in rows of desks and people had filtered in largely according to their flight assignments. Duos together, singles sitting alone. Fritz was sitting next to Cam, incessantly tapping his foot against the table leg.

Natasha whipped her head around to face him. "Could you knock it off?"

Fritz shook his head. "Can't. Won't."

"Don't tell me you're nervous," Cam chided.

"Has anyone even asked who's teaching us? Or what this mission is? Or, I dunno, what the likelihood of survival might be?"

Bob, sitting next to her, didn't move. Still, Cam could tell he was listening. Natasha raised a dark brow, now fully turned around in her seat. "Haven't you learned by now that we fly first, ask questions later?"

Fritz bobbed his head and his leg stopped tapping. The energy transferred now to the pen on the table. Tap, tap, tap. "If I'm getting sent up in the air with Hangman, I wanna know where I'm going."

"You make a fair point," Natasha mused, balancing her chin on a fist. She spared a glance at Cam and lowered her voice. "Hangman got into it with Rooster last night."

"I'm not surprised," Cam huffed.

Natasha shrugged. There was an understanding behind her eyes, a sympathy for Bradley that Cam did not share. Natasha had flown at Top Gun with Rooster and Hangman. For her, this was history repeated. "They're gonna kill each other before they even get in a cockpit," she sighed.

Cam stared at the back of Rooster's head. "Less competition for us to deal with."

"But also less options," Fritz reminded her.

"Well, Omaha doesn't seem too bad," Bob finally chimed in.

Fritz stared at him, dumbfounded. "You speak!"

Cam elbowed him hard in the ribs. "And some of us should speak less."

At that moment, all chatter ceased with the sound of heavy footsteps reverberating on the cement floors. Vice Admiral Simpson and a warrant officer she had heard someone call Hondo earlier were among the two she recognized.

"Attention on deck!"

The scraping of chairs echoed in the hangar as the officers walked in.

The stern-looking man at the head of the group made his way to the podium. "Morning, welcome to your special training detachment, be seated. I'm Admiral Bates. You're all Top Gun graduates, elite, the best of the best."

At the front, Hangman was grinning like a fool. He had a tooth pick between his teeth, doing his best to look like he was too cool to be sitting in a metal chair like they were in school. Cam bit down on her tongue, letting a heavy breath of air out through her nose.

Fritz leaned over and quietly asked, "Problem?"

"Not yet."

Fritz had never had as much luck as Kit did keeping Cam's attitude in check.

"That was yesterday," Bates told them. Back straight as a board as he spoke, he easily commanded the room. "The enemy's new fifth generation fighter has leveled the playing field. Details are few but you can be sure we no longer possess the technological advantage. Success, now more than ever, comes down to the man or woman in the box."

Hangman took the opportunity to send a sidelong glance towards Phoenix. She pressed a hand to the side of her face, middle finger discreetly lifted.

"Half of you will make the cut. One of you will be named mission leader. The other half will remain in reserve."

Mission leader would be one of the solo flyers. Their options were Hangman, Rooster, Coyote, or Omaha. Following Hangman would be an early death, and she suspected Coyote would fly the same way. Rooster was overly cautious. That left Omaha, a dark-haired guy who was sitting straight-backed in the row across from them. He had potential, at least.

"Your instructor is a Top Gun graduate with real-world experience in every mission aspect you will be expected to master. His exploits are legendary. He's considered to be one of the finest pilots this program has ever produced."

All at once, the twelve of them turned to meet the sound of footsteps approaching. Cam caught Maverick's eye and she could have sworn he winked at her. She pivoted her head back just in time to see Hangman and Coyote turn around with matching grimaces.

"What's up with those two?" she asked Fritz.

Fritz gave a quiet scoff. "You missed all the fun after you left last night. They tossed Maverick out of the bar and those dumb asses were the ones that did the honors. I knew the old timer looked familiar, I totally called it."

Phoenix leaned back, interrupting their commentary. "You definitely didn't."

"What he has to teach you may very well mean the difference between life and death," Bates finished, stepping aside to let Maverick take his spot. "I give you Captain Pete Mitchell. Callsign, Maverick."

Maverick surveyed all of them with a calm ease, his gaze drifting to meet Hangman's tight lipped smile. "Morning." He risked a look at Rooster, who promptly turned away, jaw set and resolute. Undeterred, Maverick held up the stack of bound paper he had brought with him. "The F-eighteen NATOPS. Contains everything they want you to know about your aircraft."

Simpson, the three-star Admiral that stood off to the side with Bates, pursed his lips with a discreet shake of his head. It didn't take a genius to see that Maverick was not the first choice for an instructor. Someone was behind the scenes pulling strings. If Cam had to put money on it, she would assume this was the divine intervention of Admiral Kazansky.

"I'm assuming you know the book inside and out," Maverick continued.

"Damn right," Payback said.

Not to be outdone, Hangman added, "Damn straight."

"You got it!" Coyote echoed from behind them.

"Lemmings," Cam coughed. Natasha stifled a laugh.

The room echoed with the sound of the manual being unceremoniously tossed in the trash can. Fritz looked appalled, Cam's face broke into a wild grin.

"You know it all, and so does your enemy. But what the enemy doesn't know is your limits. I intend to find them, test them. Push beyond."

Rooster glanced to the side, already having enough of the speech. Cam found her attention constantly returning back to him. She didn't care for his forgiveness, and she didn't want to stoop to the level of forgiving him. But this grudge he still held against Maverick was obnoxious and petty. She had watched the open longing in Maverick's eyes last night, like he was watching his own son remain estranged.

"So today we'll start with what you only think you know. Show me what you're made of."

This was her one and only advantage: she was made from years of being second best.

She knew what it meant to struggle, pinned under the weight of expectations that she could never quite meet. Everything she had ever done to get to this point in her career was marred by mistakes.

The worst thing that could happen was getting grounded permanently. Anything short of that would be a miracle.

"What was that look on your face?" Fritz called from behind her as they headed out to the runway. Planes were taking off on nearby runway lanes, but the F-18s in front of them still sat silent. "I hate that look, it normally doesn't end well for me."

"Oh relax," Cam chastised. She slowed down to let him catch up.

Bob was sticking close to Phoenix, and the story was the same with Payback and Fanboy, and then Halo and Yale. The duo teams were the best bet at getting people to work well together, it was always the solo pilots that posed more of an issue.

Case in point, Rooster was walking a healthy distance away from all of them, red flight helmet hanging at his side.

"Rooster!" Maverick called.

Cam came to a stop in front of their plane assignment, dropping to the ground and pretending to tie her combat boots. It was all an attempt to stay within earshot.

"Bradley," the pilot tried again to get his attention. "Lieutenant Bradshaw!"

Finally, he stopped in his tracks and slowly turned. "Yes sir."

"Let's not do it like this.

"You gonna wash me out?"

"That'll be up to you, not me."

A heavy pause. "Am I dismissed?"

Fritz opened the panel on the fuselage for one last minute check. "What the hell is up with those two? Rooster has a bone to pick with everyone, dude looked ready to crack open Maverick's head."

Cam gave a loose shrug. "They have a history."

"I'm sensing a trend."

Loud enough that he could hear, Cam said, "Rooster tends to leave a trail of damage in his wake. Doesn't like to hang on to the past."

He turned to look at her. She couldn't see his eyes behind his sunglasses, but she knew they would be narrowed. She cocked her head towards him. "Problem?"

He gave her a rakish smile. He could play it off all he wanted, but she knew him well enough to see how tense he was. "Not at all."

Teams of three would go up with Maverick. The rest of them would wait inside to be called back out.

The fan in the corner continued to blow stale air around the rec room. It smelled vaguely of coffee grounds and engine oil, the burning fuel of an adrenaline rush. The walls were clustered with pictures from previous Top Gun classes and trophies. For the time being, the nine of them that weren't up in the air would sit and wait.

That didn't mean that no one was watching.

Through the window blinds, Cam could distantly see the streaking forms of the F-18s in the distance. Behind her, the short-range radio was tuned in to the com signals so that everyone could hear the cockpit commentary. Right now, the first group up was Rooster flying with Payback and Fanboy in the wingman position.

"Good morning aviators, this is your captain speaking," Maverick began. "Welcome to basic fighter maneuvers. As briefed, today's exercise is dogfighting. Guns only, no missiles. We do not go below the hard deck of 5,000 feet. Working as a team you have to shoot me down, or else."

"Or else what, Sir?" Payback asked over the coms.

"Or else I shoot back. If I shoot either one of you down, you both lose."

"We'll see about that!" Omaha said with glee, fist bumping a pilot called Yale from across the foosball table.

"This guy needs an ego check," Jake muttered, holding up a model plane that had been sitting on the pine wood of the table.

Natasha glanced over from her seat next to the radio, the corner of her lip quirking up with disbelief.

"Your confidence is astounding," Cam remarked, not looking up from the cards in her hand. Fritz had just finished dealing out the deck between the two of them.

Jake leaned back onto the couch and sighed. "It is, isn't it?"

"Sir let's say we put some skin in the game!" Payback's voice came again.

"No good words have ever followed that sentence," Fritz remarked. He put down a two and Cam immediately followed it with her three.

"What do you have in mind?"

"Whoever gets shot down first has to do two hundred push ups."

And the deal was struck.

𓄼 𓄹

𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄 rounds of cards later, Cam and Fritz were called out to the runway with Omaha. Even for all of his rowdy attitude inside with Yale, as soon as it was just the three of them it was like someone had sucked the oxygen out of the hallway.

"So, you from Nebraska?" Fritz joked, keeping the mood light.

"No." Not a laugh, not a chuckle, not even a small smile.

"Oh-kay then," Fritz sighed, ultimately giving up. He leaned in towards Cam and said in her ear, "Ten bucks says this guy gets us torched by Maverick."

"You don't like my odds?"

"I don't like his. He has no sense of humor, that's a red flag."

"Maybe he's just taking this seriously."

Fritz raised a brow.

"I'd bet fifteen on that if I were you," she relented.

Through the tinted lens of her Wayfarer sunglasses, the day was bright. Rooster was still down on the tarmac doing his pushups as they walked past. Ahead of them, Omaha let out a very audible snicker as he glanced down. "Hey Rooster! Hold down that tarmac for us until we get back, alright?"

"No sense of humor, huh?" Cam hissed at Fritz.

His navy blue helmet tapped against his leg as he walked. "Maybe I'm not as funny as I think I am."

It was her mistake, but she couldn't stop herself from looking in Bradley's direction. Right as they passed, he came up from another rep and met her gaze. It lasted for only a second, but she quickly whipped her head back around.

She had enough distractions already.

Up in the air, she flew them in the pattern that had been programmed into her F-18's navigation system. It spread out in a little map like a fighting arena, borders marked on all sides and below them at the hard deck. So far, Maverick was nowhere to be seen. He hadn't landed with the last group, electing to remain in the sky.

"He sure does like that element of surprise," Fritz muttered.

"Is he on the radar?" Omaha asked over their coms. They flew alongside each other, waiting for the go-ahead.

Cam could almost feel Fritz rolling his eyes. "No, hotshot," he jeered. "You would know if he was."

"Well, it's hard to tell," Omaha defended. "I've never flown with either of you, I have no idea how competent you are."

All of their radio chatter was being sent directly back to the rec room. Hangman was probably howling with laughter.

A crackle of static, and then Fritz shouted, "Tally! Tally six o'clock!"

Cam and Omaha split off from each other as Maverick blasted between them. Through their coms, he said, "Fight's on, fellas."

Omaha's immediate response was to nose up into a steep climb without a word of explanation.

"Omaha, talk to me," Cam said as she clipped her mask all the way on. "You got a plan or are you running?"

To her annoyance, all that answered her question was silence. Leveled out with Maverick in hot pursuit, Cam dove until she hit the 5,000 foot mark.

"He's tailing us!" Fritz shouted.

A grunt of frustration escaped her lips. In a world where they were working as a team, Omaha would have the perfect opportunity to tag Maverick out while he was focused on chasing her. So far, the only thing Omaha was doing was hovering safely above.

"Bank right," Omaha told her. An edge of panic was evident in his tone.

Nevertheless, she did. When it became clear that Omaha still wasn't moving into the offensive position, she said, "Take your shot, Omaha for the love of God!"

"He isn't in my range."

"Then get closer!" Fritz demanded.

The jet cut above the desert landscape like a dart. Rocky cliff sides gave way to an open plain as she flew close to the boundary lines. She managed to stay just out of range of Maverick's targeting system, but it was getting very close.

"New plan," she lowered the throttle and slowed. "We're coming to you, Omaha. Get ready."

Fritz slammed a fist on the canopy with a little whoop of excitement. "Bait and switch?"

"Bait and switch."

As soon as Maverick was almost in range, she pulled up in an arc. The vapor trail painted the sky with a puffy white crescent moon. Gravity began to pry at her senses as the G reading jumped. Sure enough, Maverick matched the 1-circle flow and flew upwards to intercept her. She continued to climb, and within seconds they were perfectly within Omaha's range.

And still, no kill tone.

"Omaha, take the damn shot!" Fritz shouted.

"I'm trying! Shit, I can't get him!"

"Missed your chance!" Maverick goaded. The even tone of a kill echoed in her headset. "That's a kill. Berlin, Fritz, you're out."

Static crackled as Fritz whipped off his mask. "Damn it!"

The only consolation was watching Maverick pull his F-18 into a neat little spin and take out Omaha in the dive like a sitting duck.

That consolation meant next to nothing when she was halfway through her pushups on the ground. Olive coverall sleeves tied at her waist, she was sweating straight through her black tank top.

"One seventy six! Down!" Hondo shouted. A little too gleefully.

"Competent, my ass," Fritz said breathlessly in between sets.

"Not–" Omaha's face contorted in a grimace "–my fault."

"Definitely your fault," Cam grunted, arms aching. This was somehow worse than the humiliation of basic training.

Finally, they reached the end. "Two hundred!" Hondo told them, arms crossed over his wide chest. "Y'all can head inside."

Stray curls were now escaping the once-neat regulation bun at the nape of her neck. She made no effort to brush them back. Omaha would not be team lead unless something drastic changed in the next week. She imagined he was an excellent flier in his squadron, but his leadership skills didn't match his confidence levels. Terrible in a crisis, it was clear he had never seen air-to-air combat.

When they made their way back to the rec room, all of their cards were still fanned out on the table. The atmosphere was decidedly less enlivened than it had been earlier now that the realization of Maverick's training techniques had settled in. Phoenix, Bob, and Hangman were missing, transitioning out in the air for the last group of the day.

"If I have to do two hundred push ups at the expense of someone else's mistakes, how is that fair?" Fritz lamented as he flopped back down onto the couch.

"Perks of being a backseat driver?" Cam supplied.

He gave her a side-long glance. "Lucky me."

Fritz shuffled through the deck of cards absently, not so much to get them ready for play as it was to rid his hands of nervous energy. Cam sat down in front of the radio, listening as Phoenix went up with Bob and Hangman.

"Say Phoenix, how's about we tell everyone Bob stands for somethin'? Other than Robert."

"Don't take the bait, Bob. Wanna know why we call him Hangman?"

And then an echo of sardonic laughter. "Wait, wait, wait, I got it. Baby-on-board."

Finally, Maverick came onto the coms. Over Hangman's utterance of oh shit!, Maverick said, "Greetings, aviators. Fights on!"

"C'mon Phoenix lets take this guy out!"

"Watch your back, Phoenix," Bradley muttered under his breath.

Cam glanced up, unsurprised to see him also taking a seat near the radio. The one thing they had in common was a general animosity towards Hangman, and apparently a friendship with Natasha.

"Brake right."

"Braking right!"

Bob's voice came over the coms next. "Where's he goin'?"

"That's why we call him Hangman. He'll always hang you out to dry."

"He hasn't changed at all," Bradley muttered.

Cam snorted. "What, don't tell me you thought he would suddenly become less full of himself. People like that, they don't tend to change."

He took the bait of her dig and set his jaw. "For the record, I do not leave damage in my wake."

Cam kept her voice low. So far, everyone else in the room was watching out the window or focused on their own side conversations. "I'd beg to differ."

"You wanna talk about people not changing? You're still so quick to blame me."

"There's no reasoning with the unreasonable."  At first, she wanted the conversation to drop, but the longer she sat there, the more she realized she didn't.  "You want to talk about this?  Let's go."

Cam stood from her stool and crossed the room, pushed open the door and walked out into the hallway. His boots echoed on the floor behind her, and with the force of all of her anger she turned back around. He needed to have this out with her as much as she did with him. But the last place she was going to do it was in a room full of people she was competing with.

"What is your problem?" he demanded.

She gave a sardonic laugh. "My problem? Do we really want to play the blame game here, because I have a feeling you're gonna lose."

He shook his head. "It's been ten years, Cam–"

"This isn't about that," she snapped. "And that would be your fault, just for the record. My problem now is that you can't even focus on the task at hand."

He crossed his arms over the chest of his coveralls. With a shit-eating grin, he said, "Oh, do tell."

"You still haven't forgiven Maverick," she stated. "You never could let it go, could you? You keep holding this grudge here, and you won't get very far."

Now it was his turn to lose his temper. Still, neither of them raised their voice, maintaining the quietest shouting match on record. "Just try to look at things from my perspective–"

"I've tried, but I can't seem to get my head that far up my ass."

"You're infuriating! You just don't listen, you never have!"

"No, you listen to me," she told him, daring to take a step closer.  They were inches away from each other now.  "This entire mission hinges on the back of whoever is picked as team lead. Hangman is going to get everyone killed, Omaha can't make a shot to save his life. And then there's you."

His expression hardened now. "And what about me, Berlin?"

What about you?  What about those days when I used to miss you?  Did you ever even think about me at all?  She had come to terms with the loss of the boy who was in so many of her childhood memories, but the questions had never ceased.  Her pride would never allow her to admit that now.

"Where do you want me to start?" she countered. "Vindictive is the first word that comes to mind."

He scoffed, but his heart wasn't in it. There was some hurt visible behind his expression. "Then I guess you'll just have to hope Coyote gets picked as the lead."

"I would rather it be you."

He met her eyes, blinking as if he had heard her incorrectly. "Hold on, say that again?"

"I'm not going to repeat myself. But if you can't get your shit together, we both know how this is going to end."

He shifted his weight, visibly agitated. "I don't need you to tell me what to do.  I understand what I'm here to do, I know how to do my job."

"I know you do," she said.  "But from where I'm standing, it doesn't look like it.  You're going to be hard pressed to get through this if you can't find it in yourself to forgive Maverick."

That struck a chord.  Maybe because he knew she was right, maybe because he wanted her to be wrong, he switched the conversation.  "I'm not the only one who had to do push ups today.  What makes you so certain you'll even be picked for the detachment?  In all likelihood, you'll be in reserve.  Then you won't even have to worry about who's leading, will you?"

Cam blanched.  That stung to hear that he too had no faith in her.  With a half hearted laugh, she said, "Then I guess I won't."  Her lips pressed in a thin line.  "Sorry I wasted your time, Rooster," she spat.

With nothing left to say, Cam turned away and walked down the hall.

━━ 𓄼 𓄹 ━━

a/n ^^this is effectively cam's entire attitude in this chapter.  the cameron mejia agenda is just so personal to me.  she's so petty 😭

bradley pov coming your way in the next chapter!!  you'll be seeing the other side of the story/the story of the day that bradley met cam 🤩 I'm so excited for you guys to read it!

--nat <3