weeklyship

[weeklyship]

Enemy of Your Enemy pt. 3

When he rolls up in the Bronco, it’s barely parked before he has both feet on the ground, fixing his collar quickly in the reflection of his window. He screws his mouth up into some semblance of a smirk, knowing at the very least that Phoenix will be waiting for him on the other side of the door. If no one else, Phoenix will be happy to see him. Annoyed, too, but he takes what he can get.

He has, purposefully, not thought about Iris in the last twenty-four hours. He knew it would come back to bite him in the ass; if he was being honest, he had known that for the last eighteen years, but it hadn’t stopped him from maintaining his firm position on the matter anyway.

Sure, when he found out that Maverick, his only father figure growing up, his biggest hero, had pulled his papers, it had hurt. But when Iris had quickly agreed with Mav, had tried to defend his actions, as if delaying Bradley’s biggest dream was only a minuscule bump in the road… that had really put a nail in the coffin that had been the familial relationship between the sole Bradshaw heir and the Mitchell’s. Pete Mitchell didn’t believe in him. He didn’t think Bradley had what it took to become a pilot. And neither did Iris.

Pete had brought Iris by two weeks later so she could run in, wish him a happy birthday, and drop off the gift they had gotten him. He had begrudgingly agreed, figuring that giving her the run around wouldn’t be fair and would only prolong it, but he didn’t open it until long after she had left, tears in her eyes, mumbling apologies on her way out.

He shook the memory off, strolling into the Hard Deck like he deserved to be there, without a care in the world. He did deserve to be there. Every uniform that had been called back to Top Gun did; they were the best there was so far as naval aviators went.

The fake pleasantries seem to go by in a blur. Rooster isn’t sure exactly which jabs are aimed where, but he does know that Hangman is the root of them all, and pretty lucky that everyone here is familiar enough with him that they don’t see how quickly a swift knee to the groin would turn him from Hangman into Not-a-man.

When the attention is taken away from him, only briefly, he narrows into Iris. Athena, now, he supposed. He had seen her graduation photos from Ice, but it was nothing compared to seeing her in person. She had her uniform on like the rest of them, but instead of the slick updo that Phoenix usually wore, her dark hair fell around her shoulders in waves.

As he takes her in, and marvels quietly that wow she looks like Mav, if Maverick was a mid-thirty year old woman, he wonders if he really has what it takes to be here. If he’d be able to sit by quietly if they were both chosen for this mission; if he’d have what it takes, should something happen, to leave her behind. You never have, Bradley, not really, the voice in his head reminds him, but he shoves it down, back into the box it belongs in.

He misses the beginning of what Hangman says, but he knows it isn’t good, both because it never is and because Athena rolls her eyes with a scowl. He catches the tail end as he tunes back in, “…so I hope you have what it takes to follow me in this mission. We all know it won’t be our dear sweet Rooster.”

“The only place you’ll lead anyone is an early grace,” he spits back. Hangman doesn’t know him. No one here does, not anymore.

“That’s not the question we should be asking,” Phoenix interjects, always able to smooth things over with her ability to see reason and ask the important questions. “Everyone here is the best there is. Who the hell is going to teach us?”

Rooster feels his heart plummet into his stomach at the question. From what he understood from Ice, and very limited information was presented to him, there were only a few admirals left that had the skill set required for this mission.

He wondered about the criteria that they would need to have, that he would need to have, and was briefly overwhelmed by the sheer, overwhelming doubt in his ability as a pilot, the doubt that had never really gone away after Mav and Iris.

He shook the thought away as the overdraft bell rung, locking eyes with a rather panicked looking Athena. Or, rather, she was very carefully composed, if you didn’t know what to look for.

Eighteen years later and he could still read her like an open book. That thought sent a hollow pang through his chest as she broke eye contact to watch Hangman and Coyote haul the oldtimer that had bought everyone a round out.

Without his permission, he was stretching towards the juke cord, yanking it out of its socket. He dropped himself onto the piano bench, letting his dark aviators drop back down onto his nose.

He had promised Iris that they would talk tonight, but he knew without a doubt that that was something he would not keep. But the next best thing he knew how to do was sing. So sing he did.

And when she dropped onto the bench with him, leaning against his shoulder while he played and they sang Great Balls of Fire, he felt, just for a moment, like they were teenagers again, messing around with the keyboard in his mother’s house for something to do.

The warmth spreading under his skin wasn’t just anger, and that, in itself, was terrifying.

———

He hadn’t had to fly with her yet, which was, in his opinion, good. Better than good. Maverick was in his head, rattling him up every step of the way, and it was making him act up. Rooster was never one to lash out; he was cold, calculated, collected in all things. Hangman had teased him for it, but he was snug on his perch. It had saved his life more times than he knew how to count, not just while flying.

So, when Hondo tells him that he’s done for the day, he keeps pushing. Because what else is he supposed to do, really? If he isn’t going to follow orders flying, that might as well apply to push ups, and a few more aren’t going to kill him. The humiliation of his actions might though, especially with Hangman having front row tickets to his and Maverick’s past-trauma-current-idiot show.

He finally pulled up when the sound of Hondo’s boots are long a thing of the past, forcing his sore and aching body to listen to this one last direction as he pulled his knees out from under him and dropped his head onto them. There was salt water stinging his eyes, and he wasn’t sure if it was his own sweat from the stress and the hot tarmac or if he might have been crying.

He hears someone rapidly approaching him but doesn’t bother to look up. “Breaking the hard deck, insubordination.” A pause, and then, “Are you trying to get yourself kicked out?”

“Don’t worry about it,” he sighed. He wasn’t in the mood to fight with Phoenix; so far, that’s all he seemed to be doing. Wake up, fight with Hangman, fight with Maverick, fight with anyone who looked at him wrong, fight with himself, go to sleep, wake up, rinse repeat. He was sure that Mav wouldn’t let them kick him out, and he was equally as sure that Mav wouldn’t pick him to fly this mission, so he was truly at a stalemate. He had nothing to lose and everything to prove and he didn’t have to explain himself on top of it.

Phoenix crouched down in front of him, and he didn’t have to look at her to feel her stern gaze. “Look. I’m going on this mission. But if you get kicked out, you leave us flying with Hangman.” She is quiet for a second, probably wondering how to take down the wall he’s built between himself and the rest of the world in the short few days they’ve been here. “Talk to me. What the hell was that?”

He fixes her with his steely gaze then, not meaning to answer but unable to stop the explanation as it spits itself out at her feet. “He pulled my papers.”

“What? Who?”

“Maverick. He pulled my application to the Naval Academy. Set me back four years.” He can hear the bitterness and spite that are laced through the confession, even still. He isn’t sure what he wants her to do with it. Comfort him, maybe. Tell him she understands why he’s acting like a spoiled brat now, that it’s completely justified.

“You know he pulled hers too, right?” Rooster pushes the words around in his head, trying to make them make sense. When no recognition immediately dawns on his face, she sighs, shaking her head. “He pulled Athena’s application, too. And last time I checked, we haven’t seen her making swan dives towards death.”

No, they most certainly hadn’t. Rooster knew that something had changed between them, but he hadn’t thought Maverick would be so stupid as to make the same mistake twice. He assumed it was regular growing pains, or a general desire to be her own pilot, that sent Athena into far corners, away from her father during trainings. He thought that the cool tone they addressed each other in was a bit exaggerated based off his own twisted wishful thinking.

He watched Phoenix sigh and push back up to walk away, and he leans his head back onto his knees for another minute. Content to let the cogs turn in his head with no immediate disruptions.

When he forces himself to stand a few minutes later, he doesn’t feel any closer to figuring this puzzle out, but he does feel a little bit lighter. He had to try harder; both for Phoenix, and to keep Athena out of this mission. For now, that would be enough.

Now posted on ao3: Enemy of Your Enemy

Start from the beginning: part 1

[weeklyship]

still obsessed with rooster's effing and blinding back seat driving

"mav...why are the wings coming out?"

"mav, this is a taxiway, not a runway! and it's a very short taxiway!"

"shit!"

"mav do some of that pilot shit"

"oh shit!"

"what the fuck was that!"

[weeklyship]

I ain’t worried ‘bout it right now

[weeklyship]

Enemy of Your Enemy, pt. 2

Iris sits near the back, behind Phoenix and Bob, as far away from Rooster the space would allow. She feels the tension rising as their commander, Cyclone, introduces the legend himself to the room. She almost smirks when she sees the smile get wiped off Hangman’s face as he watches Maverick strut up the aisle between them, but she doesn’t want the look to be misconstrued as happiness at seeing the man again.

Pulling Rooster’s papers were one thing, one thing she probably agreed with if she was being honest with herself. She never knew Nick Bradshaw, but she had heard about him from Maverick on countless occasions. Especially now, she imagined that his seeing Rooster felt akin to seeing a living, breathing ghost; the similarities were uncanny for a man who had barely known his own father.

Iris tunes back in at the murmurs of agreement about knowing the book forwards and backwards. She notices that each pilot has it out in front of them; she didn’t even bother bringing hers. Not once she realized that it was her own flesh and bones teaching them for this mission. She bites back a dry laugh when he drops the whole manual into the trash next to him. Rooster is heaving in calculated breathes, pointedly looking anywhere but Mav, and she wonders if he’s about to have a panic attack or something.

And then, training begins. They each get assigned their respective planes for training.

She watches as he stops Bradley, watches as they go toe to toe. She notices that Jake watches, too. She doesn’t like the curious glint in his eye; doesn’t like how he smirks when Rooster turns heel and struts away.

Maverick gives an exasperated sigh, then turns to look at her, raising a questioning brow. She sets her jaw, daring him to come talk to her next, and he doesn’t.

Unlike Rooster, there was no hiding from them. They knew exactly who she was by her name, shared with him. They also know that she had made a name for herself without him. Her namesake, Iris, was something Pete had chosen, after the Greek goddess of the sea and sky, the personal messenger of Hera. Her callsign was something she had earned, that both poked fun at her name’s origin but was something so profoundly accurate: Athena, goddess of battle strategy and wisdom. She had inherited her green eyes, tanned skin, and dark hair from her father. It became very clear, as she quickly earned her spot at Top Gun, that looks were not where her resemblance stopped.

Iris was smooth talking, charming when she needed to be. Her skill in an F-18 was practically unmatched. Even then, she knew without a doubt that she would not be flying this mission. Maverick had pulled her application not because he didn’t believe in her, but because he was well aware of everything she was capable of. She, like Rooster, wasn’t sure she could forgive him for setting her back four years, but she knew that she didn’t harbor that same resentment for Mav as he did.

“Hey, sweetheart, I know we’re training and all, but how about we put some skin in the game?” Hangman’s crooked smile mocks her as she snaps out of her thoughts, turning to raise an eyebrow at him.

“What do you want, Bagman?” Iris questions, unwavering as he clutches at his heart in fake pain.

“You, too, princess? I’m hurt, truly.” His southern drawl makes him sound anything but, and of course, seconds later Coyote stalks into her line of vision. Forever playing wingman for his favorite aviator, the one who surely has left him out to dry more times than he’s saved his ass. “If I outscore you, you come out on a date with me when this whole thing is over.”

She laughs then, because of course this Southern gentleman thinks that she would love nothing more than a night full of primping his already inflated ego. “And if I beat you?” She questions, crossing her arms while she leans back on her plane.

“You name the price, princess,” he smiles, flashing his white teeth in her direction, toothpick moving from one side of his mouth to the other. Iris holds back a disgusted shudder, knowing at the end of the night, Hangman is truly harmless.

“If you become leader of this mission, I want to be your wingman.” It’s an added stipulation, and as she expects, he nods.

“I’ll agree, if the reverse is also true.” She nods, knowing the only way she leads this mission is if Maverick drops dead right now.

“Shake on it?” He asks, extending a hand and crossing the runway.

“I haven’t even named my terms, yet,” she says, raising one brow at him. He shrugs, extending his hand into her space, and she takes it anyway. No harm in a little extra fun to pass the next three weeks.

They’ve gathered a little crowd; Phoenix looking amused, Bob looking a little lost. Rooster is decidedly as far from them as possible, and she sighs as they go back to their respective planes. He was never one for fun and games, anyway.

———

Phoenix, Bob, and herself stand by the window, watching as Rooster holds down the tarmac. “Now you know a little something about our friend, Rooster,” Phoenix tells Bob, shaking her head. Iris had to agree, and that’s what has her so nervous. Eleven other pilots, the best of the best, were watching him crack under the pressure of their first day. That wasn’t promising; if this was how he planned to show Maverick that he was a fully capable pilot, he was falling just short of sane.

Iris goes next, with her assigned team two men she had never flown with before. She keeps a cool head under pressure, just like she always has. It’s Maverick that seems rattled, as if Rooster was in his back seat telling him all his shortcomings while he tries to shoot his only daughter out of the sky.

In the end, she sits in the waiting room, listening, while each respective group of men, and even Phoenix, end up having to do their push-ups for Hondo.

The next day is more of the same; Maverick, pushing Rooster past his breaking point. Maverick, too rattled to get a hit on her, (or maybe her skills were greater than her old man’s; that was certainly the whisperings she heard going around Fightertown).

She hasn’t gotten the chance to speak to him yet, either of them, really. The one time she tried to speak with Bradley, he brushed her off, stalking back towards his cabin with a, “Talk later, yeah?”, spit over his shoulder at her. When Maverick had approached her after, she had just shaken her head, ignoring his sorry attempts at an apology.

The third day of the same trials leave them all clustered around the radio, listening to Hangman remind the two idiotic men of the hard deck as they spiraled down into a deadly corkscrew.

They hear Hangman’s almost sigh in relief as Maverick pulls up at 750 feet, and the crowd that has gathered start to disperse as the crisis is averted. Iris stays, white knuckling the table the radio is on, knowing it isn’t over yet.

“Come on Rooster, you got him. Drop down and take the shot,” Jake encourages.

“Don’t think; just do,” Maverick whispers.

“It’s too low!” Rooster claims, and the tone of his voice makes Iris think he’s talking about more than just the hard deck. For someone that presented themselves as all confidence, he was sorely lacking in it here, and it was all Maverick’s fault. To some degree, she knows it was her fault as well. She didn’t know they were picking sides until he stopped picking up her calls. She was only 14; she couldn’t have done anything except forgive Maverick.

She hears the tone, and knows it’s over. Maverick tells him to see Hondo about his push-ups, and a few minutes later they glance out the window to see him with Hondo counting over him. The look on her face must be something fierce, because Bob nudges Phoenix with his elbow.

“Maybe you should go talk to him,” he mumbles. “Before he gets himself kicked out.”

She and Bob watch as Hondo shrugs and walks away from him, knowing he has long passed the two hundred mark. Iris shakes her head and tucks herself back into the waiting room, not wanting to watch as Phoenix reams him out.

She waits, as the rest of the team filters out, done for the day. It isn’t much longer before he shows up, and he has the good sense to look a little sheepish.

“What’re you doing out there?” She wants to sound angry, but mostly she just sounds tired. She is tired.

He shrugs, sitting in the seat across from her. “They gave me permission to lower the hard deck,” he says by way of answering. Nothing is ever direct with him, not when it comes to them, his only child and the child of his late best friends.

“Were you going to tell us that?” She demands, feeling her anger burn through the exhaustion at his seeming nonchalance. “Or were you going to let Rooster get both of you killed in order to prove a point?”

Maverick runs a hand along the back of his neck, looking away from her. Silent, like always. “I don’t get it, Mav. Ice can’t get you out of everything, not forever.” He still doesn’t say anything, and she relaxes herself backwards into the chair, closing her eyes for a second while she takes a steadying breath.

When she opens her eyes again, his matching green gaze is quietly taking in her own. Calculating as ever. “You look good, Iris. Athena. You’ve really grown up.”

Iris gives a dry chuckle, letting out a frustrated breath at his quiet confession. “Can this mission even be flown? We’ve done nothing so far, Mav. It’s been four days, and we aren’t even acting like a team. I’d only trust a few of these guys to watch my back. How do we run a suicide mission with them in two weeks?” He shakes his head, looking like the thought hadn’t really occurred to him. “If you keep pushing everyone’s limits, there won’t be anyone left.”

“So what do you suggest?” He asks, closing his eyes as he pushes back into the chair. It’s been quite a few years since she’s seen him; she notices that there are new lines on his forehead, and he’s starting to show some of his age. He was fifty-six now, after all.

She shrugs, standing up to leave. “That’s not my problem, Mav. You dug this hole. Figure out how to dig us out of it.”

She left without a glance back.

a/n: this is truly the definition of slow build. I have a nice idea for a little argument between Rooster and Iris in the next part… maybe even from Rooster’s pov? Idk, let me know your thoughts so far!

If you missed it, part 1 here. Next part here.

[weeklyship]

I wrote a little (8k words oops) thing. It’s a Haymiss (Haymitch x Katniss) fic because once I thought about it I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

(I’ll get back to top gun and other content…later lol)

[weeklyship]

Enemy of Your Enemy

She leaned forward, one hand perched on the corded phone hooked to the wall of the Hard Deck office, other bracing herself as she leaned forward and pressed her forehead to the cool plaster. Did she really want to do this?

She felt a sick twist to her stomach as she considered the alternative. Seeing him again, all these years later… seeing them both again, really. But you know what they say… the enemy of your enemy is your friend.

In this case, she isn’t sure which one is worse; who is her enemy, and who is her friend.

Finally, she steeled herself, unhooking the phone and pressing the single digit code. At the reserved sound of his answer, she bit back her nerves. “I have a favor to ask, and you aren’t going to like it.”

She hears his resolute sigh. “Can’t we talk when I get there? I was called for this mission, same as you. I’ll be stateside only tomorrow night.” His voice has an edge to it, but she can hear it’s pleading tone nonetheless.

“No, it has to be now. I need you to hear me out so I know if you agree to this before tomorrow.” Another sick turn to her stomach, one she boils down to butterflies. Tomorrow. Somehow both too soon and not soon enough. A mere few hours, and an entire lifetime.

He sighed again. “Fine, but talk quick. I’m lining up to board.”

“I just wanted to say… I’m sorry. Okay? You were right. And I know you’ll never forgive him for what he did; I don’t blame you. I was young and dumb and it shouldn’t have been a surprise when he pulled the same stunt with me.” There is a heavy pause, one filled only with the background noise of his busy terminal and the bar starting to fill up with the regulars and a bit of emotional breathing. “I just wanted to apologize,” she says, sighing. “Before tomorrow. In hopes that we could put it behind us.”

The silence continues to stretch, further than she would’ve thought possible, to the point where she almost would have wondered if the call dropped if not for the occasional shuffle on the other line. As she’s about to end the call, she hears a little chuckle, and it’s just enough to feed into the little blossom of hope not yet wilted in her chest. “Okay, Iris. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” she repeats. “Safe flight, Bradley.”

And then the line goes dead.

“All good, Iris?” Penny calls from behind the bar as she steps out of the office.

“I think so,” she shrugs, ignoring that pesky little flower blooming in her chest. Tomorrow. What was she getting herself into?

———

By the time Iris gets there, the tension is already full swing around the pool table. She fixes her uniform and sidles in, quickly taking in those already present. Fanboy, Payback, Phoenix, Coyote, Hangman, Bob. Bob? She bites back a grin as her eyes land on him.

“Who’s he?” Phoenix asks, gesturing towards him.

“Who’s who?” Hangman asks, looking confused. Iris smiles, shaking her head a little bit. Of course they hadn’t noticed him over their pissing contest.

“I’ve been here the whole time,” Bob states, confusion clear in his voice.

“What do they call you?” Phoenix asks, giving him a small smile.

“Bob,” he says.

“No, your callsign.”

“Bob,” she repeats for him, finally making herself known. They whirl their heads, eyes landing on her.

“Athena?” Hangman raises his eyebrows in disbelief.

“Hangman. It’s…” she raises an eyebrow, searching for the right word. “It’s certainly interesting to see you here,” she settles on. Hangman and nice don’t belong in the same dictionary, nevermind the same sentence together.

“Now we’ve got some stake in this game,” Phoenix says. “Athena and Hangman are the only two naval aviators of our time with a confirmed kill under their belts.” Coyote looks smug enough for the both of them without Hangman’s stupid smirk, and Iris smiles. Payback gives a low, impressed whistle, looking her up and down.

Bob leans around the crew to give her a curt nod. “Athena. Looking forward to flying with you again.”

Then the doors blow open, and in walks Bradley. Iris narrows her eyes, looking away from him and his faded Hawaiian shirt and sunglasses. He struts with confidence, and suddenly she understands how he earned the sign Rooster.

She tunes out the rest of the conversation, trying to steady her racing heart, until Hangman presses a beer into her hands. “On the old timer,” he winks, nodding his head towards the bar. It’s too crowded for her to see, but she shrugs and takes a long swig.

“It’ll be nice to have some real competition around here,” he continues, passing out the last few beers he had grabbed. “You don’t really strike me as leader material, though, so I hope you have what it takes to follow me in this mission. We all know it won’t be our dear sweet Rooster.”

“The only place you’ll lead anyone is an early grave,” Rooster injects, steely gaze on Hangman.

“That’s not the question we should be asking,” Phoenix jumps in, smoothing things over. “Everyone here is the best there is. Who the hell is going to teach us?”

The overdraft bell rings right as her heart plummets into her stomach. She wondered, very briefly, if she was going to have to see him again. But she had thought that Ice was going to teach this mission, sick as he was. Ice had told her he wouldn’t give her anything she couldn’t handle.

As an uneasy hush fell over the pilots, she locked eyes with Rooster. His face was carefully masked, hiding exactly what she knew hers read. As the boys went and carted someone out, she caught a glimpse of the jacket through the crowd, the same jacket she had last seen when she fought with him in his kitchen.

Rooster was moving then, pulling the plug near the piano, causing the bar to crash into both a moment of silence followed by an uproar of upset, drunk customers.

She downed the rest of her beer, leaving the bottle on a nearby table as she went to take her place by his side. Phoenix, Bob, Fanboy, and Payback quickly joined as he tickled the keys in warmup. His glasses fell back onto his face as he started the familiar tune, the one that had always connected him to his father, and she supposed, in a way, her father too.

As the bar came to life, she accepted another beer from Bob, who like always just had water, and lost herself in Great Balls of Fire. She tucked herself onto the end of the piano bench, leaning into Bradley while she sang.

Tomorrow. She would see what fresh hell awaited her tomorrow.

She didn’t turn in time to see her dad, freshly cast out of the bar, watching her sing with his late best friend’s son, thinking about the last time he had seen the same scene. If she had, she isn’t sure she would have felt sorry, anyway.

———

a/n: Iris “Athena” Mitchell is the daughter of Pete “Maverick” Mitchell. Much like her childhood best friend Bradley, she hasn’t spoken to her father since he pulled her application to the academy. She had forgiven him for pulling Bradley’s… she hadn’t wanted him to fly, either. But it still blindsided her when he did the same to her.

She hasn’t spoken to Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw since he stopped speaking to her father. He wanted her to choose his side when Mav had pulled his papers. She tried to apologize to him a couple of times since her own fallout.

Now, all three of them are being forced to fly together. With such a stressful timeline, can they pull it off?

If you liked this little start, please comment / share / etc. I think it has the potential to grow into something, but my motivation to continue is already dwindling lol.

Find part 2 here.

[weeklyship]

Maverick: Hang the lights up.

Rooster: Why?

Maverick: You know why.

Rooster: Yeah but I want to hear you say it.

Maverick, gritting his teeth: I’m too short.

[weeklyship]

Baby Mav 🥺

idk what came over me all of a sudden this Thing was just on my screen ... take him

[weeklyship]

thomas + text posts: part 2 [part 1]

[weeklyship]

tmr series + the onion headlines

[weeklyship]

thomas + text posts part 3 

[part 1] [part 2]

[weeklyship]

thomas + text posts part 4

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3]

[weeklyship]

Team Avatar!

[weeklyship]

my parents 🥺

after watching the teaser, i can only say i’m impressed and speechless like wow, the awc is really something compared to the first movie. the first movie was great, in awc, we have our book hessa guys!!! like damn, anna gaves us afternators the best Valentine’s Day gift. thank you 🤍

[weeklyship]

After (2019) dir. Jenny Gage

[weeklyship]

Newt: This is so frustrating! I hate everyone.

Thomas: [voice cracks] Everyone?

Newt: ...

Newt: [sighs] Everyone but you.

[weeklyship]

Ava Paige: Everyone always accuses me of having a favourite subject.

Ava Paige: That’s not true. I love Thomas and Not-Thomases equally.