𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄



↳ 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 'like a dream in the night, who can say where we're going '









━━ 𓄼 𓄹 ━━

CORONADO BEACH Coronado, California



𝐔𝐏 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐍, Cam slid on Basil's harness and was out the door without much fuss. It was an old routine, and even though they were in a new place, Basil still anticipated his morning run. He bounded forward, eager to break into a sprint as they ran onto the street.

She whistled once and he fell into step next to her, matching the easy pace of her jog. The sun was just starting to rise over the water of Coronado beach. Shades of dusty rose melted like ink on the blue waves. She still hated getting up early after all the years of basic training, but being up to see the world come alive was a different thing entirely.

It worried her that they had yet to be briefed on exactly what the mission would entail. She saw Maverick's play: get them all up in the air together, break them in like a new pair of shoes. The only issue was the unbreakable spirits of the pilots he was working with.

She knew today was bound to be similar: more dogfighting practice.

Her breathing echoed steadily. She focused on the color of the world around her, the sounds of a world still asleep. Her first therapist had coached her through grounding techniques. You are here, you are an extension of the world around you.

The park was nearly empty, and she could count the people she passed on one hand. None of them paid her any attention. The trails ran like rivers through palm trees and sand, forking off in a surprising number of directions.

Up ahead a figure was heading towards them at a steady clip on the boardwalk. Another person out for an anonymous run.

She pulled in the slack of the leash, preparing to run onto the grass lest Basil get too excited. The more she stared at the other person, the more confused she became. She focused on their form, their pace, and the strangely familiar shape of their body.

Her heart seized.

"Hijo de puta," she swore under her breath.

Cam changed paths quickly. The peace lasted for another three minutes, but then she saw him again in her periphery. This was too unlucky to be a coincidence, so she spared a full glance over her shoulder and her curly ponytail whipped her in the face. It was Bradley, undoubtable now as he too took the same path.

Between annoyed, labored breaths, Cam pulled the memories to pieces. That fight in the kitchen hadn't ended their friendship. It was the one that took place two years after, the summer between her sophomore and junior year at Berkeley. Her NROTC training in Texas had landed her right in Bradley's path.

He was upset she had left for Berkeley without ever saying goodbye. She was enraged that he hadn't even tried to reach out to her for the last two years, going so far as to not answer her phone calls. The argument escalated. He had ended up calling her a coward and a snob in response to her scathing remark about his selfishness.

Clearly, some things just weren't meant to last beyond childhood. Bradley had become determined to forget about her, so she had done the same. Yesterday had only further proved her resolve.

Cam turned right down the path that forked towards the ocean. Now that they were heading straight for the water, Basil took the opportunity to let out a loud, pleased bark.

The cement path ended and Cam took off down the shoreline.

Basil remained within her grasp, but she could feel the leash grow taut as they moved along the packed sand at the edge of the water. Her heart thudded in her chest, steady pace completely trashed and forgotten. Now, she was running for the burn in her lungs, the comfort of moving with the hope of a sunrise.

She looked over her shoulder again. To her relief, the beach behind her was empty. It was only the ocean and her dog with her now.

Cam slowed to a stop. She let out a breathless laugh as Basil bounded up to her expectantly. Her hand gripped the harness as she unclipped his leash. He stayed put until the very second she let go, and then he was off like a golden bolt of lightning. Mouth wide open, he launched himself into the surf like he was trying to eat the waves.

All of the stress loosened from her body, unfurling like a ship's sail in the morning breeze. The water was a pure shade of blue that unfurled for miles. Eyes tracking Basil, Cam walked along the edge of the water.

"Shit, you're fast."

Cam jumped at the sound of his voice. Her head snapped up to see Bradley walking across the sand towards her, sweat dripping from his wavy hair.

"Were you following me?" she demanded.

"Are you avoiding me?"

"I think you have your answer."

When he lifted up the hem of his tank top to wipe at his forehead it revealed the edge of his muscular stomach. She looked away quickly.

"I wanted to talk to you," he told her, coming to a stop a safe distance away.

"Every time you talk to me, things tend to get worse."

He surprised her by nodding his head. "I know. I wanted to apologize for what I said yesterday. You were right, I was just strung up about Maverick and I took it out on you."

Cam just looked at him. "Bradley Bradshaw, apologizing? Are you okay?"

"You're such a shithead," he sighed affectionately. "I am sorry."

She shook her head and rolled her eyes. Sticking two fingers in her mouth, she whistled sharply. Basil's head perked up and he raced back towards her, kicking up sand in his wake. His furry coat was soaked with salt water.

Bradley's lips twisting up in a grin. He immediately kneeled on the sand and scratched Basil behind the ears. "Who's this?"

"His name's Basil."

Basil, traitor that he was, flopped over to let Bradley pet his belly. Bradley glanced up at her, brown eyes reflecting the sunlight. "How long have you had him?"

"Close to a year. He's a failed service dog, too friendly with strangers."

"Well, good thing I'm not a stranger," Bradley cooed, ruffling Basil's fur.

"You are to him," she said, keeping her words sharp. Cam clipped the leash back on and Basil let out a pitched whine. Just to prove a point, he planted his butt in the sand.

Bradley laughed, an easy sound that echoed against the memories in her chest. "What made you get a dog?" he asked. "It's gotta be a hassle dragging him around bases, finding people to look after him when you're on a carrier."

No way in hell was she about to explain her reasons for suddenly getting a dog. It was a sacrifice to have something so dependent on her, but she had quickly become just as dependent on his comfort. The two of them against the world.

"I haven't run into any issues yet," she licked her lips, hesitating. "If it comes down to it, I can always drop him off at Max's house, my nieces love him. But I was at Whiting Field for eleven months living in an apartment and he's done fine there."

"Whiting Field." he repeated, rightfully cautious. She could hear the earnestness in his voice, the desire to know what she had done with the last ten years. "Why Whiting Field?"

Unless he had been keeping track of her, Nikita Kasper would just be another name. Rooster had been stationed clear on the other side of the country in Virginia when he was stateside. There was no way he knew the story.

She kept her eyes focused on the water. "I didn't pick, you know how it goes. That's just where they assigned me when I withdrew from active duty. Thought my experience would be well suited there. It was never quite reserves, either. It's like they knew this would happen, and they just wanted to keep me in the wings just in case."

"You weren't active before this?" He got to his feet, nearly a half foot taller than her. "I didn't know that."

"You didn't ask," she said icily.

He cleared his throat. "Cam, c'mon–"

"Don't," she told him with a shake of her head. No part of her would admit outloud the elation at hearing him say Cam again. "I don't want an explanation, or an apology."

"Then what do you want?"

She pulled on Basil's leash. "Coffee."



𓄼 𓄹

1991 San Diego County, California



𝐓𝐇𝐄 day before Bradley Bradshaw met Cameron Mejia, it rained.

A rare occurrence indeed, but it was a good time for rare things. Out in the sun, it was hot and sticky, nothing like the dryness of the normal Californian air.

Bradley had taken his skateboard out to a strip of cement near his aunt and uncle's house. It was the sixth day living with them, and he knew he had been nothing but difficult. Each time they asked him a question, his answer was almost always no.

Would you like to go see a movie?

We're taking a drive to San Diego, do you want to ride along?

Do you want to go meet our neighbors? You might make some friends.

Eventually, he assumed they would stop asking. His dad's brother and his wife, people he had known all his life. After his mom's funeral arrangements were swept away, there was the matter of what to do with Bradley. For a minute he worried that he, orphaned, would be sent to some terrible place made of cement walls with no windows. Instead, his aunt and uncle drove him out to their house, a place he only remembered visiting a handful of times.

Bradley had still yet to decide if this place was worse than an orphanage.

For miles, there was almost nothing except rolling hills and trees. A smattering of houses dotted the long road out to the desert, but the closest town wasn't even visible from his room on the top floor of the weathered stucco house.

The only thing of remote interest to him was the airstrip. It was small but substantial, complete with two large hangars and a tiny office building. He had yet to see anything take off or land on it. As far as he knew, it belonged to the people that lived in the yellow house just down the hill. The neighbors he had no desire to meet.

There was an abandoned slab of concrete on the north side, something he guessed was part of an old runway before whoever owned it had renovated it. Whatever it was, it was the perfect size for skateboarding. Not even close to a skatepark, but it was enough.

It was a methodical, predictable thing to ride his old skateboard with the worn-out wheels. His aunt had offered to buy him a new one two nights ago, but he had refused. This one was a Christmas gift from his mom.

He rolled around in an easy circle, scoping out any rocks and tossing them off into the weedy grass.

"You're not supposed to be out here."

He jolted in the shock of hearing another voice, tripping and only barely catching himself before he fell hard on the ground.

Bradley turned abruptly to find a girl who couldn't be older than him standing with lanky arms crossed over her chest. A head of messy brown curls was tucked under a blue baseball hat, and her ridiculously bright yellow shirt reminded him of a large lemon.

"Says who?" he demanded.

"Says me, this airport is mine," she told him. Her eyes darted to the left as she dug the heel of her white sneaker into the grass. "Well, it's my dad's and my uncle's, which makes it kinda mine. Either way, you're not supposed to be out here."

"Why not?"

"You're gonna get hit by a plane," she threatened.

He scoffed, annoyed at the interruption. He was trying to teach himself a kickflip, and he was never going to be able to do anything if this girl didn't leave him alone. "I'm not even on the main part of the runway. I haven't even seen any planes taking off."

Her expression brightened. Whoever this girl was, she was pretty. "They're getting ready to leave right now. Do you want to come watch with me?"

His immediate answer–his favorite word for the last week–was about to be no. But then he considered her offer. Watching planes go by, being next to their hulking wings, it made him feel less significant. More a part of the world, not so alone in his grief.

"Fine," he settled on, picking up his skateboard by the truck. Walking next to her, he asked, "What kind of plane is it?"

"Cessna 172 Skyhawk," she told him immediately. "They just fixed it up! The maximum cruise speed is 230 kilometers per hour so it goes pretty quick. The last read on the dynamometer for the new Lycoming engine was hitting about 200 horsepower."

When he had asked the question, he really just wanted to know what color it was. "How old are you?"

"Nine," she said, wrinkling her nose. "How old are you?"

"Nine," he told her before adding, "–and a half."

Two men were in the hangar space, one sitting up in the plane with the starboard side door hanging open. Their conversation was not in English, but from what he could see they were doing some kind of final tests before the plane was ready to take off. The man on the ground turned his head, expression muddying when he saw two kids in front of him instead of just one.

He wiped a grease stained hand over his forehead. "Cameron, quién es?"

The girl, whose name he assumed was Cameron, glanced at him and for a second he worried she was going to bust him for rolling around on their runway. The last thing he needed was for his aunt and uncle to get upset.

"What's your name?" she whispered quietly.

"Bradley," he answered.

"Bradley," she repeated loudly.

The man chuckled. "Bradley Bradshaw?"

"Yes," he nodded.

In accented English, he said, "I'm Cameron's dad, we're family friends of your aunt and uncle. I was wondering when we were gonna meet you. How are you liking things out in the country?"

"Um," he began. I hate it here and everything smells like fertilizer and old beans. "It's nice."

The man in the plane let out a bark of laughter. "Nice if you like staring at fields all day. I'll be the first to admit it isn't very exciting."

Bradley let out a small, relieved laugh. "No, it's not."

Cameron's dad placed a hand on the pristine white body of the plane. "It's beautiful from the air, looks like a quilt. I'll have to talk to your aunt about letting you go up with us sometime."

He almost dropped the skateboard. "Really?"

If they knew his aunt and uncle, it wasn't a stretch to assume they knew who his parents were. A Navy pilot killed in an accident when he was only four, mother lost to cancer. Still, Bradley detected no pity in this offer. This was no bargain to get him to forget about his grief; this was an honest invitation to the sky.

"Of course. Cameron goes up with us all the time. You two can be ground control for this one, though. Mija, there's a second set of muffs in the office, take your friend and grab them."

The office was a squat building that was little more than an oversized shed. It smelled like mothballs, and there were papers and licenses tacked up on the walls and hanging in frames. And there was another person sitting inside, legs propped up on one of two desks and a book in hand.

Immediately, the other kid slammed the book shut and gave Bradley a scrutinizing glare. "Who are you?"

Before he could answer, Cameron grabbed him by the arm and said, "This is Bradley. Bradley, this is Gabe. Don't talk to Gabe if you don't want your brain to go numb."

Gabe rolled his eyes. Cameron moved to the back room of the office and out of their line of sight. Rather than succumbing to an awkward silence, Bradley asked, "What are you reading?"

"A book about dinosaurs." Gabe glanced at the skateboard. "Hey, you should come to the skatepark with us sometime. Our older brother Max is really good. Cam tries to roller skate but she usually just falls on her butt."

From the back, she yelled, "I do not!"

"You do too!" Gabe shouted.

Bradley's jaw dropped. "There's a skatepark?"

Gabe considered this, pushing the wire frames of his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. "Okay, well, it's really just a park that has a ramp and, like, a really shallow bowl. But it isn't very far and my mom takes us there a lot on weekends."

Cam walked back into the room, baseball hat now accompanied by a pair of earmuffs. She held out another set to Bradley. "Here, put these on and you'll be able to hear them."

He slipped them over his ears. He only had to wait a half second before he heard a voice saying, "Before take off checklist, please. Gabe, you'd better put that book down."

Gabe complied with a long sigh. He pressed a button on the communication radio in front of him. "Before take off checklist. Flight controls?"

"Checked."

"Checked. Flight instruments?"

"Checked."

Gabe continued down the weathered pink piece of paper in front of him. Bradley stopped paying attention until he realized it was time.

The roar of the Cessna going by the window filled his entire chest, edging out the sensation of grief for a few precious seconds. He abandoned the skateboard and ran out the door. The radio chatter of Cameron's dad echoed between Gabe's confirmation checks, but he heard almost none of it. Bradley's larger focus was on the sky, the grass beneath his feet, and the way he felt whole again.

Cam quickly become a best friend in the form of a girl who was loud, abrasive, and asked too many questions for her own good. She always had to be first. Her confidence was unshakable and no was never a good enough answer. Once the school year started that fall, he found that she was always shoving her nose into things that didn't involve her, including once kicking a fifth grader between the legs for stealing Gabe's glasses.

The Mejia's became his second family.

That day on the runway, Cameron Mejia had changed the course of his life. Maybe even saved it.



𓄼 𓄹

CORONADO BEACH Coronado, California



𝐍𝐎𝐖 that circumstance had brought Bradley back to Cam, he wondered if he had missed too much. You spend your life avoiding these things, and eventually you end up seeking them out. For the decade he had spent apart from her, he realized he had never truly stopped thinking about her.

The scent of coffee drifted through the open window of the little cafe. As soon as they had seen the NO DOGS sign on the door, he had volunteered to go in for them. He stepped back outside with two cups in his hand, one for Cam and one for him.

"Thanks," she said as he set it down on the outdoor table. "I can pay you back—"

"You can try, but I won't let you," he told her. "I feel like it's more than fair after I derailed your run."

She gave a short, pleased sigh. "You make a good point."

With her running shorts on, he could see the scar that cleaved a jagged line up the brown skin of her leg. Midway up her thigh, still-healing skin that matched the clean line on her temple. He had seen similar scars before, the remnants of shrapnel from a crash.

Unable to hide his curiosity, he pointed and said, "What happened there?"

Dangerous territory. Her brown eyes darted to the side. "Bike accident."

A lie, and maybe a test. She was seeing if he knew the truth or not, which he unfortunately didn't "How far does the scar go up your leg?"

She shot him a look. "Further than you need to see."

He played it off by looking to the side with an aloof snort, but it did nothing to stop his face from heating. "I was just curious, Cam."

Still never without a quick response, she said, "One of your finer traits."

Now that she was looking away, he took the opportunity to stare at her even when he knew he shouldn't. The feelings—old and faded with time—were still there somewhere. Maybe not as strong as they were when he was seventeen and falling in love with his best friend, but he knew they could be called back. If he let it happen.

He wouldn't. Couldn't. He had his chance years ago, and he had blown it.

At the Hard Deck the other night, she thought his surprise was shock at her being picked for the detachment. Better that her competitive nature drown out the true reason of why he was rendered speechless. It was the sight of her in that bar. He had missed her so much, that was all it took.

Three years ago, his squadron had been temporarily moved to a carrier in the Pacific. There was a storm coming in, it was a jump point in a longer flight. The landing took him two tries with the weather conditions. Soaked through with rain he had slogged through the hallways, tired and exhausted.

The Stingers were also stationed on that carrier. Berlin, Cam's callsign, had been listed on the roster. He hadn't even realized it was her until he saw her on the ship, brown eyes determined as she crossed the hall next to him. He had opened his mouth to say something, anything, to answer for himself. But in that moment when she brushed past, he realized she hadn't even noticed him standing there. It felt like a knife had been twisted in his gut, and he had never felt more invisible.

Bradley thought again about what Hangman had said in the bar. "Well, that's just you ain't it, Rooster. You're snug on that perch, waitin' for just the right moment, that never comes."

He had Cam back now, and for however temporary this time was, he was determined to win her friendship back again. No more waiting.

Trying to make conversation, he asked, "How's your family?"

Between sips of coffee, she said, "They're good. Max helped me move my things, so I just saw him a week ago. How's your aunt and uncle? I think they still hang out with my parents."

"They do. They play cards all the time. I haven't seen them since I was last stateside, and as soon as I told them I was coming back to Top Gun they immediately wanted me to visit."

Cam smiled and he wanted to die a little at how pretty she was. "Sounds like they haven't changed."

"What about the airstrip? Your dad still flying?"

Her expression fell hard and he immediately wished he hadn't said anything. "My dad was thinking of selling it. They can't keep up with it anymore, it's a hassle to deal with licenses and inspections."

Something settled in her, and he didn't recognize the expression behind her eyes. No longer could he read her mind or watch her moods pass like sunlight through trees. Unreachable.

"I need to bring Basil back before we have to head to base."

Too quickly, he said, "Do you want me to walk with you?"

She frowned. "I'd rather you didn't."

That stung. This was going to be just as difficult as he thought.

Basil rose from his spot on the ground as soon as Cam got out of her chair. It was amazing how well trained the fluffy dog was.

"I did mean what I said yesterday," she told him suddenly. The ocean breeze ruffled through her ponytail. "For what it's worth, I would rather it be someone I trust leading this mission, whether I'm a part of it or not."

He cringed. "Cam, I really shouldn't have said what I did. If anyone's gonna get picked out of the two of us, it'll be you."

To his surprise, she gave him a wicked grin. "Oh, I know. I'm just not letting you off the hook for yesterday yet, Rooster. See you later."

As soon as she was out of sight, he slumped back in his chair completely disarmed. It seemed that some things did stay the same, after all.



━━ 𓄼 𓄹 ━━























a/n idk what the 'he probably never even thought about me' and then the perspective flips and its nothing but 'I think about her all the time' trope is called but whatever it is, that's what is happening here. it's all simp central for bradley 🙃

the connections between Bradley and the Mejia fam do not stop here! this is just the first instance of their interactions! It's kind of up in the air as to when Carole Bradshaw passed away in canon, so I took that ambiguity and ran with it! The whole living with the aunt and uncle concept is completely of my creation and I'm so excited to play around more with the family dynamics in the coming chapters :))

side note: the song names as chapter titles is here to stay for the rest of this story hehe. it's my own personal challenge to find a song that fits for each one 💃

up next: hangman gets his due ego check!!

--nat <3