Archive of Our Own ^beta

It all went to shit so quickly that it was almost laughable.

Tom wasn’t one to panic outwardly. On the outside, he was the Iceman. Ice cold, no mistakes. Deadly precision in the air and on the ground. But now? He was panicking.

Ron laid before him, clutching tightly to Tom’s hand as his leg bled sluggishly, a piece of their F-18’s fuselage lodged into his calf. Christ.

“Tom-”

“Stop talking.” Ron squeezed his hand tighter, and Tom squeezed back. They were in enemy territory, their shot down F-18 a mile east, and the chances of rescue were slim to none. Ron was bleeding out, and all Tom could do was sit and watch.

Tom reached for Ron’s parachute and tore it, sloppily wrapping it around Ron’s leg as a tourniquet. He wasn’t stupid enough to remove the metal (if you were stupid enough to do that, you shouldn’t have made it past basic), but Ron would bleed out within the hour.

“We need to get cover,” Ron groaned.

Tom shook his head, “I shouldn’t move you.”

“Those bastards are gonna move me when they find us here, Kazansky.” Ron went to sit up and immediately shouted out as the movement shifted his leg.

“Damnit, Slider! Stop moving!” Tom pushed his RIO back into the ground, “I don’t need you to tear your fucking leg off.” Blood was oozing past the makeshift tourniquet and staining the flight suit around it. The sand was stained with drying blood.

Tom himself was fine. Hardly a scratch, maybe some whiplash from the ejection, but overall there was hardly any damage done to him. The enemy missiles hit home right under Ron’s feet, sending shrapnel into the man’s leg before they both ejected.

The past 90 days have been a disaster, and this seemed to be the nail in the coffin. The twin towers to dead-RIO pipeline. Is this how Maverick felt when Goose died?

He’s not dead yet.

But he will be.

You should have been able to avoid that missile.

“You’re thinking too loud.”

Tom hummed, not loosening his hold on Slider. The latter stayed still, breathing deeply through the pain, “You’re too calm.” Tom distantly noticed the hum of vehicles, too far away and too quiet to make out unless you were focusing on them.

“I think it’s the shock.” Ron gulped, “I’m never gonna fly again after this.”

“Don’t say that,”

“I’ll be lucky if I keep this leg. I hear the retirement pay is pretty good. Maybe I’ll get a purple heart.”

The sounds from earlier were getting louder. It sounded like a caravan, “Ron-”

“Shut up and let me think, Tom.” Ron sighed, his hold on Tom’s hand getting stronger for a moment as another wave of pain washed over him. He groaned, “They have no problems sending us out here risking our lives while they sit comfortably at their desks. I can’t do it anymore, and I’m surprised you can.”

Tom just stared. When he didn’t say anything, Slider kept talking, “You’ve been treated like shit since the academy, COs take advantage of you, they’re grooming you to be someone’s goddamn secretary-”

“Ron.”

“-We won TOPGUN and they’re using us as cannon fodder, Tom!” Ron was pale, sickly, and his hold on Tom’s hand weakened, “I can’t keep doing it.”

“Ron, you’re freaking yourself out,” Tom’s eyes darted back to his RIO’s wound, bile rising in his throat at the sight of fresh blood and severely bruised skin around the shrapnel, “You need to calm down before you alert every terrorist cell in the country that we’re here.”

The distant sound of vehicles was getting louder. Tom didn’t turn around, cold fear entering his body, “You’re in shock, but you’re going to be fine. If you want to retire, then retire. But I’m not done yet.”

Ron just started giggling, “You’re gonna be somebody’s lap dog.” He got quiet, his eyes fluttering, “I don’t want to die.”

“You’re not dying.” Tom kept his hold on Ron’s hand firm, “I’ll be the best fucking lap dog the Navy has ever seen, Ron.”

The caravan stopped directly behind them, Tom didn’t turn around. There was no way he’d be able to look his executioners in the eyes.

“Americans?” A voice asked. The accent was distinctly American, and Tom felt allowed himself some relief. He turned around slowly, letting out a relieved breath at the uniforms,

“We’re Navy.” He held his hands up, showing he had no weapons, “We were shot down. He needs help.” He nodded his head towards Ron, dread once again rising up when he realized how quiet Slider was.

“We got him.” Multiple armed soldiers exited the humvee, two carrying a stretcher and going to Slider. The first one came up to Tom, “We’ll take you two back to base and let your COs know you’re with us.”

Tom just nodded, getting up on shaky legs. His hands were covered in drying blood and sweat, and all the pain from the ejection set in as the adrenaline wore off. Tom looked back towards Slider, grimacing at the sight of the Army medics setting his leg and stabilizing it for the transport, “Is he gonna be okay?”

A medic looked up at him, “He’ll probably live. Can’t promise anything about the leg.”

Probably.

A hand started to gently guide him to the humvee and Tom let it, the adrenaline wearing off leaving his body trembling. He took a shaky breath, rubbing his face and regretting it as he smeared Ron’s blood over himself. He sat down, watching the medics lay Ron on the floor of the vehicle, fishing his dog tags out from his flight suit and preparing IV drips.

A sense of finality washed over him. This was it. Ron was done flying. Even if he wanted to stay, there was no way he’d be medically cleared after spearing his leg on shrapnel like that.

“Kazansky. Be honest with me,” Ron slurred, beer bottle dangling from his fingers, “Would you trade me out for another RIO?”

“Not in a million years.”

Tom would have to exchange his job for a desk job anyway. Maybe he’ll finally accept that promotion to Rear Admiral that Admiral Robinson had recommended him for all those months ago. Before the world devolved into whatever hellscape it is now. If Ron was awake he would point and laugh, because Tom wasn’t made for a job where he sat around all day. 

His RIO had an oxygen mask on his face and an IV in his hand. The medics cut the pant leg of his flight suit off, exposing the wound. Tom gagged, turning away and breathing in deep to stave off nausea. There was no question, that leg was unsavable. Tom blinked back tears.

God, I’m sorry.

Ron just laid there, oblivious to the turmoil of the pilot next to him.