A steady hand brushed methodically down the chest of his service uniform, dusting off invisible debris. Dane's eyes darted quickly along any face that made its way close enough to the building.

He tossed a hand up, catching the time on his wristwatch before dropping it down beside him. He took one last draw from his cigarette before stubbing it out, leaving the base's smoking area in favor for entering the foyer.

He found that he didn't have to wait long to find the man he was looking for. He hadn't met him in person, but from the photos that decorated any given space of Admiral Kazansky's, he was certain he had the right man. Speaking of said photos, the Captain was eyeing a few that decorated the hall.

"Captain Mitchell," Dane murmured in greeting, causing the elder man to turn around. The captain quickly met Dane's given salute, moving a few steps closer.

"Good morning," Maverick smiled politely. "I'm sorry, I don't believe I've..." He led on, tilting his head slightly in question.

"Commander Dane Cyrus, sir." He quickly explained, matching the given niceties.

"Commander?" Maverick raised his brows, impressed at the somewhat quick climbing of ranks the other must have accomplished.

"Yes, sir." He nodded. "I thought I'd introduce myself as we're set to get to know each other more over the course of the following weeks." He spoke professionally.

The captain's brows furrowed instantly, a breathy and confused laugh escaping his lips. "Know something I don't?"

"Oh," The other man's eyes immediately widened. "I thought," He paused, hands gesturing to a nearby set of conference doors. "I'm sure the admiral will explain it all, sir."

Maverick nodded easily, leading the way. His closed fist politely rapped at the door.

Admiral Bates—who Dane was unfamiliar with in comparison to his closer relationship with Admiral Simpson—was the one who answered. He nodded to both pilots, stepping to the side in allowance of them entering. The two quickly saluted either of the admirals before Bates moved to sit down.

"Captain Pete "Maverick" Mitchell." Admiral Simpson began, eyeing the captain. "Your reputation precedes you."

"Thank you, sir." Maverick replied, hands clasped in front of him with Dane doing much the same from across the room.

Simpson titled his head to the side in both amusement and incredulity. "Wasn't a compliment." He slowly remarked, silent for a moment.
"I'm Admiral Beau Simpson. I'm the Air Boss." He explained quickly. "I believe you know Admiral Bates." He gestured toward the other man seated beside him.

"Warlock, sir." Maverick greeted. "Must admit, I wasn't expecting an invitation back."

"They're called orders, Maverick." Bates remarked. Maverick smiled sheepishly, eyes darting to the floor.
"You two have something in common." Bates continued, looking to the air boss. "Cyclone here was first in his class back in '88."

"Actually sir, I finished second." Maverick smiled. "Just want to manage expectations."
Cyclone sighed, to which Maverick's smile slowly dropped, turning to look at Dane in an attempt to gauge the other man's reaction.

"We'll get to the commander's job in a moment." Bates murmured quickly, tapping an index finger on the tablet in front of him. The screen in front of the room displayed a blueprint of a building housing some form of radioactive material Dane had deduced, indicated by the glaring white symbol on each container.

"The target is an unsanctioned uranium enrichment plant built in violation of a multilateral NATO treaty." He explained as more schematics popped up onto the screen.
"The uranium produced there represents a direct threat to our allies in the region. The pentagon has tasked us with assembling a strike team and taking it out before it become fully operational."

Dane watched Bates presentation mindfully, eyeing every satellite imaging of the target while Bates continued the briefing.

"—Even a few old F-14s." Bates voiced the tail end of his explanation.

"Seems like we're not the only ones holding on to old relics." Simpson remarked. Dane internally winced at the dig, but made no physical display of it.

"What's your read, Captain?" Bates inquired.

Maverick immediately moved closer to the board, diving into his set of ideas. "Well, sir," He quickly muttered. "—this would normally be a cakewalk for the F-35's stealth, but the GPS-jamming negated that." He explained, moving a hand up to gesture toward the screen's depiction of the plant's surroundings. "And a surface-to-air threat necessitates a low-level laser-guided strike tailor-made for the F-18. I figure, two precision bombs, minimum. Makes it four aircraft flying in pairs."

Dane watched the captain work, eyes widening in awe. It was as if Maverick could see the mission plain in front of him. His gaze darted to look at the admirals' expressions. Bates with a look of "I-told-you-so" and Simpson poorly concealing his impressed quirk of a brow.

"That is one hell of a steep climb out of there." Maverick's voice brought the commander back to reality. "Exposing you to all the surface-to-air missiles. You survive that, it's a dogfight all the way home."

"All requirements for which you have real-world experience." Bates reminded.

"Not in the same mission, sir." Maverick murmured, looking back to the screen. "No," he shook his head. "No, someone's not coming back from this."

"Can it be done or not?" Simpson pressed.

"How soon before the plant becomes operational?" The captain questioned after a moment's deliberation.

"Three weeks." Bares explained. "Maybe less."

"Well, it's been a while since I've flown an F-18 and..." Maverick shook his head slowly. "I'm not sure who I'd trust to fly the other three. But I'll find a way to make it work."

Bates and Simpson shared a look.

"I think you misunderstand, Captain." Bates cut in.

Maverick's expression became blank, only his eyes voicing his confusion. "Sir?"

"We don't want you to fly it." Simpson explained. "We want you to teach it."

A heavy moment of silence filled the room, Dane shuffling his feet minutely in apprehension.

"Teach, sir?" Maverick murmured.

Cyclone pointed to the screen, moving to quickly tap at the tablet with his other hand.
"We've recalled twelve Top Gun graduates from their squadrons." He explained, to which both Maverick and Dane turned to face the display.
"We want you to narrow that pool down to six. They'll fly the mission."

Dane skimmed through the list of faces, recognizing only a handful. They seemed to all be lieutenants, a few, maybe five years younger than him he guessed. He recognized Bradshaw, knowing vaguely of the falling out between the two.

"Is there a problem, Captain?" Admiral Simpson seemed to get increasingly irritated with each passing moment.

"You know there is, sir." Maverick murmured, turning to face him.

"Yeah." Cyclone sighed, moving to pull up the lieutenant's record. "Bradley Bradshaw, aka "Rooster". I understand you used to fly with his old man. What was his call sign?"

"Goose, sir." Maverick explained, almost hesitantly.

"Tragic what happened." The admiral alluded.

"Captain Mitchell was cleared of any wrongdoing." Bates reminded, a hard tone in his voice. "Goose's death was an accident."

"Is that how you see it, Captain?" Cyclone asked. Dane stiffened, feeling at what the admiral was suggesting. "Is that how Goose's son sees it?"

"With all due respect, sir." Maverick said after a moment. "I'm not a teacher."

"You were a Top Gun instructor before." Cyclone shrugged.

"That was almost 30 years ago. I lasted two months. It's not where I belong." The captain explained.

"Then let me be perfectly blunt." Cyclone muttered, leaning forward in his seat. "You were not my first choice. In fact, you weren't even on the list."

Maverick titled his head slightly, confusion quickly lacing his features.

"Now, Commander Cyrus was." The admiral nodded toward Dane. "Yet to reasons unknown, you're the instructor for this mission."

"You are here at the request of Admiral Kazansky." He supplied. "Now, Iceman happens to be a man I deeply admire, and he seems to think that you have something left to offer the navy. What that is, I can't imagine." He shook his head lowly, eyeing the captain before him.
"You don't have to take this job. But let me be clear: This will be your last post, Captain. You fly for Top Gun or you don't fly for the navy ever again."

Maverick, seemingly taken aback, merely nodded his head.

"Commander Cyrus will be assisting you on this. And before I hear it, I know you don't work well with others." Cyclone sighed. "Think of it as a student teacher, maybe an auditor. Kazansky may be able to bring you in, but that means I'm bringing in one of mine."

"Church here has nearly caught up to you, Maverick." Bates began in an attempt to lighten the mood. "He has two air combat kills."

Dane tensed at the mention of it, rolling his shoulders slowly before producing a terse nod of his head in greeting, to which Maverick did the same.

"It'll be a pleasure working with you." Maverick formally stated, eyes betraying that his thoughts were plagued with something else entirely.