┌───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────┐
ELEVEN
you are your only limit
└───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────┘

☆.｡.:*　　.｡.:*☆

CELESTE enters the all-too-familiar hospital waiting room to find her parents, teetering between wrought concern and exhaustion. She has seen this look on them before. Whether it was any time Quincy broke a limb, or that surgery she had to remove her tonsils when she was in Middle School. And yet... this look is far worse than she has seen before. Multiplied to numbers that shatter the roof. They all know this is serious, and what it means for Quincy; it just doesn't feel real.

Manny and Wendy instantly rise to their feet. In the couple of days since the incident, the Sterlings have been trying their best to alternate visits to see him. For Celeste, she tries to squeeze it in before or after training, regardless of how tired she is. Noting the weary looks on their faces, she holds her breath. "How is he?" she asks.

"Oh, getting better," says Wendy optimistically. "The doctor says he can come home tomorrow. Yeah, he's kind of talking like he usually does. He just won't..."

"Really talk?"

Her mother swallows thickly, nodding. That figures. After being fed the cold, hard facts of his condition, Quincy has not uttered a single word or feeling about how he's processing all of this. While Celeste knows a thing or two about obstacles being placed in front of your dreams... this is a whole other ball-game. Once her parents leave, she takes her cue to go into his room and keep him company.

     The sight of him gets a little bit better every day. Quincy is sat up in bed, pillow propped up behind his back as he chomps down a large chocolate chip cookie, leaving sprinklings of crumbs on his lap. It's certainly better than the sight she saw when they first landed after ejecting — his face sagging slightly, unable to speak, while also crying out in pain over the leg he landed awfully on from his parachute. But there is still something missing. That spark.

     Why did it have to be him? Quincy was the one who had always been so sure of what he wanted, and succeeded in getting it almost effortlessly. And now the rug has just been ripped out from beneath his feet. One phantom health condition no one knew about, and just like that: no more flying.

     He looks up at her and sighs a little bit. "Hey, stranger," he scoffs through a mouthful of cookie. They both know it's ironic. These last few days, his room has been flooded with visitors, not least of all from Celeste.

     "I see your sense of humour is back," she says.

     "Barely. But my appetite is. Who knew hospital cookies were this good?"

     "Yeah..." Celeste lowers herself into the chair next to his bed, her back aching with muscle memory over the nights she's already fallen asleep in it. Her brother continues to focus on eating his cookie, avoiding eye contact completely. "Did Felicia come?"

     "Sure did. She stayed all night when she got here. I had to tell her to go home in the end..." Quincy pauses. "You're here pretty early."

     "I wanted to see you before I go to training."

     Training. It seems to act as a trigger word for him, freezing him in place, reminding him of where he can't be right now. Or maybe ever. Quincy frowns at the fabric of his hospital gown, as if to block out the horrifying memories of the incident...

     Given the choice, Celeste wouldn't go either. The last thing she wanted to do after the incident was get back in a plane — her skin itched, her blood ran cold every time she got into a back-seat again, and she would hold her breath until they touched the ground once more. But it's pretty much universal that whenever something like this happens, it's paramount that the aviator gets back in the air as soon as possible. You have to get up and keep going.

     "So, how was the funeral?" Quincy switches the subject.

     Another heavy memory. Celeste shifts in her seat with a deep sigh, remembering the ceremony yesterday. "It was exactly what Iceman would've wanted. And it was emotional, of course."

     "Is Ryan okay?"

     "I... think so. All things considered. He doesn't seem so focused anymore."

     Quincy hums sadly, brushing cookie crumbs off his lap. "I can think of plenty reasons why someone wouldn't be."

     And there it is again. That avenue into the taboo subject, which they keep dancing around. Celeste doesn't know how to coax it out of him at this point. Does he not have a thing to say about it? And what happened to being able to read each other's minds, or even their breaths? All she knows is she hates to see Quincy like this.

     She pushes her luck.

     "Quince—"

     "No. Don't."

     "But—"

     "I don't wanna hear it, Celeste!" Quincy exclaims, finally meeting her eyes in a flurry of pent-up frustration. She's never seen him look so desperate. "Every time you, or anyone else comes in here to visit, all you do is sit there and pity me, and I hate it. If you got nothing else better to do, then why don't you just leave?"

     "Because I'm here for you," Celeste replies incredulously. "You think I don't feel the same every time I walk into training without you next to me?" Just by saying it out loud, she feels a lump in her throat that hurts to swallow. "Your pain... is my pain... whether I like it or not... and I don't wanna argue with you."

     With an exasperated groan, he pivots to the side and folds his strong arms across his chest. It looks so uncharacteristic for someone tucked into their hospital bed. She can see the muscles flaring in his clenched jaw, Quincy straining to bite back his bitterness. He swallows thickly. In this clinically silent room, where you could hear a pin drop, the sound is deafening.

"... Maverick visited me a couple days ago," he murmurs.

Celeste sighs. Another change of subject. But she tries going along with it, tucking her seat in to encourage him.

"We must've talked for hours. The nurses had to kick him out in the end. He was telling me all about the mission, how far I– we'd come, and how... how proud he was..." Quincy pauses, rolling over onto his back again. Another gulp. His Adam's apple bobs in his throat. "You remember how much I idolised him when we were kids? Mav was like 'the shit' to me, you know? He made me wanna fly. To feel that free, that untethered by anything... oh God..."

She only sees a flash of his trembling lip and glassy eyes, before his hand flies up to his face and covers it. For a moment, there's silence as he quietly shakes — a sharp gasp tears through it that instantly moves Celeste to tears as well. She hardly ever sees him cry, at least not like this. With so much despair. All she can do is reach out and grab his hand, rubbing soothing circles in his palm until he can speak again.

Looking her in the eyes, finally, Quincy says, "Flying's all I ever wanted to do. It's in my blood, I... I don't know anything else... not really... but you wanna know the worst part of– of everything that happened that day? It's... it's that I almost took you down with me."

Celeste feels her face crumple, her heart aching. "Quince, please—"

"I remember... I remember not being able to do anything... just knowing we– were were falling, and I couldn't do a thing. You're my WSO, I couldn't protect you... and I could never forgive myself if you'd..."

Now they're both rendered speechless, just grabbing each other tightly as they weep. It's days, possibly years being poured out into one moment. After a minute or so, Quincy wipes his eyes with the back of his hand, flashing the small patient wristband with his name written on it.

"But y'know, I was thinking," he sniffs, "the Doc said I might have a chance of flying again after all."

Celeste sits bolt upright in surprise. "Wait, really?"

"Well, kinda. Only if I make a good recovery, and that would be over a long time. I've also got a broken leg here. But it's not so much whether I can fly, it's whether I should. I thought about Felicia..." Quincy pauses for a moment, smiling fondly, "... and our kid on the way. And I remembered how nervous I used to get when Dad went away on a mission."

Now she's really surprised. "I never knew you got nervous," she says. She always remembers her brother being bouncy and carefree, blissfully ignorant of any abundant dangers.

"Oh yeah, more than I'd ever let you know about. Only when I was a little kid though. Sometimes I was scared he'd never come back... and I don't want my family going through that." He sniffs with a nod, clearing his throat. "I haven't decided anything yet, 'cause this whole thing still sucks, but..." Quincy can't seem to think of anything else to add, trailing off with a sigh.

     "I know you'll make the right choice, Quince," says Celeste. "Your future doesn't need a pair of wings on them to make it a great one."

     "That's great advice. You should listen to it."

     She should've seen that one coming. Celeste knows he is probably right, though. They both know what he means — the ever-present question mark of her astronaut dream. But for the first time in a long time, possibly ever, she doesn't find herself dwelling for too long on it. Like there are much bigger things at stake.

     Giving her the first gentle smile she's seen since the incident, Quincy gives her hand a double-squeeze.

"I'd get up and give you a hug," he says, "but this gown's open-backed, and I don't want you seeing my ass-crack."

     "Too late for that."

     "My ass is great, though."

     "... Not even gonna answer that one."

     To her utter relief, Quincy laughs, and the sun seems to come out from behind the clouds. Celeste leans over the bed and wraps her arms around him — the brother with whom she might as well share a heartbeat, a bloodstream, a soul. They connect like two jigsaw pieces in their embrace, rocking one another gently. "I love you," he mumbles into her shoulder.

     "I love you too, nerd."

     "Okay, you're definitely getting too cocky for your own good..."

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

When Celeste walks into the rec room for today's briefing, Maverick is nowhere to be seen. Instead, stood at the front of the room is the Vice Admiral Cyclone, looking stoic and strangely bitter as always. That's strange. While it is possible that Maverick isn't the most punctual of people, he isn't an idiot either. She likes to think he tries to show up on time...

So why isn't he here?

This new mystery is a welcome distraction as she paces down the aisle to her seat — not next to Quincy, like she used to always do, but instead in the usually empty one by Bradley. The day after the incident, when she returned to training, she had frozen at the realisation that she would be sitting alone. And the first few minutes, she did. But that empty chair just felt cold without her brother in it... and that was when Celeste had felt herself drawn over to Bradley on the other side of the aisle. With a gentle nod to the space next to him, she'd accepted the open invitation and joined him before they were briefed.

And thank God she did sit next to him. The others all mean well, but the last thing Celeste can stand is all this pity. Not to mention all the questions about Quincy, or asking her if she needs anything, even being a little gentler when they are communicating up in the air. Luisa is the worst of them all... even if she means the best. As for Ryan, he's unreachable anyway — he mostly sits in a grief-heavy silence in the days after Iceman's funeral.

Celeste does not need to be cradled. She needs to know she has a firm place here.

The only person who does make her feel that way right now is Bradley. He doesn't probe her for answers, but if he does ask, he somehow has this superpower of knowing how much she does or doesn't want to say. Ultimately, he is patient with Celeste, and it is the best thing he has done for her in a while.

"Hey, where's Maverick?" Celeste asks immediately after sitting down.

Under his breath, Bradley responds, "I don't know. That's what I was gonna ask you."

     She lets out a sigh, her muscles sinking into the firm foam of the seat. Bradley feels alert next to her — like an animal perched and observing the wilderness, scanning from Hangman and Ryan at the front, to Luisa leaning over the aisle to say something to Bob. He seems a little thrown off that Maverick isn't here. Celeste is sure that as much as he'd hate to admit it, he really does value what he has taught him.

     She rubs some of the lingering tiredness from her eyes, which Bradley picks up on instantly. "You alright?"

     "Yeah, just tired. I got up early to see Quincy... I'm not an early bird like you are."

     "How's he doing?" he asks, after a gentle smile tugs his lips.

     "Better. He's gonna come home tomorrow. But obviously, no mission."

     "Yeah, of course," Bradley sighs, his head falling back onto his seat.

     "Good morning..." Cyclone's deep, controlled tone cuts through the atmosphere in the room. His expression is set in stone; it's no wonder, considering the mission is a mere three days away now. So the Vice Admiral decides to cut straight to the chase. "Captain Mitchell will no longer be leading your mission after... recent events. For the remainder of your training, I will be taking over. And as a result, there will be some new mission parameters."

     This alone sends the room into a hushed frenzy, all the pilots exchanging bewildered and disappointed looks. It is fairly clear why he was grounded, with multiple students of his almost burning in on one day, thanks to his 'dangerous' training. But it is Celeste who feels the betrayal most — Maverick can't be grounded now, not when they are so close to the date of the mission. If anything, she would feel safer in his hands. No one could commandeer a mission with such stakes like he could.

     Before she can vocalise any of this, it gets worse.

     "Time to target is now four minutes," Cyclone announces. "You'll be entering the valley level at reduced speed, not to exceed 420 knots."

     Almost double the time? And reduced speed? He has to be joking, thinks Celeste.

     The protests begin almost instantaneously, the first coming from Bob: "But sir, won't we be giving their planes time to intercept?" he asks, vocalising exactly what Celeste was thinking.

     "Well, Lieutenant, you have a fighting chance against enemy aircraft. What are the odds of surviving a head-on collision with a mountain?" Cyclone leans forward on the podium, his hunched shoulders breaking his militant posture. "You'll be attacking the target from a higher altitude, level with the north wall. It's gonna be a little harder to keep the laser on the target, but you will avoid the high-G climb out."

     "We'll be sitting ducks for enemy missiles..." Fanboy whispers to Payback; oh, how proud Maverick would be to hear that.

     Celeste can't take this anymore.

     "Sir, with all due respect, we can't just reverse weeks of specific training at this stage," she speaks up, not waiting for her raised hand to be noticed.

     "Lieutenant Sterling, you will do whatever your orders are," Cyclone emphasises; almost slightly shocked that she, of all people, is retaliating so openly. Usually Celeste is the one to have a quiet grudge, only saved for later... not an open outburst like this.

     "Maverick knows this mission inside and out, sir."

     "Maverick can't help you anymore. So if you could just—"

     Cyclone, and everyone else's attention is soon swayed by a loud blip on the digitalised map. He turns around, noting the blue dot travelling right towards the canyon simulation at high-speed — someone is in the air. But who? Bradley's brows furrow in confusion as he leans to the side, aiming to get a better look at the board. Celeste, too, pushes on her arm wrests to lift herself up for a clearer view too.

     "Who the hell is that?" he asks, perplexed.

     One name sears through Celeste's mind, but she dares not believe it until she sees it.

     "Maverick to Range Control. Entering point alpha. Confirm Green Range."

     "Fuckin' knew it," Celeste whispers under her breath, shaking her head.

     "Uh, Maverick, Range Control..." Control responds over radio, flummoxed, "Green Range is confirmed. I don't see an event scheduled for you, sir."

"Well, I'm going anyway."

"Nice," Phoenix scoffs, lips curling into an impressed smile. All the other pilots sit forward in their seats with bated breath. Everyone knows this is ballsy as hell — if Maverick wasn't grounded before, he definitely will be after this stunt. Celeste certainly knows her brother would have loved it though. A fire ignites in her belly, and she's unable to tell whether her skin itches with anticipation or plain dread.

"Setting time to target: two minutes and fifteen seconds."

"2:15? That's impossible," Payback retorts.

Luisa shakes her head with a smile. "I wouldn't speak too soon."

She's right. If anyone can pull this off, it's Maverick. He is going to prove this mission can be flown.

"Field attack point. Maverick's inbound."

With everyone else, Celeste's eyes never leave the huge board as the blue dot meanders through the course. He hits each and every green point with effortless ease. Just watching it from up here makes her envision the forces that would be tugging him left and right with each turn, only accentuated by his heavy breathing over comms.

1:30 left.

At thirty-nine seconds, with Maverick reaching the target point, Ryan stands up at the front of the room; charged with an energy no one has seen him have since Iceman died. "Come on, come on..." he can be heard whispering under his breath. Even Cyclone watches the screen with great intent, not trying to stop Maverick at any turn. It occurs to Celeste that he really is curious — maybe he hopes to be proven wrong, that he can trust Maverick to lead this mission again.

"Popping in three, two, one..."

The blue dot begins the sharp ascent up the simulated mountainside. Suddenly Celeste is hammered by an onslaught of memories. This is where it all started — Quincy's slurred speech, their wobbly ascent, hitting the target only to begin plummeting to their deaths moments later. She breaks out into a cold sweat down her back just remembering it.

Without thinking twice, her hand scrambles around the armrest until she finds Bradley's. She holds it tight.

They don't even have time to consider anything that it makes the other feel.

"Bombs away!"

Maverick goes straight into the high-G climb. Six seconds left. Multiple candidates in the room get to their feet now, Celeste and Bradley squeezing each other's hand tighter than ever. They watch the Gs climb by the second — 8 Gs, 8.5 Gs, 9, 9.5, 10 — and wait with bated breath to see if he made it...

The bomb hits. The timer freezes in green: sixteen milliseconds left.

He did it.

The room bursts into various degrees of celebration, everything ranging from cheering to a simple impressed smirk. Cyclone, however, just stares at the screen with a grim expression.

Celeste feels her heart still racing. Something about Maverick proving the mission can be flown charges her with an overwhelming energy — a newfound conviction, making everything she's been through the last few days worthwhile. No, not just the last few days... longer than that. In the split second before things literally went downhill, Celeste had rejoiced at hitting the target in training the other day. She finds that she wants to prove herself. Whether she'll get that opportunity now is a whole other matter.

... Only a few moments later does she realise whose hand she is still gripping. Celeste glances down at their intertwined fingers, knuckles punching through the skin as they remain iron-like from the adrenaline.

"Sorry," Celeste chuckles, loosening her grip a little.

"Don't be," Bradley smiles gently at her.

Neither of them are too keen to let go. Just not yet.

When it's time to leave the rec room again, they walk out together. They lag behind the others, gaining some privacy at the back of the crowd, then Bradley holds the door open for her. The sun is baking through the tall windows onto their carpets and chunky boots. "I still can't believe he did that..." Celeste shakes her head in disbelief over what they witnessed earlier. "How do you think his odds look?"

"Oh, if his ass isn't grounded now, I'll keel over from shock," Bradley replies, perhaps sounding a little more disappointed than he thinks he feels.

"But maybe they won't. Maybe he's just proven himself today."

"... Do you even know how things work with the higher-ups?"

"I know, I know. I'm just trying to be optimistic."

"That's not like you," he teases her with a little nudge in the shoulder.

"You're right," Celeste hugs her notepad to her chest. "Then again, the odds could be much worse, like the pretty much zero chance that I'll be getting to fly this mission."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, it's just a fact, taking into account the last few days. Not to mention my track record in training so far. How's that for pessimism?"

"Wait, Cel... do you really think that?" Bradley taps her shoulder, stopping dead in his tracks. She turns around and notices the sudden switch in his expression; suddenly filled with seriousness and sincerity. Why is he so surprised by this? she thinks.

"Well, yeah," she shrugs, more matter-of-fact than anything. "It's okay. I get it, I mean... pairing me up as a WSO with someone else might be too risky at this stage, it's be easier to go with Phoenix and Bob, or Payback and Fanboy. And I'm not exactly feeling super confident after the whole... incident. I understand the reasons, and I'm okay with it."

He just stares at her, stuck on only one fact. "You really need to believe in yourself more."

"Bradley—"

"I'm serious here." Bradley steps closer to her, with a warmth in his gaze that makes her heart flutter. "And you know I'm right, too. You are by far the hardest-working person I have ever met. I mean, since we were kids, you've always gone above and beyond to go for what you knew you wanted — and you and I are both well aware of how many obstacles you've met along the way. But you have this way of– of dedicating yourself completely to your job, and putting your heart and soul into it..."

     All Celeste can do is just listen, not knowing how or when this sudden declaration will end.

     "You never give yourself enough credit, Celeste. You deserve this just as much as anyone else here..."

     Bradley's train of thought trails off, and he seems to decide it is an appropriate place to punctuate his speech. He clears his throat and lets his hands slip into the pockets of his jumpsuit. The recipient of his praise is left speechless for a few moments — Celeste just stands there, letting each word sink in. "... Uh, thanks," she manages a shy smile. "Did you rehearse that whole speech, or was it spontaneous?"

"It's something I should tell you way more often... that's all," he replies, suddenly growing a little shyer too.

"Well... likewise," she nods back.

"Actually, there are... a lot of things I should tell you more often..."

There it is again. That magnetism. With no adrenaline or adrenaline to misguide her, Celeste reaches out for Bradley's hand; it slips out from his pocket, their skin tentatively brushing together. Their surroundings seem to completely dissolve around them, only a hazy blur outside of their little bubble, until:

"Ahem—"

Celeste and Bradley jump, whirling around to see Hangman standing a stone's throw away from them. Their hands quickly detract from one another as if by electric shock. If he senses the awkwardness, he doesn't show it, sauntering with his usual charisma. "Look, I hate to break up this tender moment you two got goin' on, but you're blocking the door to the gents' room."

They shift their eyes to the adjacent door — surely enough, her back is to the entrance of the nearest men's bathroom. The duo pull themselves out of their 'moment' and side-step away, allowing the other pilot to sweep past.

"Much appreciated, darlin'..." Hangman grins and winks at Celeste, the door swinging shut behind him.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

After the bizarrely-ended moment she shared with Bradley, Celeste figures it's high-time she gets ready to head home. Today has already been an emotional rollercoaster to say the least. The skies are slightly overcast after a shower of rain earlier this morning, so she slips on her hoodie on her way out. The door swings shut behind her when she hears a familiar voice beckon her:

     "Lieutenant Sterling."

     By instinct, she feels her posture straighten. She whirls around to see Maverick standing right there; he's still in his military jumpsuit, by some sort of miracle. Does everyone want a word with her today? Celeste clears her throat after being addressed. "Sir—"

     "That's alright Celeste," he raises his palm to relax her, "I was just trying to get your attention."

     Shaking off the formality, Celeste removes the blinders to see him not as her captain, but as her reckless uncle-like figure who just rocked up in an F-18 against his orders. "Well, if you wanted my attention, you got that already. That was quite the stunt you pulled back there..." she pauses, hating the ghost of a smile she tries to fight back. "... But it was pretty damn cool."

     Maverick grins. "I thought so too. Anyway, I've been looking for you. I think you could use a flight right about now."

     "What? Why?" Celeste raises a suspicious eyebrow. "We're... we're not hijacking another F-18, are we?"

     "Not quite."

     He grins wider, his youthful mischief being unmasked in its purest form. That sneaky son of a bitch, she thinks. But there are shades of earnestness and a strange wisdom under it all that makes her cave in...

     No less than half an hour later, they are in the skies.

     Celeste has no idea how he did it, but Maverick has pulled some strings to get up them up in the air, just the two of them — not in a sleek F-18, but a Cessna Skyhawk, one of the aircrafts which fighter pilots begin with in their training. Getting into that cockpit does inject her with an underlying sense of dread that has lingered since the incident, but once she's up there, she becomes enamoured all over again. Sat next to Maverick as pilot, she is able to really take the time to observe her surroundings and watch the dried Californian landscape pass beneath them. In the horizon, the sky kisses the earth, and for a minute Celeste remembers why she loves being back-seater so much.

     She needed this. No intense Gs yanking her spine, no checking behind her for any attacks... just the time and space to fall back in love with flying.

     Of course, it can't be that easy. Maverick must know that too. "Quite a view, isn't it?" he says.

     "Yeah, it is. I still don't know how you got the green light for this."

     "Me neither. But if it's any consolation, I didn't get everything I wanted. I was gonna take you up in an F-18; you know, do some actual manoeuvres to get you back into the swing of things. Obviously that one would never fly..."

     A beat passes. Celeste looks over at him, sighing. "Mav, why are we really up here?"

     "I... I know these last few days have been tough for you. And I could tell you've been struggling to get back into things, so I thought I'd bring you out for a flight. You needed to get comfortable being up in the air again..." Maverick pauses; he glances over at her with a strange air of transparency. Sometimes she wishes she knew what was going on in that head of his. What made him do the things he did. She used to assume nothing at all was going on, because what sane person would be as reckless as he was? Now, she's not so sure. He opens his mouth to speak:

     "When Goose died, I—"

     The words die on Maverick's lips. She hadn't expected him to be so open, and perhaps neither did he. Talking about Goose has always been a sore subject. Celeste patiently watches him gulp down a lump in his throat...

     "I didn't ever want to get in a plane again," he finally continues. "Just the thought of it made me sick. It was a turn in my life I could've never expected. But we get the hand we're dealt with. We have to dust ourselves off and pick ourselves back up, which is why I had to get back into a jet again. Ultimately, I knew I belonged in the air... and so do you." Maverick, pointedly looking over at Celeste, adds, "Except it's never been that simple for you, has it?"

     "What do you mean?" she asks, knowing exactly what he means.

     Maverick glares pointedly at her. Giving up trying to hide it, Celeste pushes a breath out of her tightened chest and sinks back into her seat. Of course, it always comes back to this — the exhausting will-she-won't-she of her future in space exploration. While it has been on her mind the last few days, it has not been in the usual way. More like an afterthought which she would rather not dwell on. Still, she knows Maverick flew her all the way up here for a reason, and she doesn't plan on jumping out the window to avoid this conversation.

     "It's like being in limbo... for over thirty years of your life. Do you know what that feels like?"

     Next to her, she hears a soft chuckle. "Strangely, yes."

     There is a strange sense of ease talking to Maverick. And today has cracked Celeste's heart open, letting it all ebb out the more she pokes at it. "You know, when I used to dream about being an astronaut, I used to be so sure of why and how much I wanted it. But now... I'm not sure I even feel that way anymore. It seems so distant these days. It's just that... it's like this dead weight, and I– I don't have the heart to get rid of it, because... because isn't that just giving up?"

     "Not necessarily," says Maverick, turning the plane slightly to paint a better view of the world below. "Sometimes, kid, life doesn't go the way you planned it to. But you have to focus on the person you are today. Choosing one path or the other does not make you a failure, or a cop-out, it maybe means you've had a change heart... in fact, to me, it sounds like you already know what you want."

     Celeste considers this. She remembers how many years she has wildly been chasing this dream of hers, and exhausting her ambition as a result. How she let it all create her own unreachable standards, and forced herself to buckle under the weight of meeting them. Then, in comparison, Celeste remembers how comfortably she has settled into this mission — no, not just this mission, but how she has taken to her life as a WSO. She is proud of what she does; too often there is her past to overshadow her current achievements.

     So, she wonders if maybe Maverick is right. But there's just one problem.

     "... I don't know if I'm ready to admit that," she says quietly.

     Maverick nods, like he understands. A bittersweet smile traces his face that seems loaded with a lifetime of regrets and shortcomings. "An old friend once told me... that you have to know when it's time to let go." He turns to her, dead serious. "And it's time, Celeste."

     I know, she thinks. Because she really does. Celeste pictures that girl breaking her neck to look up at the stars, begging to shoot up past the atmosphere into that unchartered space beyond. She hears her mother's voice: "It's late, baby, come back inside." Instead of refusing that call and staying outside, she imagines getting up and walking away... and to Celeste's surprise, it doesn't crush her like she thinks it will. The stars are still there. They won't be going anywhere — she will, that's all.

     So maybe it is time to let go.

     Turning back to now, one question begs her mind. "But what if I'm just not cut out for this?" asks Celeste; a broad generalisation to her whole career so far, and the mission barely a couple of days away from them now.

     "There is no limit to what you can achieve if you set your mind to it, Celeste," Maverick replies. "... You are your only limit."

☆.｡.:*　　.｡.:*☆

AUTHOR'S NOTE

this chapter took SO LONG to get inspired for, mainly because i knew it was very important to celeste's character and i was therefore a bit too hard on myself, but here it is anyway! this chapter was a lot of A) realising her self-worth, and B) finding the strength to realise she has earned her place here, and she doesn't have to beat herself up about the past. the near-death experience in training definitely shook her up and put things into perspective. and it's not to say "hey, give up on your dreams!" but more "be happy with where you are today. you made it for a reason." because she recognises how much she actually ENJOYS and THRIVES in this path.

now that little soapbox speech is over and done with, i can't believe there are only 4 chapters left after this one... which is why i'm planning to dedicate all my writing energy to this fic in the last leg, so i can stay in the mind space and give these characters the send-off they deserve! i'm going to end up saying this a lot, but thank you for all the love on this story, it means the world ❤️

also: as i'm currently publishing this, i've been having technical issues where sometimes i'm unable to reply to, or even like comments. so in case my responses are delayed or non-existent, i just wanted to say i do see your comments!

and finally... i think you guys are gonna like the next chapter... yeah, that's all i'm saying...

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published: august 3rd, 2023