Chapter Text
Scene: Cyclone’s Office – Later That Evening
1 New Secure Message – Flagged: Priority
Sender: Adm. T. Kazansky
Timestamp: Three days ago.
Beau’s hand hovered over the mouse.
He stared at the screen for a long beat.
Then clicked.
The message opened in plain text—direct, unmistakably Ice.
Simpson—
I need you and Slider to carry out two final orders for me.
Actually—three.
You’ll understand.
Cyclone blinked. He looked at the screen again.
Nope. The orders hadn’t magically changed in the last ten seconds.
The first was expected.
1. Take care of my family.
Straightforward. Heavy, but not surprising.
The second was so perfectly Iceman that Beau felt both a pang and the faintest pull of a smile.
2. There are letters.
I started writing them when I was first diagnosed.
I’ve tried to think of every possible moment when a letter would be needed—big birthdays, graduations, weddings, anniversaries, births, promotions—any life event that might matter.
There are letters for Sarah, for Josh and his family, for Allie and hers, for Sam and whoever becomes his family. For Cara and whatever future she carves out for herself.
There’s a box for Slider. One for Maverick. For the rest of the '86 flyboys. A few others.
Each person has a box. Inside the box is a list of dates or occasions.
The boxes are in my home office closet. Sarah has the key.
I need you and Slider to make a copy of the lists and make sure the right letters get to the right people at the right time.
I know this is a multi-year task I’m asking for (asking, because let’s be honest—dead men don’t give orders), but I need to know they’ll hear what I wanted to say.
If anything happens to the letters, there’s also a hard drive in the closet. Most of them are saved there.
Thank you—for the years of friendship and loyalty. It’s been my honor to serve with you both.
Cyclone sat back slowly in his chair. His chest ached in that quiet, familiar way.
He should have seen the third one coming.
It was vintage Kazansky—three steps ahead, always.
And this one hit harder than the rest.
3. Cyclone—if you’re reading this, it means I didn’t stop this message. It means I’m gone. Unless something’s changed, the Dagger mission hasn’t flown yet—but it’s coming soon.
If I’m right about that, I have one last order.
Take Cara with you and Warlock.
We both know there’s a high chance Search and Rescue will be needed. I know this sounds crazy—barely days after my funeral. But you and I both know what she’ll do if she stays home.
She’ll take care of everyone else. She’ll smother her grief. She’ll bury it so deep that it’ll blow up later, right when she’s most vulnerable.
Give her the balance. Give her the mission. Let her focus.
And then send her back stateside for a while. She needs space to process this the right way, not just the Navy way.
If Search and Rescue isn’t needed, put her in the air anyway. Let her fly out to the carrier. She needs to know her first flight back isn’t the hardest one she’ll face.
Give her a controlled landing before life throws her a rough one.
Cyclone scrubbed a hand over his face, then shook his head.
This wasn’t what he wanted. When—not if—something went wrong on this mission, he didn’t want that pressure on Cara. He didn’t want to be the one to send her into it.
But damn it, Ice had a point.
And Cyclone knew—down to his bones—he would follow this order too.
He exhaled, long and steady, then closed the message.
His phone buzzed on the desk. Another mission update. Time was closing in.
Cyclone reached for his phone and quietly sent a single message to Slider.
We need to talk.
Scene: Kazansky Home – One Day After the Funeral:
The house was quiet and loud all at once.
Merlin, Sundown, Viper, and Cougar had already gone home. Hollywood and Wolfman were still at a nearby hotel. Slider was the only one staying behind, holding the line with what was left of the Kazansky family.
Grief moved in predictable patterns now. Busy hands. Quiet footsteps. But the weight never left.
Slider was halfway down the hall when he overheard it—Josh, Allie, and their spouses standing in the kitchen, speaking in low voices just out of sight.
“We should wait,” Kate said. “Not long. But a little. We don’t want to push her too soon.”
"But not too long," Allie said. “She’ll stay in that house until it’s too big for her to manage. She’ll say she’s fine. She won’t be.”
Josh nodded.
"David and I talk, I'm will stay here for a few weeks," Allie said softly.
Slider leaned against the wall, chewing the inside of his cheek.
They were right. They weren’t being cruel. They were being practical.
And it still sat wrong with him.
He stepped away and went to the back steps, where he found Cara sitting alone, knees pulled to her chest, a cold coffee cup resting in her hands.
“Hey, Shortstop.”
She glanced up, offering a faint smile. “Hey.”
“You’ve been out here a while.”
“Yeah.”
“You know about them wanting to move your mom?”
“Yeah,” she said softly.
“You okay with it?”
“I don’t love it,” she admitted. “But I’m not going to fight it.”
Slider sat beside her. “You could.”
“I could,” she said, picking at the edge of the cup. “But I get it. It’s the right thing.”
He let the silence settle for a long beat.
Then his phone buzzed.
New Secure Message – Flagged: Priority.
Sender: Adm. T. Kazansky.
He unlocked it and read.
The first line made his heart stutter.
By the time he finished, his grip had tightened around the phone until his knuckles ached.
He closed his eyes briefly, breathing through the gut-punch weight of it.
Cara’s voice broke through. “Slider?”
He blinked and looked over at her. She’d caught the shift in him immediately. She always did.
“Everything okay?”
There was a lie on his tongue, but he didn’t use it.
“Just got something from your dad. Something for Cyclone and me. We’ll talk about it later.”
“You sure?”
Slider met her eyes and gave a small, honest nod. “Yeah, kid. I’m sure.”
He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze and stood. “Grab something to eat, will you?”
She didn’t argue. Just watched him go.
Scene: Cyclone’s Office – Later:
Slider walked into Cyclone's office, his phone gripped tightly in his hand.
Cyclone sat behind his desk, short-sleeve khakis neat, reviewing the mission updates.
Without a word, Slider set his phone down, face up, next to the Admiral’s coffee.
Cyclone’s glance flicked to it. “I know.”
Slider eased into the chair across from him. “You really gonna follow that last part?”
Cyclone’s jaw worked for a second before he answered. “Yeah. I am.”
“She won’t push back,” Slider said.
Cyclone shook his head. “No. She’ll go.”
Slider’s voice dipped lower, cautious. “You worried she won’t be able to fly?”
Cyclone’s gaze sharpened instantly—steady, firm, no hesitation. “No. I’m not worried about that.”
Slider’s brow lifted. “That was quick.”
Cyclone’s tone didn’t shift. “I’m the COMNAVAIRFOR. If I thought she couldn’t handle the bird, I’d ground her myself.”
Slider nodded once. He’d expected that. Still needed to hear it.
Cyclone leaned back slightly, his voice dropping just enough. “She’ll wait until no one’s around to fall apart. That’s what worries me.”
Slider let that hang between them for a moment, then offered a half-smile, thin but real. “One good thing about this—her first time back in the air will be with you.”
Cyclone’s jaw flexed, but his voice stayed even. “Yeah. I’ll have her in my sight the whole time.”
Slider sat back in his chair, just watching him for a beat. “You’ve got this, Admiral.”
Cyclone’s phone buzzed—a mission update.
Time was closing in.