LTF - Ch. 37
Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Top Gun: Maverick world, trademarked by Paramount Pictures Corporation. I do not claim ownership of the characters and the world that I am borrowing.
The story and situation I am creating are a work of my imagination and I do not ascribe them to official story canon. This work is for entertainment only and is not a part of the storyline.
I am not profiting financially from the creation and publication of this story, but I do hope it gives you happy thoughts.
These stories are my own, so please do not take them and use them for yourself without my permission. If you see them somewhere else, please let me know.
Notes: This story takes place in 1986 up to the Top Gun: Maverick timeline. I will try to get it as accurate as possible. There may be some mistakes, so please don't hold that against me.
You sat at your desk, the divorce papers spread neatly in front of you, untouched for longer than you cared to admit.
It was early Saturday morning, and it was quieter than you expected.
Too quiet.
The house felt different now—emptier in a way that had nothing to do with furniture or space. It was the kind of quiet that settled in after something significant had passed through and left its mark behind.
Tom’s handwriting—precise, controlled—stared back at you from the margins. Notes. Edits. Adjustments. Everything thought through, just like he always did.
You traced your finger lightly along the edge of the top page but didn’t turn it.
Not yet.
Your mind drifted back to the night before.
The drive to the airport had been… normal.
That was the strange part.
Tommy had been in the backseat, talking about something from school—something about a project or a game or a kid in his class—and you and Tom had listened like you always did. Like nothing had changed. Like you weren’t driving him to catch a flight that felt heavier than any deployment ever had.
You could still see it—Tom glancing over at you at a red light, just for a second. Not saying anything. Just… looking.
Like he had wanted to.
Like maybe there had been something there he didn’t know how to put into words.
You swallowed, blinking the memory away as your eyes dropped back to the papers in front of you.
The airport had been quick.
Too quick.
Tommy had hugged him first, arms tight around his middle, and Tom had held on just a second longer than usual.
“Be good for your mom,” he’d said, his voice steady—but softer than it used to be.
“I am good,” Tommy had shot back, earning the smallest hint of a smile from him.
Then Tom’s eyes had found yours.
No crowd around you. No rushing. Just that same suspended second you seemed to keep finding yourselves in lately.
"Text or call me that you got home okay," you said.
He nodded. "I will."
And that had been it.
No drawn-out goodbye. No touching. No risk of crossing a line that had already been blurred enough the night before.
Just a look.
And then he turned and walked away.
He did text you later that he had made it home.
You exhaled slowly, bringing yourself back to the present as your fingers finally lifted the first page.
The sound of paper shifting felt louder than it should have in the stillness of the house.
Your eyes moved slowly across the page, taking in the structured, deliberate way Tom had laid everything out.
It was exactly how he flew.
Precise. Controlled. No wasted movement.
No room for error.
The first section was straightforward—custody.
He wanted shared custody of Tommy. Equal time, as much as his schedule would allow, with the understanding that his deployments and assignments would shift things. When he was stateside, he wanted to be present. Consistent. Reliable.
There was even a note in the margin—flexible around school schedules—underlined once.
Your throat tightened slightly.
Next came the house.
Tom had outlined that it would be sold.
Clean. Practical. No emotional attachment written into it—just logistics. The proceeds split fairly, with a note about timing the sale around school breaks to minimize disruption for Tommy.
Another small note in the margin—can stay on base housing once finalized.
Of course.
He wasn’t planning on keeping it. Wasn’t trying to hold onto something that didn’t fit his life anymore. Base housing was simpler. Temporary. Easier to leave when duty called.
Easier… in a lot of ways.
Your chest felt a little tighter as you kept reading.
His pension and military benefits were addressed with the same quiet fairness—split in a way that made sense, nothing excessive, nothing selfish. He wasn’t trying to take more than his share.
If anything… it felt like he was making sure you were taken care of.
Spousal support was minimal, almost an afterthought, structured more as a safety net than anything permanent.
And then the last section.
Clean.
Final.
No contesting. No drawn-out proceedings. No dragging each other through something uglier than it already was.
Even here… he was trying to protect what little remained between you.
You sat back slightly in your chair, the paper still in your hands.
It wasn’t cold.
It wasn’t cruel.
It was… Tom.
Practical where it hurt. Careful where it mattered. Loving, in the quiet, restrained way he’d always been.
Your fingers brushed lightly over the edge of the page.
Of course he did it like this.
Of course he made it as simple as possible.
That was Tom.
You sighed softly when you heard the back door open.
There was only one other person who had a key.
Riley.
You listened as she moved through the kitchen like she always did—comfortable, familiar. The cabinet opened, a mug pulled down. The quiet pour of coffee. The soft clink of ceramic against the counter.
Normal sounds.
Everyday sounds.
A sharp contrast to everything sitting in front of you.
Her footsteps grew closer, unhurried, until she appeared in the doorway of your office.
You looked up.
Riley leaned against the frame, mug in hand, studying you a little too closely.
“Well,” she said lightly, lifting the mug to her lips, “you look like someone who’s either had a very long week… or a very interesting one.”
You huffed out a quiet breath, leaning back in your chair. “It’s been a week.”
“That bad, huh?” she asked, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation, her eyes flicking briefly to the papers spread across your desk. “Or… that complicated?”
You hesitated just a second too long.
And Riley caught it.
She always did.
Her brows lifted slightly as she took another sip of her coffee, watching you over the rim.
“Well?” she asked, more pointed now.
“It was… fine,” you said, knowing even as the words left your mouth that they sounded weak.
Riley let out a quiet, knowing hum.
“Mm,” she murmured. “Bullshit, I don’t believe you.”
Your lips pressed together, but you didn’t argue.
That was all it took.
Riley straightened slightly, her expression shifting—curiosity sharpening into something more perceptive.
“Okay,” she said slowly. “So not just ‘fine.’”
You exhaled through your nose, shaking your head faintly. “Riley—”
“No, no,” she cut in, holding up a hand, already piecing it together. “Let me guess. He comes into town, you two play house for a few days, there’s unresolved tension, years of history—”
You closed your eyes briefly.
That was another answer.
Riley blinked once.
Then twice.
“…Oh my God,” she said, lowering her mug just slightly. “You didn’t.”
You didn’t say anything.
Didn’t look at her.
Didn’t have to.
Her eyes widened.
“You did,” she breathed, equal parts disbelief and understanding. “You and Tom—”
“Riley,” you warned quietly, finally looking up at her.
But there was no real heat behind it.
Just… resignation.
She stared at you for a second longer, then let out a slow breath, shifting her weight as she processed it.
“Okay,” she said after a moment, calmer now—but her voice softer. “Okay.”
Another beat passed.
“…Do you regret it?”
The question landed gently, but it still landed.
Your gaze dropped back to the papers in front of you, your fingers resting against the edge of them.
You thought about the night before.
The way it hadn’t felt like a mistake.
The way it had felt like… something real.
“No,” you said quietly. “I don’t.”
Riley watched you carefully for a beat, like she was weighing that—turning it over, making sure you meant it.
Then she shrugged lightly, taking another sip of her coffee.
“I mean,” she said casually, “I wouldn’t either. He’s still hot.”
You rolled your eyes, heat creeping into your cheeks despite yourself. “Geez, Riles.”
“What?” she shot back, a hint of a grin tugging at her mouth. “I’m just saying what everyone else is thinking.”
“No one else is thinking that,” you muttered.
“Oh, please,” Riley scoffed, pushing off the doorframe and stepping further into the room. “Top Gun golden boy husband shows up looking like that? You expect me to believe there wasn’t at least a moment where you were like—” she gestured vaguely, “—‘hmm, maybe this is a bad idea… but also maybe not?’”
You tried to hold your expression steady.
You failed.
Riley’s grin widened. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”
You shook your head, but there was no real annoyance behind it—just a tired kind of amusement.
“It wasn’t like that,” you said, quieter now.
Her expression softened almost immediately.
“No?” she asked gently.
You hesitated, your fingers tracing the edge of the papers again.
“It wasn’t just… physical,” you admitted. “That’s the problem.”
Riley didn’t interrupt this time.
Didn’t joke.
Didn’t push.
She just listened.
“It felt…” you trailed off, searching for the right word before settling on the only honest one. “Familiar.”
That seemed to land harder than anything else.
Riley exhaled slowly, nodding once. "Okay."
"Until he told me had divorce papers for e to look over."
The words came out flatter than you meant them to, but they still carried weight.
Riley’s expression shifted, her brows pulling together slightly. “Ouch,” she murmured, quieter now. “Yeah… that’ll do it.”
You let out a small breath, your gaze dropping back to the stack in front of you.
“It was like being pulled right back into reality,” you said. “One second it felt like… nothing had changed. And the next—” you gestured faintly to the papers, “—this.”
Riley leaned her hip against the edge of your desk, crossing her arms loosely.
“That’s the thing about history,” she said. “It doesn’t disappear just because the present looks different for a minute.”
You huffed softly. “Yeah, well… would’ve been nice if it did.”
A small smile tugged at her lips, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Mm. Temporary amnesia for emotional damage? Pretty sure everyone would sign up for that.”
That earned the faintest hint of a smile from you.
It faded just as quickly.
“I think what messes with me the most,” you admitted, quieter now, “is that it wasn’t awkward. It wasn’t forced. It just… happened. Like we never stopped knowing each other.”
Riley didn’t respond right away.
She just watched you, thoughtful.
“Do you wish it hadn’t?” she asked finally.
You shook your head almost immediately.
“No.”
No hesitation.
No doubt.
Her eyes softened slightly at that.
“Okay,” she said again, more certain this time. “Then don’t turn it into something ugly just because the timing sucks.”
You glanced up at her.
“I’m not,” you said. “I just—” you paused, exhaling slowly. “I don’t know what to do with it.”
Riley gave a small shrug. “Maybe you don’t have to do anything with it.”
You frowned slightly.
“That sounds like avoidance.”
“It’s not,” she countered. “It’s acceptance. There’s a difference.”
She gestured toward the papers.
“This?” she said. “This is a decision. A legal one. A practical one.”
Then she nodded toward you.
“And that?” she added, softer. “That was something real. You don’t have to shove it into the same box just because they happened at the same time.”
You sat with that for a moment, letting it settle.
Letting it make sense.
Your fingers brushed over the top page again, but this time your grip didn’t tighten.
“So, what do the divorce papers say?” Riley asked, nodding toward the stack.
You let out a quiet breath, leaning back slightly in your chair. “Pretty much exactly what you’d expect from Tom. Split custody of Tommy. He wants to sell the house and divide the profits.” You paused, glancing down at the page. “There’s alimony, and I get a portion of his pension… but only if I never remarry.” You huffed softly, a hint of dry humor slipping through. “Gotta love the military.”
Riley’s eyes widened, her posture straightening. “Wait—hold on. You won’t get any of his military pension if you remarry?”
“Correct.”
She blinked, clearly trying to process that. “That feels… wildly unfair.”
You gave a small shrug, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “It’s standard. There are rules about how it’s structured. Survivor benefits, remarriage clauses… all of it.”
Riley shook her head, taking a slow sip of her coffee. “So basically, if you ever move on with someone else, you lose that safety net?”
“Pretty much.”
“Wow,” she muttered. “Nothing says ‘fresh start’ like a built-in penalty.”
That pulled the faintest smirk from you.
“Yeah,” you said. “It’s not exactly subtle.”
Riley studied you for a moment, her expression shifting again—less disbelief now, more curiosity.
“…And how do you feel about that?” she asked.
Your gaze dropped back to the papers, thumb sliding along the margin where Tom had made one of his neat, precise notes.
“I think,” you said slowly, “it makes everything feel a lot more… permanent.”
Riley didn’t interrupt.
“It’s one thing to sign papers,” you continued quietly. “It’s another to realize the government has already decided what moving on is supposed to look like.”
Riley exhaled softly, leaning her hip against the desk again.
“Do you think he put that in there on purpose?” she asked. “Or is it just… standard issue Iceman paperwork?”
You shook your head immediately. “No, that’s not him. If anything, he made this easier on me than he had to.”
Your fingers tapped lightly against the page.
“He’s not trying to trap me,” you added. “He’s trying to… take care of things. The only way he knows how.”
Riley’s expression softened at that.
“Yeah,” she murmured. “That sounds like him.”
A quiet settled over the room again, but it wasn’t as heavy as before—just thoughtful.
Then Riley tilted her head slightly, a glint of something returning to her eyes.
“…Still doesn’t change the fact that you slept with him right before reviewing all of this.”
You closed your eyes briefly. “Riley—”
“I’m just saying,” she continued, holding up her hands innocently, “the timing? Incredible. Truly.”
Despite everything, a small laugh slipped out of you.
“Yeah,” you admitted, shaking your head. “Tell me about it.”
Riley smirked, tilting her head. “You’re such a slut,” she teased.
You snorted, grabbing the stress ball off your desk and tossing it at her.
It bounced harmlessly off her shoulder.
“Hey!” she laughed, catching it before it hit the floor. “I’m kidding—mostly.”
You shook your head, a reluctant smile still lingering. “You’re unbelievable.”
“And you,” she shot back, pointing the stress ball at you, “are deflecting.”
Your smile faded just slightly at that—just enough for her to notice.
Riley’s expression softened, her tone easing. "You're not thinking about giving this all up and going back, are you?"
You looked at her. "As much as I love that man...no. I can't do that again. I finally have the life I wanted." You sigh. "i just wish he could've been involved."
Riley looked at you. "You two were great together back in the day."
You hesitated, then gave a small nod.
“Yeah,” you said quietly as thoughts of your past seeped into your head. “Yeah we were."
The pitter patter of feet running down the hallway broke you from your thoughts.
"Aunt Riley!" Tommy's voice yelled.
You watched as Riley turned around and you quickly put the divorce papers in a folder on your desk.
"Hey kiddo!" She lifted Tommy into her arms.
That night, after putting Tommy to bed, you returned to your office and pulled the manila folder back onto your desk. For a moment, you just stared at it.
Then you opened it.
You flipped through the pages again—slower this time, more deliberate. Reading every line and note. Every careful decision he’d made.
By the time you reached the last page, your mind was made up.
You reached for your phone and dialed Tom’s number.
He answered on the first ring.
“Hey,” he said.
“I take it you’re at work?” you asked, glancing at the clock.
“Yeah,” he replied. “Everything okay?”
You exhaled softly, leaning back in your chair.
“Yeah,” you said. “I went through the papers.”
There was a brief pause on the other end—quiet, but attentive.
“And?” he asked.
“They’re… fair,” you answered honestly. “More than fair. I agree to all of it.”
You could almost hear the shift in his posture through the phone—the way he processed things, steady and controlled.
“Okay,” he said, voice low.
“I mean it,” you continued. “Custody, the house, everything. It all makes sense.”
“Alright,” he repeated, a little more firmly this time. “Then we’ll move forward.”
You nodded to yourself, even though he couldn’t see it.
“What happens next?” you asked.
Tom didn’t hesitate.
“Since we’ve already been separated almost a year, Virginia makes it pretty straightforward,” he explained. “We can file as an uncontested divorce. No court fight, no drawn-out hearings.”
His tone shifted slightly—more procedural now, like he was walking you through a checklist.
“There’s a mandatory separation period, but we’ve already met it,” he continued. “So once we file the agreement and paperwork, it’s mostly administrative. A judge reviews it, signs off, and that’s it.”
“That’s it?” you echoed quietly.
“Yeah,” he said. “No court appearance unless something gets contested. Which it won’t.”
A small, almost ironic breath left you.
“Of course it won’t,” you murmured.
Tom was quiet for a second.
“I wanted it to be as easy on you as possible,” he said.
Your chest tightened slightly at that, but your voice stayed steady. “I know.”
Another pause settled in—familiar now, but not uncomfortable.
Just… real.
“I’ll have my lawyer file everything Monday,” he added. “I’ll send you copies of whatever you need.”
“Okay,” you said.
Silence lingered for a moment longer, like neither of you was quite ready to hang up—but neither of you knew what else to say either.
“Tom…” you started, then stopped.
He waited.
You swallowed lightly, your grip tightening just slightly on the phone.
“Thank you,” you said finally. “For… how you handled all of this.”
His response came quieter.
“Yeah,” he said. “Of course.”
Another pause.
Then—
“I’ll talk to you soon,” he added.
“Yeah,” you said softly. “You will.”
And when the call ended, the silence that followed didn’t feel as heavy.
Just… final. As a single tear slowly rolled down one side of your face.
Tags: @smoothdogsgirl @illisea
This literally is me as I pulled a pint of ice cream from the freezer before reading this chapter.
