The mission was days away.

A near-impossible target. One last test of courage. Rooster had been training non-stop, the pressure mounting as the stakes climbed higher than the jets they flew. Maverick was watching over him like a hawk, Iceman offering calm guidance from the background, and Goose - alive and proud - still called him "kiddo," even though Bradley now towered over him in height and skill.

And then there was you.

The one who grounded Rooster better than any manual ever could. The one who helped him steady his hands when the flight deck swayed. The one who held his dog tags when the sky seemed too heavy.

You'd been together for years now. Quietly at first, then proudly. The Bradshaws had always loved you - Carol called you "sweetheart" by the second visit, and Goose laughed more when you were around. You weren't just a couple - you were partners, through turbulence and triumph.

But you wanted more than love.

You wanted forever.

So with the mission looming like a shadow, and fear buzzing just under your ribs, you did the bravest thing you could: you went to the Bradshaw house to ask for Bradley's hand in marriage.

It wasn't dramatic - just a knock on the door and sweaty palms. Goose answered with a warm grin, surprised but curious. Carol was in the kitchen, humming something old and soft. Maverick was already there, leaning on the counter, sipping a beer, as if he knew exactly why you had come.

The conversation was awkward, emotional, beautiful. You spoke with a shaking voice about how much Bradley meant to you. About how you didn't know what would happen in the sky next week, but you knew who you wanted waiting at the end of the runway.

And Goose - his voice thick, eyes shining - just smiled and said:

"You already have our blessing. But you better bring our boy home."

It was the day before the mission. Bradley was standing in the hangar when he heard footsteps. He knew exactly who it was.

"Dad said you went to their place yesterday."