Chapter Text
Ice wakes up on the morning of the first Hop 31 burrowed into his blankets in his base housing. The beginnings of a California sunrise peek through the blinds as he follows his regimented morning routine, still wiping the sleep out of his eyes. He rolls out of his driveway at 0515 sharp, as always, and heads towards base for Jester’s preflight briefing.
It’s a standard hop; get in the sky, get the bogeys, get the plane back on the ground. Between flight school and deployment, he’s done this hundreds of times.
He grits his teeth and narrows his eyes as he tries to line up the shot, all with Slider and Maverick in his ear telling him to stop hesitating. No matter what, though, he’s getting the kill, winning, and reclaiming the lead in the standings. Ice cold, no mistakes.
Until he has to cut out. Until Maverick gets caught in his jetwash, and he puts both Maverick and Goose in the hospital.
It all happens in the blink of an eye – seeing the crash, landing back on base, making his way through postflight, and getting over to base medical. Through it all, Slider, Jester, and Viper – anyone he’s talked to, really – swear up and down that it’s not his fault. Accidents happen in death traps 10,000 feet in the air; it’s an assumed risk when joining the Navy.
All the assurances in the world don’t make the nausea in his stomach go away. He sits in the base hospital waiting room, still wearing his flight suit, combing his hand through his hair. It lost its usual spikes hours ago, instead swooping across his forehead in the way he usually hates.
Now, Ice is many things, and emotionally vulnerable is decidedly not one of them. Emotionally intelligent? Sure. He’s great at recognizing an emotion and figuring out how to act on it.
It’s just that most of the time, that means shoving the emotion so far down it won’t be seen until he reaches his deathbed. So, of course, he knows how he feels about Maverick. He can recognize the warm feeling he gets whenever Maverick gets closer to him and the jealousy whenever he sees him with Charlie. Said feelings, however, have been locked in a heavy chest that’s sinking deep into the ocean, never to be seen or heard from again.
That’s not stopping Slider from trying.
“Ice.”
“Yeah?”
“We’ve been sitting here for hours.”
He lets out a heavy sigh. The sun is nearly setting now, and they’ve been sitting there since it was high in the sky. If the nurses’ pointed looks in their direction are any indication, they’re going to be waiting for quite a few more, unless they magically appear on Maverick or Goose’s NOK list.
“I’ve noticed.”
“They’re not going to let us through.”
“They might give us an update once they’re out,” Ice makes a feeble attempt at an excuse.
“Ice, you’ve gotta tell him.”
“No.”
“So we’re just going to ignore the kicked puppy eyes you give whenever you see him flirting with Blackwood after class? We’re just going to ignore the fact that you’re having us wait here for God knows how long, and you’re just going to play it off like Maverick isn’t–”
Ice cuts him off with a look. Even if the nurse behind the front desk is the only person keeping them company, they’re still on base; there’s still someone who could hear him.
“You know why– You know I can’t tell him.”
“He’s not going to–”
“I know he’s not going to–” Ice waves his hand, making a vague motion as to what he’s getting at. “I just mean, I can’t.”
“You won’t, you mean.” Slider raises an eyebrow as a challenge.
“Sli–”
“I know, I know.” He lets out a sigh and gets to his feet. “Tell me if they have any updates on either of them. I need a shower and some hot chow.”
Ice makes a non-committal grunt in response, leaning back and setting his head against the wall. Telling Maverick was lunacy. Even though he knows in his heart that Maverick would never be so callous as to tank his career over it, he certainly doesn’t reciprocate his feelings.
He takes a deep breath: Recognize the emotion, lock it away, and throw away the key.
“Lieutenant Kazansky?” The nurse at the front desk interrupts his thoughts, pity heavy in her eyes.
Seems like he’s finally getting kicked out. “Yes, ma’am?”
She gives him a very pointed look. “I’m about to go on dinner break. Whether or not you get past the desk and visit” – she checks her chart – “room 121 is none of my business.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he’s never sounded more grateful in his life.
As soon as she disappears out of sight, he’s borderline running. He slows to a walk once he reaches the wing Maverick is in, halting in the doorway. A nurse is covering up most of his view, but from what he can see, Maverick looks like shit. Ejection does a number on anybody, and that, paired with the three hours it took S & R to recover them, means that it’s no wonder that they kept him for so long instead of just clearing him.
Ice isn’t quite sure what possesses him as soon as he steps into the threshold of the hospital room, just that he’s desperate to confirm that Maverick’s okay. Clearly, he’s alive, breathing, and right in front of him, but even that doesn’t settle Ice’s rapid heart.
He listens intently as the nurse lists out all of Maverick’s ailments; no surprises there – broken ribs and bruising from the ejection, a slight cold from being stuck in the ocean, and the possibility of a mild concussion. The nurse walks out of the room after a curt nod, leaving the two of them alone.
“Why’d you come?” Maverick slurs, his head lolling to the side of his pillow.
Ice pauses. Seeing Maverick like this, with his gaze soft and hair splayed across his forehead, is making the “feelings chest” unlock and start bubbling to the surface. He shoves the thought down, pushing the box back into the depths.
“Everybody likes Goose. Not as many people like you, but we’re still brothers. In arms, that is.”
Somewhere, Slider is probably banging his head against the cabinets in his base housing.
Maverick doesn’t respond to that, eyes trained on Ice’s face instead.
“Mitchell.” He says, a bit less cold, but, he hopes, a bit less like he’s in love with him.
“Kazansky.”
“You did nothing wrong. I know it, Goose knows it, Jester knows it, Viper knows it, everybody knows it.”
Oddly, he believes it when he’s saying it to Maverick, even if all those people said the same to him, and he didn’t believe a lick of it. Maverick is, despite everything, a great pilot. The jet was doomed as soon as they went into the flat spin, no matter who was in the cockpit. It’s easy to believe that it wasn’t Maverick’s fault because it wasn’t.
“Fuck you.” Maverick bites back, unshed tears shining in his eyes.
Ice sighs, opens his mouth to say something more, closes it, and leaves the room without sparing Maverick a second glance. He pauses in the hallway outside the room for a moment, craning his head back and screwing up his eyes.
What was he even thinking, coming here? Of course, Maverick would have been more than skeptical seeing him here, given that they’d been nothing other than rivals ever since that night at the O-Club. It’s a miracle he even let him be in the room, even more so that he let the nurse go through the list of injuries and then let him stay afterwards.
No matter how deep down he tries to keep his feelings for the other pilot, it still seems like they’re getting the best of him. It’s after dark, for Chrissake, and he stayed in the waiting room for seven hours just to make sure that Maverick was okay.
“Lieutenant Kazansky!” The nurse who was in Maverick’s room before calls out to him just as he’s about to leave.
“Yes, ma’am?” A blush creeps onto his cheeks; he still feels a bit guilty about cutting her off, fatigue and impatience aside.
“This is a copy of Lieutenant Mitchell’s file,” she says, pushing a sheet of paper into his hands. “Someone needs to oversee his recovery, and while that would usually fall on Lieutenant Bradshaw, he has his own recovery to be worried about.”
“I–” Ice looks down at the paper for a moment, hesitating.
Locked chest of feelings aside, he had come here just to make sure Maverick wasn’t dead or seriously injured, not to become his keeper while he languishes in recovery. Hell, he was enough of a pain in the ass while he was healthy and flying, never mind once he’s been told that he’s grounded for the next few weeks.
Ice has half a mind to hand the paper back to the nurse before he remembers how small and still Maverick had looked in that hospital bed, redness surrounding his eyes. He gives a curt nod to the nurse before continuing down the hallway towards the parking lot.
It takes every ounce of strength left in Ice’s body to get himself to his housing, never mind getting changed and getting himself into his bed. He’s barely peeled his boots off his feet by the time he’s collapsed onto his couch, flight suit still on and Maverick’s file still clutched in his hand.
~*~
Ice braces himself as he wakes up. Even though base housing (surprisingly) outfitted them with decent couches this time around, they’re still standard military, dotted with cracked leather and overall a hell of a lot less comfortable than his bed.
But, as he pushes himself up, he realizes that instead of his crackly couch, he’s met with his soft sheets. Had Slider come by and brought him upstairs?
The distinct sound of his alarm starts beeping next to him, and he scrambles out of bed. The sun isn’t even fully up yet, and it’s a Saturday. There’s no way that it should be going off–
He whips his head towards his wall calendar, and his heart sinks: It’s July 31st all over again.
~
This whole thing is weird. Everybody is saying and doing the same things as the day before, down to the ensign tripping over himself in the hallway before Jester’s preflight. Even flying with Maverick, as unpredictable as that always is, stays the same.
Until it comes down to the final shot.
“Just let me take it, Iceman,” Maverick borderline begs through the radio.
Ice’s mind flashes back to yesterday in the hospital, Maverick slurring his words with bruises ringing his arms and redness around his eyes. It wouldn’t hurt, just this once.
“It’s all yours. I can’t get a shot lined up.”
~
“Listen, I know you’re the way you are with him,” Slider fumes. “But we had the shot; why the fuck did you let them have it?”
Ice takes a deep breath. He reminds himself that this Slider isn’t the one that stayed in the base hospital with him for hours, waiting for even a sliver of information on their classmates.
“I couldn’t get the shot lined up. I would have had to cut out eventually, and I wouldn’t want them getting caught in our jet wash and having something bad happen. We have more than enough hops to catch up to them.”
All that is true. If he could, Ice would wave around Maverick’s file in Slider’s face to prove his point. But that, along with all traces of the first July 31st, has disappeared.
~
He collapses onto his couch after training, letting the cracks in the leather dig into his forearms.
So. Soulmates.
It’s probably, definitely, Maverick. There’s no one else it could be for him. He knows that for sure. But for Maverick to reciprocate his feelings? And for last night, of all nights, to solidify that?
Doubt creeps into his mind. He’d been nothing short of an idiot last night in that hospital room; how could that have somehow budged Maverick’s mind enough for the cosmos to deem that a “romantic spark”?
He knocks his head against the armrest. There’s no one else it could be for him. He’s not sure the same goes for Maverick – he’s seen how he looks at Charlie, and his exploits with Penny Benjamin are that of legend. And yet.
They’re stuck in this together, now.
~*~
By the third hop, he’s got his shit together. He knows that it’s Maverick – and suspects that Maverick doesn’t know that it’s him, if his surprised look when he was caught staring is any indication. He knows that he’s got to dig in for the long haul. So, he gets the shot, gets the points, and celebrates with Slider all the way home.
Maybe the whole time loop thing isn’t so bad.
~*~
The entire day feels like a blur. When he gains consciousness of his body again, he’s hunched over the toilet of the base hospital bathroom, the smell of bile in the air.
Slider’s hand is strong on his back, rubbing in circles. Unfortunately, it’s an established routine of theirs dating back to the Academy, the product of many anxiety attacks and a few wild nights. Today is one of the former.
Ice lets his head fall to rest on his forearm, resting on the edge of the seat. God, this can’t be happening right now.
“It’s not your fault.”
“It was our jet wash,” Ice chokes out, coughing. “If I’d lined up the shot–”
“You don’t know that.”
“ I did."
“No, you didn’t. There’s no way to know what’s going to happen on a hop before it happens–”
“Except I did!” Ice sobs. “It’s the fourth fucking time I’ve had to go through that hop, and I finally thought that I had it–”
The comforting circles stop. “Ice?”
“Maverick’s my soulmate.”
Or, he was. He’s not even sure what happens next. Will it reset? Or will tomorrow be August 1st?
The thought of the day not resetting has him keeling over again.
Once he stops, Slider hesitates before asking, “So today’s the day?”
“Today’s the day.” Ice reaches blindly for the roll of toilet paper, wiping his mouth and flushing the toilet.
He barely manages to stumble to the bathroom sinks before he feels his legs go out from under him.
“Whoa, hey,” Slider stops him from collapsing onto the ground again, holding him steady.
Ice leans his hands against the counter, gripping it hard. Maverick is dead. He might stay dead because of him. All because he was stupid enough to think that he had a handle on things – his feelings, the time loop, the final shot.
He can’t stop thinking about the pitying look of the nurse – the same nurse who had given him the file on the first night, ironically – as she broke the news to them in the waiting room. We regret to inform you that Lieutenant Mitchell–
This is all his fault.
~*~
Ice has never been more grateful for a 0430 alarm. He lets it ring for an extra few moments, soaking in the sight of his wall calendar with July 31st left unmarked. Thank. God.
Slider automatically realizes something is wrong when they’re in the briefing room for preflight.
“Someone’s eager,” he remarks, looking at Ice’s bouncing leg.
“Just want to get up and flying.”
There’s nothing that could be further from the truth. The mere thought of getting into the jet and flying that hop again and trying to take that fucking final shot again has him wanting to reintroduce his breakfast. Really, though, he just doesn’t want to talk about this to Slider. Not now.
He’ll tell him later, he’s decided, once they’re not on a military base with thousands of ears surrounding them.
“Okay.” It’s clear that Slider doesn’t believe him, from the way he extends the syllables to the eyeroll he gives him, but it’s clear he’s going to let it go.
For now, at least.
~
“You still going to pretend that you’re not acting weird?” Slider asks as they make their way through preflight.
“Is this really the time?” ice grumbles as he flips switches and turns knobs, succumbing to the routine.
His hands are shaking a bit, but he swats the feeling away. Nothing better than getting up into the air to calm his nerves. Maybe.
“Well, it’s either now or never,” he says. “God knows you’re going to run away from this conversation as soon as we get on the ground. You’re stuck here with me, for now.”
“And don’t I know it.”
“Ice.”
“It’s just… Something that happened yesterday.”
“Something with Maverick?” Slider asks as they both salute the deck officer and get ready for takeoff. “You were staring holes into the poor guy’s head earlier. I know that you think he’s hot, but Jesus–”
“I’ll tell you later.” Ice cuts as they approach the runway. “Let’s just get this over with.”
~
His hands are shaking the entire time they’re up in the air. He lets Maverick take the shot.
~
Once they touch down, it’s the same rant from Slider as it was the second day as they make their way off the tarmac.
“-- Why the hell would you let them take the shot?”
Ice takes a furtive look around, making sure that there’s enough cover from the din of the runway to cover up their conversation.
“Maverick is my soulmate.”
“What?”
“Maverick is my soulmate, and today’s the day, and he fucking died yesterday, so–”
“ He fucking what ?”
“He got caught in our jetwash taking the final shot, and they got into a flat spin, and he hit the canopy on the way down–” Ice chokes out the final part before ripping his helmet off. “So that’s why I let them take the shot. The points will all reset tomorrow anyway, so it doesn’t even matter. I just can’t hear that again–”
Slider envelops him in a hug. He hadn’t even realized he was crying until he sees that he’d left a wet splotch on the chest of his flight suit.
“Are you okay?”
He lets out a helpless shrug. Seeing Maverick that morning and flying with Maverick that afternoon had, at least, taken away any worries that he’d had. But, if he let his thoughts wander for too long, all he could picture was the uncomfortable waiting room chairs and the nurse and–
“Let’s get you changed.”
Slider swings an arm over Ice’s shoulders, guiding them both to the locker room.
It’s the same locker room talk as always, except this time, Ice doesn’t join in on the chirps. He’s pretty sure that if he opens his mouth right now, in front of Maverick, all that’s going to spew out is a love confession.
God, he really needs to get his shit together.
~*~
None of the hops goes wrong again. Ice makes sure of that. Either he steps aside and lets Maverick have it, or he locks in and gets the tone as quickly as he possibly can. Eventually, they settle into some semblance of a routine, and he can practically fly the hop in his sleep.
It’s honestly getting mind-numbing, all of the repetitions blending together. The same things happen every day, now: Ice tells Slider in the morning before they make their way to preflight, they fly the hop, and then Ice gets free time to complain about Maverick over dinner with Slider.
“You just need to tell him,” Slider says around a bite of his potatoes. “It’ll be over a lot quicker.” Anticipating Ice’s interjection, he adds, “And remember now that ‘he doesn’t feel the same way’ isn’t a valid excuse anymore. This shit wouldn’t be happening if he didn’t.”
“I don’t even know if he knows it’s me,” Ice laments, taking a long sip of his drink.
“Of course, he doesn’t know. He’s just as dumb as you when it comes to this.”
Ice lets out an affronted harrumph at that.
“You know I’m right.” Slider pauses. “What has you so scared, anyway? He’s 5’7 on a good day.”
“I didn’t even want to acknowledge that I liked him to myself until recently. I can’t just bound up to him and tell him that I’m halfway in love with him– It’s just too much of a risk.”
“You know that’s what he would probably do if he was in your position.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not him,” Ice bites back. “I can say anything to anyone with no consequences now, but if I mess things up with Maverick, he’ll remember. He’ll know.”
“What’s so bad about him knowing? Isn’t that the whole point?”
“I just need to make a plan and figure it out.”
He’s been trying to formulate it in his head since the beginning, but has come up short. He tells Maverick — and then what? They ride into the sunset together, skipping as a rainbow shimmers in the sky overhead?
It’d never work: They’re Maverick and Iceman, literally fire and ice.
There’s a knock at the door. Ice sighs. It’s time for Goose to show up at the front door and for him to awkwardly excuse himself as the two RIOs inevitably discuss something in hushed voices while furtively glancing at him the entire time. He gathers his keys in his hand and offers to answer the door – Slider, as always, is caught unaware with a mouth full of potatoes – and slips on his shoes.
“Hey, G–”
“Hey, Ice.” Maverick rocks back and forth on his feet, hands shoved deep into his leather jacket pockets. “You got a minute?”