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There’s a problem with Iceman and it’s that he’ll do anything to keep up his banter with Maverick. If they’re in the classroom and Maverick makes a pass at that new instructor, he’ll cough up a quick “bullshit” at whatever he thinks is smooth. If they’re at the bar and Maverick says he can drink everyone under the table, he’d damn near get alcohol poisoning to prove him wrong.
And, if they’re let out for the day and Goose invites him to the bar, he’d sure as hell go just to screw with Maverick. Goose just comes to him in the lockers, looking over his shoulder to make sure Maverick’s already left, and slips him the address on a piece of paper with the addendum that Maverick is going to be there.
It’s worth going too, as soon as he meets up with him outside the bar. Goose and his wife, Carole, are there, that little baby Bradley Goose talks about so often in Maverick’s arms. Maverick’s eyes go wide and that little smirk on his face drops instantly: he looks like a deer caught in the headlights and Iceman decides he’s already got more than he bargained for.
Carole’s looking better than all of them, Hawaiian dress flapping in the wind as she runs up and hugs him (has to get up on her tippy-toes to wrap her arms around him), “So you’re the mystery man! Oh, I was waiting to meet you! Maverick’s been talking nonstop about you to Goose!”
Carole lets him go as Iceman tilts his head, “That so?”
Maverick shouts, “Ice! You miss a turn on the freeway or somethin’?”
“No, your wingman over there,” Iceman tips his head to Goose, “invited me.” He adds extra emphasis on the way he says “invited” to let the betrayal sink in.
Maverick brings the arm not carrying Brad around Goose’s shoulders and pulls him close, a bit too forcefully judging by how Goose winces through his smile, “That so? Aw Goosey, what a nice surprise, you shouldn’t have!”
Carole rolls her eyes, “My man’s a master of gifts, boy! Now, c’mon, let’s get a good table.”
The bar is relatively empty for a Friday afternoon. The first thing Iceman’s greeted with when he enters is a bulletin board covered completely with grainy polaroids, many of which include Maverick and Goose. Goose playing piano with Maverick singing, Maverick clinking his beer bottle against Brad’s sippy cup, Maverick’s arm snug around a female bartender’s shoulders.
“Now what’s all this?” Iceman says, voice full of sarcasm. Clearly, he just wants to embarrass Maverick, make him come face-to-face with his less-than-stellar decisions. Goose saunters over, full of pride and joy.
“That’s the bar’s fan favourite moments. Guess you could say we gave this place some much-needed flavour!” He even slaps Maverick’s back.
“Probably caught your eye on a count of how boring you are, right?” Maverick says, arms crossed over his chest.
Iceman clicks his tongue, “No, just never made any stupid mistakes before.” He tips his head to a dimly-lit photo of Maverick sleeping on the counter, arms tucked under his head as a type of pillow. There’s a good couple empty beer bottles around him.
Carole calls them over, “We got a seat, fellas!”
The booth is in the corner of the bar, the piano from the photos to its left. Carole and Goose have no problem with the small space, sitting as close as possible together with a leg draped over a knee. Maverick and Iceman, on the other hand, are close to killing each other with Maverick giving a sly “ladies first” to Iceman to get him to just sit down.
If it weren’t for Brad staring right at him, Iceman’s sure he would’ve decked Maverick then and there.
The waitress that sits them down puts the menus on the table but hands Iceman one herself, a coy smile paired with overconfident eyes. Iceman looks back at her, longer than he normally would have on account of Maverick’s looking at them. It reminds Iceman of that bar when they first got into Top Gun, stealing glances at Maverick failing miserably with the instructor while a woman kept flirting with him.
He winks at her and she blushes, turning away to help a nearby table. Maverick rolls his eyes.
“The food here’s great for a bar,” Carole picks up a menu, “try their fries, it’s like heaven.”
“Oh I think I know what I want to eat, but it ain’t on the menu baby,” Goose says, bringing Carole closer. She blushes and turns to kiss him, causing Maverick to launch himself across the table to cover Brad’s eyes.
"Careful, you two. We don't want Brad to be telling his therapist about this when he's twenty," Maverick pitches his voice up, "and then… in the bar… oh, it was horrible! But not as bad as that monster's frosted tips!"
Iceman jabs him in the side then, "He's just shocked someone actually has a sense of what the ladies like." He watches as Maverick combs back his own hair, messy dark strands finally finding some calm. In that short moment, he really gets a good look at Maverick, how his black button-up is open about halfway down his body, the white undershirt sweat-stained and clinging to his skin.
Iceman’s going to get out of Miramar one day if just to escape the damn heat.
Goose waves a dismissive hand at them both, "Aw, Maverick, you're kidding yourself if you think we don't want our kid to know how much his parents love each other! Besides, you've seen worse when you were younger!"
"How old were you and Goose at his bachelor party, again?" Carole puts a finger to her chin playfully.
"Hey we don't need to—"
"—was it eighteen, Goose?" Carole laughs.
"Eighteen, hun!"
Iceman can picture it now, an eighteen-year-old Maverick. As chaotic as an F-14: never quite as skilled as it needed to be but certainly reliable enough to get a reputation. He looks over at Maverick, that smirk still plastered on his face as he throws a napkin on the table, “Thanks, guys.”
"Doors open at all times, young man!" Goose laughs, wiggling his finger in Maverick's general direction.
The waitress comes soon after and Iceman takes Carole's word for it, ordering a burger with a side of fries. She tells him it's a good choice, which, married with her lack of comments to the other orders, gives Iceman the ides that maybe there's something there.
Carole turns right back to her rowdy self as soon as she leaves, "So, where'd the callsign Iceman come from anyhow?"
"Oh, I know this one," Maverick chimes in, "it's 'cause he's got no human emotion: a stone-cold jerk."
"Yeah, very funny. Are you called Maverick because you can never do something right the first time around?"
Maverick laughs, dry and slow, "You should charge for that set, I'm sure it'll kill."
Iceman stares at Maverick, "That's the goal."
They don't break eye contact until Goose speaks up, "I got my name after a goose beat me up: learned that day that if a goose wants a piece of bread, just give it to them. You'll be one callsign lighter."
"If you hate the company, you can go. Nobody's stopping you," Maverick says, leaning into Iceman's face, trying to take up as much space as possible.
Carole speaks up, "We are! Guys, let's keep everything above the belt for a fair fight, alright?"
The two finally break apart and Iceman sees Goose whisper something to Carole’s ear. Iceman says he needs to take a smoke break. Maverick scoots out of the booth, giving Iceman enough space to hurry up outside.
The cigarette feels like an IV drip. The tobacco cuts off his brain from whatever's happening inside the bar with Maverick. He's never backed down from a challenge, even one in the form of the wittiest pilot he's ever seen. Hell, Slider can't hold a candle to Maverick, quips and all.
Worst part is, he doesn't know when his perception of all that wit tipped from annoyance to amusement. From the low point of his day to the highlight.
He watches the cigarette burn and wonders if Maverick even notices what he's doing. If it's just his nature to act the way he does. He feels sorry for his parents, his teachers, his babysitters—honestly, anyone’s who’s ever held authority over him. Maverick seems to have an affinity for pissing off whoever’s higher-up.
He doesn’t let himself think about what Maverick must see him as if he’s being such a pain.
The waitress from inside comes out, her leather jacket hanging loosely around her shoulders. With a few more patches, it'd be identical to Maverick's, “Got a lighter?”
Iceman spares no time in lighting her cigarette, keeping his other hand around it to block it from the wind. She exhales a thin stream of smoke and smiles at Iceman. She looks exactly like Maverick with her short dark hair and light green eyes that never stop looking around, never get the chance to really focus on something.
He smiles back and leans on his side to face her, “When’s your shift over?”
“A few hours” the waitress laughs, coughing into her fist, “but I’m pretty sure you’ve got your hands full with that fella in there.” Her boss calls her back inside and she takes a final, long drag, exhales, and crumples the cigarette in her hand before leaving.
He flicks the cigarette on the ground and crushes it with his heel, watching it shrivel up on the black asphalt slowly.
When he heads back inside, the group already have their food, Carole's plate of fries half-empty. She waves him down, "Maverick here was just talking about you!"
"She's lying," Maverick quickly says, leaving Iceman only more certain that Carole\s telling the truth.
"Was he?" Iceman says, draws out his words, and Carole nods at him.
"He says smoking’s bad for your health," Goose continues for Carole, picking up a fry and feeding it to her.
Iceman feigns surprise, "Wow, really?"
"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Maverick scoffs, eyes downcast as if he actually feels embarrassed for bothering at all. It’s a little gesture, practically unnoticeable when paired with his nervous smile and a quick rub of his left eye with his hand.
When Iceman goes back into the booth, Carole and Goose singing along off-key to a song only they hear, he cuts Maverick some slack, "Thanks for the concern. You’d make a good wingman if you bothered showing more of it in training."
Maverick tries to hide his smile by taking a bite of his burger. Iceman takes a bite of his, as well: not as bad as he thought it’d be.
“You know what my favourite part of this place, is? Not the booze—but, hell, it is a close second—not the ambiance, not even the women,” Goose brings Carole closer to him, dragging her onto his lap much to her delight, “it’s the music, fellas! Brad, wouldn’t you agree?”
Bradley nods his head. Carole playfully slaps Goose’s chest, “Then go play us a song, you two! Make it snappy and I’ll give you a treat for your efforts.” She winks at Goose and Iceman is caught between feeling second-hand embarrassment or wishing he had that type of relationship with someone: the type where he wouldn’t feel embarrassed saying stuff like that in front of others.
“Wowee, Bradley! Let’s go get that treat, yeah?” He wiggles out of the booth, picking up Bradley as he heads over to the piano, setting him down on the top. He fingers through the music sheets already on the rack. “Alright, gentlemen, and lady, I will now sing the greatest gift to mankind since sliced bread!”
Iceman chokes on his beer from the surprise at Jerry Lee Lewis's Great Balls of Fire starting up.
He wipes his nose with the back of his hand and turns back to Maverick, who has taken Goose’s place beside Carole. He has an arm on the top of the booth behind her as she eats what’s left of her fries. Part of Iceman is actually missing the slight dip in the booth Maverick made when sitting beside him.
“Is he always like this?” Iceman asks, getting Carole to nod like a proud mother.
“You’ll get used to it, maybe even find it endearing on top of embarrassing. I know I did, otherwise, that little gooseball over there wouldn’t be singing along,” Carole points to Brad.
Maverick rolls his eyes, “It’s goofball.”
“Nuh-uh, to me it’s gooseball, like a little ball of my Goosey.”
Iceman laughs, “Yeah, I like that. ‘S clever, you could learn a thing or two from her, Mav.”
“Yeah and you can go to Hell,” Maverick flashes him his middle finger with his free hand, only for Carole to slap it away.
“Mind your manners, boys… so, Iceman, Maverick says you’re a good pilot, right?”
Iceman looks over at Maverick, who’s now looking towards the bar with a raised hand, trying to call over a waitress. He smirks, “Yeah, better than him. But that’s a low bar to pass.” Maverick stands up then, heading to the bar himself.
Carole giggles at that, shaking the ketchup bottle, “Last I heard, he thinks you’re the best-of-the-best they’ve got up there.”
“Does he now?”
“Oh, please, acting like you don’t notice. You were practically making out on the table a few minutes ago with those eyes o’ yours,” Carole looks right, then left, “You’re so handsome, Iceman. No, you’re so handsome, Maverick.”
“Hey, I didn’t say that.”
“Didn’t have to,” Carole bites into Goose’s leftover burger, “for a guy with the callsign ‘Iceman’ you sure have a strong tell.” Maverick comes back then, a new round of beer for the table. He hands Iceman his drink and there’s a split second where their calloused fingers brush against each other. He’s certain he sees a small spark in those bright greens but chooses to ignore it in favour for Goose starting his song all over again.
“You shake my nerves and you rattle my brain—c’mon, Brad!”
Maverick sits down beside Carole again, his arm going back to its place secure behind her, and tips his beer, “Bar get any higher, Ice?”
“Too much love drives a man insane!”
“Just a bit,” he tips his own beer back at him, “keep the drinks coming and I’ll consider you average.” He sees those irritating gears working in Maverick, like a jet about to roar to its max velocity in a second.
“You broke my will!”
“Average? Well, now, any average pilot can still shoot your ass down,” he emphasizes his point by throwing finger guns up at Iceman and waving them for extra effect.
“But what a thrill!”
“Alright, the bar’s been lowered again,” he sees the fire behind Maverick’s eyes return full force, feels the weight of the intensity of his prolonged stare. He keeps his eyes on him even as he takes a sip of beer and bites into a fry on Carole’s plate.
“Goodness gracious, great balls of fire!”
Carole interrupts their back-and-forth with a small cheer for Goose which Maverick joins belated, “Maverick, would you go fetch him? I mean, doesn't he ever embarrass you?”
“Goose? Hell, no,” Maverick’s eyes look at the floor, that cheeky grin back on his face as he grows a new shade of red, “well, there was the, uh, time…"
Carole nudges him in the ribs, “Admiral's daughter. Then, son.”
Iceman smiles at that, peering over the booth as if to hide it. Maverick shouts, that anger in his voice completely absent, “What!”
“Come on. He told me all about the time you went ballistic with Penny Benjamin,” Carole leans over the table to get Iceman’s attention, “he was slated for dishonorable discharge.”
Iceman swoons, the beer in his system seemingly catching up to him, “Oh, the world’s full of little injustices.”
“Tell you, did he? Well, that's great.”
“He tells me about all of them, Maverick,” Carole giggles, resting her forehead on Maverick’s, “how my little angel Goose goes home early for church, and you, you always go home with the hot women.”
Maverick’s face is now a bright pink, a clear contrast to the rage-fueled red it was known for around Top Gun. It is a look Iceman wishes he’d get better acquainted with, albeit in quieter circumstances, “All right, thank you, Carole. I'm gonna go embarrass myself with Goose for a while.”
He gives that same knowing stare to Iceman as he takes his leave, beer bottle in one hand and glass in the other like the liquid courage will stop him from backing out on something so stupid. He even starts bobbing his head to get into the melody as he approaches the piano, looking dead-on at Brad. “Ow! You shake my nerves and you rattle my brain…!”
Iceman watches him for another verse, the way Maverick keeps singing directly to Brad and butting heads (literally) with Goosen endearing enough to get him speechless. He never knew any side to Maverick other than a staunchly competitive one, let alone one able to handle kids, but, then again, this entire dinner was full of surprises.
Carole claps along beside him, laughing with such adoration in her eyes that Iceman can definitely call her Goose’s with just as much confidence as he can Goose hers.
“I would love to be able to warn you off about Maverick, but I just love him to death,” she turns away from the piano, “you know, I've known Pete for a lot of years now, and I'm telling you, one thing's for certain. There are hearts breaking wide open all over the world tonight.”
Iceman tilts his head, “Why?”
Carole seems taken aback by that, but continues talking to Iceman anyway, “Because unless you are a fool, that boy is off the market. He is one hundred percent, prime-time in love with you.”
Iceman furrows his brows, takes in what Carole is saying to him, and licks his lips, “Are you being serious?”
Carole smiles at him, genuinely enough that Iceman can’t help but lean back in the booth himself. Before he can ask much else, she turns back to the boys, “Hey, Goose, you big stud!”
Goose throws his head back enough that his aviators fall to his forehead, “That's me, honey!”
“Take me to bed or lose me forever!”
Goose turns back to her and winks, “Show me the way home, honey… come on, Brad, let’s sing with the family.”
Carole nudges Iceman’s shoulder, gesturing for him to follow her to the piano. She takes her seat back in Goose’s lap and wiggles a bit to get that happy-go-lucky laugh from Goose that tells the bar he’s most definitely taken (and quite happy with it!)
Iceman’s still reeling from what she told him, so he walks with a delay in his step to Maverick’s side. He focuses much more on the way Maverick doesn’t think twice about bringing an arm around his shoulder and squeezes his hand just a bit harder than necessary.
Goose vamps for the time being by playing the beginning notes over and over, looking over at Iceman, “You know the words? No? Alright, guys, let’s show him how its done!” Maverick throws him a thumbs-up and turns to face Iceman, eyes glued to him. Iceman can’t just back down, so he stares right back, eyes flicking between Maverick’s eyes and his lips.
At the top of their lungs, the entire group, excluding Iceman with his lost, incoherent mumbling, begins to sing, “You shake my nerves and you rattle my brain! Thinking about your love drives a man insane! You broke my will! Oh, what a thrill! Goodness gracious, great balls of fire!”
A waitress comes up to them with a camera and snaps a photo without warning, leaving all of them rubbing their eyes from the flash. They burst into laughter, Maverick picking up Brad with his spare arm and hopping up and down with him.
“Mavvy, take my girl to the car,” Goose says, handing his keys to him, “and no talking ‘bout me!”
“Oh, of course, Goose! What kind of man do you take me for?”
“The man you are, now get ya hear!” Carole gets up and heads out of the bar, taking Brad from Maverick.
When the door swings closed, Goose turns to Iceman, “Hey there, Ice, couldn’t help but notice you two making googly-eyes at each other during my routine… now if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you two were skirting around each other.”
Iceman shrugs, “It’s just some banter.”
“Mhmm, that’s what the boys are calling it these days,” Goose moves a finger from the lowest to highest key, “just don’t play with that achy-breaky heart o’ his.” His hands flop on the piano to play a final discordant key that hangs in the air for too long before he stands up, grabbing his jacket and throwing it over his shoulder.
Goose goes first, leaving Iceman alone. He’s about to follow him out but stops in front of the bulletin board, watching the waitress there take off that photo of Maverick sleeping on the counter and replace it with their impromptu concert around the piano.
She sets it aside on the bar and quickly hurries over to serve a customer, giving Iceman enough time to grab, fold, and shove it into his jean pocket. Nobody’ll miss it, he rationalizes.
When he gets outside, Carole is in the passenger seat of Goose’s Corolla, Maverick singing to her (or, rather, yelling the tune.) Goose cups his hands over his mouth, “Get off my girl, bub! You don’t know what’s comin’ to ya!”
Maverick bumps his head on the top of the car door as he gets out, looking over to Goose, “Aw, man! We don’t need to get violent! Your girl’s pretty, that’s all!”
Goose grabs Maverick’s shoulder and punches the air across his face with the other. Maverick exaggeratingly holds his nose as he falls over. Carole laughs from the car, “My hero!” It’s Goose’s turn to stick his head through the car door to give Carole a quick peck on the lips. He walks around to the driver’s seat and starts up the car, waving Maverick and Iceman off as he drives away, arm secure around Carole.
“Now this is embarrassing!” Maverick groans on the asphalt.
“Yeah, yeah,” Iceman laughs in spite of himself, “guess there’s a reason you fly a tomcat, huh?”
Maverick, still into the act, mindlessly pats the ground around him, “Oh, I lost my bearings, Ice! Help a poor man up, will ya?” Iceman extends a hand, letting Maverick take it and pull him down with him. He’s about to call him whatever he’s got packed in his arsenal but quickly forgets it when Maverick turns and looks at him.
“What happened with you and that waitress?”
No use for theatrics now, Iceman supposes, “I got my hands full.”
“Nice way to say you got rejected,” Maverick drawls a mocking edge to his words and looks up. Iceman can see he’s already thinking about getting into his tomcat. He knows that longing feeling, been feeling it since he was a kid. Been feeling it since he got into the bar. “Her loss.”
Iceman rolls his eyes, “Making my heart explode here, Maverick.”
“Better get that checked out by a doctor,” Maverick sits upright, “alright, I’ll drive you home… relax, this isn’t a ploy to rob you or anything.”
The ride is nice once the first hurdle is dealt with, that being Iceman’s never been on a motorcycle before, let alone with such a reckless person behind the wheel. Still, Maverick eases him into it well enough, starting slowly and letting Iceman clutch at his waist as he does his first few laps in the parking lot.
Now, going half tge speed of what he assumes Maverick would normally drive, Iceman has let his head rest gently on Maverick’s shoulder, looking at the docks fly by. His mind wanders as they pass the boats there, families finishing up a day at sea or fishermen counting their catch. What would he do if he had the time?
Maybe fish, maybe read, maybe a bit of both. There’s something good in imagining what he can't have, he believes, and that’s that he’ll always make it better than the real thing. He looks up to Maverick, who’s focused dead-ahead. The sky looks a hue Iceman’s never seen it before (he’s always back home around this time, studying for class or getting an early start on his sleep schedule.)
It’s purple and orange and god, Iceman wants to kiss Maverick.
“Hey, I need to pull over for a minute. Don’t steal my bike,” Maverick says, quieter than Iceman thinks he might have had he thought he was more awake. Iceman nods and feels the motorcycle shift and slow down, parking in an abandoned lot. Maverick reaches into the inner pocket of his jacket and produces a wad of cash, leaving Iceman alone with his thoughts as he hurries inside the nearby building.
Iceman gets off the bike and stretches his legs, rubbing them from the pins and needles sensation traveling up to his thighs.
Maverick comes out a bit later, “I had to settle a gambling debt. Here’s some advice: don’t bet you can catch ten fish in under five minutes. Come on.” He goes to his motorcycle and gets on it, hands already revving up the engine.
“Wait,” Iceman starts. Maverick turns around and sits like he’s actually listening to what Iceman is about to say next. Iceman assumes he also had something to say after that, but as soon as Maverick faces him, he cups his face on either side and kisses him.
It’s sloppy, complete with a faint smell of Bud Light, but it gets the job done. That’s always been Iceman’s M.O. and there’s no use stopping it now. He feels a bit more vulnerable leaving the kiss than he did during it, but he supposes that’s his brain finally sobering up. He pats on Maverick's chest in a bid to have him turn around and let him on the motorcycle, but all Maverick takes it for is to grab him by his waist and kiss him back.
They stay there for a while in the sea breeze, so much so that Maverick’s arms get tired and he has to set them down on the part of the seat peaking out between his legs. Iceman realizes then how far apart their height difference really is: he’s on the heels of his toes and he’s still taller than Maverick propped up on his bike.
Maverick kisses him some more and Iceman forgets what the point of realizing that even was. Maverick’s hand still finds a way to slide into Iceman’s back pocket, stalls, and pulls back, the photograph of him in hand. He looks at it, then at Iceman, then back to it, “You take this?” Iceman lowers Maverick’s hand with his own.
“Maverick,” Iceman starts drowsily, kisses him again, and continues, “you big stud. Take me to bed or lose me forever.”
Maverick chuckles breathily, like he doesn’t know whether Iceman’s serious or not, and Iceman makes up his mind for him in the silence: he brings a hand to his face again and pulls him deeper. Nearly pulls him off the motorcycle, which is definitely a highlight in his career in seduction.
Maverick’s good at kissing men, a bit too good to be chalked up to being a natural. He wonders if he’s had practice and gets a familiar pang of jealousy in the pit of his stomach. It's that same jealousy he gets when he's passed for a question in class, or scores just that much lower than Slider. It must’ve shown in how he stalled, a plane hitting a rough patch and just dropping straight down, since Maverick pulls away, “What’s up?”
“You dated an admiral’s son?”
“Yeah, but it was a while ago,” Maverick tries to go back in, but Iceman’s hands on his chest stop him, “and it was a one-time thing. I'm sorta hoping this’ll be for a bit longer.”
Iceman smiles at that, maybe because of how softly he says it, the little moment of uncertainty contrasting his overconfident personality so starkly. Or maybe because he wants the same thing.
Hell, maybe it can be both. Iceman kisses him anyway because, for once, he doesn’t want to keep the banter up.