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It never occurred to Iceman that the emotional declaration made on the landing strip of the Kitty Hawk went further than the air. He should have realised it though, that Maverick would take it that way in the state he’s in; still grieving Goose. When he said you can be my wingman he meant that he trusted Maverick. They were now brothers bound by the sky.
Evidently it now means that they are brothers on the ground too.
Maverick calls him one night with the wind stealing his voice down the phone line. “I need help.” He can barely hear Maverick’s words but the message is clear.
I need help.
He’s just off the I-5 Bypass, on the Ted Williams freeway. It’s just a fifteen minute drive from Ice’s house, so he can’t exactly say no. Not when someone sounds like that. The sun has well and truly set and the wind is biting something fierce.
The Jeep Gladiator makes Ice feel safe as he drives underneath the dark, swaying trees as he goes inland. Mav was right, he literally was just off the Bypass. White headlights illuminate his red bike which lies prone on the ground. The familiar leather jacket has been used as a crayon against the tarmac road. To Ice’s surprise, Maverick doesn’t just look rough, he looks scared.
On the ground he sits with his legs out in front of him, obviously sore. But it’s the way he looks up with blatant fear as Ice’s truck pulls over, before the recognition kicks in and his features soften, is what makes Ice glad he didn’t ignore the call.
“Maverick?” He calls, wincing at the sharp wind as he steps out of the truck. Maverick gingerly gets to his feet. With a despondent look, he walks away from the bike.
“We can load it up.” Ice finds himself offering. It’s enough to lift the worry from Maverick’s face.
It doesn’t take them long to put the bike on the back and even less time to throw a rope around and for the two men to get back into the cab. For a little while, neither of them say anything. But Maverick breaks the silence.
“Thank you,” he whispers.
Even tired, Ice finds himself wanting to know what happened. Because whatever did happen, it seems more than Maverick making a mistake whilst riding. He’s too good.
“Mav, what happened?”
This time Mav dips his head and looks ashamed. In the light of the minimal oncoming traffic, Ice can see his cheeks become flushed.
“I think they must have fought in ‘Nam,” he offers quietly. In his chest, Ice’s heart skips a beat. “They saw my patches as I was riding.” Maverick pauses, taking a shaky breath. “He ran me off the road and then they got out. I thought he was going to shoot me.”
Around the steering wheel, Ice tightens his grip.
“They kept yelling about how I was lucky to enlist and how I was going to hell for supporting the military. He…” Maverick trails off.
“What did he do, Pete?” His voice is low and quiet.
Maverick digs his hands into his eyes but then rubs furiously at the moisture gathering. It seems to be his breaking point. He shakes his head and groans. “It was so stupid, Ice. It was empty, it was fucking empty. But I thought it was gonna blow. He chipped my tooth, I thought he was gonna ram it down my throat and his buddy wouldn’t let me go.”
“What did he put in your throat?” Ice presses, fearing the answer he’s already come up with.
“It was just a gun. He fired it but it was empty . I was so fucking scared and it was so fucking stupid.”
Mav covers his face with his hands and Ice realises that this has shaken him beyond belief. This wasn’t like when he got caught in the MiG’s jet wash during the graduation fight, this was different. The fear that came with that wasn’t about losing his life, but someone else's. Tonight, he was alone and scared and some lunatic had him on the side of the road and put a gun down his throat.
All the different emotions Ice had tonight, reluctant, worried, they fade away because now he’s angry. Angry that some veterans drove a fellow soldier off the road and put a gun down Maverick’s throat. Despite his normal brusqueness, Ice reaches across and grips Maverick’s shoulder.
“I got you. You’re safe. I got you.”
-
They assess the damage under the bright light of Iceman’s bathroom. In the middle of the night the callsigns drop away and they become human, Pete and Tom.
“C’mon Pete,” Ice mutters. “You said you went over the handlebars, let's just check for bruising.”
The bruising is bad but Ice hopes that it’s not consistent enough to the degree of internal bleeding, because then they’d be screwed. Maverick’s face is bruised and swollen. It won’t go down by the time they report to base on Monday morning.
He’s cleaning the gash at the back of Maverick’s head when he feels two trembling arms snake around his waist. For a second he wants to push away, disgusted at such a show of vulnerability before remembering who they are. Aren’t they at the point where they’ve seen enough go wrong, lost enough people that they deserve to lean on over people?
Ice drops the hand he’s using to hold the black strands of hair out of the wound to Maverick’s shoulder. He squeezes the trapezius muscles quickly. With the quiet permission, Maverick lets himself melt against the warm body infront of him.
“Tom?” His name is called with a sleepy voice.
“Yeah, Mitchell?”
“Thanks,” Maverick murmurs. “I didn’t know who else to call. I didn’t feel safe. I know we just fly together but…”
Ice steps back to crouch eye level with the shaken pilot. “We’re brothers in the sky and down here. Don’t forget that.”
There is nothing but relief in the green eyes that stare back at him.