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“This fucking sucks. I never get sick.”
It’s Monday morning, and Maverick has spent the better part of the last twenty-four hours trying to convince Ice that he is, in fact, sick with the flu.
“I don’t care. I’m not letting you just deny it and go to work all week feeling miserable. I’ll tell Viper for you.”
Maverick is dressed and ready in his service uniform, but when Ice tries to get up and get ready too, Maverick places a hand on his bare chest, pushing him back against the pillows.
Ice grumbles, “I feel fine.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
“No, I'm not.”
“You are when it’s to me.” Maverick shakes his head and runs his fingers through Ice’s hair. “You think I can’t tell, but don’t forget how well I know you, Ice.”
Ice just looks up at him, still sulking. His nose is red and his eyes are glassy.
“Just rest, okay? It’s only for a few days.”
He sighs. “Fine.”
Maverick can’t help but smile a little. “You’re so grumpy.”
“Shut up.”
“There are leftovers in the fridge, and I’ll bring you home food later, okay?”
Ice mumbles, “Thanks, Mav.”
He grabs his wallet and keys from the dresser, saying, “Call my office if you need something. And drink some Gatorade.”
“Mhm.”
Maverick turns back to see Ice has already shut his eyes, a tiny scowl still on his face, but his chest slowly rises and falls under the comforter.
He walks back over and kisses Ice’s forehead, rubbing a thumb over the crease between his eyebrows. It feels hot and damp from his fever. He whispers, “Love you.”
Ice mutters another incoherent sound. Maverick smiles and pads quietly out of the room.
~
That afternoon, Maverick is in his office planning out a hop for tomorrow, when his phone rings. He sighs, hoping it isn’t someone calling to give him more shit to do.
“Mitchell.”
“Maverick?”
He lowers his voice, “Ice? Hey, what’s wrong?”
“I can’t find the ibuprofen.” Ice’s voice is barely there, and his throat sounds so raw. Maverick can tell he’s frowning.
“Umm, it’s in your bathroom cabinet, I think. Are you okay?”
“Hm? Yeah, I’m sick.”
Maverick frowns. “Yes, I know you’re sick. I was with you all weekend.”
“Hm.” He can hear rustling noises in the background.
“Ice…what’s your temperature?”
“‘Dunno. I’m cold.”
Maverick places a hand against his forehead, sighing. He’s never heard Ice so irritated yet so completely out of it simultaneously. He’s like a sleep-deprived toddler.
“That’s your fever, Ice. Did you find the ibuprofen?”
“Yes, I did.” He sounds so frustrated that it’s almost funny.
“Okay, take two and go back to sleep.”
Ice grunts. “Okay.”
A pause, then Ice sniffles. “Thanks, Mav.”
“You’re welcome. I’ll be there as soon as I can get outta here, okay?”
“Okay. Love you.”
Maverick murmurs back, “Love you too.”
~
It feels like forever until Maverick can make it back to Ice’s house. He stops at the store and just gets some canned soup and crackers because he can’t cook for shit.
Maverick unlocks the door and strolls into the kitchen, sets the groceries down, and starts putting them away. Ice is nowhere to be seen, so he heads into the bedroom.
He finds Ice asleep, stretched out on his stomach, practically taking up the entire bed with his lanky legs.
Maverick rests a hand on his shoulder, and it’s burning hot under his palm.
“Ice? Hey, I’m home.”
Ice stirs, blinks his eyes open and lifts his head. He croaks, “Maverick? What are you doing here?”
Jesus. “I practically live here, you idiot. Are you okay? You’re burning up.”
As if on cue, Ice visibly shivers, goosebumps popping up along his forearms. He rolls onto his back, yawns, and wraps the comforter further around him, shivering again.
“Damn it, Ice, we need to take your temperature. I’ll get the thermometer.”
Ice just groans in annoyance.
Maverick returns and tucks the thermometer between Ice’s lips and under his tongue, then waits for it to beep. Ice sulks the entire time, arms crossed across his chest.
“Stop pouting.”
“‘M not.”
Maverick raises his eyebrows at him. The thermometer beeps.
“Shit, 102.3. Ice, this is bad.”
“It’s not. I’m fine, Maverick.”
Maverick pinches the bridge of his nose, gesturing a hand at him. “You aren’t fine . We gotta get your fever down unless you want me to take you to the emergency room.”
Ice scowls at him.
“I’m serious , Tom.”
Ice sighs dramatically. “What the hell do you want me to do about it? And don’t call me that. I hate it.”
Maverick doesn’t understand why Ice is so irritated. He can’t tell if it’s towards Maverick or if he’s just irritated with the situation. Either way, Maverick has no clue what to do. He just needs to get Ice better.
“You need some Tylenol, some water, and something to eat,” Maverick says, counting out each thing on his fingers.
“What made you the expert on being sick? I’m fine, and I’m not hungry.”
Maverick rolls his eyes towards the ceiling, letting out an exasperated groan. “Ice, I don’t care . I’m not going to just let you lay here violently ill, fever spiking, and dehydrated. I don’t care if you’re mad at me, or mad at yourself, or at the fucking influenza virus itself. You need to take care of yourself. Or, at the very least, let me take care of you. Alright?”
Ice’s lips are still twisted up in a pout, but the crease in his forehead has softened. He looks up at Maverick, and suddenly his eyes fill with tears.
“Shit. Ice, don’t cry, baby.” Maverick knees onto the bed and pulls Ice into his chest. “You’re gonna be okay.”
Ice leans into Maverick, his cheek pressed against the rank insignia pinned to his lapel, hot tears spilling onto Maverick’s neck.
“I just…I hate feeling like this, Mav,” he mutters, voice hoarse. “I feel so weak and I’m so tired and just useless , I hate it so much.”
“Hey, shh. You are not useless, Ice. You’re a human being. You’re not perfect, and you’re allowed to get sick.”
Ice closes his eyes, exhaling roughly. He wraps his arms tighter around Maverick’s waist.
“I get why you’re frustrated, but it’s not gonna help you get better.”
Ice slowly nods against him.
“I’ll help you get better. Will you let me help you get better?”
He nods again, and mumbles, “Okay.”
“Okay, good.” He places a kiss on Ice’s hair. “Just wait here, I’ll be back.”
~
Maverick gets Ice a glass of water, then watches him take two Tylenol and down the whole glass at Maverick’s instruction. Then he heads to the kitchen to make him a bowl of soup.
“Just don’t spill it. You’re already a mess anyway,” Maverick tells him, carefully handing Ice the bowl in bed.
Thankfully, Ice cracks a small smile at that. Maverick kisses his cheek, then decides he should probably get out of his uniform.
He’s been staying at Ice’s for over a week, so he basically lives out of a duffle bag he keeps on the floor in Ice’s bedroom, and neither of them were smart enough to think to do laundry over the weekend. He digs through the bag and has no luck finding anything clean.
“Mav.”
He whirls around to face Ice. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Ice rasps. “I was just gonna tell you to wear something of mine.”
“Oh.” Maverick blinks, then quirks a smile. “Thanks.”
Ice shrugs, taking a bite of his soup. He grabs a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants from Ice’s dresser, then unbuttons and shrugs off his khaki shirt, hanging it in the closet before peeling off his trousers and hanging them up as well.
He hears Ice hum a little noise, then he says, “Wow. Free dinner and a show? I feel better already.”
“Shut up. That was horrible."
Ice laughs, and it sounds rough but it’s still the best thing Maverick’s heard all day. He peels off his white t-shirt and tosses at Ice, drawing another laugh from him, then heads into the bathroom to shower.
Once he’s done, he emerges to find Ice nodded off again, empty bowl and glass of water on the nightstand and comforter pulled up past his chin. Maverick just watches him for a moment, his breathing steady and peaceful. Seeing Ice so relaxed always calms Maverick, like if Ice can be that still, he can too.
Maverick busies himself with doing the dishes, then he gathers up all their dirty clothes and shoves them into the washer. He makes himself dinner, finishes some paperwork, switches their laundry, and sets a fresh glass of water on Ice’s nightstand.
After a couple hours, Maverick’s settled into the couch with the TV on mute, his eyes starting to get heavy. He almost drifts off, until the dryer buzzes from down the hall and jerks him awake.
He loads the clean clothes into a basket and hauls it into the bedroom, and he finds Ice awake, downing the glass of water.
“Hey, how are you feeling?”
“Hm. Alright.”
“Want some more Tylenol?”
Ice nods, rubbing one of his eyes and yawning, hair sticking up every which way. Ice stopped bleaching his hair awhile ago, and Maverick has been able to watch it grow out into a gorgeous dark blond.
He’s so fucking cute Maverick wants to jump him.
Instead, he hands Ice the two pills, then he reaches up and cards his fingers through Ice’s wild hair, smoothing down the cowlick at the crown of his head.
“What a mess, Kazansky.”
“Shut up,” Ice murmurs.
Maverick grins, then turns to start folding their clothes before they wrinkle. He folds one t-shirt, then Ice sighs loudly.
“What’s wrong?”
Ice crosses his arms over his chest. “Well, I’m sick, and you haven’t offered to cuddle with me. I think I’m owed an explanation.”
Maverick barks a laugh. This is fucking adorable. “Right. You’re right, I’m sorry, baby."
He sets the laundry basket on the floor and crawls in bed next to Ice. He wraps his limbs around Maverick immediately, tangling their legs together as Maverick tugs the covers up over both of them, placing a soft kiss against Ice’s temple and holding him close.
“I’m sorry, I should have done this sooner. You deserve it.”
“Yeah. It’s important for my health that you’re this close to me.”
Maverick giggles. “God, I love you.”
“I love you. Thanks for taking care of me.”
“Always.”
He sniffs, presses his face into Maverick’s neck and sighs. Then he says, “Mav?”
“Hm?”
“What if I get you sick?”
“Then you’ll take care of me,” he says simply.
Ice hums. “Okay. Yeah, I will.”
They’re quiet for a while, and Maverick just listens to Ice’s steady breathing, places a hand on his chest and feels his heart beating beneath it. His eyes feel heavy again, and he’s tempted to reach over and shut the lamp off.
Then Ice asks suddenly, “What did Viper say when you told him I’m sick?”
He shrugs. “Nothing really. He just grumbled something I didn’t really hear and walked off.”
“Sounds about right.”
Maverick snorts. Then he pauses briefly before he says, “He did say something weird, um, when I was leaving for the day, though.”
Ice tenses for a second, then clears his throat. “What’d he say?”
He sighs. “Well, it was like 1830 and I had been worrying about you all day, so I was desperate to get home to you, right? But Viper had me in the hangar with him and Mariner talking air-to-ground simulations for next month, and I still had paperwork to get out before I left, so I was pretty annoyed. But I just stood there and listened and all the sudden he goes ‘Mitchell, you can go on home, and tell Ice to get his ass better by the end of the week’. And I froze for a second but then it was fine and I left. But…I don’t know.”
“Christ. I don’t know how to even feel about that.”
“I know.”
Ice is silent. Maverick realizes he’s holding his breath. He forces himself to let it out and says, “I think he knows something, Ice.”
He doesn’t immediately say anything, but Maverick feels him tighten his arms around him briefly. “I think so, too.”
“Are we…should we be freaking out?”
“Maybe.”
“But we’re not.”
“Hm.”
Then they’re both giggling, and Maverick feels a little crazy. He has this perfect thing going on, right here in his arms, and it feels so fragile but so enduring at the same time.
"Great Viper impression, by the way," Ice tells him, and Maverick just laughs harder, then presses kisses over Ice's forehead.
Ice has always been one of the strongest people that Maverick knows. He’s incredibly sharp, never fails to make himself known in a room, and he’s absolutely relentless when it comes to achieving his goals. He takes every step with a purpose, and, as everyone knows, he never makes a mistake.
But to Maverick, Ice is also just a person. He’s his person. And with Maverick he’s determinedly human. He’s imperfect, he cries, he gets sick, he fucks up and says the wrong thing.
Ice’s callsign means absolutely everything to him, and Maverick feels the same about his own. Hell, he probably wouldn’t allow anyone to call him Pete except for Ice. And even though Ice doesn’t love being called his real name, Maverick will never forget that under that ice cold facade is just Tom.
And Pete will love and take care of Tom through it all.