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"All this has happened before, and will happen again.”
But this time it happens in Fightertown, USA.
It takes Tom a long minute to place him, but once he does he can’t see anything else. That puckish smile, those bright, twinkling eyes. Like the reemergence of a hazy dream from childhood, long buried beneath tests and grades, acceptance letters and orders.
The boy, now a man, glances back at him. Ice doesn’t know what face to make, so he settles for lifting the pen he’s twirling, spinning it harder. I see you. What the hell are you doing here?
When they catch eyes the second time, Ice smirks at him. Do you belong here?
Turns out, the man is as arrogant as the boy. The best flier. The best fighter. Runner. Swimmer. Jumper. The best, the best, the best, always. We’ll see about that, Tom thinks, childish petulance rising inside him.
“The plaque for the alternates is down in the ladies' room.”
He aims it at Nick, whom he knows, but Peter doesn’t even look at him after he says it. How did those two get paired up anyway? Nick couldn’t have been one of his-? Probably not, he decides. Naval aviation’s a small world. Why Peter is suddenly in that world, that’s the mystery.
I left you.
Why have you come back to me?
"Go on, go back and grow up! But I’m warning you, once you're grown up, you can never come back. Never!"
Later that night, when he sees Ron talking to Nick at the O-Club, fortified by the drink in his hand, he makes his approach. He doesn’t know what to say to Peter. (He's drinking? He's twelv- he's not.) So Tom settles for addressing the safer choice.
“Hey, Mother Goose. How’s it going?”
“Good, Tom. This is Pete Mitchell, Tom Kazansky,” he introduces them.
Here’s where Tom should say something nice, like ‘Congratulations on TOPGUN,’ but instead-
"You grew up." He didn't mean it to sound so accusatory.
"You grew up more," Peter retorts. No, it's just Pete now, isn't it?
But he's right.
"I think I just grew up first," Tom points out.
Nick and Ron are exchanging questioning looks over their heads. They should save this for later.
But that doesn’t come for a while.
"Ugh, is that all you have to say? Everyone else thinks I'm wonderful."
Tom takes it back, Peter hasn't grown up at all, except in the obvious way.
The oafish boy is interrupting class to argue with the TAGREP. Tom can barely believe the utter bullshit that’s spewing out of his mouth, and doesn't shy from making his feelings known out loud. But God, is it ever working. The woman is clearly charmed. Is it the apple-like little boy cheeks? The impish grin, turned cocky with age?
“So you’re the one.”
And just like that, she’s Peter’s.
Once again, he doesn’t even deign to look at Tom as they walk out.
So he waits for him in the hallway, winding his watch. Once, time was their greatest enemy. One they’d both fled, hidden away from, in the most dramatic fashion. Now Tom keeps his enemy close, upon his wrist. He thought maybe Peter would hide forever. Could one hide forever? But this man wears a watch too.
Tom addresses him by his callsign, Maverick. The name Pete still doesn’t feel comfortable in his mouth.
Maverick blows him off.
“Cougar was doing just fine.”
Was he? Tom wants to argue, just to keep this- this impossible wonder in front of him a moment longer. But that’s all he gets.
"Alright, but ya gotta take orders."
"What’s your problem, Kazansky?"
All of a sudden, Peter is right there in his face. It'd be so familiar, except Tom is looking down now, when he'd spent so long looking up.
Unsafe. Dangerous. He always had been. But the boy hadn’t cared. Loved it, actually. Apparently he still does, because Peter leans into it, touches him.
It almost shocks him. He’s real.
Tom had never doubted, not really, that Peter was real. His memories are crystal clear, sharp as the dagger he’d once worn at his waist. Not dreamlike at all. But at the same time, for sanity’s sake, he’d had to erect certain barriers, levels of distance, between himself and his childhood. It wasn't safe to dwell on it, or long for it.
Something in Peter’s eyes is calling him. Do something.
He makes a forward move, a fake bite. Aggressive. Childish. Weird. Why did he do that?
But Peter is finally grinning at him, looking right at him. Tom has a sudden vision of Peter tackling him to the ground where they’d wrestle, tussle around like they used to, right there on the locker room floor.
He’s called away though. Maybe the commander will make him walk the plank. Ha.
"All it takes is faith and trust."
Peter could be, should be, the very center of them. This group of boys playing, flying, fighting together. But he holds himself at a distance. After about the 24th time checking his watch during their volleyball game, he rushes off. Where? Who? Ice can’t help but wonder as he stares after him.
He wins the next hop. Two points ahead now. Will Maverick care?
He does. When he goes up again, he’s stupid, leaves his wingman to go after Viper.
“Whose side are you on?”
He’d never had to ask Peter that. The boy was always on his own side. You played his game, or you didn’t play at all. But this isn’t Peter’s impossible, enchanted world. The stakes are real here.
Or maybe they'd always been real? Ice can't remember now.
“Peter Pan will save us."
“You up for this one, Maverick?”
“Just a hop in the park, Kazansky.”
“Mayday, mayday, Mav’s in trouble. He’s in a flat spin. He’s heading out to sea.”
“Mitchell, I’m sorry about Goose. Everybody liked him. I’m sorry.”
Stay. Don’t leave. Don’t leave me.
Even though I left you.
"Nobody calls Pan a coward and lives!"
Graduation. They’re all about to depart, back to their own squadrons, their own lives. It’s likely he’ll even see Peter again, if they both stay alive and in the service. But as he shakes his hand, congratulates him, he can almost hear the ticking of a clock somewhere far away. As if their time, too, is running down.
"Excuse me sir, this is not personal, but in regard to Maverick, is he the best backup that-"
Peter had never let him down. It hadn't been Peter who'd left, after all, it had been Tom. So what was his problem?
“Maverick how about some help, engage Goddamit!”
“It’s no good, it’s no good.”
Shit. Fuck. He knew it. He knew it. He’s on his own.
He'd left Peter, and now Peter had left him.
So be it.
"’Tis no mere boy. ‘Tis some fiend fighting me! A flying devil!"
A shadow passes over his eyes first. Impossible. Shadows don’t-
“Ice, I’ve got your MiG dead ahead. I’ve got him dead ahead.”
Then Maverick is there, and they’re taking out MiGs one after another. Together.
“I can’t leave Ice. I’m not leaving my wingman.”
Something deep inside Ice, long ago chipped and cracked away, heals, and he feels it, as warm and golden as Pixie dust inside him.
When it’s over, he follows Peter in for a flyby, close as his shadow.
"You know, I have the strangest feeling that I've seen that ship before. A long time ago, when I was very young."
It reminds him of another ship, another victory. He wants to shout. He wants to crow, but settles for grinning like a little boy and pulling Maverick in for a hug.
“You can be my wingman anytime.”
“Bullshit, you can be mine.”
I always have been, he almost answers.
"Don't you know what a kiss is?"
"I shall know, when you give me one."
"There it is!" Maverick exclaims, sitting up suddenly.
Tom looks where he's pointing but doesn't see anything extraordinary.
"Make a wish," Mav demands.
Tom looks at the blank spot in the sky where apparently he should see a star.
"Do you think we could ever-"
"No," Mav interrupts him with a laugh, and rolls to lean over Tom, one arm on his chest, looking into his eyes. "Make another wish, Tom."
Okay. Tom’s always done whatever Peter wanted. He swallows.
"Do you- do you know what a kiss is?"
Pete grins down at him. "I may have found out."