Chapter Text
Maverick lets himself into the modern two story house that Ice and Slider secured off base, they’ll be robbed one day, the amount of times they’ve left the front door unlocked. He gives the Mezuzah a smile as he passes. He’s seen Ice and Slider brush their fingers over it, though Maverick still isn’t sure if it’s an everyone thing or just the people who live there. As of late he’s decided on giving it a smile until he can figure out how to ask Ice what he should do.
The last few weeks, since Ice first invited him around for a Friday night dinner, which turned into a weekly Friday night dinner, something changed between them. Or really, Maverick’s changed. He feels nervous under Ice’s stare, afraid to step out of line and forever live in ridicule in Ice’s memory. It’s been a long time since he’s wanted approval like this and he’s stumped as to where it’s coming from.
He toes off his boots by the front door and goes deeper into the home to find its two residents in the kitchen.
By the cooker, Ice is stirring something whilst his (always shirtless) flatmate seems suspiciously unoccupied.
“Hey, Mav,” greets Slider and Ice echoes something similar.
“Need a hand?” He asks, leaning back against the benchtop next to the gas stove. Ice shakes his head but before he can really say anything, Slider snaps his fingers at Maverick.
“You can help me bring the sofa bed down the stairs.”
Mav cocks his head. “Why do you own a sofa bed?”
“I don’t,” Slider explains simply. “I’ve sold it and Wolf’s coming to pick it up tonight so I need to bring it down stairs.”
“Why couldn’t Ice help?”
Slider rolls his eyes. “He thinks someone should watch to make sure we don’t put a hole in the wall.”
Mav smiles and pokes Ice’s calf with his toe. “You can be our LSO.”
The look Ice gives him is withering. “I’m not paying to have my wall fixed because of a case of ‘go left, no, the other left’.”
“Still doesn’t explain why and when you got a sofa bed.”
Slider rolls his eyes in exasperation. “We don’t . It belongs to Wolf now.”
It’s at that point that Mav resigns himself to never getting an answer. Believing that too many cooks spoil the broth, Ice ushers them both upstairs to clear the path to bring the sofa bed downstairs.
“You get challah if you don’t put a hole in the wall!” Ice calls after them.
Upstairs, Slider leads him to a dark room with a light that turns on from a cord that hangs from the ceiling. Sure enough, underneath piles of stuff, is a sofa bed.
“It’s all our academy shit in here,” Slider explains. Mav follows him further into the small space. There’s a box with a neat label declaring ICE 1978 .
“First year at the academy?” He asks.
“Hm? Oh yeah. It’s just photos. We couldn’t figure out what belonged who so we went through them all one day and chose. You can have a look if you like.”
Curiosity ignited, Maverick opens up the box and is met with stacks of photographs in paper envelopes. Each with their own labels.
“All of these from one year?”
“Felt like a lifetime back then.”
“Still does.”
Slider leans over his shoulder and plucks one packet from the box, shoving it into Maverick’s hands.
“Ice was one of the only kids in our year that had a camera and eventually a camcorder. He took it with him everywhere.”
He flips through the photos and is met with the many faces of a gangly eighteen year old Slider, but few of Ice himself. Every so often he comes across Cougar.
He and I were like brothers in flight school.
Obviously this is before that. In 1978 Cougar is in the background of mess hall snapshots and group photos. He hasn’t changed, though. At the back of a stack is the first photo he sees of Ice.
“Oh wow.”
It’s an outdoor pool and the light is reflecting off the water, increasing the exposure, but the model is as clear as day. Ice stands by the start blocks, standing at ease with his arms folded across his chest. He’s staring down the photographer (probably Slider) with a mean glare. Despite the exposure levels, the taught lines of Ice’s abs trace their way across his torso. His bicep bulges from where his arms are crossed.
For a moment he feels like a creep, staring at an almost naked photo of his friend. He quickly stuffs the photos back into the envelope and lifts the box off the sofa. A quick glance at Slider reveals that the man is also invested in a trip down memory lane.
He flips a photo around his fingers to show to Mav. It’s winter and Ice stands proudly by a gigantic snowman in a courtyard. He wears only shorts and a hoodie.
Maverick snorts. “He even has the dogs out in winter.”
Slider hacks out a laugh before shuffling through for another photo. Maverick’s met by a familiar face that strikes him to his core. A younger Goose stares back at him. He’s got an arm around Ice’s neck, giving him a nookie as the blond scowls petulantly, hands reaching to tickle Goose’s side.
“Goofballs,” Maverick murmurs.
“Couldn’t keep 'em’ out of trouble,” Slider muses before putting the photos away. They start to clear some space, lest a trip down memory lane stir up too many emotions. Slider ducks out to move the table on the landing just as the doorbell rings.
Ice answers it by the time they’ve made it down stairs. He and Wolf are chatting in the hallway. Maverick notices the dusting of flour on Ice’s shoulder from the challah and he’s overcome with an urge to brush it off.
He turns to see them coming down the stairs and his face falls at Slider’s ongoing state of undress. “Slider, seriously. A shirt.”
Slider rolls his eyes. “It’s Wolf. We’ve seen each other butt-naked at work.”
“And this is our home. Shirt, you heathen.”
“Princess.”
“Ass.”
Maverick doesn’t know why his chest tightens as they bicker, like he’s on the outside of an in-joke.
Begrudgingly, Slider leaves to find a shirt. It’ll be off again in five minutes but it appeases Ice for now.
“Hey, Mav!” Wolf beams. He’s wearing his cowboy hat and Mav can’t not smile at it. “You’re helping Slider with the couch?”
“Yeah, I think so. Ice is worried we’re going to put a hole in the wall.”
Wolf snorts. “Brilliant.”
—
“I’ll be honest, Slider, I don't know how I feel about you being on top.”
“Just relax Mav, you’re better off being on the bottom.”
Mav shifts. “I dunno, Sli. When you explained this I just didn’t envisage being on the bottom.”
Above him, Slider groans. “What do you mean? It’s not that hard.”
“It’s very hard, actually! I don’t want to die.”
“You’re not going to die!”
Ice groans. “Okay, okay! You’re both pretty now please do not break my wall or banisters.”
The sofa bed slips a little further and Mav’s eyes widen. If it were to fall now, he’s certain he’d perish and Slider would use his body as a carpet.
Slider grumbles. “Don’t call me pretty, Kazansky.”
“Aw,” Mav croons. “Who’s a pretty boy?”
“I will drop this, Mitchell!”
“Ice!” He shouts. “Slider’s going to drop it on me!”
Behind Maverick, at the base of the stairs, Wolf stands with Ice. Wolf provides very little but Maverick’s certain he’s getting a kick out of it. “A little too the left boys.”
“Mine or yours?” Maverick’s clarifies a little breathlessly.
“Ignore him,” Slider declares. “Just go straight back down.”
Maverick looks dubiously at the side of the sofa pressed against his face. “You’re not going to drop it?”
Slider sighs. “No, I'm not going to drop it.”
Cautiously, Maverick takes a step back. Slider follows him and it’s like a tango.
“Left,” Wolf repeats earnestly. “Guys go left.”
“That’s your left,” Slider clarifies. He takes a step to the left. They’re only halfway down.
Ice makes a noise of concern. “Stop, stop. Go back.”
They take a step back.
“Okay now straighten up.”
They straighten up.
“C’mon. This is heavy.”
“There’s challah waiting for you.”
“Fucking better be,” Slider mutters.
They spend the next few precarious minutes shimmying down the stairs. And for all Ice’s reservations, it seems to be going well. Well, that is until Slider drops the sofa just a little bit.
“Slider!” Mav shrieks crouching to catch the extra weight but ends up with his hand pinned against the wall.
“Fuck, sorry. It’s the shirt. It’s too restrictive.”
“Shut up about the fucking shirt. I’m stuck.”
“Alright, alright!”
Slider adjusts his grip and picks up the sofa and gives it a little push.
“That’s my fucking hand, moron!”
The sofa, it seems, is stuck.
—
“Ice!”
“Kazansky, you ass!”
—
Wolf watches Ice carefully over the table. “Are you going to help them?”
He blows his soup carefully before taking a mouthful and looks thoughtful for a moment. “No. Challah?”