Work Text:
“You’re not alright.”
Maverick’s head shifted upwards to stare at Iceman. “Thanks, didn’t know.”
The USS Enterprise’s locker room was one place to have this conversation. Maverick was staring at his own locker with an empty gaze. Goose’s locker was on his right—still marked but devoid of anything resembling the RIO.
“Wasn’t supposed to be a discovery,” Iceman replied. “I’m asking you what’s wrong.”
Maverick’s eyes narrowed at the most recent TOPGUN winner. He wasn’t stupid, he’s aware that it wasn’t an observation. Maybe, just maybe, it was him not wanting to talk. “And I’m telling you that it’s none of your business.”
Iceman huffed. “Don’t close off now, dude. We didn’t just go through hell for you to shut everyone out again.”
“Is the hell you’re referring to Layton or the wonderful example I made out of myself a couple of weeks ago?”
“Layton,” Iceman answered with a roll of his eyes. “I wasn’t lying when I said you could be my wingman. Any time.”
“Well, excuse me for not believing you immediately.” He turned back to stare at his locker, just so he didn’t have to see Ice’s face.
“Why not?”
Iceman was ridiculous. What does he mean, “why not”? The same reason that Iceman didn’t like him was exactly “why not”. “What do you mean?” he asked, simply for clarification.
“Why don’t you believe me?”
“Upon meeting me, you decided to feed into petty rumors that you’d heard from a tenth-hand source to bash me,” he told the tall pilot. “Anything I could’ve said or done after that point was useless.”
“I thought we were past that,” Iceman answered honestly.
“Well, you thought wrong.”
“I just assumed that with…you know…what happened, that we were over that.”
Maverick turned back around to stare at Iceman incredulously. “Sorry?”
Iceman shifted uncomfortably. “With…the accident…and everything.”
He rolled his eyes. “You can say Goose’s name, it’s not taboo. I know he’s dead, you don’t need to walk on eggshells around me.” Iceman was taken aback by the forcefulness of Maverick’s tone.
“I—I just didn’t know what you wanted me to say, Mav,” Iceman replied. “Every time someone mentions him you get all weird. I don’t want to…I don’t know—trigger you or anything.”
With a sigh, Maverick leaned back on his locker. “Trigger me? Listen, I get what you’re trying to do, and I appreciate the effort, but it’s called “I’m grieving, and maybe I don’t want to talk about it.”
Iceman shrugged. “I thought you had that all figured out when you had that week off.”
“Oh, shut up with your bullshit!” Maverick yelled in the silence of the empty locker room, startling his new “wingman”. “The fuck did you think was going to happen after he died? That I was going to just waltz back in and swipe your precious trophy with my greedy little fingers?”
“I—no, but—”
“You were involved in the crash, too,” he said, stopping Iceman in his tracks. “You were there. What did they tell you after it was all over?”
“...What?”
“What did they tell you after everything was done and Goose and I were on our way to the hospital?”
“To go home?” Iceman tilted his head. “To get some rest while they need to figure out what was going on?”
“What happened after you all learned Goose was dead?”
“They gave us a couple of days to process everything, and they got their stuff sorted out. Listen, what is this supposed to prove?” Iceman crossed his arms, waiting for an answer.
“Want to know what I did? During that “week I got off”?”
“Enlighten me.”
“I spent two days in the hospital, including the initial day. After that, they released me and Viper gave me a nice message about ‘letting Goose go’,” he scoffed. “Then, I went back into our housing and had to get all of Goose’s shit out because they didn’t waste a second before clearing his name off of everything. Next, I went to his wife and kid and held them while they cried because they would never see a third of their family again.”
“Maverick–”
“No,” he cut him off. “After that, I wasted away for a day or two—I don’t really remember—while waiting to find out if I would be charged with manslaughter and be dishonorably discharged from the Navy. Then I had the hearing, where they made me recount every last detail from that day. From stupid shit like what we ate to how much blood was on his face as he floated there, dead in the water.”
“I…what am—”
“And after all of that,” he interrupted Iceman once again. “After all that, the same day of the hearing, they sent me back up in the same plane model. With someone in the backseat to do the same shit that had gotten Goose killed.”
The resulting silence rang through the small locker room. Maverick’s words echoed off the walls as he stepped back from where he had gotten into Iceman’s face. At some point during his tirade, he had wanted to nail every word he spoke into the older pilot’s brain.
So he didn’t have to speak them again.
Iceman didn’t say anything, and Maverick didn’t know how to feel about that. Did he want Iceman to silently accept his words, or did he want to incite some sort of angry reaction?
“I…” Iceman said after a while. “Oh.”
“Yeah. Oh,” Maverick muttered. The silence stretched on for long enough afterward that it became awkward, so he decided to speak again. “Do you understand?”
“What about Cougar?” Iceman asked in return.
“You mean the rumors?” Iceman nodded. “Cougar’s resignation had nothing to do with me. He let me go off alone because we thought there was only one of them. I’m being honest; you can ask his RIO, Merlin. He’s here.”
“I believe you.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” Iceman told him.
“Thanks,” Maverick muttered. “I’d just appreciate it if you didn’t hound me to be all buddy-buddy with the rest of you.” Before Iceman could voice any confusion, he spoke again. “It’s something I’m not used to, especially without Nick here. It’ll happen, I just need time. I promise.”
“I think you need more than time,” Iceman refuted. Maverick’s eyes snapped to the other in confusion, not knowing if he was supposed to be offended. “You need help that nobody here can give. I don’t know what kind of help that is, but you need it.”
“I…” Maverick trailed off, considering the other’s words for a moment. “Like?” He questioned—not too defensively, but still with caution.
“I don’t know,” Iceman quickly replied. “A third party, someone unbiased or who doesn’t know you. Maybe Goose’s wife and his son. Someone.”
Maverick gave a slow nod and turned to face his locker again. “Okay, I guess.”
“I think all of us judged you too early,” Iceman said seriously.
“Me too,” Maverick told him, just as honest. “I could get to know you all a bit better.”
“Just think about it,” Iceman suggested with finality, walking out of the room, leaving Maverick alone once again.
He was back to before, staring at his locker with the occasional glance at Goose’s. Maybe, even if Goose was gone, he could still manage the Navy.
Just maybe. He’d think about it.