Chapter Text
“Hey, Phoenix?” Rooster asks, waiting for his best friend to look over at him. “What’s going on with Hangman?”
“Is anything going on with him, or is he just being his usual charming self?” She shoots back, eyebrows raised. She doesn’t have much patience for the other pilot’s arrogant attitude and cocky comments, more so than most pilots here. She’s confessed to him in the past that Hangman had tried to get her to go out with him for months as cadets, unable to understand why she wouldn’t think it was a gift to date him. He’s never established how she got the man off her back, but given the respect she seems to get from Hangman that most people don’t, he suspects she’s knocked the man on his ass at some point.
Rooster frowns thoughtfully, chewing the end of his pen. “Something’s going on. It has to be. I just don’t know what. He can be an ass, sure, but this feels different. I’ll talk to him.”
Phoenix looks at him curiously for a moment, scrutinizing him as if checking he’s not delirious, but then she nods. “Okay. Shout if you need us.”
“Thanks. I got it.” Rooster focuses on the slides being presented to them, only half watching Hangman for as long as he can. He hears the snark in Serensen’s voice during a group exercise and sighs inwardly, cutting over the other pilot to answer for their group before Hangman can get himself sent to Ice’s office.
When class finally ends he stands, watching Hangman stride out of the room with his head held high and not a word to his friends, frowning and following him.
“Hey, Hangman!”
“What do you want, bird brain?”
“You okay? You seem like you’re not okay.” Rooster ignores the jibes, worried about him now he can see the lines of tension Hangman’s been hiding for the last two hours. He looks like shit.
“I’m fine. Get out of my face.”
Rooster holds up his hands placatingly, brows raised. “I just want to help.”
“I don’t need your help. I’m fine.” Hangman’s eyes are hard, darkening with the strength of his emotion and warning Rooster to back off.
Instead, Rooster takes a step forward. “Come on, Hangman, where you gonna go?”
“Anywhere if it means being away from here…” Jake mutters and then he’s walking away at a pace even Rooster doesn’t think he can match. He watches him go, brows drawn together in concern.
He’s learned to trust his gut in recent months instead of overthinking every decision, and something tells him that despite Hangman’s words he needs a friend right now. “Talk to me, Dad,” he mutters, debating his next move for a few seconds.
Resolve strengthening, he glances back towards the hanger, spotting Phoenix near the entrance and shrugging with a sheepish smile tugging at his lips, before he’s taking off across the base towards his jeep.
- - - - -
Maverick strolls into the hanger where their debrief is going on, looking over the lieutenants already gathered there and quickly realizing something’s wrong. “Hangman and Rooster aren’t here. Where are they?” He asks casually.
Phoenix and Bob share a look for a moment, making eye contact with other aviators from their class in the stuffy silence, before Phoenix speaks up for the group. “Something happened earlier, Mav. They left base, they haven’t come back.”
That sends his eyebrows towards his hairline as the wheels begin to turn. “What do you mean, they left base? Where did they go?”
“Well…” Bob speaks now, stumbling over his words and wiping sweaty palms on the legs of his flight suit. “We aren’t sure, sir. Hangman looked, uh, angry or upset or something at lunch and then they-they left, after Rooster spoke to him about it, sir.”
Mav sighs. The urge to drag his hand through his hair hits hard but he resists. Instead he nods, the movement sharp, before forcing himself to relax. “I need to make a call. While I do, I want you to think about this mission,” he clicks and the projector screen behind comes to life. “We’ll talk about it when I’m back, then you can run the simulations later. I’d rather not run them with them AWOL.”
With that he strolls back out into the stifling heat of summer in California and pulls out his phone, scrolling his contacts and calling Rooster first. He’s a little surprised to see it ring and then almost immediately be diverted to voicemail. “Rooster, kid, it’s Mav. Call me when you get this.”
He ends the call and tries Hangman next, worried when it rings out. His mind runs through a catalogue of worse case scenarios, briefly flashing to that God awful day when he lost Goose. It barely registers that is jaw clenches tight enough to send tendrils of pain swirling through him and down into his tense shoulders and for a moment he caves and lets himself shove his hand into his hair.
He considers his options, knowing that leaving is risky because he runs the risk of facing Iceman later, but to stay gives the younger pilots time to do something stupid. When Warlock appears in the doorway, eyebrows raised at him, Maverick grimaces and texts both men, telling them they better get their asses to class before the session breaks, then strolls inside. As he plasters his trademark cocky grin onto his face, he thinks back on the time he was the one to go after Ice instead of the other way around.
- - - - -
Mav was worried. Ice hadn’t been Ice all morning, but he couldn’t figure out why. He’d been more sarcastic than usual in a way that wasn’t fun or cocky, but that felt like a biting wing, cutting through Mav right to the bone. He looked around the locker room at the somber faces of their teammates and frowned. “Hey, where’s Ice?”
“Isn’t he your boy? We don’t keep tabs on your boyfriend, Maverick.”
He rolled his eyes, flipping Slider the bird. “He’s your wingman, Slider, what’s going on with him anyway?”
“How would I know?” Ron scoffed, shoving stuff into his locker. “His old man called last night. I had to guess? That’s why he’s in a shit mood, they don’t get on well. The old bastard expects perfection and nothing much Ice does is good enough.”
That set Mav’s jaw on edge. Ice was the best; he was the best pilot Mav had flown with and he was a fucking good man, even if Maverick gave him a hard time and drove him nuts. He nodded. “Damn. Think he’s drowning his sorrows?”
“Your guess is as good as mine,” Slider admitted. “Could be at the O club, or he could be at some seedy bar somewhere.”
“And miss a hop?”
Slider smirked. “Unlike you, his record is clean enough he can fuck up and get another chance without cosying up to Viper.”
“Fuck you, Slider. I get to fuck around because I’m the best.” He grabbed his keys and his leather jacket, strolling out of the locker room to catcalls from the other guys, and headed for his bike. Wind rustled through the palm trees lining the airstrip and the sun burned up above him. He shoved his Aviators on and retrieved his bike wondering where to look.
Where the fuck would I go? he wondered, thinking to himself he wouldn’t be in the O Club if he was dealing with family shit. Then again, he didn’t have a family. Not anymore. Still, he wanted to help his friend and if Ice was anything like Maverick, he’d do something dumb after a couple of beers. He racked his brain for a minute and cursed, thinking he could probably guess. He’d regaled the team with stories of his antics at one of the seedier bars in the area and had Ice scold him more than once.
The breeze rushing through his hair sending it in all directions coupled with the roar of the bike’s engine soothed him as it always did and by the time he slowed so that blurry buildings once more became solid he was feel both calm and resolved. He kicked down the stand and hopped swung off the bike, putting his trademark smirk in place and running a hand through his hair to get the strands remotely back into place.
As he stepped into the dim bar he fought the urge to grimace, already annoyed by the flickering halogen bulb situated over the door. Rock music crackled through an old jukebox in need of some love and the patrons of the bar smelled of a combination of sweat and stale alcohol. Mav looked over the bar with a keen gaze. It was hard to see behind his Aviators but he refused to take them off and let the men throwing back pints see what he thought of the place. Just as it seemed he’d been wrong, he clocked Ice at the far end of the bar, nursing a virtually still full bottle of beer.
Relieved, he strolled through the bar, sliding into the barstool next to his wingman while tipping two fingers towards the bartender and pointing at the beer bottle. Ice didn’t even look at him as he spoke in his usual cool and collected voice. “Fuck off, Maverick. You should be flying.”
“So should you. Besides, it’s not any fun without competition.”
A smile tugged at the corner of Ice’s lips. “You know Viper’ll kick your ass.”
“After he kicks yours.” Mav shrugged. “Won’t be the first time. What’s got your panties bunched anyway?”
Ice’s expression closed, jaw clenching so hard Mav swore he heard it. “I’m fine.”
“Bullshit.”
“What?”
“You heard me. I’m calling bullshit, Ice. I don’t believe that shit for a minute, you’re not fine. You’re spiraling.”
The sigh that escapes Tom is bone deep before he speaks again, mostly sounding weary. “Just go back to base, Maverick. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Maverick digs his proverbial heels in, shaking his head. “No. I don’t leave my wingmen behind.”
“Makes no sense for us both to be in the shithouse with Viper.”
“You want me to go, you come outside and make me.” Ice’s eyes flashed as he threw Mav a sidelong glance and Mav fought a smirk. He knew that look.
Just as he was about to throw in one more sarcastic remark to push him into motion, when he felt a rough hand on the collar of his jacket dragging him off his stool. Mav grunted, cussing, and scrambled to find his balance. “He told you to go away, pretty boy. You’re not welcome here.”
Maverick felt his jaw tighten, anger flaring as he twisted to find the jackass’ face. He heard the crack scrape of a stool a moment before he registered the familiar thud of Iceman’s boots hitting the beer stained boards of the floor. Before he had time to register the movement to his fight, a fist collided with the bastard’s jaw as the man tried to land a wobbly punch of his own. Mav was so surprised that he just stared, trying to make sense of the fact his own fist wasn’t feeling the familiar pain pulsing up his arm from impact.
He twisted in place to see Ice there, fists clenched at his sides and a cold glint to his brilliant blue eyes. “Nobody asked for your opinion, so back off unless you’d want me to knock you on your ass.”
A hush had descended over the bar, beers held forgotten as people watched the altercation with interest. Mav was just starting to jokingly tell Ice to cool it when he heard a snarl to the left of his ear. As he pivoted back, he saw a beefy fist reared back, the drunk man before him’s face contorted into a dark glare. He cursed as the fist flew in his general direction, and how the fuck was he in the firing line when he wasn’t getting to throw the punches? he wondered furiously while ducking out of the way.
He heard a thud and a muffled curse before the stranger stumbled, crashing into the bar, earning a curse from the bartender. Mav stood, taking advantage of the stunned silence before his arm landed against Ice’s chest harshly. “Alright, you had your fun. Enough, Ice. It’s enough.”
“He called you a—”
“I know. Let it go, man. It’s not worth it, okay? Let’s just go.” Maverick held his friend’s eye for a long minute, face earnest and hopeful as Ice considered him. Eventually the older pilot —only by a couple of years, mind you— swallowed and his eyes lost the ruthless glare he’d seen moments before. Mav almost sighed in relief at the familiar sparkle Ice seemed to save for him. He patted the broad chest under his hand and reached into his pocket, fumbling for a minute until he found a fifty that he shoved towards the bartender. “That should cover it,” he muttered, towing Ice towards the door.
It wasn’t until they got outside that Maverick spun on Ice. “Seriously, Ice? That’s you not spiraling? Fuck, you nearly broke his nose!”
“He called you a pretty boy.” Ice reminded him, as if that explained his actions perfectly.
“And? Jesus, Ice, I’ve been called worse. I—”
Ice held his gaze steadily, his usual control back in place like an armour. His lip twitched in amusement as he tried not to smirk, but when he cut Maverick off he was entirely serious. “Nobody calls you a pretty boy except me, Mitchell. No one.”
Maverick gaped as he tried to make sense of that. “What the fuck does th—”
He started to scowl as Ice stepped into his space and cut him off again, but this time sure lips found his, confident and demanding as Ice cupped the back of his head. Every waking thought fled Maverick’s brain as he felt Ice gently nudge his lips apart. It took another second before he threw himself into the kiss with the same passion he tossed himself into everything with, be it good or bad.
When they pulled apart, Ice rested his forehead against Maverick’s, breathing harder than usual. “I’m sorry, Mav. I should have asked. I just—”
“Shut the fuck up and do it again. If Viper’s going to paddle my ass into next week, you can at least make it worth it, you big dickwad.”
Ice laughed softly and pulled Maverick against him again, giving himself into the kiss. Mav couldn’t be sure but he swore the tension Ice had been carrying around with him in that bar was melting away. He sighed internally, thinking to himself that Viper was definitely going to throttle them, but it had been worth every swat to finally get to stop imagining what kissing Kasansky was like and actually experience it. The man was as talented and ruthlessly efficient at that as everything else in his life. Maverick was struggling to remember his own name, and Mav had plenty of experience kissing anyone and everyone he could get his hands on.
It felt like hours had passed yet no time at all when they pulled away from each other again. Mav could feel the stupid grin on his face, could see in the twinkling crystal blue of Ice’s eyes that he was as exhilarated as he himself was. “Took you fucking long enough.”
“You do know you have a tongue in your head, Maverick, right?” Ice pointed out, mouth twitching in amusement.
“I’m too busy shooting it off to make the first move,” he shot down immediately, offering Ice a shit eating grin.
Ice rolled his eyes. “I noticed. How did you get here?”
“Ice. Come on. Do you really have to ask? I thought you knew me.” Mav put a hand to his heart, feigning being wounded.
“Where is the Kawasaki?” Ice glanced down at his watch, taking a moment to do the math. “If we go now, we might make it.”
“You were drinking...”
“Nah, just keeping my hands busy.” He paused, looked back at Maverick. “You weren’t there to do that job.”
“Fuck off, Ice. I’m not your toy.”
His face heated up as Ice grinned, pearly white teeth visible and entirely too shark-like for Maverick’s liking as he stepped closer, getting into Mav’s personal space. “But you could be.”
Mav huffed softly, but he could feel his face breaking into a smile. “You’re such a dick.”
“You love it.”
Maverick ignored the innuendo with difficulty. He stepped away, sliding onto the smooth seat of his treasured bike. “Hope you can keep up, Kasansky.”
“You know I can, Mitchell.”
Maverick kicked the bike into gear, taking off in a shower of grit and dirt that left Ice cursing as he scrambled to kickstart his own bike. He grinned and breathed in the sea air, enjoying the wind in his face. He wanted nothing more than to ditch their hop to kiss Ice some more but he knew better from experience that Viper wouldn’t be playing around. The man was fair but fuck, he didn’t take prisoners. Especially with Mav. The thought of facing Commander Mike Metcalfe made his heart jump anxiously and he found himself picking up speed, hoping to explain to the man he’d had the best of intentions.
- - -
Metcalfe knew the moment they stepped onto base. How, Maverick had no idea. They’d managed to make it back before the hop, change into flight suits and get out towards their F-14s when Viper’s voice had carried over the tarmac, calm but unyielding. “You two hooligans can take your butts to my office. Now!”
“Sir, we’ve got a hop,” Maverick reminded him innocently.
His stomach tightened nervously when the man just pointed a finger from them to the spot before him, his meaning clear. Pilots flooded past them in a sea of activity and Mav wondered for a second if they could get lost in the group.
Viper quickly put an end to that idea, voice raised and far less laidback than it usually sounded. “Mitchell! Get your butt over here before I drag it myself! You too, Kasansky!”
Before Mav could be an idiot and dig his heels in, Ice caught his bicep and shoved him forward ahead of him with a murmured, “Be a good boy and I’ll kiss you some more later…” that had Maverick’s feet moving of their own accord. He heard Ice chuckle behind him but ignored it.
They arrived in front of Viper who raised his eyebrows at them. “Briefing started an hour ago, gentlemen. You can’t show me the respect of showing up, then you can stand in the free corners of my office and think about your choices. Go on.”
“Sir, wait—”
“Don’t want to hear it, Mitchell. Move your butts.”
Mav looked aghast but managed a sharp nod. “Sir, yes sir…” he muttered as he set off for the teaching staff’s offices.
Ice arrived a few minutes later, apparently unsurprised to find Maverick not in a corner. “Trying to antagonize him?”
“Might not be him,” Mav snarked in response, turning a cocky smirk on Iceman. Now that Ice had kissed him, Mav could only think about spurring him into more action.
Ice raised an eyebrow with impressive efficiency, making his stomach drop. “You know, maybe I’ll take a turn after Viper’s done with us. Into the corner, now, pretty boy.”
Hearing it in Ice’s smooth voice while those piercing eyes looked inside him had Maverick blushing and trying not to squirm. Apparently Ice making threats like that was thrilling to him, not horrifying like it was when Viper paddled him. He put on his most cocky smirk. “That a threat or a promise?”
A laugh escaped Ice in a short huff of breath before he pushed his normally immaculate hair back, expression unreadable. Maverick was dimly aware of the need to mess up every strand of hair on his arrogant head before pushing them back into place one by one. Before Ice could speak, Mav forged ahead. “Maybe we should kiss some more, since we’re here. He won’t be back for hours, we could try all sorts of… manoeuvres.”
Ice caught him by the scruff of his neck, pulling him in roughly and kissing him deeply for a moment before guiding him into the corner. “Stay there. I don’t think Viper will actually leave us waiting for two hours. He won’t trust you not to cause chaos.”
Maverick looked indignant. “Viper thinks I’m the best.”
“I think you mean second best, Mav. And right now he wants to throttle us. How about we don’t piss him off more? I’d like to sit again sometime this month.”
For a moment Mav considered ignoring the unspoken warning they were playing with fire, but he reluctantly dropped his head against the point where the walls met, sighing dramatically. “Better be fucking worth this,” he told his wingman. “That’s the last time I bail you out...”
“And risk the chance to rub it in my face forever? Dream on.” Ice chuckled and strode across the room to his own corner, boots heavy on the scuffed wooden flooring. Maverick frowned at the lack of warmth behind him but settled into the familiar corner. He knew every fleck of chipped paint now, every boot scuff marring the pale walls and every hole where something had previously been hung. It was comforting in its familiarity and boring in equal measure.
Viper didn’t leave them waiting long. In fact, Mav was a little shocked by how quickly he heard Viper’s familiar tread in the room. “Sir…” he started, hoping to talk their way out of trouble.
“Quiet in the corner, Mitchell, unless you want to do you time with less dignity.”
Maverick’s mouth snapped shut, though he had no control over the loose curl of his fist. Viper seemingly ignored it because he didn’t feel any sharp swats on his ass. He blew out a breath, trying to relax his tense muscles, and then waited. And waited. Just as he was giving up hope, the commander broke through his monologue. “Gentlemen, front and center.”
Both men pushed their way out of the corner, stopping before Viper. The older pilot was sitting at his desk, arms folded over his chest as he watched them with shrewd eyes. “Care to tell me why you two thought you’d skip a briefing and show up late for my class?”
“That wasn’t really planned, sir…” Maverick started to explain.
He was cut off by Ice, who shook his head in exasperation and shot him a cool look. “Maverick, don’t you dare. I took off at lunch time, sir. Maverick was worried and came to the bar I was at. He convinced me to come back for the hop.”
Viper’s eyebrows moved towards his hairline. “You planned to fly a multimillion dollar jet when you were drinking?”
“No, sir. I didn’t drink anything. Just needed to clear my head.”
“You want to spend your time at some seedy bar, ‘clearing your head’ or otherwise, you do it off the clock. Damn it, Kasansky, you are one of my best pilots. I expect better from you.”
“I know, sir. I’m sorry, it won’t happen again.”
“Don’t worry, Kasansky, I plan to make sure of that. Wait for me outside the door. I want a word with Mitchell.”
Tom’s nod was brisk as he turned for the door, strolling out of the office with his head held high. Unlike most kids chewed out in Viper's office who tended to slink off to safety, he held himself with perfect posture.
Maverick swallowed down the nerves in his throat as he watched his friend —shit, was it his friend? Were they something else now? What if—
“Mitchell, are you with me?”
He blinked to clear his racing thoughts, meeting Viper’s steady gaze. “Yes sir, uh, sorry sir.” He hated that he stumbled over his words the way he did, being in trouble when he’d been trying not to fuck up was somehow much more nervewracking for him. If anyone asked him though, he’d never admit it.
Viper watched him quietly for a minute before speaking. “Alright, son, I want the full story. This isn’t a time for digging your heels in and being a smartass. Iceman will be paddled for his part in this. Time for you to decide how sore you want your butt to be when I’m through with you. Right now you got a chance to tell me what happened. Sounds like you tried to do a good thing, Mitchell. Proud of you for that.”
Maverick hated the way he blushed at that, preening at the praise. He groaned. “Ice wasn’t himself this morning. I was worried, Sir. Slider… uh, Slider mentioned he’d had a call from home yesterday. I took a guess and found where he was, and convinced him to come back for the hop. He wasn’t drinking, Viper, I swear. I saw his beer bottle, it was full.”
The older man nodded. “Well, that’s something. Why was his hand bruised?”
That had Maverick wincing. “Some asshat gave me shit, Ice backed me up.”
“Yet your hands don’t look bruised,” Viper commented wryly. Being called out had Mav’s pink neck deepening in colour and he looked away, eyes seeking the sunshine he could see filtering in through the window. Viper cleared his throat. “Do you want to know what I think, Lieutenant?”
“Do I have a choice, sir?”
“Nope.” Viper smirked. “So you might as well listen and tell it to me straight. I think you were trying to do a good thing and got caught up in a mess instead. It was admirable, Mitchell, going to help your wingman like that. I respect it. You only went wrong in not speaking to me first. I could have approved you to miss the hop.
“How’s it any different, sir? You can approve it now.”
Viper shook his head. “I expect my pilots to keep their commitments, Lieutenant Mitchell. You had a commitment to be out in the sky. So did Lieutenant Kasansky. I expect my men to have integrity.”
Mitchell squirmed guiltily. “Yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir.”
“Alright, I believe you. No need to drag this out. Jeans down and over the desk.”
Mav groaned but obeyed, shoving his jeans to his knees and bending over. He had to stretch a little to get a grip on the side furthest from him and was acutely aware of the angle it left his ass at, but he knew this routine well enough now he didn’t even argue about it.
He heard Viper rooting in the desk drawer for a moment before a familiar paddle found its way into his hand. Mav swallowed down his nerves. He fucking hated that paddle, though he hated it less than some of the other instruments of torture he knew Viper had at his disposal. His mentor just raised an eyebrow at him, lips twitching in amusement. “Eyes forward, Mitchell. You know how this works. I think an even dozen should suffice.”
Maverick thought that was entirely too many given that he’d been doing a good deed, but he knew better than to share his feelings on that matter. It had never talked the man round, he doubted it was gonna help now. Before he could overthink further, the paddle landed sharply on his left cheek, then on his right. Viper didn’t lecture, he’d made his point and now he just needed to drive it home. Maverick grunted at those first two before lapsing into silence. It wasn’t the hardest he’d felt that paddle, not by a long shot, and he knew Viper was taking into account his efforts to be sensible for once in his life.
It may have only been twelve, but he was still white knuckling the desk before the last strike landed. When he stood, it took self control not to rub his smarting ass. He breathed a soft sigh of relief when he felt Viper’s hand on his shoulder, warm and reassuring as it squeezed gently. “Alright, son, good job. It’s behind us now, alright?”
Mav nodded, hating how jerky the movement felt. Viper smiled at him, squeezing once more before dismissing him. “Send Kasansky in when you leave. And Maverick? I’m proud of you.”
Maverick blushed, breaking into a soft grin that he couldn’t hide and nodding as he left. When he saw Ice he passed the message on. “Good luck. Come find me when you’re done, maybe I’ll kiss it better,” he teased, enjoying not being the one in deep shit for once.
“Screw you, Maverick.”
“You wish, Iceman.” He smirked and mock saluted before disappearing down the hallway. It thrilled him to get the last word, almost as much as Ice’s slack jawed expression did.
- - - - -
Mav grins to himself as he remembers, thinking he should really ask Ice about his own paddling from Viper. It’s always been a well kept secret between the two men. He sighs, looking down at his watch. He’s not sure how much longer he can delay. He glances at the door to the classroom, debating, then sends one last text for now. It’s not ideal, but for the moment it will have to be enough. He’ll deal with them later. Resolved, Mav heads back inside, pushing his memories aside in favour of the job at hand.