Work Text:
Grief is a peculiar thing and he knows what grief looks like for him. Goose's death has taught him.
At first, he just goes on. Goes on with his life the best he can. The uranium mission, the following talks with Bradley and Penny's open heart and mind had made that almost easy this time. At the same time, he carefully avoids everything that reminds him too much of the person he's lost. To be honest, he can't possibly avoid everything that reminds him of Ice but he tries his best.
And because he ignores it at day, grief comes to him at night. He relives Ice becoming sick over and over again and thinks please not again because even inside the dreams he knows it's just that. A dream. A nightmare even. And it's a relief to wake up from those dreams even if that means that Ice isn't there anymore. But it's not all nightmares. Sometimes his dreams bring him a soft kind of solace. He dreams of them being young, of them in the sky and on the ground, being friends for a lifetime. Or of them being old and still friends, things that will never happen. Those dreams are happy and the sadness only comes with waking up but it's okay because he knows Ice will still be there when he goes back to sleep.
With time slowly passing by, he feels totally fine on some days. On other days, right about everything reminds him of the person he's missing. At first, it hurts like hell and he's constantly on the verge of crying. With time, the sharp pain becomes dull, a background noise, and he can look back on the person he's lost with some kind of comforting nostalgia. This stage, however, is nowhere to be seen yet.
Right now, today, every little thing reminds him of Ice - and it hurts. A song on the radio. The whiskey glasses in his kitchen cabinet. The splayed out spare parts for his P-51 because Ice had been the one who had found a major part of them.
Today it really feels like he's haunted by memories of Ice. Almost physical pain rips through his body and he wants to get away from it but there is no place he could go to. Because it’s his heart and he can't get away from his heart…
Two weeks ago, Sarah had invited him for dinner. Just the two of them. He hadn't felt ready to see her again, to be in their home, Ice's home. But she had asked and so he had come. The dinner had only been one part of the deal. The other part had been a cardboard box Sarah had found in Ice's study, on his desk to be precise. There had been a note sticking to it, telling her to give it to Mav and so she had done exactly that. Apart from that, they hadn't talked about Ice. Sarah had asked about Penny and Bradley instead and that had been something he had gladly talked about, giving both of them a much needed distraction from mourning.
When he had come back home with the box, everything had been too much all of a sudden. Instantly, he had stored the box at the bottom of the locker where he keeps his old leather jacket among other memories and hadn't dared to look at it yet.
But not a single day since then he’s forgotten that it's there and he definitely is curious what's inside it and today, everything is reminding him of Ice anyway so…
The locker door opens with a tired screech and with trembling hands and already teary eyes, Mav takes the heavy box from its place and carries it over to his couch. He sets it down on the table while sitting down in his chair.
He opens the plain cardboard box and is greeted by another box. Unlike the outer box, the inner box is a sturdy hardwood box, more like a chest actually, beautifully crafted and with detailed carvings on the lid.
Mav sniffs and wipes his nose with the back of his hand before taking the wooden box out of the cardboard box. He places it in his lap and runs his fingers along the carvings: two planes, two F-14 Tomcats of course, flying through the sky, around them a few fluffy clouds. For a moment, he's so amazed by the intricate work that the heavy emotions hit him only a moment later. His sight becomes blurry and his heart aches.
This is them, their planes. This is Ice and Mav in their prime. Wingmen, infamous and unbeatable. And this box, it's specifically made for him. No matter what's inside it, Ice had ordered someone to make this chest. For him. And for him only.
Mav doesn't even try to stop himself from crying. It's useless and so he just waits, trying to breathe deeply while still focusing on the two planes.
When the stream of tears has mostly subsided, he finally opens the lid, too curious to put it away again just now. The inside of the box is parted into two halves. On the left side, there are piles and piles of old photos, familiar faces looking back at him. Among other things there's also a mug in there. On the right side, there are several stacks of envelopes, neatly labelled in Ice's handwriting with names and years… Nick & Tom 1981, Penny & Mav 1993, Bradley 1996 and tons more. On top of them all, there's an envelope labelled with To Mav (start here).
And so he does.
Dear Pete,
I know it sounds terribly cliché but when you're reading this, it means that I'm gone.
But it also means that Sarah has found and given you this chest and most importantly it means that you survived the suicide mission. If anyone can survive it, then it's you.
You've just left my study and I'm sitting here, writing this very last letter. I can't recount how many letters we've written to each other over the last decades but for me, this one is the last. For you, however, it's not. For you it's the first of many more to come and that thought alone makes it easier for me to finally write this letter.
I know my time is up. I can feel it. I'm not saying that I wouldn't have loved to grow old, reach retirement, spend days with you fixing your P-51, watch my children become proper adults, maybe even see hypothetical grandchildren grow up but I've made my peace with it the best I can - and I hope, with due time (because I know how you process these things), you can too.
I'd be so happy if this chest could help you with that. It definitely has helped me a lot already, remembering all the good times and everything we've lived through. I started putting all these things and letters together when I first got sick and have continued ever since. As you’ve probably already figured out, this chest is specifically made for you. I hope you like the design but I guess you do because planes always get you going. The reference for it was a polaroid taken by Wolfman back in the day and yes, it's really us. The actual photo is somewhere in the chest.
Speaking about the box, for every piece on the left side, there's a letter on the right side, all pieces and letters properly labeled by me so it shouldn't be too difficult for you to find the ones that belong together. If you're wondering, there's no wrong or right order to go through this. I haven't written these letters in chronological order anyway. You could dig through the pictures by year or you pick whichever interests you the most at any given time - it's up to you. Or just look through the pictures if you don't want to know what I have to say about them. Or don't look at the contents altogether. Although I hope you do look at the photos and do read my letters. I've put a lot of work into all of this. But as I said: It's all up to you, I won't be there anymore to kick your ass for not listening to me anyway.
If you haven't seen already there are also a couple of pictures of Bradley in there. I don't know if (but I really hope that) the mission has brought you two closer together again. Either way, maybe he wants to have some of them. Please ask him, will you? (That's a good plan of mine to make you look at the photos, isn't it?)
Sarah just told me that dinner will be ready in a couple of minutes. She tries so hard to pretend that everything is still normal but of course I can see the sorrow in her eyes. We've talked everything through already some time ago so all that’s left for me to do is keep up her game of pretending. It seems to be her way of coping with (or ignoring) what's going to happen soon. I don't think it's the right way to go about all this but I won't spend my last days arguing with anyone, especially not her.
She has called for me again. So I really need to go now and have dinner with her and the kids. I won't taste anything but I'll eat it anyway, for the sake of her and our kids.
I don't want this letter to end but I guess it's time to let go now.
I've loved being your wingman, Pete.
Goodbye,
Tom
P.S. To settle this once and for all: You're the better pilot.
Mav doesn't stop crying for hours.