Archive of Our Own

Glistening grass from September rain frames the event hall through crystal-clear windows. The overcast weather all but ensures natural light has to be substituted with artificial at revelry within. Those dim lights cast his friends and colleagues in a yellow hue as Maverick makes his way through the tables of guests, pausing only to return friendly greetings that are offered as he passes.

Rooster notices him before he arrives, silently pushing an empty chair out with his foot for Mav to sink into with a deep sigh.

Most of the Dagger Squad has turned up for the occasion, each lounging around the table in their dress blues with half consumed drinks and remnants of food long eaten. The low hum of their conversation falls silent on his arrival, partially out of respect for their commanding officer but mostly because he very clearly looked like he needed a minute from the pressure of the day.

“You good, Pops?” Hangman broaches.

Mav sighs again. “Just needed a minute. Everyone seems to want my attention today.”

Rooster snorts, “Yeah, funny that.”

Mav offers him a sidelong glare, “Watch it kid. Respect your superior officers and all that.”

That only prompts another snort from his godson, “Do as I say and not as I do, right?”

“Exactly,” Mav grins, wickedly.

A comfortable silence follows as Mav surveys the rest of the Daggers. Bob sits with his usual calm demeanor next to Phoenix, who in turn has her hand resting in Coyote’s on the table.

It’s interesting how big life events like this always seemed to bring feelings of love to the surface for some people. Although he wishes he could say the same for his godson and Hangman, or as Mav had taken to calling them in his head, Mav and Ice 2.0.

Rooster and Hangman are sitting close, as always, their attraction to each other obvious to everyone but themselves. The pair always seemed to gravitate to each other whenever they were in a group, always remaining just close enough to snipe at one another in privacy, while still maintaining enough of a distance to allow for plausible deniability should someone make a comment at their obvious closeness.

Mav knows what it really is, the trading of barbed insults and pointed comments designed perfectly to get under the other man’s skin; it’s a cover, a shield that covers a deep connection bubbling just below the surface that both men apparently refuse to acknowledge. A deep and intimate friendship built on trust and respect that both were too afraid to question, lest it ruin what they already had. And that? That fear, that limbo? That was a feeling Mav knew all too well.

Out of the corner of his eye, Mav notices the picture change on the projector that has been on an endless loop of commemorative photos suitable for the occasion, set up by Ice’s twins. There are so many photos of the pair of them, many of which he had committed to memory at this point, but there is always one photo that stands out to Mav, no matter the occasion — the photo that lit up the white cloth at that very moment.

Staring at the younger versions of him and his wingman almost thirty years ago, gripping each other’s hands in celebration after the intense mission, Mav could almost hear Ice’s words in his ears as clear as they were that day — words almost identical to what he had spoken at the church in front of the crowd earlier today.

“You can be my wingman anytime.”

“Bullshit. You can be mine.”

He allowed the memory to wash over him, comforting him with its presence, pushing all the other emotions away. Looking back, Mav was certain that that was the moment he fell in love with Ice for the first time. That was the moment that had let him here, to this moment.

The sound of Rooster and Hangman’s voices pulls him back to the present. While the rest of the Daggers were lost back in their own conversations, the pair had apparently begun arguing over whether whiskey should be allowed to be paired with soda.

“You ruin the integrity of the drink, chicken boy,” Hangman huffs.

“Well no one said you had to steal my drink, Bagman. If you went and got your own, it wouldn’t be an issue, would it?” Rooster snaps back — though it lacks the true heat of anger.

Hangman glares at the other man as if he had just suggested he do the Macarena naked on the table, “Stealing? I am not stealing, Rooster. I am saving. Saving you from that abomination you call a beverage. The quicker it’s gone, the quicker you can replace it with a real drink.”

“How can you even complain about the soda when you put ice in yours? Isn’t that ruining ‘the integrity of the drink’,” Rooster retorts.

Mav isn’t sure they’ve even realized, but the two younger men have slowly inched their faces together with each cutting word. He can’t take it anymore. He can’t stand by and watch his godson make the same mistakes he made in his youth. He speaks before he really thinks it through.

“Hey, do you want some advice?”

1986 - Sometime after Hop 31

At some point during the evening, Mav had lost track of the number of drinks he had consumed while sitting at the seedy bar somewhere on the fringes of San Diego’s nightlife.

Not that it mattered. Everyone had been treading on eggshells around him since the accident so he highly doubted that anyone would be willing to pull him up on showing up to work after a weekend bender. Especially when he wasn’t allowed to fly… not that he wanted to these days.

As far as Mav was concerned, the sky belonged to him and Goose together. Without Goose, what was the point?

He heard the squeak of the bar’s door opening as someone else entered, bringing in the cacophony of sounds from San Diego’s citizens enjoying their Thursday nights on the town at establishments slightly more reputable than the one Mav had found himself drinking in this evening.

He didn’t care. He preferred the peace and quiet the rundown hole-in-the-wall offered. He didn’t need it to be clean and trendy. He needed a seat, his beer, and to be left the fuck alone to wallow in his misery.

The newcomer didn’t seem to realize the importance of Mav’s internal drinking requirements, sliding up right behind him and getting entirely too close.

It was only after his bubbling anger at being disturbed began to die down that Mav realized he recognized the woodsy scent of his new companion.

“Maverick.” Ice’s voice was steadfast and calm, his intention of interrupting Mav’s pity party rather than join it, clear in his tone.

“Icemaaaaaaan,” Maverick greeted with faked coolness. “Come to join the fun?”

“If this is your idea of fun, Maverick, I would hate to see what constitutes misery.”

Maverick snorted, despite himself, finally bringing himself to look over his shoulder at the blond man who had interrupted his evening of depression.

“Of course you would use a word like ‘constitutes’ in a regular sentence, Iceman.”

Iceman raised his eyebrows in a puzzled expression, “As opposed to an irregular sentence?”

“No, I just mean that you’re so,” Mav waved a hand at him, “so… Iceman.”

Ice was still frowning in confusion, “I don’t understand.”

Mav sighed, of course he didn’t. Goose would’ve.

That thought sent another wave of grief through him, the feeling enough to encourage him to take another long pull of his beer. Or at least it would have, if a large hand hadn’t appeared in front of him to pluck the bottle from his fingers before he could even get another sip.

“I think you’ve had enough, Mav,” Ice suggested quietly, reaching over to dispose of the bottle over the bar-top.

Mav scoffed indignantly, whirling on Ice in his frustration.

“And just how in the heck would you know, Ice Man?” He snapped, belligerently poking Ice in the chest in time with the mocking tone he had taken on the other man’s name.

Ice remained calm, but his stoic expression surveying Mav silently was enough to incite Mav’s indignation into full-blown rage.

“God damn it, Ice!” Mav shot up from his stool so fast it scraped against the floor, whirling on the other pilot. He jabbed a finger into Ice’s chest—once, twice, sharp little bursts of fury that didn’t move Ice an inch.

“What do you want from me, huh?!” Another jab, harder this time.

“You want me to stop drinking?” Whack.

“You want me to suddenly be okay with losing my best friend?” Whack.

“You want me to go back to being regular old happy-happy Maverick and pretend everything is okay again?”

His breath hitched. His hands were still on Ice’s chest, trembling now. “Because I can’t, Ice. I can’t.” His voice cracked, anger collapsing under the weight of something far heavier. “Nothing is okay and nothing will ever be okay again. You hear me?”

He hit Ice’s chest one last time, the motion more of a shove than a jab—weak, desperate. Ice didn’t rise to it. Didn’t flinch. He just lifted his hands and closed them around Mav’s, gently, warm palms covering Mav’s shaking knuckles.

“Goose is dead,” Mav whispered, the last of his rage bleeding out as the truth tore him open. “He’s dead, Ice, and he’s never coming back, and it’s all my fault.”

And as the words broke him, he folded forward, collapsing into Ice’s chest with a choked sob—Ice steadying him instantly, pulling him in, holding him like he’d been waiting for the moment Mav finally stopped fighting.

“I’ve got you, Mav,” Ice whispered reassuringly. “Let it out, I’ve got you.”

He let himself stay in that moment, in the comfort of the other man’s embrace that exuded more warmth and empathy than his callsign would ever suggest, allowing himself time to adjust to the grief and pain he was trying so desperately to avoid.

After the sobbing had subsided, Ice eventually broke the silence, “C’mon, Mav. I’ll drive you home.”

Mav could do little more than agree, his ability to argue absolutely drained by his outburst as Ice settled Maverick’s tab with the bartender.

The walk to Ice’s car was silent, Mav unable to summon the energy after such an emotional week to do more than put one foot in front of the other.

Ice opened the passenger door for him first, taking care to ensure Mav was securely buckled into his seat before closing the door and retreating to the driver’s side. A pang of something ran through Maverick at the attention the other man was giving him, the caring nature of his actions. But, in is inebriated state, it wasn’t a feeling that Mav could hold onto long enough to recognize before Ice was slipping into his own seat.

As he slid the key into the ignition, Ice hesitated in the silence of the car before turning to Mav who had taken to staring unseeingly out the passenger window.

“Mav. I know you won’t believe me right now. But it’s important to me that I make sure someone at least tells you.” Ice paused, unsure if Mav was even really listening. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Mav turned to him with a slow tiredness, still unable to say a word even to disagree with the man.

“I mean it, Mav.” Ice said emphatically, his eyes now unwavering as they fixed on Mav’s. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Ice’s tone was so clear, so sure that Mav almost believed him. And even if he didn’t, he definitely believed that Ice believed what he was saying.

Mav regarded the other man as silence overtook them once again. The signs of San Diego’s nightlife lighting up Ice’s features in a neon cascade of colors within the darkened cab of the car. His green eyes somehow brighter in the clashing hues, the slope of his nose reflecting the yellow flashing signs from a bar out on the street, and the fullness of his lips highlighted by the green exit sign above the single door of the brick building Ice had parked in front of.

Not since Goose had Mav encountered such reassurance and faith in him as he had just heard in the other man’s words. Not since Goose, had Mav had anyone bother to care.

And that belief in him, that trust and confidence, caused a tidal wave of emotion and an unrecognizable feeling that Mav wasn’t sure he was ready to deal with yet.

Ice’s eyes pierced into his own, demanding his affirmation.

Mav took a breath and offered a small, barely there nod.

Ice let out an exhale and started the car, navigating them out of the parking lot and onto the freeway towards Coronado.

And it was on that drive back, with a backdrop of gray overpasses and neon names, Ice speeding at 85 down the freeway that Mav realized what that unrecognizable feeling actually was — for all his faith and support, in that moment, Maverick wanted to kiss Ice.

Watching the game from your brother's jeep

Sometime in the early 90s

Ejections hurt like a bitch. He was black and blue and sore all over, and that wasn’t even counting the emotional trauma that Mav definitely hadn’t dealt with properly following his last ejection, that one that he always kept him black and blue deep in his soul. 

Every tender bruise and twinge of his shoulders were a stark reminder of the friend that he’d lost and it was all Mav could do to keep his head above water, trying so desperately to not let the depression take him down like it had last time. 

Just when he was reaching his breaking point, when the struggles began to win more days than he did, a solid hand had reached out into the abyss to pull him out. A solid hand attached to one Thomas Kazansky. 

Since the Layton mission, most of their graduating class had made it a point to get back to North Island on leave whenever they could. Something about the ‘sun, sea, surf, sand, waves, and babes’ that couldn’t be found anywhere else, according to Hollywood. 

Slider, Ice, and Maverick were the lucky ones posted to the island permanently, all three teaching at Top Gun save for the occasional deployment when mission parameters called for it. 

It was on one of those deployments that Mav had found himself ejecting for the second time of his career. His engine taken out by an enemy MiG half a second before Ice managed to shoot the fucker out of the sky. 

His parachute had deployed without issue, the canopy clearing properly and his rescue from the choppy waves of the pacific ocean had been entirely without drama. 

But it was definitely not without pain. His recovery had been slower this time, having been medevaced back to North Island a full two weeks before his double-seater counterparts, leaving him isolated far longer than he should have been in his state. 

When they finally arrived back to San Diego, Iceman didn’t even go home when they hit the shore. Instead he dragged Slider straight to Mav’s, knowing full well he would be finding his wingman wallowing in a pit of despair on the couch, watching whatever daytime movies were available. 

Refusing to take ‘no’ for an answer, Iceman and his somewhat disbelieving RIO, had forced their way into Mav’s navy accommodation, coaxed the shorter man off the couch (mindful of his injuries) and dragged him to the beach for some sunshine and company. 

To Mav’s surprise, Ice’s silent intervention had worked. Stopping the billowing cloud of darkness stirring through before he even realized it had taken hold.

And so Ice kept showing up. Every day until they went back to work. Sometimes with Slider, sometimes alone. Always to keep Mav company. 

More often than not, he tried to get Mav out of the house, knowing how quickly the same four walls could get his friend to slip, although Ice still remained vigilant of his wingman’s injuries, conceding to a day at home with his company as a minimum when Mav was clearly in too much pain to continue. 

It was the same commitment and care that Mav had seen from Ice that night at the bar in ‘86. That first night when he realized that he wanted to kiss his (now) best friend.

The man had remained a steadfast presence in Mav’s life, proving time and time again that he would be by his side for the long-haul, no matter how dark it got. It sometimes made Mav question whether he would be in his life if he knew… if he knew how Mav truly felt.

Mav had long since recognized that he had fallen in love with the other man. He was fairly certain that ship sailed when they landed after the Layton, pun intended. But he wasn’t exactly about to say it out loud. Not when doing so could potentially destroy the only good and consistent relationship he’d had since Goose. He had no intention of ruining the friendship so, for now, that question would have to remain unanswered. 

When the time came for them to head back to work following the mission, Mav felt sure that he would fall off of Ice’s radar. With all the added stress of coaching the next generation of the nation’s finest aviators and all that entailed, it would be entirely understandable. But Ice, once again, defied Mav’s pitiful expectations, and proved his fears entirely unfounded when the weekend rolled around and he had appeared at Mav’s front door at 1000 hours on the Saturday morning, dragging Mav out for a round of mini golf with Slider and a visiting Merlin. 

And that was how Mav found himself, several months after that dreaded second ejection, reclining in the front seat of Slider’s jeep at the beach, feet on the dash, watching his former classmates play volleyball in the sand, stirring up more shit-talk than game play. While Mav had healed up enough to fly, he wasn’t quite ready to risk his fragile shoulder on an overly competitive game with these six idiots. A fighter jet had nothing on them and he knew what they were capable of even when they weren’t trying to be lethal. 

Hollywood, Wolfman, Chipper, and Sundown had taken over one of the courts with Ice and Slider splitting up to make up three man teams from their usual duos. The sun beat down on the court, the sweat and sand on each of the men’s bodies glistening in the heat allowing Mav to use the cover of his sunglasses to unashamedly stare at the muscles rippling across Ice’s back. The heat the man exuded, with his perfectly sculpted 6-pack and defined Adonis belt, was matched only by the heat rising in Maverick’s lower belly as he watched him move across the sand.

A woman in a barely there red bikini interrupted his staring, as she sauntered past the game, pausing pointedly to take in Slider’s glistening pecs as he howled in celebration of a point scored against his pilot. 

The woman’s face broke into a sultry smirk, eyes darting further down before flicking up to Slider’s eyes — the RIO, of course, catching the entire movement, stood speechless. 

The woman raised her eyebrows in challenge before continuing on down the beach, a far more deliberate curve to her walk than was there before. 

Slider stood open-mouthed staring at the woman as she left, game completely forgotten. It was only Chipper ditching the ball straight into the other man’s chest that had him snapping back to the real world. 

“Um—,” Slider looked between the ball and the woman’s retreating figure several times quickly before shooting an apologetic smile at his friends. “Sorry fellas. Duty calls.”

With that the RIO dropped the ball and took off in a jog to follow his personal siren. 

The guys all groaned. Chipper looked up at Mav in the car, “Okay Mav, looks like you’re up! Even these teams out.”

“Absolutely not.” Iceman interjected sternly, before Mav could even think about responding. 

Ice’s steely gaze leveled on the both men. “He’s not fully healed yet, and you dipshits are not fucking up my Wingman’s shoulder recovery any further. I need him in full working order.”

Mav’s frustration at being told what do was quickly stamped out by the other pilots vocal care for his wellbeing. It made that familiar feeling he was avoiding stir in his gut, yet again. 

“We’re uneven though?” Sundown grumbled, clearly not okay with being on the short handed side. 

Ice rolled his eyes, “I’ll sit out and keep the short stack company then. It’ll give me a good edge next time when I want to beat the shit out of you.”

His cocky statement was met with grumble and ‘fuck you’s that Ice blatantly ignored, climbing the few steps up the rocks where Slider had parked the Jeep. Without bothering to open the door, Ice gripped the top bar of the Jeeps exterior, lifting his legs to slide into the driver’s seat beside Mav, immediately resting his head back on the headrest. 

Mav looked at Ice pointedly, “Too good to use the door, Ice?”

Ice turned his head toward Mav, his smile miles wide, “Don’t ever want to waste a chance to show off these guns in action, Mav-e-rick.”

Mav half choked, half scoffed at the other man, for a moment sure that the other man had caught him staring earlier. 

“Pretty sure the new holder of Slider’s leash is the only woman on this beach at the moment, dipshit,” Mav choked out. “Might need to take the gun show further down the sand.” 

“Who says it’s a woman I’m showing off for, Mav?” Ice said quietly, his eyes flicking to Mav’s lips, his gaze unwavering in its attention on Mav.  

Mav’s breath caught, his heart stuttering in his chest as that same feeling crept up again — only this time he couldn’t stamp it out, not when Ice was looking at him like that. 

Ice’s face was inches from his, his eyes still on him, and if Mav wanted… if Mav really wanted, he could just lean over and kiss the soft full lips he’d been fantasizing about for the last decade. 

The air in the open top car was charged and filled with heat that had nothing to do with the sun overhead.  

He should lean forward. He should do it now. He should—

CRACK

The sound of a volleyball startled both men to attention, the shock enough to obliterate any tension that had built between the pair. 

“OI!” Sundown hollered as he reached down to scoop the volleyball from where it had landed back down in the sand. “Quit whatever the fuck you’re doing and come help Slider. The dumbass is in trouble again.”

Ice jumped up from his seat, instinctively looking for his RIO where they’d last seen him. 

The man was still with the red bikini but it looked like she may have been a little less available than she had initially let on. Another man, shorter than Slider but infinitely more built, had joined the pair, and steam was virtually coming from his ears based on the angry posture he was directing toward their friend. The woman was doing little more than rolling her eyes with her arms crossed, clearly not interested in whatever trouble the angry man was trying to cause. 

Ice sighed, “Stay here, Mav.”

“We can’t just leave hi—,” Mav tried to argue. 

“I know, but the rest of us have got it. I don’t want to risk you, not when you’re injured.”

Mav sighed, this was not a fight he would win. And honestly, that warm feeling returned in his belly with every moment Ice’s stern eyes pleaded into his. 

“Fine. But hurry, you know what the guys are like when they’re pissed. If that oaf tries anything then Chipper is liable to go for his ankles.”

Ice snorted, breaking the tension. Tapping his hand twice on the driver side door before departing, he jogged down the beach to where his fellow pilots had gathered before the brewing storm. 

Mav sighed again as he watched Iceman’s retreating back. For years he’d buried these feelings, certain that Ice would never feel the same way… but was that..? A moment? He’d resigned himself to never knowing the truth, but based on his own reaction to this almost… maybe? Maybe he’d been wrong about his ability to ignore it. Maybe that question was something he needed answering after all.   
 

Shiny wood floors underneath my feet

Sometime in the mid ‘00s

The shiny wood floors gleamed underneath Mav’s dress shoes, the pair he had polished to the point of absurdity just to try to fit in with the faked elegance these Naval galas always seemed to convey.

No matter how many galas, banquets, or obligatory evenings in dress blues he endured, Mav never quite got used to the ceremony — the rigid posture, the careful words, the illusion of refinement layered over men who were, at their core, anything but.

Most of them were either scoundrels in polished shoes or small-minded tyrants hiding behind protocol. It was like standing in a grand hall of lights and mirrors, only to spot the disco ball that had been left on the ceiling — the decorum would always be a cover for something cheap and ugly contained at its center.

All except Ice.

Ice was different.

Ice always looked like he belonged here. Like the rules and the rituals had been written with him in mind, like this world of Naval brass and measured words wasn’t a costume he put on, but a calling he’d answered.

From the very first day that Pete Mitchell had signed up to the navy, he knew his destiny was to fly. Fly as fast and as far as he could, breaking limits and pushing boundaries to prove the navy’s narrow boxes would never define him. But Ice? Ice had fallen in step with those same boxes Mav had chafed against, using them to rise, then reaching back to steady the climb for everyone who came after him.

Just last week, Mav had witnessed Ice present a stunning report to the brass on the mandatory post-trauma groundings that he had been trialling under his command. Not only were there fewer injuries and interpersonal issues between pilots reported, but his squadron had achieved a 98% mission readiness rating. Something so unheard of, even the most curmudgeonly of admirals had been forced to pay attention.

Though, that was Ice to his core. The man knew how to play the game and get the results to make people listen. Unlike Maverick, who could never stay still long enough for them to remember his name unless it was preceded by the word “goddammit”.

Whether by choice or chance, their differing approaches to authority were always presented in how they dressed for these events. Ice was here tonight looking immaculate in his dress blues, a picture of Naval perfection under the glimmering lights, and Mav… well Mav had done his best. He always convinced himself (and whichever Admiral’s wife that would make a pointed comment on his attire) that he just never seemed to have enough time to press ALL the creases from his uniform before it was time to go. The wives seemed to believe him as much as he did himself.

It was Sarah who noticed Mav first, her face lighting up when she saw him, waving him over from the fringes of the bar where he had stationed himself in an attempt to avoid Admiral Benjamin. It had been almost twenty years and the man still hadn’t forgiven him for taking Penny up in that F-14.

If Ice was the perfect Navy man, Sarah was the perfect Navy wife. She always looked stunning in a way that felt effortless— ready to greet anyone with warm smiles and soft laughter. Sarah had the kind of presence that made people lean in, and even Mav was not immune to her openness.

Ice and Sarah had married in the mid 90s, shortly after Ice had made Lieutenant Commander. Mav had wanted to hate her, he really did. But she was so kind and loving, that instead Mav found himself with, what he hoped, was another lifelong friend.

It actually made it easier, he found, caring for Sarah the way he did. If Ice were single, it would only be his own foolish pride and sense of self-preservation keeping his feelings inside, his worry at making things awkward and ruining the most meaningful relationship he had ever had in his life being enough to convince him to keep his mouth shut. But with Sarah in the mix? He couldn’t even begin to think about hurting her in that way. She was far too kind, too honest, and pure to ruin with his own selfish desires.

“Maverick,” she sighed warmly, pulling him in for a hug.

Mav returned her affection, allowing himself a few moments to settle into embrace.

Ice, who had been sweet-talking yet another admiral and his wife, hadn’t noticed his arrival until Sarah had announced him.

“Maverick!” His eyes widening with excitement as he clapped the shorter man on the shoulder in greeting, “I’m so glad you’re here, it’s been too long! Have you met Admiral and Dr. Lofinia here?”

Mav had in fact met the Admiral, twice in fact — once for Lofinia to admonish him for breaking the rules and another time to congratulate and thank him for completing a particularly difficult mission (followed by another admonishment for breaking even more rules to achieve that success… it was a complicated relationship that Mav seemed to share with a lot of Admirals.)

 To Lofinia’s credit, he didn’t seem to be holding that against him now.

“We have indeed,” the older man declared, almost boisterous. “Hell of a pilot, this one. Incredibly talented. Fantastic instincts. Perfect execution.”

He paused, lips pursing thoughtfully. “Terrible soldier, though.”

Dr. Lofinia snorted almost silently beside him.

“Your reputation precedes you then, Lieutenant,” she said with an amused twinkle in her eye as she reached out a hand to shake his, “You were quite the topic of conversation in my home several years ago. And the catalyst for an extremely well-earned holiday to the Bahamas, so I thank you for that.”

A tall man suddenly appeared beside Sarah, letting out a bark of a laugh at that comment. Slider.

“That sounds like our Mav,” he agreed with a shit-eating grin, “And you’re not the only navy wife that has him to thank for an extended romantic vacation.”

Ice laughed heartily at his RIO’s arrival.

“He’s not wrong,” he said, glancing at Mav, “Mav was always… enthusiastic.”

“That’s one word for it,” Slider muttered conspiratorially.

“Still saved your ass a few times though, didn’t I Slider,” Mav frowned in mock outrage before his eyes widened when he remembered he was in polite company.

“I’m so sorry for the language ma’am,” he apologized bashfully to the Doctor, as Slider dissolved into a fit of laughter next to him.

“You’re quite alright, Lieutenant. We have three teenage boys at home, it’s nothing I haven’t heard before.”

Mav smiled gratefully at the woman as Ice continued, unfazed, “I spent a good portion of our early years making sure his enthusiasm didn’t go unchecked.” He lifted his glass slightly, “Occupational hazard of being his wingman.”

Dr. Lofinia’s brows rose with interest. “You flew together?”

“For years,” Ice replied easily. “Someone had to keep him pointed in the right direction.”

Mav scoffed. “Oh, please. You liked it.”

After that, the evening began to blur in the way these ghastly events always did, finally spilling in to the more enjoyable part of the evening where some of the older, stiffer brass took their leave.

Ice’s smile deepened, softer now. “I did,” he admitted. “You flew like the rules were optional suggestions.”

Mav snorted. “They usually were.”

“That’s exactly my point,” Ice said mildly. “You were… a force. Instinctive. Free. You saw things in the air the rest of us had to think our way into.” He shrugged, almost sheepish, “I was good at precision. You were good at impossible.”

Dr. Lofinia tilted her head, clearly intrigued. “And you kept up?”

Ice let out a quiet breath of a laugh. “I kept him alive. That was my talent.”

The Lofinias chuckled as Mav interrupted, “Sorry, Ice — are you finally admitting I’m the better pilot?”

Ice huffed a laugh, “Never in your wildest dreams, Mitchell.”

He surveyed his wingman, eyes warm, unguarded for just a moment. “I am simply admitting that I was never going to be the kind of pilot who rewrote the sky. But flying with you?” A small smile escaped him as the memories passed between them, “that was as close as I ever got.”

Something crosses behind Ice’s eyes at that thought, something wistful, almost rueful. Whatever it was, Mav didn’t like it. But the conversation continued on with anecdotes from their time together for the amusement of the Lofinias before he could ask. Filing it away for later, Mav returned to the conversation, ready to defend his honor from whatever stories were about to be told about him by his wingman’s pesky RIO.

***

The evening wore on as glasses were refilled and jackets were loosened. The careful stiffness of the room softened as the band settled into a livelier set and the bar staff stopped pretending to measure pours. The remaining servicemen and women laughed louder, their spouses leaned closer, and the sharp edges of rank dulled under the weight of good liquor and better music.

Mav found himself lingering near Ice more often than not, drawn in by habit as much as anything else. They traded easy barbs between conversations, small and familiar insults that always felt like home to him.

“You still can’t stand these things,” Ice observed quietly at one point, handing Mav a fresh drink without asking.

Mav huffed. “I tolerate them. There’s a difference.”

Ice smiled into his glass, “You’re doing better than you used to.”

“That’s a very low bar, Ice.”

“I know,” Ice said mildly, “I was there.”

Mav snorted, his eyes finding Ice’s.

They shared a look then—one of those old ones, the kind that felt like a private joke no one else had been invited in on. For a moment, Mav forgot where they were. Forgot who was watching.

“I’m not good at these things Ice, not like you.”

“I’m not that go—”

“Don’t even try it, Commander,” Mav cut him off mockingly, “You were born for this world.”

Ice raised his eyebrows disbelief, “Mav—“

Mav’s voice softened as he cut him off again, his eyes never leaving his wingman’s, “No, Ice. It’s incredible the way you can work this room. Bending every shiny brass man to your will and whim. I’d be scared if I didn’t know for absolute certain that you were using your powers for good. You are extraordinary.”

Ice’s breath caught, his face a vision of confusion and disbelief.

Mav swallows and plows on, “C’mon, Ice. You have to know how good you are for this world? There’s not a single person who’s worked with you and not come out better for it. You are a force to be reckoned with Kazansky, and I can’t wait to watch and see you change more of the world for the better.”

There’s silence as Ice blinks and seemingly tries to absorb what Mav was so emphatically making him understand.

And Mav? Mav’s eyes don’t leave Ice’s. The enchanting green bored deep into his misty soul, willing him to listen.

The silence stretches between them, building like an avalanche ready to spill as neither man breaks eye contact. But they forget, again, they forget that they aren’t alone.

It was Sarah who broke the tension, touching Ice’s arm lightly as she excused herself to greet someone across the room — seemingly oblivious to the charged moment she’d just witnessed… or perhaps, just understanding. Ice watched her go, fondness softening his expression.

“She’s… incredible,” Mav said, because it was true and because saying nothing felt worse.

Ice nodded, “She is.”

The pause that followed was heavier than it should have been. Ice took a sip of his drink, eyes tracking the dance floor rather than Mav.

“I don’t regret marrying her,” he said, quietly enough that Mav almost wondered if he’d imagined it. “She makes my life better. Easier. She’s given me a beautiful life, not to mention the twins. ” A beat. “I just… sometimes I’m not sure that means I’m doing it right.”

Mav’s chest tightened, “Ice—”

“I know,” Ice cut in gently, a familiar steadiness settling back into place. “And she knows. We’re honest with each other.” A faint smile. “That’s the least we owe one another.”

And Mav was sure, at that moment, that Ice wasn’t just talking about himself and Sarah. He wanted to open his mouth and tell him everything. Tell him how he felt, tell him how he’d always felt. He wanted to tell Ice how badly he loved him and how much, in that moment and every moment before, he wanted to kiss him.

But he couldn’t do that.

He was saved from finding a response that wouldn’t ruin everything he had built with this man by the band abruptly shifting tempo. An opening beat hit hard, familiar, and dirty in a way that didn’t belong in a room full of admirals.

Mav groaned. “Oh no.”

From across the room, Slider raised his glass in triumph, Wolfman and Hollywood flanking him like co-conspirators.

A few of the younger officers cheered. Several of the older ones looked confused but gamely clapped along. The brass, mercifully, seemed unaware enough not to ask questions.

Ice blinked. “Is that—”

“Candy Shop,” Mav said flatly.

“How much do you think they had to cough up to get the conductor to agree to that?”

Mav looked at Ice with a shit-eating grin, “Probably—”

“Don’t say it, Mav,” Ice groaned in exasperation.

Mav was unperturbed, “Fifty cents…” he finished smugly.

Ice let out a deep sigh, “Your jokes are as good as your ability to follow instructions.”

“Thank you. I take pride in both,” Mav said with mock sincerity.

Sarah’s laughter interrupted them, returning just in time to catch the shift in music.

“Well,” she said, tugging Ice toward the dance floor where Slider was attempting the worm, “we can’t let them have all the fun.”

Ice allowed himself to be pulled along, glancing back once — just once — at Mav.

Mav watched him go, then felt a hand touch his arm. Hollywood’s wife, Sylvia, who he’d been chatting with earlier smiled up at him, already swaying to the beat.

“Care to dance while my husband is occupied with his husband?”

“Sure,” Mav said grinning, pretending those words didn’t hit as close to home as they did.

The dance floor filled quickly. Ice held Sarah close, moving with the same composed confidence he brought with everything else. Mav danced too—looser, less precise, laughing when his Sylvia spun him a beat off.

And then, over shoulders not meant for them, their eyes met.

Just for a second.

It wasn’t an invitation.

Just the quiet, aching knowledge that if things were different — if they’d been braver, or dumber, or younger…

Mav looked away first. He always did.

Don’t make it awkward

Sometime in the ‘10s

Life moved on slowly, and yet somehow exceedingly fast. The next thing Mav knew he was in Ice’s backyard among the smell of charcoal and grilled meat as he manned the grill for the twin Kazansky’s 21st birthday.

Slider had already come to offer his two cents about the ideal ratio of burn to brown on the burgers Mav had been charged with cooking as Ice finished stringing the last of the colourful lights across the fence.

Sarah stepped out onto the patio, her arms laden with bowls of delicious-looking salads. She rolled her eyes when she realised what Ice was up to. “Tom, it’s the middle of the day — why in the world are you putting those up?” She demanded in an exasperated tone as she moved to deposit the bowls onto the food table.

“You think these dipshits are gonna leave when it’s daylight? Have you met Ron?” Ice grumbled back, his focus not shifting from the task at hand.

Sarah just sighed shaking her head, “Well hurry it up. Your little navy boys may consider a clock optional but the other guests will be arriving in 15 minutes!

“When she says little she means you.” Slider mumbled to Mav, quiet enough that Sarah wouldn’t hear.

“I’ve been here since 9am helping, Slider. What are you doing exactly,” Mav snapped back without heat.

Slider puffed his chest out proudly, “Grill supervisor. Obviously.”

“Oh okay then,” Mav said sarcastically, holding the spatula out to man. “Have at it then.”

“No, no, short stack. Supervisor’s aren’t hands on — they just watch and take the credit.”

Ice, having finished his battle with the fence, barked out a laugh, “You learn that in the private sector did you, Ron?”

Slider grinned a toothy smile, “Learnt it from you, actually… Admiral Kazansky, sir.”

He said the title with such a dramatic flourish that he almost knocked the spatula from Mav’s hand.

Mav rolled his eyes, “Well supervise a few steps back, Kerner. You’re getting in the way.”

Slider gave him a mock salute before turning back to Ice, “You and Sarah seem good.”

Ice hummed in agreement, “We are, have been for a while now.”

Slider looked surprised, “Really? Last time I saw the two of you together I thought I was going to need therapy. Now suddenly no issues?”

Ice snorted, “That was two years ago, Slider. We’ve made some progress since then.”

Slider startled, “It was not! It was…” the man paused to think for a few seconds. Realization dawned on this face moments later, “Oh my god, that was two years ago. How in the world did that happen.”

“Time flies when you’re making bank from private clients, I guess,” Mav grumbled.

“Jealous, short stack?” Slider blew Mav a kiss, “I could always try and sweet talk you on to the manifest of one of my planes.  You could finally join the mile high club?”

Ice coughed uncomfortably as Mav gagged. “Slider, I would rather fuck a woman than take a risk with whatever is going on in your pants.”

“We’re not all that bad,” Sarah’s voice interrupted with a laugh, coming to join the men at the grill, having successfully brought all the food outside without Ice’s help

Mav leaned over to peck her on the cheek, “If it had to be anyone, Sarah, dear.”

Sarah giggled as Ice let out a strangled sound.

“Slider, stop trying to fuck my wingman. Mav, stop trying to fuck my ex-wife.”

“We’re not married anymore Tom, your orders mean nothing to me,” Sarah snarked, her arm snaking around Mav to give him a play smack on the ass.

“That’s why I’d never try to order you, dear,” Ice smiled cordially, “This fool on the other hand is still my subordinate. Don’t make me pull rank on you, Mitchell.”

Mav gave a mock gasp, his free hand hitting his chest dramatically, “How could you do such a thing, Admiral? Order me away from my one true love?”

“I’m doing you both a favour,” Ice grumbled with an eye roll, “She’d eat you alive, and he’d drive you insane. It’s for the best.”

The doorbell sounded from inside.

“Well, if you’re sure, Tom, dear,” Sarah tapped Ice gently on the cheek as she made to move inside. “In the meantime, if you could locate who is driving me insane — your children who are yet to appear at their own party.”

Ice startled, “I thought they were inside with you?”

Sarah sighed exasperatedly.

***

The sun had dipped low enough that the yard felt softer, the edges blurred by Ice’s string lights and the comfortable buzz of conversation from people who had known each other for far too long.

Mav was sitting at the edge of the patio, his mind wandering as he watched Ice laugh with his children who were currently giving Wolfman and Hollywood a run for their money in family-appropriate beer pong.

“You know,” Sarah continued, casually cruel in the way only someone who loves you can be, “If you two were going to finally do something about whatever this is, this would be the time.”

Mav nearly chokes on his drink, his eyes widening as his heart began to hammer in his chest, “Sarah, what — there was no—?”

Sarah snorted, her demeanor entirely too calm for what she had just implied. “It’s okay, Mav. I’m not mad.”

Mav was frozen, unable to move for fear he’d give something away. Something he’d been trying to keep deep inside for almost 30 years.

Sarah sighed and turns her body toward him, fixing her eyes on his, as if willing him to understand, “Really Mav,” she said emphatically. “I am not mad.”

Mav took a deep breath. “I — ? I don’t think there’s anything to be mad at…”

Across the yard, Ice looked up, his eyes finding Mav immediately, taking in his wingman’s somewhat shellshocked expression. Ice’s face morphed into something of subtle inquisitiveness, the kind of look that asked ‘Are you okay?’ in a way only those who have been bonded for 30 years can interpret.

Sarah raised her eyebrows at Mav, pointedly.

Mav looked down to hide the redness of his face from his friend. After a moment he finally speaks. “We’re good,” he says. “We’ve been good.”

“I know,” she agrees. “Staying friends is safe.”

A beat. Before Sarah droped the bombshell, “You’ve never been one to play it safe, Maverick. God knows why this is the one time you have.”

With that, she leaves making her way to join her two children who are laughing by the drinks table, leaving Mav gawping in her wake.

“What did she say that’s got you looking like that,” Ice’s voice snaps Mav from his stupor.

“A—… She—…,” He fumbles, unable to form a coherent thought.

“Are you okay?” Ice asks him, his face decorated in both concern and disbelief. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you at a loss for words before.”

Mav opens his mouth but no sound comes out. He simply nods.

Ice raises his eyebrows but says nothing, instead reaching behind him to the cooler and producing two beers before handing one to Maverick. Their fingers brush as Mav reaches out, and the man tries very desperately not to let that send him into another spiral.

“I never think we’re that old,” Ice says after some silence, “Until I look around and realize that my babies are now adults. They’re living, breathing, voting adults…”

Mav hums in agreement, grateful for the reprieve.

“So what does that make us?” Ice wonders aloud.

Mav freezes again, before cottoning on to Ice’s meaning. “Dinosaurs, I believe,” he answers finally.

Ice’s face cracked into a grin as he lets out a deep chuckle.

“Dinosaurs that fly very fast though, right?”

It was Mav’s turn to laugh, “Oh for sure. We’d have outrun that meteor if we were real dinosaurs.”

“Don’t you forget it,” Ice confirms, holding the bottom of his beer bottle out to Mav to clink.

Mav acquiesces. Finally settling after such an internally tumultuous few minutes.

His peace was short-lived.

“Hey, Mav…?”

Ice’s tone has meaning. Whatever he’s about to say is important. Mav’s heart starts its hammering again. Surely Ice isn’t asking him…? Did he hear Sarah earlier?

Then he took a breath and looked at Ice.

There’s something about knowing someone for that long — being that close — that lets you hear the words before they’re spoken. You can read every movement, every facial expression before they even realise it themselves. This was one of those moments.

Somehow, Mav knows. Not exactly what, but he knows enough. He knows this isn’t the conversation Mav wants to have, has wanted to have for 30 years. The conversation that Mav was avoiding like the plague mere seconds earlier now sounds like heaven compared to what this is. Because this? This is something different. This is something much much worse.

Ice offers him a strained smile, seemingly aware that his oldest friend has already understood. “Mav, when this wraps up, can we talk?”

Called me with the bad news

Sometime in the next ten years

Mav got the call from Sarah at 2 p.m. on a Wednesday afternoon. He jumped on his bike, achieving speeds he’d only thought possible in his jet, to make it to Ice’s place on time.

Inside the room, his best friend and wingman of almost forty years looked almost a shell of himself. His body was clearly struggling to continue as the machines beeped steadily around him. Sarah stood to the right of the bed, her son’s arm wrapped around her, her daughter sitting in the chair beside her, one hand still clasped in her father’s.

As soon as Mav entered, Ice’s eyes found his.

A peaceful expression — almost a smile — crossed his face. Ice made a minute gesture with his left hand, beckoning him closer, the intent unmistakable.

Despite himself, Mav found himself smiling back at the man. His man.

He stepped forward, taking his best friend’s hand in his.

Ice looked at him deeply, an expression so content it was almost impossible to cry — how could he, when his friend, his Ice, was looking at him like he hung the moon?

Mav could feel what Ice was thinking in those final moments. It was a feeling he would return to on sleepless nights, when his mind wandered to what-ifs and should-haves. He could feel the reassurance in it.

You’ll be okay.

Mav gave a small nod to his friend. His best friend. The man who had been by his side in some shape or another for almost 40 years. The man who was the love of his life.

And Ice—

Ice sighed one final time.

And my advice

“And I never told him,” Mav finishes quietly, Jake and Bradley staring at him intently.

“Not until today, when I whispered at his gravestone all the things I should have said while he was alive. When he was still here—” His voice chokes as the emotion overwhelms him. “When he was still here, instead of looking back now and thinking ‘I should have kissed you anyway.’”

He looks at the two younger men before him. The one he loves like his own son, the other who he can see so much of himself in.

“My advice, is: always, always, ruin the friendship,” he implores them emphatically.

“Answer the question, Bradley. Jake. Answer that question, not just for each other but for yourselves.” He is almost begging now.

“Don’t do what I did. Ruin the friendship. Ruin it so you don’t ever come to a day where you realise you’ll be asking that question all your life,” Mav finishes quietly.

The moment tightens around, neither of the younger men moving a muscle as they sat, frozen, as if their entire world-view has not just been tilted off its axis.

There was nothing more he could tell them now, the ball was firmly in their court.

Mav stands, just as he spots Sarah entering his field of vision by the door to the hall, gesturing him over. The other daggers had long since wandered off and Mav was eager to allow the two some time alone with any revelations they may have stumbled upon in his little storytime. 

The movement is enough to snap Bradley from his stupor, the younger man jumping up to wrap his arms around his godfather.

“I love you, Mav,” he says quietly.

“Love you too, Baby Goose,” he whispers back.

Finally letting go, Bradley steps back to allow Mav his escape.

Bradley drops back in his seat, his mind still reeling from what Mav had told him, what Mav was implying by telling him. Cautiously, he turns his head to look at Jake.

Jake. The man who had driven him crazy since the moment they met at Top Gun. The man who broke every rule he could in an effort to be the best. The man who he never knew whether he wanted to punch or kiss. The man who he had always quietly considered his. The man, who maybe, wanted him too.

Jake still hadn’t moved, his eyes remaining fixed on the chair Maverick had just vacated, his entire body as still as a statue.

“He’s right,” Bradley murmurs quietly, so only Jake could hear. “He’s right about a lot of things but he’s especially right about this.”

Taking a deep breath to steel himself, Bradley makes his move.

“I love you, Jake. Always have, always will.”

And with that, there was nothing more to say. He could dress it up or down however he wanted, the bottom line was always the same.

Bradley tries to remember to breathe as he waits for a reaction. Any reaction from the man sitting next to him. The quiet presses in, time slowing down to an immovable pace as he inadvertently holds his breath. 

Maverick is across the room with Sarah when Bradley makes his confession.

He doesn’t hear what his godson says to the other man. But he does see him say something, and Mav knows he’s done it. It’s at that moment that Mav realises that Bradley could fly every mission in the world, he could bring home every medal, he could climb the ranks all the way to the White House… but Mav would never be prouder of him than he was in that moment. The moment when he saw the boy he loved more than life itself, take a deep breath and do something that Mav had never had the courage to do.

From across the room, Mav sees Jake finally begin to move. His eyes are still trained on the seat in front of him, but slowly, slowly he begins to lift his arm, reaching out to take Bradley’s large hand in his own.