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Ice stared at the pair of black and white, home printed lift tickets, getting wrinkled in his hand. He really needed to get more colored ink for that printer. “Skiing. Really, Mav?”
“You told me a few months ago that you used to go when you were younger, and that you missed snow and… wintery things.”
“That was July. I was hot.”
“Well…” Mav shrugged, glancing out the window at the cloudy December day.
“Do you even know how to ski?”
Mav stared blankly at him, blinking. “Is it… hard to learn?”
Indignant, Ice opened his mouth to reply, but Mav laughed, cutting him off. “Yes, I do, Ice. The Bradshaws were skiers. Nick taught me.”
“Oh.” Ice was quiet for a moment, and then reached over the small distance between them to put his hand on Mav’s. “Do you miss it?”
“Yeah, I mean—” Mav cleared his throat. “I miss being there with them. Like we were a family. But that was then. Now… this trip is just for the two of us. We leave in just a few days.”
After that, there was nothing left for Ice to protest. They packed their bags, locked up the house, and flew the Mustang up to Cupid’s Peak Ski Resort. Or rather, Mav flew them to Hart Valley Regional Airport, parked their plane, and then they had to take an hour-long shuttle bus ride to the resort itself. It was just a few days after Christmas, and the bus was crowded with families, couples, groups of college kids, and all their various sets of skis, snowboards, suitcases, and equipment. Ice found himself squeezed tightly next to Mav, side brushing against side, and had to fight the instinct, born of years of hiding, to stiffen and pull away.
Ten minutes into the ride, Mav nudged an elbow into Ice’s side and nodded his head towards another pair of men, sitting in the seats two rows in front and across from them. The older of the two, a grey-haired man, had his arm looped casually around the younger’s shoulders in a more-than-friendly way, while the younger was leaning in close to whisper something in the other’s ear with a smile. They were facing away, so Ice didn’t have to be too subtle about staring. It wasn’t like he’d never seen a gay couple in public before—he’d walked around San Diego in the past ten years, after all. Ice looked back at Mav and shrugged. Mav raised an eyebrow in question, and Ice tilted his head back. What? He shouldn’t have been surprised, but he was, when Mav reached over to take Ice’s hand in his own, pulling it into the space between them. Mav looked away, leaning against the side of the bus and nonchalantly watching the wintered, mountainous scenery pass them by. As if he hadn’t just shifted Ice’s world on its axis. Ice couldn’t stop staring at their intertwined fingers.
They’d talked about this, he and Mav. Being out. They were out to their families, out to their friends. But this was a first. A line crossed. A concrete, unambiguous symbol of the real relationship between them. They were old friends, but not just friends. They were wingmen, true, but that was another world. Now, with one innocuous gesture from Mav, their secret of thirty years, held through war and peace, partings and homecomings, illness and strife, was exposed for all the world to see. They were lovers, and anyone who looked at them, however they felt about that, good or bad, wouldn’t interpret it in any other way. Was anyone looking right now? Ice couldn’t get a breath in. The sensation of being seen that way was too raw, too private. Ice was more than naked, he was skinned—the very workings of his heart flayed open and displayed for all to see. And all Mav had done was hold his hand. Ice pulled his hand, the cause of the problem, away, fighting not to jerk it harshly. Mav did nothing more than glance over at him, smiling mildly.
The bus went over a speed bump and slowed, making a sharp curve onto a nearly hidden side road. An unassuming wooden sign next to the road read: Cupid’s Peak ¾ Mile —>. A cold shiver ran down Ice’s back as the bus began the ascent, and he had to press his lips together against the sudden desire to shout for the bus to be stopped, that he’d made a mistake and had to get off. What was he doing here?
“Lover’s Suite?”
“I’m sorry?” Ice stuttered, staring open-mouthed at the clerk behind the check-in desk at the rustic, cabin-like lodge where they’d been dropped off. He could practically feel the heat from the roaring fire in the great hall behind him, warming his cheeks and disguising his blush.
“I said, you guys got the deluxe suite, right? With the hot tub?”
“That’s the one,” Mav chimed in from beside Ice with an effortlessly charming grin.
Thank God, they could at least relax once they were inside their room. Ice was used to hiding his love behind closed doors. He trailed Mav into the elevator, and opened his mouth to express his relief, when the closing door was suddenly stopped by the wedge of another man’s brown, expensive looking leather loafer, shoved in at the last second. Hardly the proper attire for a ski trip.
“Hold it, please,” a loud, commanding voice demanded.
Mav, with his quick reflexes, pressed the door open button, freeing the interloper’s intruding footwear. Two other men walked into the elevator. The first, the owner of the Italian shoe, was a trim, grey-haired man who looked to be about Ice’s own age. He was dressed neatly in slacks and a navy blue sweater, and carried himself with the confidence of a successful business man. The second man was slightly taller, but younger—much younger. Maybe close to Mav’s age, back when he and Ice had first met. This man, though, had sandy hair, brown eyes, and plush lips that formed a shy smile when he looked up at Ice and Mav. Ice returned the smile formally, then his eyes widened as he realized that he recognized the pair. It was the gay couple from the bus! Well, the other gay couple. He’d noticed the sandy, wavy hair of the taller one when he’d gotten off the bus right in front of them. Amongst other things.
“Jim Philips,” the older man introduced himself with a pleasant, relaxed grin. “And this is Casey.”
Ice schooled his expression, forcing his thoughts into cool neutral once more. Meeting and greeting—he could do that in his sleep. Ice introduced himself as Tom, not wanting to get into the details of his service, while Mav predictably substituted his callsign for his name, prompting the usual quizzical looks—but no commentary—from the two polite men. They didn’t get much further than names before the elevator door slid smoothly open onto Ice and Mav’s floor, and the other couple didn’t follow them out.
Ice wasn’t sure how he would have felt if the pair were staying in close proximity. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d interacted with a gay couple—an openly gay couple in a social setting, at least. Maybe never. His close circle for more than thirty years had consisted almost exclusively of service members. Even after DADT was repealed, it wasn’t exactly as if members of the brass at his level had been leaping out of the closet. Besides, he and Mav had decided to keep their relationship secre—private. It had been the right thing to do. Even now, only a few people—family and very close friends—knew the truth. Well, family, close friends, and any of the dozen or so people, give or take, that had ridden to Cupid’s Peak with them on the shuttle bus and seen them holding hands.
“Mav, I’ve been reconsider—” Ice closed his mouth. Mav had just opened the door to their suite, and was holding it open, gesturing Ice past him, and on the table inside, in clear view of the door, was the most garish, unspeakably colorful gift basket Ice had ever seen. The cookies and chocolates, champagne, hand lotion, tissue paper, toothbrushes, and bottles of what Ice assumed were hair care products were all vibrantly red and orange, yellow and green, blue and purple. A little note shaped like a rainbow heart pinned to the top read >>>--HAVE A WONDERERFUL STAY AND HAPPY NEW YEAR PETE AND TOM—->> It was explosively on point and the sight made something turn over in Ice’s stomach. He had to stop himself from glancing over his shoulder to see if anyone else could see. “Did—did you?” Ice asked, stuttering accusingly at Mav.
“Absolutely not,” Mav laughed, starting forward to rip off the cellophane wrapping—even that was rainbow-hued—and dig into the goodies. “The hotel people must’ve got the idea. You know—two men, one bed…” Mav trailed off, taking an unconcerned nibble from one of the green cookies. “Want one?”
Ice let the door swing shut behind him, left his suitcase in the entryway where it was, and walked past Mav into the connected room, where, sure enough, a neatly made king-sized bed awaited him. This room, at least, was the neutral tan of a proper hotel. The pictures on the wall were all of alpine slopes and various woodland animals Ice assumed could be encountered if one wandered far enough off the well-groomed trails of the resort. Groaning, Ice laid himself down on top of the deep blue duvet and covered his face with both hands.
“Bed later, old man, we have dinner reservations.”
Pushing himself up onto his elbows, Ice shot Mav a murderous look. “Old man?”
Mav was leaning against the doorframe, half of an obnoxiously green cookie still in his hand. “Gonna prove me wrong?”
Ice didn’t bother replying to Mav’s obvious provocation with words. The cookie fell to the floor, green crumbs undoubtedly getting permanently ground into the carpet when Ice flew out of bed to shove Mav roughly against the door and lick a spot of green frosting off his lip. It wasn’t half bad, actually.
Thirty minutes later, it was Mav reclining in the bed, naked, with his hands behind his head, a satiated, still mildly green-tinged grin on his face, while Ice washed up in the bathroom. “You may want to brush your teeth,” Ice pointed out, noticing. “What time’s our reservation?”
Mav checked his watch. “Uh, now,” he said, hopping out of bed and pulling his clothes on.
Ice snorted, heading for the door. “And can we get rid of this… thing?” he asked, gesturing towards the oversized, multi-colored gift basket.
Mav shrugged. After pulling on his jacket, he grabbed the basket by the handle, and, pulling open the coat closet, chucked the whole monstrosity inside, shutting the door firmly after it.
Ice twitched, his face freezing into a strange expression for only a moment, before turning away. He refused to think further about any potential symbolism playing out in their lives or their shared room. It wasn’t a metaphor.
Dinner relaxed Ice, and he found himself smiling as he and Mav explored the lodge and small resort village afterwards. The stadium lights were shining brightly on the broad, snow-white trails above, illuminating the tiny, figurine-sized forms of the skiers and boarders gliding serenely—at least in his perspective from below—down the hills. In his youth, Ice would’ve been up there hitting the slopes till they turned off the lifts. He may not have been as obvious about it, but Ice had been as big of an adrenaline junkie as Mav. He’d loved flying down fresh powder in damn near freefall, pushing himself to the very edge of his control. And he had more reason to miss that feeling than Mav, who’d spent the last several decades in the cockpit, while Ice had landed at a desk. But, glancing at Mav, who was studying the menu of a cozy looking hot-chocolate stand, Ice just didn’t feel the need to hurry. Mav didn’t seem bothered. For the first time since they’d met, they had time. Time to take it slow.
“Two, please,” Ice said, stepping up to the window and pulling out his wallet. “With a shot of Baileys each.”
The next morning, Mav pulled Ice up by the hand just as they were about to enter the rental shop to get skis and boots.
“We’re here to enjoy ourselves, yeah?” Mav said, looking up at Ice with a warm smile. “We can do as much or as little as you want.”
Ice scowled back. Another pointed barb to add to his collection. He was barely four years older than Mav. Deep down, he knew that his age had almost nothing to do with Mav’s concern, but he didn’t want to delve too deeply into the real reason. “I’ll try to keep up,” he drawled instead, brushing it off.
“Hiiiii,” chirped a loud voice from inside the ski shop. It was spoken with such a drawn-out, multi-pitched affectation that it made Ice’s skin crawl. But he still put a smile on his face and turned to greet Jim, the man from the elevator. His partner, Casey, was there too, and gave them a shy wave.
“Renting?” Jim inquired. “Us too. Had to leave my gear at home. I’m on a business trip, if you know what I mean.” He said the words ‘business trip’ with actual air quotations and then an honest wink, and Ice really didn’t know what he meant at all, but just shrugged and got in line.
“Not that I’m skiing myself," Jim continued, following Ice and Mav. “The old back can’t take it anymore.” He gave a small, self-deprecating smile, and Ice had to resist cringing. Jim didn’t have many years on him. Was Ice really that old?
“No,” Jim went on. “This is all for my Casey. A special trip. Just the two of us.” As he said it, he rubbed Casey’s lower back, allowing his hand to drift downwards far enough that it made Ice uncomfortable, and thankful that they’d finally reached the counter and he could focus on renting his equipment.
Mav and Casey had hit it off, at least, and were busy good-naturedly debating the merits of the different brands of skis and boots available, a subject that Ice was sure Mav didn’t know as much about as he wanted to make it sound. After giving his foot size and height, Ice allowed the clerk to select his equipment. Finally, he took a helmet from the rack, and gave Mav a stern look until he grabbed one too.
It was just Ice’s luck that they all finished at the same time, and when he and Mav geared up and headed for the lifts, Casey was right behind them. Jim watched them leave from the covered porch of the lodge, giving them all a smug little wave before tucking his hands into his pockets, as if he’d made the superior choice.
A few hours later, Ice wasn’t sure that Jim was actually wrong. Mav seemed to have made it his personal mission to keep up with Casey, who must’ve been nearly thirty years his junior, and although they both waited for Ice at the bottom of the hill, Mav’s constant check-ins—doing alright?—were beginning to rankle. The truth was, he wasn’t. The rough pace and steep slopes they were choosing were beginning to wear on his back, and the cold air was harsh on his lungs, which weren’t exactly in peak condition anymore. Ice far preferred watching Mav tackle the hardest courses, and come off the mountain grinning, panting, and red-cheeked. By lunch, Ice was ready to call it quits for the day.
“You’re sure?” Mav asked, leaning his skis against a post outside the lodge next to a dozen other pairs. “I could stay with you… down here,” he offered, even as he glanced back at the mountain with longing.
Ice shook his head. “Go. This vacation is for both of us. I’ll see you later.”
So Ice spent the remainder of the afternoon lounging in a cozy chair in the great hall of the lodge, in front of a roaring fire, sipping tea and people watching—something he’d always enjoyed. He met a few of the other lodge lizards hanging around, with their ubiquitous sweaters and hot beverages much like his own, and kept up an easy conversation with what quickly became a familiar group. Even with Jim, who’d never left the lodge. It was a lot like socializing on any other trip he’d ever been on, except now, he wasn’t the big shot admiral. He was just Tom, another man, a gay man, for he’d had to admit he was here with his long term partner to celebrate their retirement, and everyone knew what that meant. But nobody cared. It was so fucking normal and so fucking weird.
Mav finally came in, jacket over his arm, as the sun was setting. He was trailing a brightly smiling Casey but had a tight frown on his own face, which only eased a tiny bit when he saw Ice.
“Sorry. That took longer than expected. Casey wanted to try some of the natural terrain and we got a bit off course.”
Of course he had. When could Mav ever stick to the well-trodden path? Well, Casey looked like he’d had fun, at least. Except for the small mustache on his upper lip, the young man looked nothing like Bradley, but when Ice saw Mav look at him, he knew who his wingman was thinking about. Which is why Ice nearly had to look away when the exuberant kid dropped himself into Jim’s lap and planted a big kiss right on his lips. Casey was an adult, and could do what he liked with whomever he liked. It wasn’t Ice’s place to judge.
“It’s fine, really,” Ice said instead to Mav with a shrug, but it didn’t seem to help.
“I brought you here to enjoy yourself,” Mav protested.
Ice had to bite back a smile. In some ways, his definition of enjoy himself and Mav’s had parted ways somewhere along the years, except when it came to each other. He indicated his empty mug and the Kindle in his lap. “I am three quarters of the way through my book and don’t have icicles growing out my nose,” he said, standing up to brush away some snow from the back of Mav’s head. “I am enjoying this.” He leaned in, braving the gaze of any onlookers to pull Mav into a brief hug, letting his lips brush by his ear with a whisper. “I’m going to enjoy myself even more when we get to our hot tub. You’ll be stiff if you don’t soak after all that.”
In the morning, Mav put on all his gear and rode the first lift that was running up the mountain just to bring Ice breakfast, via skis, from the waffle hut that was only located at the peak. The waffles were warm, buttery, drenched in syrup, and Ice moaned out loud when he took the first bite, much to Mav’s gratification.
“C’mon,” Mav said, after they finished eating. “I’m taking you out on the mountain. Put your snow gear on.”
Ice was skeptical. He hadn’t enjoyed himself yesterday, but they had come on this trip to ski. He ought to give it one more try. They ran into Casey in the front of the lodge, giving Jim a sloppy goodbye kiss as he headed for the slopes himself, but Mav waved him off and pulled Ice the other way, to the bunny hill, an area they had all categorically avoided the day before. Ice was about to protest—his lack of desire to ski was not an issue of skill—but Mav shushed him and pointed past the shallow slope.
“Let’s try that.”
Past the bunny hill was a large, broad slope, like a massive sledding hill. On one side was a magic carpet lift, where families and people of all ages were lining up with giant, colorful inner tubes. Ice raised an eyebrow, but Mav was already grabbing them one of the big, double tubes from the corral.
Tubing was exhilarating without the backache and potential for injury. By lunchtime, Ice and Mav must have gone down nearly two dozen times in different tube configurations, and Ice’s cheeks were red and Mav’s eyes were bright and happy.
Ice felt buoyant as they walked back to the lodge. Spontaneously, he reached out a hand to clasp Mav’s as they walked inside. His joyous exuberance was short-lived however. Inside the lodge, two men were arguing at the bar with raised voices. It was Casey and Jim. Before Ice could make out what the other couple were having words about, Casey broke off and stormed out the door, barely giving Ice and Mav a passing glance. Jim was scowling and staring into the bottom of an empty glass. Next to the glass lay his phone, which was ringing, but he didn’t pick it up.
Ice exchanged a look with Mav, and, by mutual and unspoken agreement, they skirted the bar with a wide berth and headed into the resort’s restaurant for a warm meal. They were on vacation. They were retired. Their days of being paid to manage other people’s personal dramas were at an end.
It wasn’t until that evening that Ice found out what happened. Ice had stayed in the lodge, in his favorite chair by the fire. He’d finished one book and begun another. So it was Mav who got the scuttlebutt, having headed back to the slopes in the afternoon, and found a disconsolate Casey at the top.
Jim and Casey had met online three months prior. Casey had been thrilled to meet an older man with money that offered to spoil him. He’d grown up skiing, but hadn’t been able to since his parents had cut him off after he’d come out at age eighteen. However, that morning, in a sleepy haze, Casey had picked up the wrong phone when it had dinged, and happened to see a text meant only for Jim’s eyes. From Jim’s wife.
Ice could only shake his head in disgust at the sordid affair. It was beyond him how anyone could bring that much unnecessary drama into their lives, and at their age, too. Life was short, and precious. That wasn’t just a trite expression for him, it was a harsh reality forced down his throat ten years past, when he’d truly thought his number was up. And all he’d had to cling to in his worst nights was the thought of Maverick, whether just on the other side of a wall or a thousand miles away. Their furtive secret was the lifeline that had pulled Ice through, and he swore that if he lived, one day they wouldn’t hide anymore. That everyone would know what Mav had done for him, and who he had been to him. And so the very day after their retirement, Ice had called Mav and said, “Move in with me,” without preamble, and Mav had said, without hesitation, “Yes.”
Ice slept in the next morning, thinking about all these things. When he rose, there was a handwritten note, folded into the shape of a paper airplane, on the nightstand. Last day to ski! Meet me for lunch? Ice pressed his lips together, and tucked the note into his pocket. Heading down, Ice saw the very last person he wanted to see.
It was Jim. He was sitting at the bar with a glass of whiskey, neat. An awfully early hour for such things. It was tempting to approach and say something. Ice had spent the past several days marvelling at how open and carefree in their personal relationship Jim and Casey had been. It had seemed so easy for them. Now, knowing what Jim had done, Ice felt both anger towards him for how he’d deceived Casey, and also great pity. Jim was at least Ice’s own age, but he was never going to have what Ice had in Maverick. The treasure in his back pocket. The ace up his sleeve. And Jim, that idiot, who’d now spoiled what little of love in life that he may have had, likely didn’t even know what he was missing. There were a hundred moments when Ice, through sheer chance or mistake, could’ve lost everything, but he hadn’t, and here he was. Here they were. There wasn’t a minute more to waste.
Mav wasn’t on the bottom of the mountain, which meant Ice would have to chance searching for him at the top. Within minutes, he was riding the large express lift up next to an astonished pair of teenage girls, who kept looking from his face down at his winter boots. Oh. Ice hadn’t even thought to grab his ski gear. Craning his head around, he could see that it was too late—he was halfway up the mountain already. Unfortunately, the lift was the kind that deposited its riders on a short but steep slope at the top of the mountain. Without skis, Ice was forced to make an ungainly run for it, which thankfully didn’t end in a fall.
The snow was packed hard and slick in the high traffic landing area, made for sliding, not hiking. Still, Ice pressed on, staying out of the way on the fence line. Mav had been favoring a steep run called The Arrow, which could only be reached from a narrow connecting path that began behind the waffle hut. There was no way, truly, for Ice to have known if Mav was at the top of this slope, yet there he was, as if by fate. It was less crowded at the head of The Arrow, and Ice made out the red stripe on Mav’s helmet easily, as he was bent over adjusting his boot in his ski.
“Mav!” Ice called, picking his way across the snow carefully, staying away from the sheer drop that was the start of the course.
Mav looked up, grinning when he spotted Ice’s face, but his expression fell as he took in the rest of him. Ice wasn’t wearing his skis, snowpants, helmet, or gloves. “What’s wrong?” he asked, a military straightness coming over his bearing.
Ice just shook his head, coming to a stop on the narrow part of the snow that was safest to stand on. This was going to be hard up here. “Mav,” he repeated.
“What is it?” Mav asked, reaching out with a concerned hand to touch Ice’s arm now, and angling his body slightly towards him with the edge of one ski dug in, shielding Ice from the drop.
Ice cleared his throat and shuffled, finding just enough room, with Mav’s supporting hand on his arm, to lower himself onto one knee. The expression on Mav’s face changed from concerned to just plain shocked as Ice’s jeans-clad leg hit the snow.
“Mav—I mean, Peter Maverick Mitchell, will you marry me?”
“I—Ice, the snow!” was Mav’s incongruous first reaction.
Ice did his best to settle his face into an appropriate gaze of affectionate pleading, cleared his throat, and tried again.
“Will you marry me?”
“Here?” Mav squeaked out, still trying to pull Ice back to his feet.
“Well, we could see if the resort has a chapel,” Ice said solemnly, glancing down the mountain at the tiny lodge, the size of a dollhouse from so high up.
“I was, uh, joking about that. Not here, obviously,” Mav replied, nervously clutching Ice’s shoulders.
“You haven’t answered me, Mav,” Ice pointed out.
“Answer him!” a bystander called loudly, and a few people laughed.
“Of course I’ll marry you,” Mav blurted out. “But get out of the snow! You’re gonna catch a cold like that.”
Ice finally allowed Mav to pull him back to his feet, into a fierce embrace and a tender kiss, to the hoots and hollers of the onlookers. A small crowd had accumulated, with many more skiers than usual hovering at the edge of the slope, having not wanted to miss the end of the small show. With the matter settled, most of them took off, whizzing down the slope, leaving only Ice and Mav on the edge.
“Hey, uh, Ice?” Mav asked, pulling away from their kiss momentarily, though letting his lips linger.
“Yes?” Ice murmured, the thrill of Mav’s acceptance of the spur-of-the-moment proposal warming him all the way to his bones.
“I hate to be a killjoy, but how were you, um, going to get down?”
“Hmm,” Ice hummed. He hadn’t thought even that far ahead, which was an unusual and luxurious deviance for him.
Mav looked around, lighting up when he saw a red-jacketed ski patroller, a freckle-faced kid, lounging against a fence on the opposite side of the hill. Before a suddenly horrified Ice could stop him, Mav had lifted an arm, waving it vigorously with a grin.
“No, Mav, don’t—”
“Taxi! We need a taxi over here!”
There were fireworks that night over Cupid’s Peak.
“In honor of our engagement,” Mav said smugly.
“For my birthday,” Ice decided.
“Happy New Year,” Mav added, reaching into his pocket and pulling something out that he hid in his palm. “By the way, at the risk of sounding repetitive, will you—”
Mav stopped there, and got down on one knee in front of a very confused Ice. “Will you do me the honor, of accepting this ring, and my hand, in—”
“Wait a minute,” Ice said, cutting Mav off with a wave. “Are you telling me that you were already going to propose? Tonight?”
“Yep. Bought the ring four months ago.”
Ice looked at the ring. It was a shiny band of gun-metal grey. “Yes,” he answered immediately.
“I didn’t even get to finish,” Mav complained, but he slid the ring smoothly onto Ice’s finger without further ado.
“I’ll get you a matching one, when we get back,” Ice promised, taking Mav’s hand in his own. Everyone was watching the fireworks, not paying a smidge of attention to them, but Ice wouldn’t have cared in that moment if the President himself had walked up and congratulated them. “I just have one request,” he added, squeezing Mav’s hand.
“Hm?” Mav asked, turning back from the magnificent display.
“Let’s go somewhere warm for our honeymoon.”