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They were flown off the carrier two days after the mission concluded. For forty-three of those forty-eight hours, Mav had been confined to a medical berth. He’d come out of the mission with a fractured collarbone, a handful of bruises the color of grapes (the green kind), and a concussion for his troubles. All of that seemed pretty par for the course, especially once he’d filled the medical team in on his supersonic launch. As much as he could without putting them on some kind of watch list, of course.
Bradley–and he was still pinching himself every time he looked at the kid–got out of it much better. Some scrapes from his ejection, a concussion, and harness bruises the color of purple grapes. He had been freed from the menacing supervision of the head medical officer after twenty of the forty-eight hours. That didn’t stop his godson from coming to visit him, and with him came the rest of the mission team, all crowded in and out of the doorway to wave hello. It was endearing, their concern for him, and unexpected. He was sure his husband would have something to say about his shock at the concern later when he was told, but Ice wasn’t on the carrier, so Mav indulged in a little bit of surprise. He was careful not to laugh too much, no matter how much Hangman tried to lighten the mood, because it hurt worse than crashing to earth the first time. Still, the kids were funny. In his time with the testing group, he’d almost forgotten how funny aviators this young were. When he showed back up in Simpson’s office, it had been several years since his last interaction with actively flying pilots. Beyond re-certifying his ratings for F-18s, he’d been largely sequestered in China Lake throughout the Darkstar’s development.
It was nice, to be surrounded by the next generation. He’d known that since that first day of training, listening to them curse on the comms as he blew by them midair. But it was good to be reminded about the time outside of a jet too.
He probably owed Ice a drink or two for the realization. He’d add it to their endless tally.
Still, as much as he had been enjoying the company of the aviators, the carrier’s command could not support their squad endlessly. So, forty-eight hours after the mission, they were loaded onto a set of choppers to make the journey back to land. Mav gritted his teeth through the shock of take-off and landing, and he knew Bradley had noticed. From the closest base, they were loaded into the back of a cargo plane making a return trip after arriving with supplies. Luckily, there were few enough of them flying as passengers that Mav could stretch out over a couple of seats in an attempt to sleep. He was hoping he could fall asleep and ignore the pain, but was still woken by the jolt of the wheels touching ground, and it made him grouchy. Bradley trying to help walk him down the gangway didn’t much help either, and he shrugged off his godson’s arm.
“I can walk, Bradley,” he admonished, slightly. Seeing the hurt in Bradley’s eyes, he sighed. “It’d help more if you wouldn’t mind grabbing my bag.”
Hangman sidled up to them. “Jeez, Bradshaw. You’re hurt too. You looking to get demoted for tripping the Navy’s first ace pilot in decades down a cargo hatch?”
“Look at that, Hangman,” Phoenix drawled. “You do care.”
“Shut up, Phoenix.”
In all the commotion, Bradley had backtracked to Mav’s pack and shouldered it along with his own. Bob lingered close by, unobtrusively, no doubt ready to grab at either bag (or Bradley) if they fell.
“Thank you, Bradley,” Mav said quietly, hoping it’d ease the sting of his earlier words. He rubbed at his eyes slightly, with his free hand. “I’m…not at my best right now. Sorry.”
“S’okay, Mav,” Bradley said, equally softly. He walked past him down the gangplank, where the others were starting a veritable mountain of their gearbags.
“Hold up. Why’s Maverick on a first-name basis with Bradshaw? Ow!” Hangman rubbed at the back of his head, Coyote’s hand still outstretched and ready to flick him again if necessary.
“Shut up, Jake. Get a move on.”
Hangman grumbled, but did so. Still, Mav didn’t miss the way the remaining aviators stuck near him, much like Bob had for Bradley. Just more of them for him. After the last few days, he liked to think that he might deserve it.
The warm and fond thing that had been curling in his chest since they’d come to visit him in the infirmary was probably the only thing that protected Hangman from the consequences of his quip when they (finally) made it out of the plane. “Look at that, pops, against all odds your brittle bones made it back to US soil.”
“Don’t let my husband hear you say that,” Mav warned. “If there’s any suggestion that I might not have made it back, I don’t think I’d see the light of day again.” He left them blinking in the shock of those statements, and walked toward the waiting jeep that apparently none of the kids had noticed.
Hondo was around the back of the jeep, opening the latch to drop the trunk door. All support staff had been sent off the carrier at the earliest convenience, Simpson and Bates especially for the initial mission report, leaving Hondo to take on the role of getting them all back home.
Mav smiled broadly at his friend, the first smile that hadn’t been forced in hours, and Hondo squeezed his good shoulder. “All good there, Mav?”
“You know me, Hondo. Any news from the homefront?”
“Sure do. Ice says he’ll be waiting for you at home once you’re out of your debrief.”
“Thank you,” Mav said, heartily. He hadn’t been able to get a hold of Ice on the carrier, and hadn’t had the time while in transit. Even if he had, his husband was on strict house arrest after his collapse, and his assistant, Jameson, had even gone so far as to confiscate the non-emergency phone, forcing Ice to truly rest. Mav wouldn’t dare provoke another crisis by calling the emergency phone, and he similarly wouldn’t chance contacting Ice’s personal number from a Navy-issued phone, so he’d had to trust that Ice would get the right news. He’d deliver the rest in person, anyway.
The aviators finally followed in Mav’s footsteps, like the ducklings they were, and right on cue several more jeeps pulled in behind Hondo.
“Alright, everyone. These will split you up back to your assigned base housing. Those of you staying off-base,” Hondo continued, glancing toward Bradley and Mav, “have also been accounted for. Mav, you’re with me. Bradshaw, with Alexander in that last jeep. You are requested to be back on base at 0800 tomorrow for the debrief procedures. Am I clear?”
“Yes, sir!” Bradley was the slowest to snap to attention, but Mav supposed his injuries could forgive him.
“Mav, anything you’d like to add?”
Mav blinked, then turned slowly to look at the 12 aviators standing neatly behind him. They waited, patiently, as they’d been trained to do. Mav had known they were capable of it, of course, but it was slightly jarring to see them so calm after the last few weeks. He supposed that now that they were on the other side of what had brought them together, the undercurrent of anxiety that had induced any fidgeting would be gone. Even Hangman, who normally would have smirked or straightened when Mav’s eyes passed over him, stood still. With that in mind, Mav supposed there was only one thing he had to say. “You all did good. Rest up, and I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
“Thank you, sir!”
Mav spun back around, accepting Hondo’s helping arm to step into the passenger side of the jeep. Hondo dropped his gearbag into the back, and then settled in the driver's seat. “Need me to go slow?”
Mav laughed. “I appreciate the consideration. No, at this point I just want to be home.”
“Copy that,” Hondo grinned. He set off at a comfortable pace.
“What does he know?” Mav asked, fifteen minutes into the drive.
Hondo smiled, glancing sidelong at Mav. “Not looking to repeat 2013?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Well, he knows the details for how you and Bradshaw got back to the carrier. And I passed him a copy of your medical records from after they brought you in. So you shouldn’t have to worry about him collapsing again.”
Mav sighed. “At least that’s something. No guarantees I’ll be in one piece for the debrief tomorrow morning, though.”
“As long as you’re there, I don’t think Simpson will have anything to complain about.”
Mav laughed aloud, then regretted it when pain shot through his collarbone. “That would do it, huh.” His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he contorted a bit to pick it up.
A fresh text message appeared on his screen. This is Rooster. Can we go to lunch after the debrief tomorrow morning?
Mav smiled. Heavy assumption that we’ll be done by lunch, kiddo. Come to dinner instead.
Wow. Scariest mission yet. I’d like that.
Me too. Sleep well, Bradley.
You too Mav.
“That Bradshaw?” Hondo asked.
“How’d you know?”
“You’re smiling. And I know it’s not Ice, for once. I didn’t let him know you’ve landed.”
“Oh, so I get to surprise him?”
“Well, I think Jameson and I hoped he’d take a nap if he thought there was enough time.”
Mav chuckled, softly this time. Never let it be said he couldn’t learn. “Yeah, no chance of that. But it was a good try.”
Hondo shrugged. “Well, maybe you’ll be the key ingredient. Jameson’s about at his wits' end.”
“I thought that happened three years ago when he got his appointment?” Mav teased. Hondo snorted.
When they pulled into the drive, the lights inside were dark. Hondo looked relieved by this, but Mav knew better. It just meant Ice had been too absorbed in whatever he was working on to turn on the lights, and was now either surviving off only ambient light from the window or had spared the effort to turn on a single lamp. Mav would have to tease him about this being the reason Ice was the only one of the two of them with glasses so far, but he’d do that later. Tomorrow over breakfast, probably. For now, Hondo helped him drop his bags in the entry, gave him a quick hug and a promise to be back in the morning at 0730 sharp, and closed the door softly behind him.
Safe inside, and alone for the first time in several days, Mav allowed himself a deep breath. He shrugged off his jacket, dropping it on his gearbag and leaving both in the entryway to be dealt with later. Already feeling hundreds of pounds lighter, he stepped into the kitchen to get a glass of water. After chugging it down, he filled it and a spare and progressed into the house. He glanced briefly into Ice’s office, grateful to find it empty, and then stepped slowly up the stairs. Mindful of the creaking, in case Ice was asleep, he made it to the upper floor without any major crashes. Once in the upstairs hallway, he couldn’t tamp down on his grin.
From their bedroom at the end came the faint glow of a singular lightbulb.
“I knew you’d still be awake!” He called, and didn’t bother stifling the laugh bubbling up when more lights were hurriedly switched on. “Nuh-uh, I saw that! You were reading in the dark again, weren’t you, honey!”
He heard the covers shift, and quickened his pace, rounding the doorframe to find Ice sitting on the edge of the bed, poised to lever himself up.
“Nope, don’t you dare.” Mav reached over to put the cups on the nightstand. “I’ve been looking forward to getting in that bed with you for days. Don’t make me do anything else right now.”
Ice’s smile shifted from something caught to downright fond as Mav approached him. “Hi, darling,” he rasped, eyes and mouth crinkling at the corners in that way that always made Mav want to press kisses to every one of his wrinkles.
“Hi, Tom,” Mav smiled. He stepped easily between Ice’s knees, and Ice’s hands came up just as easily to rest at his hips. “How are you feeling?”
“I should be asking you that question,” Ice said, grimacing a little at the rasp in his throat. “I’m not the one who–” he broke off, coughing. Mav shook his head, offering up one of the glasses he’d placed on the nightstand.
“Let’s table the interrogation, yeah?” he took a step back, stripping down out of his travel-dirty clothes as quickly as he could with his injuries, pulling on the sleep pants Ice had left out on his side of the dresser instead. “Why don’t we just lie down. My everything hurts.”
Ice would probably have complained if Mav suggested they lie down for his benefit, but when Mav brought up his own injuries, he complied immediately. Mav hid an eye roll as he tossed his dirty shirt in the direction of the hamper. When he sat down in bed, Ice was already resting against the headboard, and though he wasn’t lying down exactly, the sentiment was there, so Mav wouldn’t complain.
Especially since it now meant he could put his head in his husband’s lap. Even more so when it meant that Ice immediately started carding his fingers through Mav’s hair. He was grateful for it when his head started pounding at the abrupt shift in position, making him grumble.
“Concussion?” Ice rasped.
Mav grunted an acknowledgement. “Not bad, though.”
Ice’s laugh said all he needed to about his opinion on that front.
“It’s really fine, Tom. Sure, the collarbone hurts and is gonna heal so slowly…but I’m happy with what we accomplished.”
“Good. ‘M proud of you,” Ice said. Mav didn’t have to look up to see the smile on his face. “Though I wasn’t expecting you to do the mission yourself…”
Mav chuckled ruefully. “Ow. Yeah, sorry. That just happened. I’m done, though, saving the world. Twice is enough for me.”
“Ace, huh?”
“Couldn’t let you be the only one with stars on your collar. Now I’ve got one more than you, five to four. Catch up, Kazansky.” Yeah, Mav deserved that tug on his hair. “Ow.”
“Cheeky. Love that about you. Heard what you said to Cyclone.”
“Yeah? Which part?”
“All of it. He deserved it.”
Mav snorted. “He’d probably crumble into dust on the spot if you told him that.” He cleared his throat. “Iceman happens to be a man I…deeply admire,” Mav teased, deepening his voice. Ice chuckled, and Mav pushed himself up on his forearms so their faces were just about even. “And would you look at that,” he continued, “it seems like we’ve found the one thing Cyclone and I agree on.”
Ice’s mischievous, rough smile had melted, eyes similarly molten. Mav leaned up, slowly, looking at him just as fondly. After another few seconds to enjoy the sight, he pressed their lips together. The kiss started out easy, a testament to their exhaustion and Mav’s physical state. But he didn’t hesitate to deepen it seconds later, finally, finally, taking the occasion to kiss his husband the way he’d been thinking about ever since he landed the F-14 on that carrier. Ice had been the last person he’d ever flown an F-14 with, the last person he’d ever seen handle the plane he’d just salvaged, so sue him if he’d been wanting to talk to the one person he knew could appreciate it.
At the thought, he pulled back, breath heaving. “You should have seen her,” he whispered.
Ice, always quick on the uptake, knew exactly what he was talking about. “I bet she handled perfectly.”
“You’d never know she wasn’t a fifth gen,” Mav confirmed. “I wish I could have kept it.”
Ice snorted. “You’d have to build another hangar.”
Mav’s grin turned pensive. “Well, we’d have to move the house a little but we could put in another hangar in the Mojave…”
Ice smacked his shoulder. “Stop it, not happening.”
“Not even if I ask real nicely?”
“You’ve never asked for anything nicely in your life, Pete,” Ice smiled. “And you’re not about to start.”
“No, probably not,” Mav smiled back. “I’d make a pretty good effort if you asked me to, though.”
“Not worth it. You’d inevitably cause some chaos down the line to make up for it. The emergency phone kind.”
Mav rolled his eyes. “You’re never gonna let me live that down, are you?”
“Not on your life,” Ice confirmed.
“Well, lucky for you, the only chaos coming back into our life is my godson. He’ll be over for dinner tomorrow, so make sure to wear your Sunday best. We have to make a good impression.”
Ice’s smile didn’t even fade at the quip.
Mav groaned at the sight. “This is what you were hoping for all along, wasn’t it.”
Ice didn’t say anything, just shrugged.
“You’re infuriating,” Mav said. “I hate you.” He punctuated that with a kiss, leaving Ice no doubt of his true feelings. “Thank you,” he said, softer.
“I love you,” Ice said back.
It was all the answer he’d ever needed.