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i.
For a while now, Ron has been quite sure about what heaven would look like for him.
He imagines a place where he can feel no pain, no aches in his body or tiredness in his bones after years of navigating the skies. He can see his wife—his beloved Irina—with their future children and grandchildren, laughing and running around, playing without any worry or hesitation.
He used to ache for chaos when he was younger, a restless hunger for speed and noise and the sharp thrill of danger humming constantly beneath his skin. He had chased the roar of engines and the burn of adrenaline with a devotion that bordered on dangerous.
But time, as it tends to do, had sanded down those edges.
Now, all he craves is peace.
However, he’s aware that not even his own version of heaven could be entirely free from the kind of chaos that Ice and Mav seem to carry with them wherever they go—a chaos that has followed them since that fateful, unforgettable day they first met in Top Gun all those years ago.
There is always this invisible, almost tangible electric current between them, a force that seems to magnetize trouble and mischief alike, sparking in the air with every glance, every subtle movement. Iceman, of all people, is impossibly loud when he’s with Maverick—not so much in words, but in his actions; the deliberate tilt of his head, the soft narrowing of his eyes, the slight twitch of a smirk whenever he teases his husband. And Mav, as always, seems to respond in kind, except he’s not afraid to use his words. He’s easily the loudest in the room, equally vivid as Ice in every gesture, every flicker of expression, every instinctive movement.
Ron’s image of heaven naturally features his two best friends (yes, that unfortunately includes Mitchell) so he’s sure he will not actually get a moment of quiet. Still, it would probably be nice if they could simply exist beside him without fanfare, without mischief, without the magnetic tension that had defined their presence for decades; they would just lounge quietly, comfortably, content in silence, like the picture of perfect peace he had long imagined.
Must feel like paradise, he used to think.
He regrets being so naive.
When it comes to these two, the lack of chaos is not heaven at all.
This is hell.
-
The first sign had been the silence.
He should have known something was wrong the moment he realized Maverick was not talking his ears off while he and Ice walked around Miramar during his visit. Normally, Mav’s voice would be a constant presence with his messy stories, ridiculous commentary, unsolicited opinions about everything from aircraft maintenance to whatever trouble he and Bradley had gotten into recently (that Ice either approved or not—but always got them out of.)
But today, there was nothing.
No chatter. No interruptions.
Ron had been quick to leave active service years ago, back when it became clear that Ice was planning to fly less and less in favor of climbing the ranks. While Ice had traded the cockpit for command, Ron had found his own path in the commercial side of aviation. Still, he made it a habit to visit the couple whenever their schedules allowed it—whenever they were stationed in the same place, or at least somewhere within reasonable distance of each other.
Which, frankly, was most of the time.
It wasn’t exactly a secret among their circle that staying close to Mitchell had always been one of Ice’s motivations for reaching the highest rank possible. If authority gave him the power to choose assignments and postings, then Tom Kazansky would use that authority without hesitation.
So now, Ron’s best friend had once again pulled enough strings to find himself conveniently stationed in Miramar for an “inspection,” while Maverick remained here as an instructor—especially with Bradley now also a Top Gun instructor.
Which brings Ron back to his original point.
He was here to visit.
And instead of the loud, nonstop stories he had fully expected, there was only silence.
Because Maverick was not here.
Huh.
“What, Mitchell’s flying?” Ron asks casually, cutting through Ice’s detailed explanation about Bradley’s recent improvements. Not that Ron doesn’t want to hear about the kid—he sure missed the gosling who’s probably no longer little—but still.
Maverick.
(He cannot believe he’s actually looking for that idiot.)
Ice hums in response, slow and thoughtful, like Ron had just asked a very difficult question rather than a simple inquiry. The reaction alone makes Ron narrow his eyes.
“Is he up in the air?” Ron presses, squinting at him. “’Cause he’s not plastering himself all over you.”
Ice glances at him briefly, expression unreadable, before returning his attention to the endless bustle of the base around them. Personnel move with practiced urgency, engines roar somewhere in the distance, and yet Ice walks beside him with that same composed stillness that he always had.
Ron’s eyebrow lifts.
What was that reaction?
“No,” Ice finally answers after a pause long enough to be suspicious. Under different circumstances, Ron would already be irritated by his little mysterious act. Right now, however, his confusion wins.
“No?” Ron repeats, not willing to let it go. “Does he not know I’m visiting?”
Ice shakes his head slightly. “He knows.”
Of course he does. Ron had messaged them both two weeks ago and received a reply from Pete so enthusiastic it practically vibrated through the screen.
“He’s… busy, I think,” Ice continues carefully. “He didn’t want to come with me.”
Ron stops walking.
He stands there staring at Ice’s back, fully aware his mouth has fallen open but far too stunned to care.
Because what the hell did he just hear?
He’s known them for decades, and he has never seen them more than a few feet apart unless one of them was in a plane—and now he simply didn’t want to come?
Pete Mitchell does not willingly stay away from Tom Kazansky.
It simply does not happen.
Yet here they are.
Ron stares after his best friend, a strange unease settling deep in his chest.
What the hell is happening?
ii.
For the record, Rick thinks Sli is overreacting.
He became quite panicked seeing that SOS message on their group chat—which has not been active for a long time after they finally succeeded making Iceman and Maverick confess to each other—that he immediately flew to Miramar, where he knew Slider was currently visiting, with Leo, who was just as worried.
Now that they’re seated in front of each in a booth of The Hard Deck and Slider finished relaying his observations that led to this, Rick can’t help but send him a deadpan look and voices out his thoughts directly, “Man, aren’t you overreacting?”
He barely dodges the peanut that Slider throws at his face.
“This is serious, Wood!” he insists, stress visible in his face. Leo only laughs beside Rick, clearly entertained.
To be fair, Slider is the closest to both Ice and Mav. Even just a slight change in their behavior would be noticeable to him because, as much as he denies it, he’s a little ridiculous about those two. It’s as if he’s fully stepped in Nick’s role as the mother goose, which Mav likes to point out whenever he can.
“Still,” Rick continues, unconvinced, “maybe they just had a small fight or something. You know how petty they can be.”
Their group is close, sure, but Rick figures even those two must have some things they prefer to keep private.
Clearly, Slider thinks differently because he shakes his head firmly. “Mav would’ve complained nonstop by now if that were the case. They don’t go quiet when they fight—they annoy each other so much more and I always get caught in the middle of it.”
Rick hears Leo hum thoughtfully beside him, agreeing.
“He looked fine when I visited him in his office,” Slider goes on. “Happy to see me. Completely normal. But he doesn’t tag along when I spend time with Ice anymore. It’s weird as hell. And if they really are fighting, it would have to be huge for Ice not to tell me.”
Rick hesitates.
That part is strange.
Iceman keeps most things close to his chest, but Slider has always been his closest confidant. The one person who knows everything, even The Papers Incident™. Ice trusts him deeply, especially where Maverick and Bradley are concerned.
Until now.
Rick is slowly starting to see Slider’s point.
He’s still not convinced though.
“Maybe we should just see for ourselves,” Leo suggests, gently threading their fingers together under the table. This does not escape Slider’s notice who immediately fake-gags.
Rick flips him off before turning back to his husband with a smile. “Perfect idea.”
-
They invite the two for a few drinks, and are relieved when they agree without hesitation. Because if they’re still willing to meet other people together then things must be just fine.
Except—it’s not, because they don't arrive together.
No, there’s a good 45 minute gap between their arrivals, and it’s clear they used separate cars.
Now Rick’s getting really worried. He ignores Slider’s pointed look when Mav finally reaches their booth and sits down beside Leo instead of his husband.
Oh, man.
“So, what’s with the sudden visit?” Maverick asks eventually, easy and familiar, after greeting them all with affectionate enthusiasm.
Leo scrambles to supply a vague excuse about passing through the area. Rick barely hears it, still trying to process what he’s seeing. It takes him several minutes to recover enough to join the conversation—all while watching the two of them carefully.
As the night stretches on, it only gets worse.
At first, everything seems normal enough. Maverick launches into a story about a pilot who nearly blacked out during a maneuver. Ice listens with quiet amusement, occasionally cutting in with dry corrections. They talk easily. They even laugh together.
But the comfort feels…strained, somehow. Performed.
Something is off.
Rick notices it slowly, like a strange absence of background noise.
There’s no touching.
No casual contact. No automatic movement toward each other. No unconscious gravitation like opposing magnets that had always, inevitably, snapped together.
It’s unnatural.
Sure, they’ve always been less touchy in public spaces like this but normally Mav would have already thrown an arm around Ice’s shoulders. Or leaned halfway into his space while talking. Or tapped Ice’s wrist absentmindedly while making a point. Or stolen peanuts from Ice’s hand only to feed him one later.
Ice should be adjusting Maverick’s collar, smoothing down his hair, resting a steady hand at the small of his back like a constant anchor. They should be sitting beside each other, close enough to do all these things in a quick motion.
Rick has seen them do this for years.
But now they sit apart from each other, with a distance so deliberate it might as well be measured and marked.
Maverick gestures animatedly while speaking but stops just short of touching Ice’s arm every single time, his hand hovering midair before retreating.
Ice reaches for his drink at the same moment Maverick moves for the bowl of peanuts. Their fingers nearly brush.
Both of them freeze.
Then, with startling speed, they withdraw.
Rick feels something cold settle in his stomach.
This is really bad.
iii.
There’s a shift in the air around the base.
Beau doesn’t often pay attention to the rumor mill in Miramar, which somehow manages to spread news to every nook and cranny of the base in record time, but this time he finds himself slowing his steps when he hears the murmurs drifting through the corridor.
“Fallout? Between the Admiral and the Captain?”
“I mean, Iceman and Maverick have always been at odds with each other, right?”
“They’re close, but I heard they haven’t been interacting at all recently.”
“Isn’t that bad?”
Beau continues walking, expression neutral, but the words linger.
Because if there is one thing everyone in Miramar knows, it is that Tom Kazansky and Pete Mitchell do not simply stop interacting.
That would be like gravity deciding to take a day off. The world would simply fall apart.
For decades now, their connection has been a constant talk in the Navy. The rivalry had been legendary once, yes, but their partnership that came after had proven far more formidable.
Beau has seen it himself, time and time again.
The mission, which happened not long ago, is an example. Beau doesn’t particularly like to remember how cold the room has gotten as soon as Maverick’s plane got shot down. He could practically feel the Admiral’s fear radiating from where he’s standing up, eyes glued to the screen as if he can will Maverick into getting into communication with them again.
(In some way, he probably did.)
There were countless stories Beau had heard even before that—Iceman pulling rank to shield Maverick from disciplinary actions, Maverick somehow successfully doing whatever mission Iceman needed accomplished. Decisions made in perfect synchronization, as if they operated on a shared frequency no one else could access, and their trust in each other that had always bordered on absolute.
He learned quickly that dealing with Maverick meant dealing with Iceman. Which made him extremely wary of the former as soon as he came back to Top Gun bringing with him his Captain rank and lots of baggage.
Well, the matter ended well and now they have somehow found themselves in an amicable relationship with each other.
Which is why this rumor makes him uneasy.
Beau is not blind, after all.
He has never required explicit confirmation to understand the nature of their relationship, and he has never found reason to question it. Their personal lives have never interfered with their duties. If anything, their bond only made them better.
He respects them for that.
And he respects their privacy.
But now—
Now there could be a disruption in a system that has functioned flawlessly for decades. A fracture between the Navy’s most effective leader and aviator is not merely a personal matter. It is a strategic risk.
Beau needs to be ready in case whatever’s going on between Iceman and Maverick results in unpleasant consequences.
But first, he needs to verify.
He calls Maverick under the pretense of routine discussion about the Top Gun class.
The aviator comes to his office quickly, expression bright and easy as ever. “Cyclone. You need anything?”
Pleasant. Relaxed. Entirely normal. So far, so good.
Beau leans back in his chair, studying the stack of reports on his desk though his attention remains fixed on the conversation. “Checking in. Reviewing readiness evaluations for the current batch.”
They exchange professional updates. Maverick speaks with his usual enthusiasm, occasionally going off into animated tangents about promising trainees and maneuver refinements.
Nothing unusual.
There seems to be no strain, no distraction, no indication of personal turmoil.
Beau shifts the conversation gradually, guiding it toward more informal territory. If Maverick is weirded out (considering Beau almost never asks about these matters before), he didn’t show it. He readily answers all of Beau’s questions about base conditions, recent operations, even Bradley’s progress as an instructor.
Still nothing. No mention at all of Kazansky.
Which, in itself, is unusual.
In previous conversations, Maverick had rarely missed an opportunity to reference his husband even just the slightest bit. A comment about strategic insight here, a passing remark about a discussion there. Their professional lives had always overlapped seamlessly. It makes the absence of it so noticeable now.
Beau tries once more, carefully. “And the Admiral? How is he handling the workload?”
A brief pause.
“Busy,” Maverick replies lightly, as if Beau hasn’t given him the opportunity to rant all about Iceman’s overworking tendencies like he used to before. “You know how he gets.”
Beau narrows his eyes slightly.
“Well, if you speak with the Admiral later,” Beau says, tone measured, “inform him that I would like clarification regarding next quarter’s timeline.”
There is another small pause, a bit longer this time.
“Oh,” Maverick says, voice still casual, still bright. “Sure. I’ll pass it along to his secretary.”
Beau stills.
“…His secretary?”
“Yeah,” Maverick continues easily, as if Beau’s the weird one for finding it unusual. “She’ll make sure he gets it.”
For several seconds, Beau says nothing.
Because Pete Mitchell—the same man who once delayed an entire training schedule to share lunch with Tom Kazansky, who had shown up unannounced at briefings simply because the Admiral was present, who had never wasted an opportunity in twenty years to speak with him directly even without actual concerns—is now choosing to relay messages through administrative channels.
“...Right.”
Maverick nods and excuses himself, leaving Beau alone in his office, seated in the silence, wondering just what happened.
If this were anyone else, he might dismiss it as coincidence.
But this is Kazansky and Mitchell.
A big change like this does not occur without cause.
He considers the implications carefully.
A problem in their relationship could introduce operational instability. Any tension, especially when unresolved, may compromise decision-making under pressure. Beau is certain they’ve had their fights before, but they did not seem to reach this point previously.
But now.
He shakes himself out of his reverie and begins drafting contingency adjustments. Temporary measures, purely precautionary.
Still.
As he finalizes his notes, he feels an unfamiliar weight settle in his chest.
He won’t allow himself to be caught unaware because of it, but—what a shame. He quite liked them as a couple.
iv.
Jake’s concern started with a question.
It was simple, something he overheard purely because he happened to be in the right place at the right time. He hadn’t expected it to spark a growing, anxious need to understand what was happening.
“Slider, sir. May I…ask something?”
Slider—Ron Kerner. The COMPACFLT’s previous RIO. Jake would have never known him if Rooster hadn’t introduced the Daggers to Mav’s old Top Gun class using the very photo that eventually led Jake to discover Rooster and Maverick’s connection.
Kerner has been around the base for several days. Though Jake knew Slider had left the Navy years ago, his relationship with Admiral Kazansky and Maverick clearly remained as close as ever.
“No need to call me ‘sir’, Cyclone. What’s up, Admiral Kazansky running you ragged?”
“No. Well—it concerns him. And Maverick. If I may be so insolent.”
At this point, Jake is already angling his body to try and get a better look at the two conversing only a few steps away. Enough personnel moved around them that his attention went unnoticed. He turns to them just in time to see Slider raise an eyebrow.
“It seems there is…something going on with them. I haven’t seen them interact in days. Are they—” Cyclone lowers his voice, forcing Jake to strain harder to catch his words, “are they fighting?”
Jake scoffs before he can even stop himself.
He has only known them for a short while but he’s already aware of how the two act like they can’t live without each other. He can’t imagine them fighting seriously to the point of avoiding any contact with each other.
According to Rooster, their fights tend to be explosive, despite Iceman’s famously glacial temperament. Which is fair, because it’s Mav.
So Jake waits for Slider’s amused dismissal. Or a firm denial. After all, if rumors (again, Rooster) are true, Slider is their closest friend.
Instead, Slider’s expression tightens—as if confronted with something he very much did not want to consider.
Jake freezes.
“That’s…” Slider hesitated. “They’re not. But I understand why you’d think that. They’ve been acting strange lately. I’m… trying to get to the bottom of it myself.”
Cyclone nods, satisfied despite the lack of answer. “I appreciate it. Thank you for listening to my—”
“Concern?” Slider supplies, a hint of teasing returning to his tone.
Cyclone looks like he barely stops himself from rolling his eyes. “I am simply wary of potential disruptions to the base.”
“Sure,” Slider responds dryly. But Jake is not listening anymore because he’s already moving, rushing through the crowd trying to find Bradley.
It can’t be, right? He needs to confirm it.
-
He doesn’t find Rooster. Instead, Pops drags him to a meeting room, insisting he sit in on a briefing Jake knows damn well he isn’t required to attend.
Fine. If nothing else, it gave him the perfect opportunity to interrogate Mav later.
The two of them are the last ones to arrive. Jake falters when he sees Admiral Kazansky at the front of the room, one eyebrow already raised in silent reprimand. It’s a testament to his scolding expression that Jake feels guilty being nearly late to this meeting, except he’s not even an official attendee.
The rest of them don't so much as blink twice at his presence, however, so he just accepts it.
What is unusual is how Iceman lets Pops sit down without offering a lighthearted reprimand about his tardiness. No dry comment or fond exasperation, he just nods in acknowledgement. Mav doesn’t even occupy the free seat closest to the front (a position he has unconsciously claimed whenever Iceman led briefings) and instead drags Jake to sit down near the back.
Jake feels like he’s losing his mind. Just a few days ago he caught Mav sitting so close to Admiral Kazansky that he was almost on the other’s lap—just what the hell happened in so little time?
The briefing begins. Voices fill the room, data flash across screens, strategies are discussed. Jake is sure he’ll regret not listening but for now, he watches Maverick and Iceman like a hawk, determined to find any more evidence that will solidify his suspicions or, more favorably, completely disprove it.
It’s how he notices the lack of communication between them.
Not talking, no. Even before, he barely witnesses Maverick and Iceman flirting using words especially during meetings like these. They are professional—very much so that Jake figures it’s the reason why no one can denounce their relationship. However, it is still clear they’re truly, madly, deeply in love with each other considering the looks they never fail to exchange no matter where they are.
The two of them have mastered their silent communication: shared looks, a wiggle of eyebrows, rolled eyes, quick winks, shrugs. Jake has entertained himself quite a few times just watching and trying to decode their conversation. He’s almost never successful, of course. It’s like the two have an entirely different world and language that they like to stay in most of the time.
But this time, there’s nothing.
Mav’s gaze is pinned on the screen, and maybe sometimes the documents given to them. It’s like he’s actively trying to not look at Iceman who’s almost impossible to look away from as he commands the entire room.
Iceman, on the other hand, doesn’t offer any quips or ask for Maverick’s opinion in anything. He does that often, always holding back from a smirk when he startles Maverick who sometimes is not listening to the matters being discussed. The COMPACFLT would always send him a teasing look, receiving a playful glare from his wingman in response.
Their gazes don’t track each other’s movements, and they address each other stiffly as “Admiral Kazansky” and “Captain Mitchell”.
Jake almost feels his heart break.
v.
Bradley sensed the disturbance the moment he returned to base after a short leave to attend a former wingman’s wedding.
He had been hesitant to go at first. It wasn’t as if there weren’t other instructors who could cover for him, but ever since The Mission, he had been trying to spend as much time as possible with Mav and Ice. After their very, very long talk, Bradley realized just how much time he had wasted, and how many times he had nearly lost them both without ever getting the chance to reconcile.
So now he lingered. He spent his free time around them, showed up to as many dinners as he could, visited their place so often that Mav had eventually suggested he just move back in already, and never failed to show his affection or tell them how much he loved them.
It’s a bit embarrassing to be acting like this at his age, but he doesn’t really care. Seeing the unguarded joy on Mav and Ice’s faces whenever he was around made everything worth it.
Rebuilding his relationship with them had also repaired his connection with the rest of the flyboys, who he had quietly avoided during the years he stopped speaking to his two parental figures. He wasn’t naïve enough to believe they had ever truly lost sight of him, whether they were still in the Navy or not.
So his reluctance to leave this time had also been fueled by Uncle Slider’s visit to the base. It had been a while since Bradley last saw him, and he had been looking forward to catching up and trading stories.
Instead, the moment he stepped back on base, he was accosted by a visibly distressed Hangman.
What a sight.
“What's up with you?”
Jake looks at him like he’s just found the answer to all his problems. Bradley shivers.
“Oh, thank God you’re back,” Hangman says, gripping Bradley’s shoulder with unnecessary intensity. “Something happened. Something deeply, fundamentally wrong with the universe.”
Bradley blinks. “You wanna be more specific?”
“Yes,” Hangman says gravely. “Your dad and Iceman are broken.”
Bradley stares at him.
“…Is this another one of your pranks?”
“I’m serious,” Hangman insists, already steering him down the corridor with determined urgency. Bradley would resist, but being manhandled by him like this is—“No eye contact. None! Even when they were stuck in the same room during a two-hour briefing. They talk like they’re filing paperwork, Rooster. No silent conversations, no shared looks, no nothing! Not even their own brand of bickering. It’s like they haven’t known each other for three decades!”
Bradley snorts, unbelieving. “That’s ridiculous.”
“I thought so too,” Hangman says. “But I saw it with my own eyes. And you better fix it because we cannot have them breaking up!”
Bradley barely held back his laughter. Jake Seresin, of all people, looked genuinely shaken.
He knew Jake has been growing closer and closer to Mav—and by extension, Ice—in his own complicated way. Bradley doesn’t know all of the details, but he’s aware of the fracture between Jake and his parents. Mav and Ice treat him almost like a son; they had joked often enough that Jake was essentially a chaotic combination of both of them. By now, he was practically family.
Jake, Bradley suspected, was the only one still in denial about it. He continued to call Ice “Admiral Kazansky” or “Iceman, sir,” despite repeated permission to simply call him Tom or Ice.
He had, however, grown very comfortable calling Maverick, ‘Pops.’
If he hadn’t brought this supposed crisis to Mav directly before dragging Bradley into it, then perhaps the situation really was serious.
Bradley doubts it, though.
On the way, Hangman explains everything in rapid succession that Bradley almost had a whiplash. Hearing it does sound worrying: the overheard conversation between Cyclone and Slider, the strange meeting, Maverick choosing to sit at the back instead of beside Iceman, the complete absence of their usual silent communication. Bradley wonders just how much of it is exaggerated.
“They used to have entire conversations without speaking,” Jake says, lowering his voice as if recounting a tragedy. “Shared looks during briefings. Tiny nods. Private jokes. Wordless reassurance. Constant visual tracking like some kind of—of combat synchronization system!”
Bradley nods slowly. That part, at least, is true.
“And now?” Jake continues. “They avoid eye contact. They look at their screens. They speak formally. No silent exchanges. It’s disturbing. And Cyclone was worried. Cyclone! He spoke to your Uncle Slider about it!”
They turn a corner—
—and nearly collide with another pair marching in the opposite direction.
Slider is dragging Admiral Kazansky by the arm.
Actually dragging him.
Iceman, for his part, allows it with the long-suffering patience of someone who has chosen his battles and clearly decided this is not one of them. He’s always been good at that, Bradley notes. He only hopes to be as efficient as Ice.
Both groups freeze.
Jake points immediately. “See? Something is wrong!”
Slider stops short, eyes lighting up with vindicated relief. “You noticed too?”
Bradley looks between them. This is a dangerous combination. “What is happening?”
“We’re fixing it,” Jake and Slider say at the same time.
They exchange a brief look of mutual understanding and marches straight into Maverick’s office.
-
They get inside without a problem.
Maverick looks up from his desk, away from the scattered papers he’s trying to make sense of, surprise but a bit of relief flickering across his face at the sudden intrusion.
Behind him, the office windows reflect another presence—Ice standing closest to the shut door, looking like he wants to be anywhere else but here.
The room falls silent.
For a long moment, everyone simply stares.
Because even now—standing only a few feet apart—Maverick and Iceman do not look at each other.
Jake gestures wildly between them. “See? This! This is exactly what I’m talking about!”
Maverick blinks and slowly stands up, paternal instincts acting up hearing Hangman’s distressed tone. “What?”
“You two,” Slider bursts out, apparently done with this as well. “What is going on with you? Are you having a fight?”
Bradley, watching Ice’s reflection, sees him stiffen.
“What?” Mav repeats, briefly glancing at Ice before immediately looking away again. “No! We’re fine, Sli.”
Uncle Slider’s expression made it clear he did not believe him.
Hangman turns even paler. “Are you—breaking up?!”
Mav’s eyes widen, hands automatically reaching out to comfort him. He and Iceman finally glance at each other—
—and then, to the collective shock of everyone present, they both start laughing.
Loudly.
Maverick actually has to lean against his desk, shoulders shaking, while Iceman presses a hand over his mouth in a rare, helpless break in composure.
Bradley sighs, regretting every decision that had led him here.
Jake, who was probably a few seconds away from crying, looks personally betrayed. “You think this is funny?”
“Oh, it absolutely is,” Maverick manages.
Iceman exhales slowly, regaining some dignity. “Your timing is excellent. We were just about to stop it.”
Bradley felt like he was watching a tennis match, constantly turning his head between them at opposite ends of the room. This, he thought, was exactly why they were meant to stand beside each other.
“Stop what?” Slider demands, patience already gone, as it always is with those two.
“The bet,” Maverick says.
Silence.
“The what?” Jake and Slider ask in unison.
Maverick grins, entirely unapologetic. “We made a wager. How long we could go without...being sweet on each other.”
Bradley wants to bury his face in his hands. Who even uses that phrase anymore?
“Eye contact,” Iceman clarifies calmly. “Quips, exchanges, inside jokes. Physical proximity beyond professional necessity.”
“We decided to act like strictly professional colleagues,” Maverick finishes cheerfully. “I think we did pretty well.”
“Too well.” Slider looks like he’s about to combust. “You nearly gave half the base a heart attack.”
Cyclone’s concerns, Jake’s existential crisis, the rumor mill, the tense briefings—all because of a bet.
Jake pinches the bridge of his nose. “Why?”
Bradley watches the way Maverick unconsciously angles toward Iceman despite the supposed distance, the way Iceman’s attention never truly leave Maverick even while facing the others, and resigns himself to his fate.
“…It’s because of me,” Bradley admits.
The room quiets.
Maverick coughs and averts his gaze, embarrassed.
Iceman clears his throat.
Uncle Slider narrows his eyes. “Baby goose?”
Bradley sighs and ignores Hangman’s intensely curious stare. That slip of nickname is not gonna be forgotten any time soon, he bets. “A few days ago, I mentioned they were…a little too clingy. More than I remembered when I was younger.”
He can hear Mav’s nervous chuckle as Uncle Slider shifts his glare to him.
“It was just an offhand comment,” Bradley continued helplessly. “I said I was glad they could express themselves more freely now, but I also mentioned it was a bit sickening, so—”
“They became self-conscious?” Hangman asks.
Iceman grimaces. “Not really.”
Uncle Slider just sighs dramatically. “Oh they don’t give a fuck about what others think. I bet they just got competitive about who’s actually more clingy and started this bet, huh?”
“…In hindsight,” Maverick confirms, not sounding regretful at all, “we wanted to see who would break first!”
“It’s pointless,” Uncle Slider said flatly. “You’re equally dependent. It’s disgusting.”
Iceman finally allows himself a small, satisfied smile. “Well yes, we realized that soon enough.” He looks at Maverick with embarrassing fondness, and the others collectively roll their eyes. “But the entertainment was too tempting.”
Jake exhales sharply, pacing once across the office. “Unbelievable.”
Mav softens, “Sorry for worrying you.”
“…So you’re not splitting.”
Maverick laughs softly and gestures toward Iceman. “No. I’m not letting him go, so he might as well accept it.”
The Admiral meets his gaze without hesitation and smirks, “I should be telling you that.”
A brief exchange passes between them—silent, effortless, familiar.
The world, restored to its proper order.
extra.
“Wait—so who basically won?”
They all slow to a halt on their way out of the office, the question hanging in the air as they head toward lunch—Tom’s treat, apparently, for putting everyone through unnecessary emotional turmoil. His partner-in-crime had volunteered his wallet a little too quickly.
Tom turns to Ron, unsurprised by the curiosity written all over his face. Ron has always been competitive, too, after all. He’d enjoyed going head-to-head with Mav as well, even over the most ridiculous things.
“No one,” Mav says, sounding almost mournful. Tom knows he’s not really disappointed about the result. “We both broke last night and ended up cuddling until late this morning. We were planning to reset to zero today, but then you all burst into the office, and… well. We figured the game was over.”
Bradley sighs heavily, “You didn’t even last a week.”
Tom ruffles his hair with a playful grin. “You’re expecting too much from us, baby goose.”
His son swats his hand away, cheeks flushing despite himself. Tom smirks, thoroughly satisfied.
“Honestly, Sli,” Tom continues, glancing at his best friend, “I didn’t expect you to actually believe we were breaking up. I thought you knew us better than that.”
That probably explains why Wolfman and Hollywood had shown up in Miramar so suddenly.
Ron looks away, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t—really. I knew something was off, but my mind never jumped to you two splitting. I was just trying to figure out what was going on. Even Cyclone noticed something was wrong.”
Tom blinks in surprise, stealing a glance at Mav. His husband looks quietly touched.
“Then, what did you think was happening?” Jake asks.
Ron hesitates for a moment before admitting, almost reluctantly, “I thought you were dying. Or something.”
Ah. That must be why he’s more distressed than expected.
Warmth floods Tom’s chest, once again filled with gratitude for being surrounded by people he loves, who love him back just as fiercely.
Mav smiles gently and bumps Ron with his elbow, his own version of reassurance. “Aw, Sli! I knew you care.”
“Oh, shut up,” Ron grumbles. “I should’ve known you were just being a little shit again.”
Mav laughs unapologetically, head thrown back, looking—Tom thinks, not for the first time—like the most beautiful man he has ever seen. The sight makes him feel like he’s falling in love all over again.
Tom closes his eyes briefly, basking in the warmth of his people. “We’re fine,” he says softly, offering his own reassurance before continuing down the hall, hearing their footsteps follow.
Only seconds pass before Pete’s hand slips into his. His husband gives him that soft, familiar smile—the one Tom knows has always been his alone.
In the end, he thinks, they both won anyway. No matter the results of the bet.
extra.
The night is cold. Colder than anything Mav remembers feeling before, even compared to the winters he once spent sleeping outside in Alaska.
He shifts the stack of papers in front of him, trying to focus, trying to make sense of the words blurring on the page. He tells himself he should be content just being in the same room as Ice, who sits across from him working through his own reports.
There’s a good five feet between them.
Still, Mav can feel Ice’s warmth as clearly as if they were touching.
“I miss you,” he whispers, unable to stop himself, though his eyes never leave the desk.
He doesn’t know if Ice hears him. He’s not even sure he wants him to. He just wanted to say it, because it’s true. Mav always misses his husband, even when they’re this close, even when he’s already in his arms. Some part of him just wants to crawl inside Ice’s chest and stay there forever.
A chair scrapes softly against the floor, footsteps approach in quiet urgency.
Before Mav can look up, strong arms wrap around him, pulling him into a firm embrace.
He melts instantly.
His man.
“I miss you, too.” Tom murmurs against his ear, warm breath sending a shiver down his spine. Mav feels his entire body loosen, tension draining away. “Let’s sleep.”
Mav smiles as Tom presses a gentle kiss to his cheek. He turns, looping his arms around Tom’s neck and meeting his lips in a tender, lingering kiss.
“Okay.”