Chapter Text
If there was one thing Pete “Maverick” Mitchell knew for certain, it was that people could be taken away in the blink of an eye.
This belief was stirred inside him, starting when he was six, when a father he barely knew disappeared on foreign soil. This tragedy created a vacuum in his young heart, leaving him longing for someone he barely knew. A couple of years later, when his mother lost her fight with her inner demons, Pete was thrust into a world of silent chaos that he didn't understand. Every foster home he moved through painted a picture of careful ignorance. Each time he built a sense of belonging, it was like drawing in the sand, easily washed away by the tides of fate. As these experiences piled up over the years, Pete developed coping mechanisms: he built walls and carried a deep-seated belief that attachment was something other people got to experience. Nonetheless, there was a small part of him that longed for connection, no matter how swiftly it might be severed.
Then came flight school. Pete met Goose, the first person in his life who looked at him as someone to be loved. He was charmed by the RIO’s lovely wife and eventually their son, Bradley. Pete, christened Maverick, finally believed he had a family.
Until he lost him, the illusion he had cast for so many years crumbled under the weight of certainty.
For the past few months, the reckless pilot has been trying to rebuild his life. He’s laughed more, done more dumb stunts with Wolfman, and even let Slider drag him to the bar. There’s still that aching hole inside of him, but he’s found the pain lessening to someone in particular, a blond-haired pilot.
Now, Maverick is being told that he might lose the person he’s loved from afar.
Over ice cream, of all things.
Maverick and his wingman are sitting down on a park bench overlooking the Pacific. Maverick’s been talking about everything and nothing all at once. He eventually stopped after a full minute of Iceman exchanging nothing but pleasantries.
“Ice, are you okay?” Maverick asks, watching the other man swirl his ice cream aimlessly around his cup.
The blond pilot looks up, eyes heavy, “I’m fine.”
Maverick frowns. He had only known Iceman for less than six months, but he now felt confident enough to recognize everything to do with Tom Kazansky. The dusk sun settling over the boardwalk highlights the bags under his eyes. There had been something off with him for days; every time Maverick had picked him to do something, he brushed him.
“Okay,” Maverick sighs. “What are you thinking about?”
“I’m not thinking,” Ice answers, not meeting Maverick’s eyes, “I’m just…calculating.”
Maverick pushes himself off the bench, trying to save his half-melted ice cream, “Calculating what, exactly?”
“I’m calculating how long I can afford to stand here,” Ice responds quietly, brushing some invisible lint off his pants.
They begin their walk down the populated boardwalk, half-broken wooden boards creaking underneath their feet.
“What do you mean?” Maverick scoffs, laughing nervously, “It’s not like Viper’s going to come after you here.”
Ice smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, “I have a meeting tomorrow with legal.”
Maverick pauses, “What did you do, steal a jet?”
“No.”
“Punch an admiral?”
“No.”
“Crash a jet?”
“It’s not like that, Maverick,” Ice snaps.
Maverick repeats his questions, studying him intently now. “Why are you going to legal?”
Ice hesitates, a moment too long for his usual composed demeanor. "Paperwork.”
Maverick shrugs, tossing his napkin in the trash, "Welcome to the Navy, buddy.”
Ice exhales loudly, staring up at the dusk sky as if it holds all the answers. “It’s separate paperwork.”
Maverick can feel his patience burning rapidly, “Ice, if there’s something you need to say, just get it out now.”
Ice finally meets his eyes. The older pilot’s blue eyes hold a unique kind of melancholy.
When he speaks again, Maverick swears he can hear a hint of emotion that wasn’t there before: “This paperwork contains my residency.”
Maverick frowns, stopping dead in his tracks, “You're what?”
“My residency,” Ice repeats.
“You mean base housing?” The wheels are starting to turn in Maverick’s head. "Thank goodness, I thought I was the only one! I swear, given that we’re the Navy’s golden boys, we really should be getting better arrangements." Maverick pauses, a nervous laugh escaping him as he swallows hard, forcing his voice into a joking tone louder than before, "It's not like they’ll start handing us five-star suites anytime soon."
His laugh echoes for a beat too long, the crack beneath the bravado peeking through as he tries to keep the humor alive.
“Okay, Iceman,” Maverick throws his hands up in exasperation, “I thought we were closer than this. You obviously have something weighing on you, which you need to spit out.”
Ice turns back to him, expression neutral, “I’m not a citizen.”
The words hang between them for a couple of beats as Maverick tries to decipher the words. Not a citizen? Iceman? The man was as American as he could get; he was the poster child for the military.
“...you’re what?”
“I’m not an American citizen,” Ice says again, quieter, “Never have been.”
“B-But you’re the Iceman,” Maverick gestures vaguely, trying to get his point across, “You went to the academy. You’ve been promoted to lieutenant commander. You’re-”
“American?” Ice asks in disbelief.
“No,” Maverick tries to backtrack, “I just meant...”
“Thanks for the support,” Ice rolls his eyes, fiddling with his collar, “But yes, I am an immigrant.”
Maverick shakes his head slowly, “From where?”
Ice hesitates, “Russia.”
Maverick’s mind blanks. He physically staggers, the words echoing in his head. For a moment, all he can do is stare at Ice, searching his face for any sign of a joke, any hint that this is some elaborate prank. But there’s nothing—just solemn truth.
Later that night, Maverick would lie awake, staring at the ceiling fan spinning shadows across his cheap base housing’s plaster. His mind would replay the conversation again and again, each time catching on strange details that never made sense. The accent that sometimes slipped through when Ice was tired, the way he always paused before toasting at the bar, as if searching for the right words. The careful, almost rehearsed way Ice answered questions about his childhood. Maverick remembers a night on deployment, the two of them watching a Russian film on a fuzzy TV in the rec room. Ice had translated the muttered dialogue perfectly, even laughed at the jokes before the subtitles caught up. Maverick had chalked it up to intelligence, maybe a photographic memory. But now…it all fits.
That’s a problem for future Maverick. The current version of the brunette pilot is struggling to find words.
Maverick’s stomach drops as everything he’s ever been taught comes rushing back, “Like…Soviet Russia?”
Ice nods once, the barest hint of emotion flickering across his features, “Yes. I immigrated when I was a teenager. My status changed once I entered the Academy.”
“Changed how?”
“Conditionally.”
Maverick’s chest tightens, “Ice…”
“That condition expires…” Iceman continues, voice strained, "Soon.”
“How soon?”
“One year.”
Maverick swallows around the answer he knows is coming, “Then what?”
Ice doesn’t answer immediately, but when he does, it’s the barest hint of a whisper, “Then I no longer have legal permission to remain.”
Maverick drops his keys, fumbling to get them, “Jesus, I didn’t even know.”
Ice picks them up, hand brushing Maverick’s when he hands them over, “I liked to keep it that way.”
“Then why’d you tell me?”
“You asked,” Tom replies flatly.
Maverick exhales, scrubbing a hand over his face, “Okay, it's fine. We’ll figure it out.”
“We?” Ice looks at him quizzically.
“Yeah, we,” Maverick nods, “What are the options?”
Ice lets out a small, humorous laugh, “Incredibly limited.”
Maverick looks up, “Try me.”
“There is…one reliable solution.”
“What is it?” Maverick squints.
“Marriage.”
Maverick barks out a startled laugh because the idea is so absurd, “What the hell?”
Then he gets a good look at Iceman. The man’s face is blank, his posture subdued. His brain comes to one conclusion.
He’s not joking.
“Marriage? But you’re not even dating anyone, right?” Maverick asks breathlessly.
He’s not sure if he could even comprehend the thought of Tom Kazansky being in love with another. His chest aches with anger, fear, and something dangerously close to affection.
Ice raises an eyebrow, “No.”
Thank God.
“Well…marriage, yeah, that could work,” Maverick smiles, a crazy idea forming in his head.
They’ve reached the end of the boardwalk. All around them, excited children, tired parents, and lovesick couples weave in and out of brightly colored stalls. The wingmen stand at the end of the wooden planks, eyes focused on the horizon.
There’s something oddly poetic.
“So…what do you want me to do? Propose to the first woman I see on the street?” Ice questions him, “I’m not following you.”
For someone who suggested the idea, he sure has a lot of questions.
Taking a deep breath through his nose, Maverick lets the salty atmosphere of the sea fill his senses. The sunset stretches on above them, clouds streaked with pink, orange, and gold.
“No,” Maverick sighs, ready for the words he’s about to deliver, “And we both know you wouldn’t propose to a girl anyway.”
Ice’s eyes go wide as his mouth drops open, “You don’t know what you’re saying.”
Maverick winces, he probably should have put that into better words. The truth was, he had picked up on Ice’s tendencies. Any time they were at the O Club and a woman saddled up to them, Ice looked like he wanted to melt into a puddle. It wasn’t like Maverick could judge, as memories of dark hotel rooms and college nights come flooding back.
“Relax!” Maverick laughs in what he hopes is a reassuring way, “Did you really think I would judge you for that?”
I know you wouldn’t, but everyone else might, is what goes unsaid. They might be able to get married, but that didn’t mean that everyone approved.
Iceman can only give a lackluster shrug in response, “How did you know?”
“Anytime a girl even looks at you with interest, you disappear,” Maverick explains, “I guess you could say it takes one to know one.”
Shit, shit, shit.
Iceman sputters, “But what about Penny? And Charlie?”
Relax, he’s not going to judge you.
“A man can like both, Iceman,” Maverick teases, trying to get his heart rate under control.
Ice looks more confused than ever. “So then you’re saying I should propose to the first man I meet to get my citizenship?”
“No.”
“Then who the hell are you suggesting I get married to?” Ice throws his hands up, exasperated.
“Me.”