Chapter Text
There's a spring in Maverick's step as he moves around the house, going about his chores.
It's not often he gets to see Iceman and Slider nowadays, what with his friends rapidly rising through the Navy ranks and him still not making it past Captain. It doesn't bother him, or anything. He always knew his friends had what it took to go places. As for him, nothing gets his blood pumping like going Mach 2 with his hair on fire, and he actually enjoys ruffling some Admiral's feathers. But with how much Ice and Slider travel for work, there hardly seems to be any time for the three of them to hang out like in the old days.
Everyone's schedule is clear this weekend, though, so Maverick invited them to come stay at his place. They said yes, of course, looking forward to it as much as he does.
Normally, Maverick wouldn't care about making a good impression but it's his best friends we're talking about here. He plans to be the perfect host. He's cleaned every last speck of dust in the house, stocked up on their favorite toiletries, he's got a roast cooking in the oven, and he's currently putting on fresh sheets and fluffing up pillows in the guest room.
There's a faint beep from downstairs—his timer to check on the roast. Maverick takes another look at the twin beds, nods satisfied to himself, and happily trots towards the kitchen, slippers shuffling against the hardwood floor.
He's barely taken a couple of steps down the stairs when hell breaks loose.
It all happens so fast Maverick isn't really sure what's going on. One moment he's jogging down the stairs, and the next he's tumbling through the air, arms flailing as he desperately tries—and fails—to get a grip on the bannister. His phone goes flying out of his pocket, skidding against the wall, and finally crashes down with a thud near the bottom of the stairs. Maverick soon joins it, sprawled awkwardly on the cold tiles.
He blinks up at the ceiling, trying to catch his breath. His heart refuses to stop hammering for a long time but, as the adrenaline slowly ebbs away, his brain starts catching up, piecing together the chaos that just unfolded. Did he seriously just take a barreling down his own stairs?
Ice and Slider would have a field day if they ever found out about this but Maverick has bigger problems right now than being laughed at by his friends. His palms are stinging so he must've scraped them on the way down but what's more worrying is the dull ache coming from his lower back. Gingerly, he pushes himself up, and instantly regrets it, as the pain suddenly becomes a million times worse and spreads to his legs. Hissing in pain, he rushes to lie back down, hoping his earlier position will feel more comfortable to his battered body.
The pain is, in fact, manageable if he doesn't move too much but, after another couple of futile attempts to lift himself off the floor, Maverick begrudgingly accepts that he's injured himself and won't go anywhere without help. He cranes his neck to look for his phone; it's landed not too far away from him but even with stretching his arm out and splaying his fingers, he still can't reach it without jolitng himself. Heaving a deep sigh, he resigns himself to waiting till Iceman and Slider get here.
Slider had texted to let him know they were on the way so they shouldn't be too long now but Maverick feels like he's already been lying on the floor for an eternity. The timer is still screeching in the kitchen, and the smoke detector goes off at some point, accompanied by a cloud of smoke and the unmistakable smell of burnt meat. Maverick groans, frustration prickling under his skin. All he wanted was a nice, relaxing weekend with his friends; why does his luck always have to be so rotten?
Finally, he hears the familiar rumble of an engine as Ice's car turns into his driveway, the tyres crunching softly on the gravel. Maverick debates screaming for help as soon as the car switches off but he manages to hold back until two dark silhouettes appear on his doorstep, chatting chirpily between them. Maverick hates being the one to ruin the mood but he really is in a bind here.
"Slider, use your key!" he shouts when the taller figure goes to knock on the door.
Slider's hand freezes mid-motion. "Maverick? Are you okay?"
"I, uh..." Maverick stammers, and eventually settles on, "I can't get the door."
"Are you hurt?" That's Ice. His wingman can always tell when Maverick's in trouble, no matter how coy he is about it. It'd be impressive if it wasn't so infuriating.
Maverick hesitates, "Maybe?"
He hears Iceman curse under his breath and Slider rifle through his bag for the spare key Maverick gave him just in case.
"Hang in there, buddy" the former RIO soothes, giving Mav's heart a small flutter despite his predicament. He's safe now; his friends are going to take care of him. "We'll be with you in a minute."
A few moments later, the door swings open, revealing two frantic aviators.
"Maverick!" Ice cries as soon as he takes in the sight of him. "What happened?"
Maverick winces as Slider falls to his knees next to him and starts checking him over. "I fell down the stairs." He scrunches his nose thoughtfully. "I think I broke my back."
"It was those damn slippers, wasn't it?" Slider barks, glaring at the offending items. Somehow, they've stayed on Maverick's feet throughout this whole ordeal. "How many times have I told you there's zero grip on these things?!"
Slider had warned him about that—Maverick just didn't think slippers could do this to him. He supposes Slider has a right to being livid with him for not taking his own safety seriously enough.
"Sorry" he murmurs sheepishly.
Slider sighs, raking a hand through his hair. "Never mind about that now. We need to get you off the floor."
Ice nods in agreement. "Sli, you take his shoulders and I'll get his legs."
It takes them a few tries to find a position that doesn't cause Mav to immediately scream bloody murder when they go to pick him up but eventually they manage to carry him over to the living room, placing him down gently on the couch.
"Okay, Mav?" Slider asks, perching on the other end of the couch.
Maverick hums noncomitally. The pain is still unbearable but the soft cushions are a welcome change to the hard floor. He tips his head back against the armrest and gulps a few deep breaths, trying to focus on something other than how badly his lower half is hurting.
Slider is watching him carefully, and though he does a phenomenal job at not letting it show on his face, Maverick knows his brain must be going a mile a minute right now, trying to gauge the extent of his injuries and come up with a plan for how to fix this. Ice must've slipped away after Maverick was safely deposited on the couch because the clamor from the kitchen suddenly ceases and a window is popped open to get rid of the smoke and stink of their burnt lunch, making him shiver lightly. It seems so long ago since there was some peace and quiet in the house, and Maverick lets out a relieved sigh, squeezing his eyes tightly shut.
Soft footsteps pad back into the room, and a gentle hand starts combing through his hair. It feels... oddly comforting. Maverick swears the touch makes his physical aches ease up slightly, so he leans into it, humming contently under his breath.
"What's the verdict?" Ice asks from above him.
Slider exhales a long sigh. "No better, no worse it seems. Must've been a rough fall, though. He should definitely get checked out by a doctor."
Immediately, Maverick feels panic claw its way up his throat, and his eyes snap back open. "You're not taking me to a hospital!" he hisses, trying to sit up even though his back protests. He'd rather fly his jet nose-first into the ground than walk through a hospital door again. He's been in enough of those over the years to last him for a lifetime. "It's probably just bruising, anyway. I'll be good as new with some rest."
Ice firmly holds him in place. "Mav, you could be seriously injured" he reasons.
"You need scans and painkillers" Slider agrees.
"I've got painkillers here!" Maverick argues.
Slider fixes him with a stern look. "You really think over-the-counter junk is gonna help with this?"
No, Maverick doesn't actually believe that but it was worth a try if his only other option is being dragged to the hospital.
Iceman sighs, moving to stand in front of Maverick on the couch. His hands are on his hips and his face is set in his signature impassive look, and for a moment, Maverick thinks he's been transported back in time and Ice is about to give him a lecture on reckless flying and unnecessary risks.
"I know you hate even the thought of stepping foot into a hospital" he says, and Maverick doesn't think he's ever heard his wingman's voice this soft, "but you can't tough everything out." He gestures between himself and Slider. "We can't just sit and watch you suffer."
Slider chimes in, "If this turns out to be serious, you're gonna regret not getting it looked at right away. And even if it's just bruising, there's no way you'll be fit to fly by Monday without proper medical care." When Maverick still doesn't say anything, Slider leans in a bit closer and whispers, "I'm not saying you're gonna enjoy being in the hospital. Hell, you're probably gonna hate every second of it. But you're not going alone. We'll be right there with you."
"You'll hold my hand, too?" Maverick tries to roll his eyes but it comes out weak and doesn't have the desired effect.
"If you want" Ice nods seriously.
Maverick feels the last of his resolve deflate. His friends are right, of course, but he can't help the way his stomach churns at the thought of going back to a hospital. Maybe it won't be so bad if Iceman and Slider are there.
"Okay" he finally caves, rubbing a tired hand over his face. It's barely noon, and he's already exhausted.
Slider and Ice brighten up.
"We got you, buddy" Slider pats his knee, and Maverick manages a small smile. Goose and Carole were pretty much the only people that ever fussed over him, and though he'll always miss them, he's grateful for Iceman and Slider. Maverick knows he's not the easiest person to look out for but the two of them took him under their wing a long time ago and refused to give up on him ever since. None of them would've believed they'd end up so close back when they first met at Top Gun, with how they were always at each other's throats over the smallest things, but here they are, and Maverick wouldn't have it any other way. He knows the same goes for the other two.
"You think you can walk to the car or should we call an ambulance?" Iceman asks, earning him a glare from Maverick. He doesn't know where Ice got the idea that he'd take the ambulance when he's already agreed to the hospital. Maverick would like to have some of that confidence.
"Don't push your luck, Ice."
His wingman snorts but he's wise enough not to challenge Maverick. Instead, he walks to the front door and leaves it open so that there's enough room for the two of them to safely manoeuvre Maverick out of the house. He fetches Mav's scruffy trainers on his way back, and slides them onto his feet, finally getting rid of the evil slippers. Then, Slider helps him stand up and to Maverick's utter relief, it's not nearly as painful as sitting down was. With Iceman and Slider supporting most of his weight, Maverick manages tiny steps on his own, which must be a good sign.
Maverick is sure it takes them at least an hour to make reach Ice's car but he finally plops down in the backseat, sighing deeply. There are beads of sweat dripping down his forehead and he wipes them away with the back of his hand. Who knew getting out of his house and into Ice's car could be such a workout.
Slider is in the middle of buckling him up when he suddenly pauses, glances between Maverick and the house, and lets the seatbelt zip back into place. "Wait."
He ducks back into the house, and emerges with one of Mav's couch cushions tucked under each arm. "To make the drive more comfortable" he explains as he gently rearranges Mav so that he's propped up against the cushions.
Slider finishes strapping Maverick in while Ice locks the house, then yanks the driver's door open and starts the engine. Slider slips in next to Mav through the other side, fastens his own seatbelt, and taps Ice's shoulder. "We're ready."
Maverick sighs as Ice reverses into the road, carefully checking both sides. Here we go.
By the time they're back from the hospital, it's dark outside, and Maverick feels like he's been ran over by a tow tractor. He stumbles through the doorway, leaning against Ice's side while Slider holds the door open, and promptly heads for the couch. Ice helps him lie down, and Maverick throws an arm over his face, shielding his eyes against the harsh light of the living room, and groans. What a day, huh.
He hears Ice chuckle as he removes Mav's shoes, then his socks. If Maverick could dredge up the energy to glare at him, his wingman would've evaporated on the spot. He wonders which part of this whole mess exactly Ice finds funny.
The good news is Maverick should heal just fine with some rest. Apparently, he's strained the muscles in his lower back and there's some bruising near his sciatic nerve, which sounded pretty serious to Maverick's ears but the hospital staff ran every possible test and assured him there's no permanent damage. The bad news is he must stay off flying for a while. Maverick always hates when that happens, hates the freedom of the sky being taken away from him, but for once he thinks he'll be reasonable and give his body enough time to heal. He's not so young anymore, and rushing to get back before he's ready can only do more harm. That, and Ice had threatened to swap his bike for a neon pink Vespa if he so much as peeks into the inside of a fighter jet before the doctors clear him. That's not to say Maverick won't try to sneak into a cockpit once he feels a bit better. He absolutely will but he's going to lull Ice into a false sense of security first.
The only silver lining in the day's events is they stopped at Mav's favorite Thai place on the way back from the hospital and got chicken curry to go for dinner. Slider is in the kitchen, portioning it out for the three of them, and it smells amazing. Despite the crazy day, Maverick feels himself cheer up a little. His friends are here, and they're having a delicious meal. Though he could do without the trip to the ER, it's not that far from what he was expecting when he invited them to stay over for the weekend.
"You know, Mav, most people skip the hospital detour when they want take-out" Slider quips as he comes back into the living room, somehow balancing all three plates at once.
Maverick sticks his tongue out at him but he gratefully accepts the plate Slider passes him, pushing himself into a sitting position and digging into his food. It's still warm and tastes as good as Maverick expected. Iceman and Slider sit cross-legged on the floor, just as hungry.
They eat in silence, except for theirs forks clinking against the porcelain of the plates and Ice every so often asking Maverick if he's comfortable enough. Maverick grumbles that he's fine and Ice doesn't have to fret so much, not that it discourages his wingman from continuing to do it.
The food is almost gone when Iceman and Slider exchange a look in that secret way of theirs that means they're having a whole conversation between them, one that only they know the meaning of. Maverick remembers being the same with Goose. The two of them hardly ever needed words to know what was on each other's mind. He dearly misses the feeling but he knows Iceman and Slider doing it around him isn't good news.
"What?" he demands, probably sharper than he needed to, and they both startle at being caught.
Slider shoots another glance at his pilot, shrugging a shoulder, and Iceman sighs and pushes his now empty plate away. He unfolds his legs, squirming to get comfortable again, and then turns to face Maverick. Maverick already knows he's going to hate whatever Ice is about to say.
"We should tell Bradley about this."
Maverick doesn't even skip a beat. "No."
"Let me call him" Ice insists, almost pleading. "I can't promise he'll pick up but at least we'll have tried."
"Ice, I already said no" Maverick tells him sternly. "The kid made it very clear he doesn't want to hear from me. I have to respect that."
"You're the closest thing he has to a family" Slider points out, backing up Ice. "I think he'd want to know if something happened to you."
Maverick sighs, looking down at his lap so he doesn't have to see the pity on his friends' faces. It's not the first time they've suggested he tries contacting Bradley. For as long as he and the kid have been estranged, Iceman and Slider will offer to call Bradley to let him know about whatever misfortune has befallen Maverick this time. They think the kid may consider burying the hatchet if he realizes anything could happen to Maverick at any time and he'd have no way of knowing. Maverick always turns them down. He knows they mean well but Maverick could never burden Bradley with his problems, let alone manipulate him into coming home to take care of him. He's taken too much from the kid to still have any right to Bradley's time and affection.
He swirls the last grains of rice on his plate with his fork, still avoiding Iceman and Slider's gazes. "If he ever comes home again" he whispers, "I want it to be because he wants to, not because he feels guilty for whatever trouble I've managed to land myself into."
"Mav..." Ice sighs dejectedly but he thankfully doesn't press further.
Slider pats Maverick's knee. "He'll come around" he promises, and Maverick nods, though he can't share his friend's optimism.
A beat of silence passes, each of them too absorbed in their own thoughts to try to make any conversation, then Ice jumps to his feet and says, "Alright! The dishes won't wash themselves and the trash won't take itself out. Sli, help me clean up."
Slider, ever so eager to come to Ice's help, immediately moves to do as he was told, collecting their used napkins while Ice stacks their plates. Maverick tries to push himself off the couch to help, too, before a sharp twinge of pain causes him to fall against the cushions. Right, there's a reason Iceman and Slider are doing his chores for him. Maverick doesn't know how he managed to forget about that.
Realization hits him like a ton of bricks—this isn't what Ice and Slider signed up for. It was supposed to be a fun weekend of catching up on news and reminiscing about the old times. Instead, the two of them are stuck babysitting Maverick, all because he couldn't be trusted to make it down his own stairs in one piece.
"I'm sorry" he blurts out before he can think better of it.
Iceman and Slider freeze in their tracks, and turn to look at him. Slider's eyebrows have almost disappeared under his hairline, and at any other moment Maverick would've been amused at their matching expressions of shock and surprise but he's tired and injured and his friends deserve better than playing nurse on their weekend off.
"What are you sorry for?" Ice asks slowly.
Maverick shrugs, trying to look nonchalant. Maybe it would've worked if his bottom lip wasn't quivering so much. "We were gonna have fun, we'd made plans." He sniffles, keeping his eyes decidedly off them. "I ruined everything."
"Maverick Mitchell" Slider chides heatedly, "don't you dare blame yourself for this."
"I should've listened to you, or at least been more careful."
"Mav, you had an accident" Ice says patiently, like he's talking to a toddler. "It's not your fault."
"It kinda is, though, isn't it?" Mavericks murmurs. Usually, he'd be horrified of being this emotional around other people but it's only Slider and Ice, and Mav hates that he's let them down—again. "You don't have to stay. Go enjoy your weekend off. I can take care of myself."
Iceman and Slider exchange an incredulous look.
"Mav" Ice says gently, "do you really think there's anywhere else we'd want to be except with you right now? How are we even supposed to enjoy our weekend off knowing you'd be here alone and in pain?"
"Honestly, I'm just glad it happened when we were coming" Slider adds, shrugging an unbothered shoulder like Maverick's injury didn't just throw all their plans out the window. "We'd've gone mad if you got hurt and we couldn't be here."
Maverick gapes at them in disbelief. "Really?" he croaks.
"Really" Iceman nods.
Slider steps closer to ruffle Maverick's hair, earning a sound of protest in return. "After all these years, you should know we're here to stay."
Maverick fiddles with a loose thread on his hoodie. He knows the two of them have his wing always, he just sometimes can't help but wonder why they've not upped and left yet. It's not like he hasn't given them ample reasons to.
"Thanks" he mumbles, even though he'll never be able to thank them for everything they've done for him.
Slider grins, giving Maverick's head another gentle pat. "Anytime, Trouble."
Iceman approaches, too, grabbing the throw blanket from the back of the couch and draping it over Maverick. "Get some rest, Mav" he says fondly, so unlike his usual cold and solemn demeanor that earned him his callsign. Checking his watch, he adds, "It's still a while for your next round of meds."
As his friends pick up on their tasks again, Maverick sinks further into the cushions, snuggling under the soft fabric of the blanket. His eyelids quickly droop closed, the day's exhaustion finally wearing down on him. He can hear Ice and Slider chatting quietly in the kitchen but Maverick is sure they're both straining their ears in case he needs something. Smiling, he drifts off.