Archive of Our Own

When Tom Kazansky was seventeen, his twin sister died.

It wasn’t something that many people knew about him, it wasn’t something he liked to talk about, but it had shaped him into the man he’d grown into. He’d had to relearn how to exist in a world without her, how to live with this giant weight now hanging from his shoulders.

He was thrust into a life he wasn’t prepared for, that he didn’t know how to navigate. He needed help, he had questions he felt like screaming into the emptiness his sister left behind.

Why her? She was the last person on earth deserving of such a short life. If she didn’t get to live long and healthy then who should?

What’s the point of anything any more?

Everyone had always liked Catherine better; she was caring and bright and loving and Tom had always felt a little unworthy of being her brother. Endlessly patient and kind, she had always been his sort of North Star. What am I supposed to do now?

His father had never been warm, even before, and when he’d caught Tom crying in Catherine’s room one night, he’d beaten him black and blue, told him to carry on because ‘that’s what men do’. When he’d tried to go to his mother, all but begging for comfort, she was close to catatonic: her eyes looked through him, her voice wouldn’t come and brought no relief.

Abandoned and left to cope alone, Tom got bitter.

He got angry. He got cold.

A month after she died, he applied for the Naval Academy.

The aftermath of Hop Thirty One had shrouded the group in an oppressively sombre fog.

They all knew the nature of the job, the risks involved and the realities of it, but that never seemed enough to prepare them for a loss like this. It was never easy, but losing someone like Goose was a blow none of them had been ready for.

Everyone had love for the guy, everyone respected him; the hole that he left behind in the navy, in their class, was gaping. Which was why not a single one in their cohort had expected Maverick to turn up to training again at all, let alone just a day after the accident – he hadn’t just lost a colleague as the rest of them had, he’d lost his brother.

Ice tried not to allow an unwelcome sense of kinship bleed into his chest for Maverick. Tried to keep himself closed off, but that had been getting harder and harder over the last six weeks.

Something about Maverick made him uniquely skilled at getting under Ice’s skin. His brash impulsiveness clashed up against Ice’s cool calculation. He was difficult to predict because he didn’t make stupid decisions – that would require thought – instead he acted almost entirely on gut instinct and it made Iceman nervous. He’d never admit it aloud, but it thrilled him too. Something in Ice was excited by the challenge that Maverick presented.

He was also cocky and loud in a way that Ice hadn’t been in a very long time, and it brought out his own pride and polished ego. He felt compelled to prove Mav wrong in his grandiosity, he was more determined than ever to be the best if only to shut him up.

But now Maverick wasn’t himself, how could he be? His usual head-high stride was gone and replaced with a listless shuffle that looked more befitting a child; like he wanted to disappear. Ice hated it.

His shrunken posture didn’t work – all eyes were immediately drawn to him in either shock or confusion. Ice wouldn’t admit that his own gaze followed Maverick out of concern, softening as he took the only desk still available directly in front of him and Slider.

The empty chair beside him didn’t go unnoticed.

Maverick was present in body only for the rest of the day, his usually outspoken mind and restless spirit were nowhere to be found. Ice found that he missed the constant interruptions, the bravado. It made the otherwise pretty boring drone of procedure and case study work more bearable. Today, he didn’t speak a word, he barely moved, he hadn’t turned a page in his notebook since he’d opened it. Ice found himself staring just to make sure the man was still breathing.

After that first day, the initial surprise at Mitchell’s presence had seemed to wear off with the others and Ice was dumbfounded at the switch up. Already Charlie was prompting Maverick to answer questions, Viper was pushing him to get back in the cockpit, the other pilots were trying to rib and joke with him and were irritated when their attempts fell flat.

Ice felt like he’d been catapulted back in time to watch himself be forced into normalcy after Catherine’s death. Sure, there was something to be said for getting back to routine, that it helped avoid falling into a pit of grief and despair, but he knew from experience that not giving the heartache time to settle in just tore the wound wider.

There was some latent thing deep in Ice’s stomach that made him want to bat everyone away, to push everyone back and demand the space that Maverick wasn’t asking for himself.

The kicker was that he wasn’t sure he really even liked Maverick all that much, but he knew what it was like to lose someone who was so part of you. He knew what it was like to have that hollowness dismissed and belittled. He found that he couldn’t sit back and let it happen. He supposed that that had to be a sign there was something more than just annoyance lingering in him for the guy.

He watched as Maverick fiddled with something hidden below his desk, listened when his breathing hitched and could tell when he made a conscious effort to even it out again. Unknowingly, Ice had stretched out to rest a foot on a back leg of Mav’s chair and he could feel the vibrations as he restlessly bounced a heel until the very second they were dismissed.

In Maverick’s eagerness to leave, hurriedly stuffing his untouched notes and pencils back into his satchel, he dropped something. Ice leaned to pick it up but Maverick beat him to it, a cold look of panic flashed across his features. Ice realised it must have been what he’d been fidgeting with all morning and when he realised what it was, he understood why.

Dog tags.

It had been a long time since Ice had been stricken with heartbreak for another person so suddenly.

“What’s going on with you man?” Slider asked of him one evening as they sat on Ice’s couch. He’d been trying and failing to get through some assigned reading but he was pretty sure he’d barely made it through a page in the last hour.

“Nothing,” he shrugged off, “tired.” His eyes were glazed over, his mind was elsewhere. He was pretty sure that was a convincing lie.

Slider scoffed like he didn’t believe it for a moment, Ice cursed him silently and decided to admit something closer to the truth.

“It’s weird that Maverick’s back, right?”

“Heh, ‘course that’s it,” his friend jibed, getting up to turn off the radio. Ice sat up from his lounged position on the uncomfortable sofa with a crick in his neck. “It’s his business the way he handles it, man.” Slider offered as he retook his seat at the other end of the couch.

“I’m still not wrong,” Ice defended resolutely, “he’s gotta be messed up over it all and everyone’s pushing him to get back to normal. It’s not healthy.” He should probably be embarrassed or at least a little more subtle about how much he cared. But it was only Slider.

“He had a day off,” Slider justified completely seriously.

“One day to get over his best friend dying in his arms, Sli.” Ice’s flat affect seemed to catch his RIO’s attention.

“I guess it’s not much, but it’s the job.” He said it softly, like he knew it was harsh but accepted that reality. There was a moment where it seemed like he was going to say more but thought better of it, instead opting for na innocuous. “you should talk to him.”

Why me? Ice thought but didn’t voice because he knew the answer. Slider was one of two people he ever told about Catherine. The other had died a week ago. He supposed he owed it to Goose to try and do for Maverick what he had done for Ice back at the Academy on the anniversary of her death.

It was a bad idea. He wasn’t a nice guy. He wasn’t good at this. Ice wasn’t the kind of guy that went out of his way to comfort people – even his friends – but he knew that no other asshole was going to do it. The ‘ice cold’ reputation wasn’t borne of a vacuum. He didn’t know how to be warm, or what to say in difficult moments. He watched Maverick’s tormented silhouette speed off the tarmac and away from his cohort and decided he’d best figure it out quick.

He left Slider behind, chirping away with Wood, and took up a jog to catch up with the man ahead of them all.

“Mitchell?” Ice tried not to sound unsure, but this was new ground for them. Maverick didn’t acknowledge him, just kept on his way. Ice cursed and kept walking until they were side-by-side.

“Mitchell,” Ice was late to realise that he didn’t have anything to say. He stop-started, trying and failing to find any words that could passably be called friendly, let alone consoling.

“I’m surprised you’re back in the air so soon.” Miss. What the Hell was that? Patronising. That was clearly how Mav took it anyway, and Ice watched as he bristled, avoiding eye contact. “You should have taken more time.” That wasn’t any better. Still holier-than-thou. And now Maverick was speeding up again to lose his unwelcome companion. Fortunately, Ice’s longer legs made it easy to keep up, “Not that you’re–” Ice tried to amend, but realised that that was also a non-starter when Mav flipped him the bird.

He softened his voice, thought about putting a hand on Maverick’s shoulder but shot that idea down quickly. “Just… that spin was Hell, everyone would get it if you needed to step back after that. Especially …” Shut up, shut up, shut up!

Ice gritted his teeth against the impulse to say the rest of that sentence and considered the benefits of flying himself into the sun.

He tried one more time, “Mav–”

“Fuck off, Kazansky.” Maverick had entirely stopped in his tracks and put a hand on Ice’s chest to stop him – to keep him at arms length. They weren’t novel words to hear from Mitchell, but it was the first time they had sounded so cutting. “I don’t want your pity, and I sure as shit don’t want your thoughts on my flying, you got it?”

His tone was harsh and serious. It was such an abrupt change from his usual quips and barbs: usually laced with humour and delivered with a grin that irritated Ice to no end. If Ice was less proud, he’d admit that he was startled.

Mav didn’t wait for Ice to collect himself and string together a reply. He just spun on his heels and broke away again towards the main building.

Ice tried not to stare after him as the rest of the cohort headed for the locker room in the other direction.

Ice made sure he was last in the lockers, making no hurry to finish up and leave. He needed to speak to Maverick again. He needed to say the right damn thing to get him to quit spiralling and take a breath.

He had come back too quickly, and that spin was terrible, Ice didn’t regret saying that. He couldn’t understand why no one else seemed concerned. Everyone was acting like he should be over it already, like he should be flying as if nothing happened, like he should just be able to gel with a new backseater effortlessly. It made Ice feel sick to his stomach so he couldn’t imagine how Maverick was coping.

Well... He wasn’t.

When he finally joined the rest of them in the locker room, everyone was already showered and dressing. He skulked silently to the showers and Ice pretended not to notice just how long he was in there. Pretended that it didn’t worry him. Everyone began filing out for the evening, eager to get home for a well-earned rest or to get out to the O-Club to start off their weekends. A few threw a glance towards Maverick’s hideaway but seemed to think leaving him to his devices was best. Ice was running out of excuses to stay behind, his dawdling wasn’t going unnoticed.

Eventually, Ice was left on his own and trying his best to avoid picking nervously at his nails by pacing up and down the narrow corridor between lockers. When he heard the water stop, so did he.

It was another eternity before Maverick reappeared already dressed. Ice’s gaze immediately lifted to meet him and pointedly ignored the sting that shot through him when Mav looked disappointed to see him.

Maverick beelined for his own locker and turned his back, refusing to meet Ice’s eyes again.

In a moment of something like longing, Ice allowed himself an indulgance. With no one around to call him out or tease him or worse, Ice let himself stare openly. He watched Maverick’s back as he moved to empty his locker, the implications of that failing to land for a moment. Instead Ice paid attention to the way his white t-shirt clung to Maverick’s still-damp skin, the way his muscled rippled and flowed. It was fascinating in a painful sort of way. A way that Ice knew he had to deny even to himself.

He watched with quiet concern as he saw Maverick’s hands stall over a pair of sunglasses that weren’t his. His chest ached at the tension in Maverick’s shoulders as he fought to keep his attention away from the empty locker beside his.

Ice made himself turn away to his own locker – that wasn’t a moment for him to see – when suddenly a realisation hit. Goose’s things had already been boxed and delivered to Carole (he knew because he’d volunteered to be the one to do it). Maverick had gone straight to the CO’s offices after a brutally revealing hop. He’d not spoken a word to anyone. He dressed into his civvies, and now he was emptying his own locker.

Maverick was quitting.

Iceman felt sick.

Of every aviator in this programme, Maverick was the only one that Ice was always excited to fly against. Though he’d never admit it aloud, Ice knew that the guy was a generational talent even without advanced training. He was fearless and single-minded and stubborn and meticulous in a chaotic kind of way. He had all the makings to be the greatest fighter pilot of the millennium. It would be a damn shame if he quit now.

Something had to be done, and once again Ice found himself the only sorry asshole around willing. Was this what Goose had felt like this whole time? It was exhausting. Not for the first and certainly not for the last, Ice found himself sending up a silent prayer of respect to the man as he did his best to step into his shoes. Maverick was still faced away from him when he turned. It would probably make this easier.

“Mitchell,” he paused, waiting for Mav to shoot him down again like had on the tarmac, instead, he simply froze, turning his head slightly. If nothing else, Ice had him curious, so he continued, “I’m sorry about Goose.”

Saying his name aloud hit Ice harder than he’d expected it to – a reminder of just what had been lost. He’d known Goose a long time, longer than he’d known Maverick. They’d been friends at the USNA, had come up through the ranks together. He had been pretty impossible not to like; he’d garnered a reputation as someone you could go to for anything. He was wise beyond his years and patient to a fault, but he rarely took himself seriously, he was fun to be around. He was kind. It was strange that he just… wasn’t here any more.

“Everybody liked him,” I liked him. He was a good man. A knot started to form in Ice’s throat. This was bad. He couldn’t make this about himself. That’s all that anyone else seemed to be doing. He muscled down the emotion with a deep breath, “I’m sorry.”

There was nothing else for him to say. That was the crux of what everybody else was failing to say. I’m sorry.

It was simple and quiet, nothing like what Ice had gotten used to saying to Maverick goddamn Mitchell, but it was probably the most sincere.

Out of excuses to hang around now that he’d said his piece, Ice turned to leave.

“Kazansky,” his voice came incredulously after a moment, and when Ice turned Maverick’s face was a picture of quiet confusion, “what…?” There was clearly more to the question but Ice couldn’t blame him for not knowing how to finish it.

Ice breathed, clenching his fists, don’t say it, “I’ve lost family too.”

Mav’s eyes widened, like he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing or why. His eyes began to well, his jaw tight. Ice fought against the unexpected urge to reach out and breathed through to pang of sympathy that threatened to shatter his ribcage.

Seriously, don’t say it.

“Do you want a beer?”

Ice hated beer. The only reason he had the bottles in his fridge was for Slider’s benefit. He struggled to hide his distaste as he took a sip.

“What, uh. What is this?” Maverick asked from where he sat at Ice’s tiny kitchen table, twisting his own bottle between his palms. He looked tense which wasn’t surprising. Ice was tense too, not even comfort in the relief of the other chair. Instead he hovered at the counter, leaning there not out of ease but out of a need for space.

Ice didn’t do Maverick the disservice of pretending that he didn’t understand the question. This was weird, they weren’t friendly like this. Ice reached for the balm of normalcy and downplayed his real concern, turned up his usual cool, lofty affect.

“You’re not quitting,” he sounded resolute and sure and internally praised himself for it.

Maverick didn’t share the sentiment and clenched his jaw. “You can’t tell me what to do, asshole.” He didn’t move to leave, so Ice took it for a win and kept on.

“Wanna bet?” Ice could do this. This was comfortable. “I know you’ve already got Viper and Charlie and the boys all on your ass about going back to normal.” Maverick clearly rankled at the reminder, shifting in his seat, curling in on himself just a little more. Ice hurried to his point. “You shouldn’t.”

It seemed to catch him by surprise. His brow burrowed and he levelled Ice with an assessing glare, like he was trying to figure out his angle.

“This isn’t the kind of thing you can carry on through,” Ice tried not to think too hard about the seventeen year old boy forced to do just that almost ten years ago. Tried to keep down the visceral discomfort it caused him to imagine Maverick turning into the same bitter, twisted, cold thing that he had been made into because of it – that he probably still was because of it.

Maverick was not meant to be steely and distant and heatless in the way that Tom had become. He was a live wire, a maelstrom, he was loud and opinionated and that was what made him a good pilot and what made him a good friend. It was what made him him.

“You need to face it, Mitchell. Grieve him, let it wreck you and get through to the other side before it eats you alive.”

For a moment neither of them spoke, neither of them even moved.

“Hmm,” was all the response that Maverick eventually provided before taking a large gulp from his bottle.

“What?” he demanded a little harsher than intended. This was less vulnerable and Ice knew where he stood when they were bickering, eye contact was easier and he noticed Maverick’s barely-there smirk. Something in his chest clenched involuntarily.

“You don’t strike me as the warm and fuzzy type.” It was a fair point. It annoyed Ice anyway.

“I’m not.” He hid behind an unwelcome sip of his horrible drink, “but it’s hard to grieve alone.”

Mav let out a breath that sounded like it wanted to be a laugh, “you’re an odd guy.”

Ice gritted his teeth, trying hard to avoid rolling his eyes. Was reminded of why he had never invited him around for beers before now.

“One minute you’re snapping your teeth at me, the next you’re offering me advice, and now you’re what? My grief counsellor?” he said it without heat or malice. Just with a healthy dose of skepticism and in that usual derisive tone of his. It was almost comforting to hear something so familiar from him.

“I’m trying to be here for you, dickhead,” Ice pushed off of the counter and made to sit in the dining chair opposite his guest, “you don’t seem to have a lot of people like that going around.”

It was a shitty thing to say when he was trying to be nice.

“You’re bad at this,” Maverick muttered, without feeling.

“Yeah.” Ice could only agree.

“You said you’ve lost family?” Maverick approached carefully, the question in his voice giving Ice the option to not answer.

Ice took a fortifying breath, sipped his drink, wrinkled his nose.

“My sister.”

Maverick leaned back, shocked but trying to tamp it down.

“We were seventeen,” Ice carried on, averting his gaze. He wasn’t sure he could get through this if he looked at Mav and saw pity in his eyes. “Cancer.”

“I’m sorry.” the chair creaked softly as Maverick shifted. The quiet stretched out and Ice was about to change the subject when he spoke again, “I didn’t know that.”

“I don’t talk about her. My parents didn’t like the reminder and the habit stuck, I guess.”

“Does anybody know?”

“Goose did.”

Mitchell made a clearly involuntary noise; one of surprise, not sadness. Like he couldn’t believe Goose had kept something from him.

“He found me, once, at the Academy.” Ice tensed at the memory, the shame he had felt at being so vulnerable in front of someone who (at the time) had been a stranger. “I was a few years since she passed and–” Ice scoffed as he drifted through the memory, “I forgot. I had exams and drills and classes and I just–”

He shook his head, not wanting to get lost in his own mortification. “I remembered at dinner that night and just broke. Had to get out of the mess. I found somewhere and Goose found me. Made me tell him what was going on and just sat with me.”

“He never said anything,” Maverick almost whispered, seeming reluctant to break out of whatever shroud of truth-telling they’d wrapped themselves in.

“I asked him not to.” Ice said, the ghost of a smile brushing his cheeks.

They sat, steeped in the kind of stillness that telling secrets calls for. For a while they sat companionably. Neither of them needed or wanted to speak. It was nice. A kind of peaceful they’d not been able to share before. Ice was faintly horrified to find that he liked it. Liked Maverick.

It had to end at some point and it turned out that Ice was glad to hear Maverick’s voice again, however wavering it sounded.

“I don’t, uh…” Maverick struggled against gritted teeth to speak, Ice watched his jaw work to form the words, “I’m not sure I really remember my dad.”

It was a painful admission – almost as painful to hear as Ice was sure it was to vocalise. It wasn’t a secret that Mav idolised his father despite the navy’s opinion on the man; it had always been an odd point of admiration that Ice had held for him. His steadfastness in the face of every superior he’d ever had might piss Ice off professionally, but personally, Ice couldn’t deny that he was charmed by it. He’d never sit back and allow his father’s memory to be disparaged, whether by a fellow lieutenant, a captain, or an admiral. You could throw a stone on an aircraft carrier and hit someone who’d witnessed him getting a thorough dressing down for insubordination.

To hear that Mav didn’t even remember the man he’d been injuring his career for was… Ice couldn’t form it into words. It felt like falling.

After a long pause, allowing the admission to settle between them, Maverick spoke again.

“I was four when he died so I guess it makes sense, but…” Mav peeled at the label on his beer absently, keeping his eyes drawn away. Ice could see the tears in them anyway. “Bradley’s even younger than I was.”

Oh.

The words were strangled, and Ice felt something painful lance through his ribs. An unstoppable compulsion made him lay a tentative hand on Maverick’s forearm, the feeling electric. When he didn’t pull away Ice wanted to reach for more. Narrowly stopped himself.

“He’s gonna forget his dad, and–” this time Maverick couldn’t hold back his despair and a wretched sound ripped from his throat, “and it’s my fault.” His hands came up to press the heels against his eyes as his shoulders shook with barely suppressed sobs. Ice couldn’t take it any more.

He used the hand already on Mav’s arm and pulled the man in, placing his other hand firmly on the back of his neck and held him tight. It wasn’t perfect, they were a little off balance, but Ice was glad to shoulder the effort it took to keep them upright if it meant he could have this.

Maybe it was selfish but some ugly thing in him preened at the trust Maverick was showing him. And in all honesty, Ice probably needed to be held too. He felt like a part of him that had been knotted and angry for years was finally unfurling as he let Mav cry into his shoulder.

“It’s not your fault,” Ice heard himself saying, muffled as he spoke it into Maverick’s neck, “it’s not your fault.”

Ice had been nursing his first warm beer all night, but Maverick didn’t have the same distaste for it and had worked his way through half a dozen. Ice, not really wanting him to leave anyway, hadn’t offered to drive him when he refused to let him get on his bike. Instead he’d offered his couch.

So after an evening of emotional flaying, too-greasy pizza and mindless TV, Maverick stayed.

Ice was almost shocked that he was still there when he got up the next morning to start his coffee.

“It’s Saturday, Ice,” his groggy voice came from the living room as Ice passed by on his way to the kitchen. “Why are you awake at six AM?”

Oddly affronted, perhaps because of the hour and lack of coffee, Ice got defensive, “You’re awake too.”

“Because you stomp around like you’re wearing goddamn work boots.”

Ice opened his mouth to retaliate but found he couldn’t. It was probably true. He’d not had to be quiet for another person’s benefit in a very long time. He supposed he was out of practice. Ice moved to the kitchen without another word.

When he caught himself trying to keep his movements quiet, he grinned.

It wasn’t until the coffee pot was full and Ice was making breakfast that Maverick stirred again, shuffling into the kitchen.

“Eggs and bacon are cooking, coffee’s fresh but if you want toast you’ve gotta make it yourself,” Ice feigned a harsh tone that was entirely undermined by everything else he was doing.

Maverick wasn’t fooled, and Ice pretended to not be undone by the first real smile he’d seen on his face in more than a week. He looked away quickly. From the corner of his eye it looked like Mav did too.

“Can I help?” Maverick asked, sidling up to the counter.

Ice nodded towards the coffee maker, “Mine’s cream with no sugar.”

The comfort of it was still new but it wasn’t fragile. They moved around each other with an ease that was probably thanks to the their line of work but it still sent a thrill down Ice’s spine. He didn’t realise how much he liked having another person in his space. It had taken him a long time to get used to Slider being around, so when watching Maverick rove around his kitchen, look in his cupboards, open his fridge flooded his stomach with warmth, Ice balked a little.

They ate in the same comfortable silence they’d floated in and out of last night, but Ice’s mind was working.

“Can I take you somewhere today?” Ice asked, half cocked.

Mav stopped mid-chew, “Uh, what?”

“I have a friend down the coast a little. He’s got his own airstrip.” He was deliberately understating both his relationship with the ‘friend’ and the ‘airstrip’: he was a one-time-hook-up-turned-buddy that owned a civilian flight school. Maverick didn’t need to know all of that.

“I don’t think so…” Mav sounded unsure.

“It’s low stakes. No points, no competition, no drills.” Ice assured him, “you can get back in the air without the pressure of some dickhead breathing down your neck.”

He was pretty sure he didn’t mean for it to happen, but Mav’s lips quirked up sardonically, “besides you, you mean?”

As they made their way down the strip towards the Cessna they’d be flying Ice noticed Mav had started falling behind. When he lost him in his periphery, he stopped and turned.

Maverick had frozen, body rigid, and gaze far away. He was hardly breathing.

Ice closed the distance between them immediately.

“I can’t do this without him, Ice.” The words were strangled and Ice’s heart split in two.

“You don’t have to do it without him, Mitchell.” Ice implored him to understand, unable to stop himself from bracing his hands at Mav’s sides. He visibly relaxed at the pressure and Ice tried to stay focused on his point instead of abandoning this whole exercise in favour of wrapping Maverick in a tight hug that he’d been craving since they’d parted last night. “That’s where the others are wrong.”

Ice crowed in slightly, prompting Mav to meet his eyes.

“You’ve never had to do it without him,” it was overly sentimental and not at all what many would expect The Iceman’ to believe but he did, “you’ve always had him watching your back. Everything you’ve ever learned from him, every memory you have of him calling your bullshit, every time he watched your back – it’s all still with you.”

Mav’s face screwed up, like he was fighting against the tears that were already filling his eyes, threatening to fall.

“You’re a capable pilot, Mitchell,” the words tasted strange in his mouth, but they had to be said. “You can get in that damn plane.”

With a deep breath, Mav closed his eyes for a moment, the tears finally falling. In a moment of madness, Ice wiped them away quickly.

When Mav opened his eyes again, he fixed him with a determined look.

“Okay.”

And it was like a dark cloud suddenly dissipated. When they got in the air, Ice was poised and ready to take over if he needed to, but Maverick was on point; responsive to ground control on the radio, confident with the controls, and he was clearly getting a kick out of throwing them into rolls and turns that Ice wasn’t expecting.

It was hard to look away from him like this. Ice felt like it’d be a crime to miss a moment of Maverick in his most natural state. It helped that, on this occasion, Mav’s affinity for impulsiveness and clowning didn’t cause problems for him personally or professionally.

He vowed that next time they were in the air together – and Ice was adamant that there would be a next time – that he would take a moment to appreciate instead of curse Mav’s flying.

“You did good,” Ice offered on the drive back to North Island, “I told you you could do it.”

“Ice, that thing might as well have training wheels.” Mav scoffed, Ice could almost hear his eyes rolling, “Pretty different from a fighter jet.”

“Is it?” Ice asked seriously, “the objectives are different, yeah. But a plane is a plane.”

It wasn’t strictly accurate, but Ice was learning that not everything had to be so black and white all the time. Maybe Maverick’s way of living in the grey area was alright. Occasionally.

They sat in that peaceful silence again for the rest of the journey, but this time, it was somewhat loaded. Ice kept catching Mav looking his way and hiding it terribly.

Ice was used to being watched, it was an occupational hazard. Whether it be the assessing eyes of a colleague, the scrutinising gaze of a CO, or the heated looks he’d get from sorely mistaken women at the O.

Maverick’s attention, though, made him squirm.

When he pulled up outside Mav’s housing assignment, there was an odd sort of melancholy that settled in his bones. He turned off the engine but Mav made no move to get out. Instead he sat fidgeting with his fingers.

“Thank you for today,” Maverick spoke without meeting Ice’s eyes, “that was…” his voice betrayed the wealth of emotion he was feeling and he cleared his through to start again, “That was the easiest it’s been. Since.”

“The easiest what has been?” Ice asked, a little dumbly, he could guess but he wanted to hear Maverick say it.

“Everything.” he breathed, a whisper of a humourless laugh, “everything.” He repeated, “thank you.”

Ice was stunned speechless, it was so earnest, so beyond anything he’d have expected Maverick to say to him of all people. He felt good to know he’d done something right, something useful. He felt like he’d done Goose proud.

Ice’s eyes began to sting but he couldn’t tear them away from Maverick’s form, his features softened in the dimming light of the evening.

He wasn’t an idiot, Ice had been growingly, painfully aware of why this focus on Maverick had become so all consuming since the accident. He knew why it had pained him so much to see Maverick pulling away and closing off. He understood his own heart well enough to notice that Maverick, in all of his bombastic confidence and brash tenacity, had bulldozed his way in there. It was annoying. Ice thought he had more restraint than that.

Harbouring a crush on a colleague was not the wisest move, and certainly not one he had ever thought he would fall victim to. But here he was sat beside the offending man, after a week of worrying for him. Smitten and despairing. He should try a little harder a subtlety.

And suddenly the silence wasn’t comfortable any more. It was loaded and suffocating. Ice didn’t know what to do with his hands.

“Can I ask you something?”

No. “Okay.” He tried not to sound afraid.

“Why do you pretend to be so above it all? Like nothing can touch you.”

It wasn’t the question he was expecting, and Ice wasn’t sure how to answer it, “you think I’m pretending?”

“Because the last two days you’ve been different,” Maverick’s look turned piercing, like he was trying to access Ice’s innermost workings, “And it’s a lot harder to act like you care than it is to act like you don’t.”

Ice weighed that in his mind, deciding if he agreed. In the end, though, it didn’t really matter because Maverick was right. “In my experience, caring hasn’t always been a good thing.”

Maverick’s eyes searched for clarification on Ice’s face, “But you’ve been telling me that I need to let myself care.”

“You’re different.” Ice said without thinking, “caring too much is you’re whole thing.”

He seemed taken aback, unsure whether to be flattered or offended.

“You work from gut instinct. Your way works because your heart is in everything you do. You care too much about everything. Flying with your heart is pretty impossible when you switch it off.” It was a telling speech, revealing just how much attention he had been paying.

Maverick mulled that over, “I could learn to fly with my head,” he considered, “Like you do.”

“No,” Ice disagreed too quickly, so he mottled it with a jab, retreating to the familiar, “no, you don’t have enough going on up there.”

Mav smiled, “fuck you.” It was a weak admonishment but the half laugh was real, and that was good enough for Ice. Then after a pause, “so you really don’t care then?”

Echoing Mav’s own words, Ice avoided saying the truest thing, “It’s easier to pretend I don’t.” Because I’m too scared to find out what happens if I do.

Mav didn’t come back to Top Gun. Ice supposed he couldn’t be surprised, but he was disappointed. It was too soon for him to go back to form in a fighter jet, it was fair he needed to step back. But Top Gun wasn’t as fun without him, it wasn’t as much of a challenge, a struggle for top-spot.

When he and Slider won the trophy, it didn’t feel as hard-won as if Maverick and Goose had been on their tail right through to the end. Though, the day of graduation, the shine of the win couldn’t be dulled. He and Slider had been buzzing with anticipation the whole morning, excited to see their names engraved in gold lettering. The occasion of it all – everyone in dress whites, the pomp and circumstance, the champagne – had Ice’s blood singing. He tried not to think of the empty chairs. The ones he knew his parents wouldn’t fill and wished that Catherine, Goose and Maverick could.

Slider noticed him spiralling into himself and shook him – literally – out of it. It startled a much-needed laugh out of him. Slider leaned across him to pick up a champagne bottle, probably for unprofessional purposes, and when he leaned back Ice froze.

Mav was here. In his dress whites, with a tentative smile in place as he greeted everyone, and he looked good.

He should have been embarrassed, he should have been more careful, but he couldn’t help but track the man as he approached the swarm of aviators that had been his classmates. Ice had to fight to suppress the grin that wanted to split his face clean in half.

When finally Maverick looked him in the eyes Ice was too weak to look away. He’s not here for me, he had to remind himself, but it was hard not to pretend otherwise when he wanted it to be true so desperately.

“Congratulations,” Maverick said, offering a handshake. Ice was all too happy to oblige and enveloped Mav’s hand with his.

“Thank you.” He ignored how difficult it was to let go.

He offered congrats to Slider too, and then all too quickly, he was walking away again. Ice watched him leave.

Slider elbowed him and paid no heed to Ice’s returning scowl.

“Watch yourself,” was all he said. It wasn’t threatening, Ice knew it was a protective warning but the reminder of just how wrapped up he’d gotten in Mitchell’s web frightened him. He had to do something about it.

Ice had been all too aware of Maverick’s presence since they’d boarded the Enterprise. It had been a constant, unrelenting effort to keep the distance between them, but it was what he decided was necessary. Those few days at Top Gun had fooled Ice into thinking he could let himself go, loosen up his grip on himself. He was wrong.

As he sat in the briefing room listening to Stinger tell them what they could be flying into, he realised just how badly he’d been wrong.

Maverick would be flying spare. For all he and the other pilots knew, he had still not flown a jet without shutting down, he would be flying into what seemed likely to be open combat to back them up. But instead of questioning his reliability, or his fortitude, all Ice could think about was how hard this would be for him. That Maverick would be launching – taking on a mission – for the first time without Goose at his back. Sharing a glance with Slider told him that his RIO could read him like a manual.

Stop, Ice scolded himself, Maverick is not your concern. The success of this mission is. The safety of your crew and your team is.

Ice cold. He rolled his neck and shook out his mind before approaching Stinger. Told himself that he was doing it for the good of the mission. He was. He was a professional at the top of his field, he could put his feelings aside and recognise the dangers of having an unproven, risky pilot on his team, even as a spare. It was the sort of judgement call he made all the time. So why did it taste so sour coming out of his mouth this time?

Stinger blew him off anyway, and that was that.

“You don’t think I can do this.” Maverick accosted him on the way to pre-launch, appearing out of nowhere and cornering them in an alcove. Ice berated himself for feeling ambushed by the man, “I heard you talking to Jardain.” he was pissed, a deep crease in his forehead.

“You’ve not flown a mission yet, Mitchell,” Ice stood firm and refused to deny it, crushing down the flood of warmth that always seemed to accompany Maverick’s proximity, “forgive my apprehension.”

Maverick’s features shifted catastrophically into what Ice recognised as hurt; it was only there for a brief moment before it was gone again, but it was enough to make Ice hate himself for it.

His voice was hot with anger, “I’ve flown plenty, Kazansky. I’m a better pilot than Wood, I’m a better pilot than you. I am perfectly capable of flying this one.”

Ice smarted at the boast but was reluctantly comforted by the familiarity of Maverick’s pig-headedness. He couldn’t bring himself to argue – he could let it slide just this once. Instead he grinned a sharp thing, smug even. He leaned against the wall he’d been backed into, and avoided thinking about how much easier it was to breathe with Maverick close-by.

At his silence, Maverick seemed to soften, his anger melted into resolve, his poorly-hidden hurt loosened into confusion. “You were the one who convinced me I could do this without him.”

The admission made Ice squirm. It made his stomach twist and his chest ache with a feeling close to pride. I helped. He listened. It was dangerous.

“You can,” Ice insisted, eyes serious and imploring Maverick to understand. He did believe in him, but something in him, ugly and afraid, made that difficult, “But already?” That was not his unfeeling, professional, emotionless reasoning he had convinced himself of, but it was honest. He was worried. He didn’t want to be worried. Being worried meant he cared and caring wasn’t in his remit, especially this close to a mission. Or ever.

“He never left, remember?” It was strange. Maverick’s eyes were steady as he raised an eyebrow, daring Ice to contradict his own words. It was comforting and reassuring and Ice felt the sudden compulsion to do perhaps the stupidest thing he ever could do.

He grabbed the front of Maverick’s flight suit and pulled him in.

He wasn’t sure if it was the fear he had for Maverick going into this flight, the fatigue at pushing away this feeling for so long, or maybe it was because he’d spent the better part of a decade ignoring every feeling.

So call it a moment of madness or a moment of desperation but whatever it was, it meant that he was kissing Pete Mitchell like his life, like both of their lives depended on it. Damn the consequences.

It should terrify him, he shouldn’t be so cavalier about revealing this part of himself, but he didn’t care.

He couldn’t care when Maverick started kissing him back.

Mav’s hands found their way into blond, sweat-damp locks and Ice’s tongue found a home behind Mav’s teeth. He had a feeling that the light-headedness creeping in had nothing to do with the lack of air he was getting. An undignified and wholly embarrassing noise escaped from Ice’s throat but when all it did was spur Maverick on, he didn’t let the shame linger. Instead he focused on the tightening of Mav’s fingers in his hair, the sharp scratch of his teeth against Ice’s lips.

His own hands migrated from Mav’s lapels to settle tightly around his waist instead, pulling them ever closer until the only thing separating them were their flight suits.

Oh, right.

It took more effort than Ice was willing to admit, but he made himself pull away. He knew he was frowning as he did but he couldn’t help it. He didn’t want to be sensible, but one of them had to be and he was sure as shit that it wouldn’t be Maverick.

He kept his hands on Mav’s hips and basked in the warmth of having him stood between his legs. It was an intimacy Ice couldn’t say he’d experienced before, or even that he wanted before. When quick and anonymous were the only requirements for amorous encounters, the quiet comfort of just being close often got left to the wayside.

Ice allowed himself one more moment and brought his forehead to rest against Maverick’s, his eyes closed.

But it had to break at some point.

“I’m scared that you can’t do it, Mav,” Ice’s voice was barely above a whisper, he silently noticed that that might have been the first time he’d ever used that name. It hadn’t been for him to use before. But he liked the shape of it on his tongue. “I want to be wrong.”

When he opened his eyes again and pulled back to look in Mav’s eyes, he didn’t find that same hurt from before, he found understanding, maybe even sympathy.

“Sounds an awful lot like you might care about me, Iceman,” his smirk was small, not the flashy, cocky look that annoyed Ice so efficiently.

Ice let his head drop back against the cold metal behind him, only half as irritated as he’d usually be.

“I’ll prove you wrong, Ice.” Mav’s words were sure and unwavering, “but I’d be okay with it if you didn’t need me to launch.”

A wry grin crawled across Ice’s face, “now who sounds like they care?”

“I care too much about everything.”

Unfortunately, there was nothing for it, and Ice had to kiss him again.

The week after a mission had always been the worst for Ice. The adrenaline crash, the anti-climax, it was always so… empty.

Before, anyway.

Before Top Gun, before Pete Mitchell had burst into his life, before the tumult of the last two months.

This time, it was anything but empty. When they’d returned to shore, they’d all been granted a few days leave. Instead of dreading it, like he usually did, Mav had been there to fend off that void of darkness.

Ice had decided that his favourite place to be, rather than in a cockpit with Slider watching his back and Maverick on his wing, was in Pete Mitchell’s bed with Ron Kerner out of sight and mind.

It hadn’t taken Pete long to thaw out Ice’s built up defences. Tom had spent years hiding his heart away behind layers and layers of detachment and apathy and ice-cold, single-minded focus, but Pete had taken a sledgehammer to them with reckless abandon. And so, lying in his bed, arms holding him close, Tom could admit that in wanting so desperately to help Maverick heal, he’d healed something deep within himself.

He had, perhaps, been something of a hypocrite in telling him to face his grief, to let it become a part of him instead of becoming across for him to bear. He’d needed to hear those words too.

He told Maverick that he didn’t need to forget Goose and he thought that maybe he was giving himself permission to remember Catherine. He’d truly believed it when he said that Goose would never really leave, but it had taken him longer to realise that Catherine hadn’t left him either.

Somehow, here, in the arms of a man he could imagine himself falling in love with, he felt closer to his sister than he had in years. In that moment, he could feel the glow of the people they each had loved as family.

So maybe they didn’t really die at all.