Chapter Text
The ready room was thick with the usual post-flight haze. It smelled faintly of jet fuel and lukewarm coffee. Some officers held their cups while others had set them down beside their chairs. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead.
Maverick sat near the middle of the packed room, flight suit still damp with sweat. His arms were crossed tightly over his chest. The large screen at the front played back the engagement footage on loop, showing the strike package’s ingress. It was highlighting the moment his Tomcat had broken formation to engage the Red Air fighters.
Commander Hughes stood at the front, pointer in hand, voice clipped and professional as he walked through the timeline.
"The training objective was to maintain escort coverage for the strike element. At 1427, Flight Lead — that’s you, Maverick — departed the assigned station and engaged the Red Air section on your own, resulting in two kills.
"However, to do so, you forced the rest of the strike group to adjust timing to accommodate your unbriefed moves. The result was a temporary breakdown in section integrity, which delayed ingress and reduced coverage. Maverick, explain your decision-making."
A wave of annoyance surged through him. He was an experienced veteran who had served on multiple deployments in the Persian Gulf and Bosnia, building a distinguished, if somewhat notorious, record. Yet they were still more interested in criticizing his instincts than understanding what they’d achieved. He leaned forward slightly, defiant energy still crackling through his veins from the flight. Maverick felt the all the eyes in the room on him.
"Sir, with all due respect, the package actually made it to the target."
As he spoke, he met Hughes’ stare without flinching.
"If everyone had flown exactly as briefed, we would’ve been too fucking slow to react. If I hadn’t gone for the shot then, they would have walked straight into the weapons range. A few extra minutes of delay doesn't bother me. Losing a goddamn aircraft because I passed up a shot does," Maverick paused for a second, then drove the nail in.
"You weren't in that cockpit. I was."
The room went dead silent. The open contempt for the senior officer delivering the critique and disregard for the briefed plan landed like a slap. Hughes looked incredulous and he stared Maverick down, his brow furrowed. Several pilots shifted in their seats. A few exchanged quick, uneasy glances. Some looked toward the head of the room where Captain Kazansky sat, wondering if he would let this slide. Any other superior officer would reprimand him immediately but Iceman was widely known to be Maverick’s longtime friend after all. They had even flown as each other’s wingmen on several missions, and stories of their exploits had spread throughout the naval aviation community. The circle itself was quite small, with everyone often knowing everyone — or at least of someone connected to them — so reputations like theirs were wont to travel. Perhaps that was even part of the reason Hughes was keeping silent for a moment, in order to choose his next words and action carefully.
The tension thickened, the air getting heavier, as if everyone was waiting to see how far this would go.
Maverick felt the shift but didn’t care. If they wanted caution instead of results, they should’ve kept him on the ground. He held Hughes’ gaze, jaw set, daring anyone to push back.
Commander Hughes’ face tightened, but as he opened his mouth, movement at the front of the room drew every eye.
Captain Tom "Iceman" Kazansky rose slowly from his seat.
Maverick’s stomach twisted the moment he saw Ice stand. The movement was slow and deliberate. It was not threatening, yet somehow it changed the atmosphere in the room. The formal posture and the measured way he moved only made the silence more imposing. Ice was the carrier’s commanding officer, and right now, in front of every pilot and officer in the room, he was looking directly at him.
"Lieutenant Commander Mitchell," Iceman said, his voice calm and cold. It carried the full weight of command. "Front leaning rest. Now."
The words hit Maverick like a punch to the gut. For a second he just stared, not completely comprehending what he had heard. The formal address felt like a twisting knife as Ice put him in his place as the ship’s captain.
His face burned. Pride screamed at him to say something, but shock and discipline won out. He mechanically stood up from his chair and dropped down into front leaning rest. Palms flat against the cold linoleum and arms locked straight, holding his body rigid. The position was familiar from a thousand inspections and punishments especially from his earlier days in the navy, but never like this. Never with the entire room’s attention focused on just him, in freezing silence. Also, it had been years since he'd last been subjected to such treatment; as his rank rose, these kinds of punishments had become increasingly rare.
He could hear Ice measuredly approaching him, his boots stopping just within Maverick’s peripheral vision.
"You answered a fair question from a senior officer with open contempt, in my ready room, in front of everyone," Iceman said, evenly, his voice carrying the length of the room without rising. "Commander Hughes asked you to account for breaking station. You do not answer it the way you just did." His voice remained firm. "We don't fly for ourselves here, and we don't speak to our seniors like that. You'll remember both."
"…Yes, sir."
Maverick’s jaw clenched so tight it ached. The words stung worse than any physical strain. He could feel every set of eyes boring into him — pilots he’d flown with, officers who knew the history between him and Ice, all of them now watching Lieutenant Commander Mitchell humbled on the floor while the debrief came to a complete, awkward halt. The silence after Iceman’s reprimand was deafening. The entire room was forced to sit there and stare at him while the carrier’s CO stood over him like a statue.
His shoulders and core were just beginning to warm, a subtle tension spreading steadily down into his lower body. It wasn’t painful, not even close to his limit, but the discomfort grew as the seconds dragged into minutes. Elbows locked, he stared at the scuffed deck between his hands and made himself breathe, riding out the humiliation.
Years of trust since the day they shot those MiGs down together, of shared moments that mattered more than either of them ever admitted out loud, and Ice was choosing to put him on display like this. Hot shame and anger tasted bitter in his mouth, laced with hurt he refused anyone to see.
The silence stretched. The burn in his muscles deepened into a steady ache, but it was nothing compared to the crushing weight of being watched. He could practically feel the discomfort radiating from the other pilots. Some would be embarrassed for him, while others would probably just feel awkward and uncomfortable.
Maverick’s breathing grew gradually tighter and sweat beaded on his forehead. With Iceman standing directly over him, he had to force every muscle to hold the perfect form, rigid and unbroken. Maverick sure as hell wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of correcting his posture, telling him, 'Hold,' in that superior tone. That would be a brutal blow to his pride, which was already in shreds.
Without a clock, it felt like forever.
Finally, Iceman’s voice cut through the suffocating quiet.
"Recover."
It couldn’t possibly have been more than five minutes, but Maverick’s arms trembled slightly as he pushed up at Iceman’s command. Recover. The word sounded distant, like it came through water. His face felt hot, his pulse loud in his ears. He rose stiffly, avoiding every pair of eyes in the room, and dropped back into his chair when he was given permission. At some point, the other officers had all shifted their eyes from him to look straight ahead, their backs straight. He kept his gaze fixed on the back of the chair in front of him, jaw tight, hoping he could disappear into the seat as the humiliation still burned under his skin.
He felt slightly dazed. The edges of the room blurred a little, the voices around him muffled. His thoughts still remained in those endless few minutes, the silence pressing in while Ice lingered at the edge of his vision. How could you. The thought looped, sharp and relentless.
Iceman’s voice cut through the fog, steady and professional, as if nothing unusual had happened.
"Carry on with the debrief."
Commander Hughes cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable, and picked up where he had left off. He moved quickly through the rest of the strike package analysis, skipping over any deeper dive into Maverick’s section. No one pressed for more details from him. When Hughes glanced in his direction once, it was brief and almost apologetic.
"Maverick, any additional comments?" Hughes asked, keeping it minimal.
Maverick swallowed, his throat dry. "No, sir."
That was all they needed from him. The others moved on fast, almost too fast, as if they felt bad for him and wanted to get this over with. He barely registered the rest of the discussion; comments about timing coordination, fuel states, lessons for the next evolution and all the other minutiae washing over him in a dull hum. His muscles still ached faintly from holding position, but it was nothing compared to the heavy knot in his chest.
Every few seconds his eyes flicked involuntarily toward Iceman at the front. The man sat there composed as ever, listening, occasionally nodding, the picture of calm command. Never once looking back at him.
The debrief dragged on for another twenty minutes that felt like hours. Maverick stayed quiet, answering only when directly addressed with short, necessary replies. No one pushed him further. The room seemed to collectively decide to let him sit in silence.
Finally, Commander Hughes wrapped up the session.
"That covers the major points. We’ll incorporate these adjustments into tomorrow’s flight schedule. Dismissed."
Pilots and officers began to stand and file out of the room. Maverick remained seated for a few extra seconds, staring at his hands, before pushing up slowly. As the room emptied around him, he quietly moved toward the door without looking at Iceman again.
—
Maverick had gotten through the rest of the day on autopilot, doing what had to be done. Now, with the day finally behind him, he found himself wandering the narrow, winding passageways of the carrier with his hands shoved deep into his pockets and his shoulders hunched against the ship’s low vibration. His boots found the route on their own. He’d taken the long way without deciding to, the way that didn’t pass the wardroom and the ready rooms, and anywhere Ice might be.
He ended up on a lower deck with the lighting gone red around it for night routine, and pushed through the door onto an open catwalk, out into the cold. There was nothing to see. The sea had gone black hours ago, the horizon only a guess where the dark of the water met the dark of the sky. The wind came off the Mediterranean sharp enough to bite. He leaned against the rail and stared out at it anyway. The cold worked through his jacket and into him, and he didn’t move out of it.
His thoughts kept returning to Ice. To the way he had stood over him, level and unreachable, like everything between them had never happened. Ice had looked at him as if he was just another problem to put down. Some part of him had always known it would go this way.
Footsteps approached from behind. Maverick didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. He recognized the stride.
"Maverick."
Iceman’s voice was quieter now, stripped of the commanding tone from earlier. It almost sounded like the old Ice, the one who had flown on his wing through real combats.
Maverick stayed facing the water, jaw locked, refusing to turn fully.
"I need you to hear me for a moment," Iceman said.
Maverick’s shoulders tensed. His thoughts still felt ragged and uneven from the debrief. He half-turned, not meeting Ice’s eyes.
"Is that an order, sir?"
There was a beat of silence.
"No," Iceman replied, steady but careful. "I’m asking."
Maverick felt something crack inside his chest. The words should have softened things, but they only made the betrayal burn hotter. After everything today, after putting him on display in front of the entire room, Ice was asking like it was that simple.
"Then I don’t want to," Maverick said, voice flat and cold.
He turned sharply and walked away down the passageway, boots echoing against the metal deck. He didn’t look back.
—
The last few days since the debrief had flown by. The anger had burnt itself out, leaving behind a heavy, exhausted ache that followed Maverick everywhere. He spent most of his off-duty time working out in the gym, studying in his small stateroom and occasionally spending time with other pilots in the wardroom, who all seemed a bit nicer to him for a day or two after the public dressing-down — even Hughes. At first it had mostly been anger when he thought back to the debrief incident, along with feeling let down that Ice would do that to him. But a day on, with his head clearer, an uncomfortable clarity surfaced.
He had been testing boundaries. He could see that. Subconsciously pushing because it was Ice — the one person who had grown closer to him than anyone since Goose. The one he trusted enough to be reckless with. And that wasn’t fair to Ice, who was still new in his role as carrier captain after being fast-tracked and had an entire ship full of sailors to lead. Ice had already gone out on a limb for him more than once, and Maverick hadn’t exactly made it easy for him.
Maverick sat on the edge of his rack, staring at the deck between his sneakers. Emotionally, the ‘betrayal’ did sit like a bruise. Ice had humiliated him in front of the people he worked with everyday, who knew their history. The formal tone and the way the entire debrief had ground to a halt while everyone stared at him on the floor hurt more than he wanted to admit.
Because it was Ice who put him there.
It wasn’t like Maverick was fragile; he was made of tougher stuff than that. He had a thick skin that had served him well in many situations. Any other CO could have torn him apart in that room and he wouldn’t have given it a second thought. But this coming from Ice landed differently. It cut deeper than it should have, and he couldn’t quite shake the fact that it was Ice who had forced him down.
But he had commanding experience himself by now, enough to know exactly what kind of position he had put Ice in. Deviating from the briefed plan, snapping back at a senior officer in front of everyone after he raised a legitimate concern… it had forced Ice’s hand. He understood. Ice couldn’t let that slide without losing respect from the rest of the officers, especially on their first major cruise together with this new power dynamic. Maverick had made it impossible for him to do anything else. He had acted and reacted childishly, and was not proud of it.
And now the silence between them was slowly destroying him.
For the past few days Ice had not reached out to Maverick again, even as things settled back to normal like nothing had happened. He had been nothing but professional. Work-related conversations only. No lingering after briefings. No more invitations to come hang out in Ice’s cabin after hours — where Ice would have saved his ice cream for him because he knew Maverick had a weakness for it. Curt nods and official distance were all that remained between them now.
Maverick had told him he didn’t want to talk. Ice had respected that. But the longer the space stretched, the more it started to feel like something else entirely. Like abandonment. It was as if Ice had finally decided Maverick was too much trouble now that he was a captain. The old fears crept in harder each day. The same ones that had lived in him since his parents’ death and had only grown stronger with Goose. Everyone leaves. Everyone eventually sees you’re not worth it.
It was also harder than before to reach out to Ice from his end. The hierarchy had changed things. Before, even when Ice outranked him slightly, they could still talk like equals. Now Ice was the carrier captain, the man bearing overall responsibility for thousands of lives and ultimately even the air wing that he himself belonged to. Reaching out felt like crossing a line, like putting Ice in another impossible position. Maverick could feel it, even if no one had said so — certainly not Ice. Nothing had been forbidden or taken away. Not really.
But something had changed all the same. Every instinct told him the distance was different now, even if neither of them had drawn it. Their friendship now seemed to carry a weight of some kind. And he could sense that the higher Ice climbed, the heavier it would become.
His chest tightened as the thoughts spiraled. What if this was it? What if all the time they spent together didn’t matter anymore now that Ice had real command responsibility? What if Ice had finally looked at him and realized he was more liability than asset? What if he had pushed too far this time and Ice had quietly washed his hands of him?
The fear coiled tighter in his gut, darker and heavier with every passing hour. The silence felt like confirmation. Proof that even Ice, the one constant he had allowed himself to rely on, was pulling away for good.
Maverick stood up abruptly, heart pounding. He couldn’t take the silence anymore. He needed answers, if only for this one last time.
He was going to Ice’s cabin.
—
Maverick’s pulse was racing as he strode down the quiet passageway toward the captain’s quarters. It was well after working hours, and most of the ship had settled into its night routine.
He knew he had told Ice he didn’t want to talk, but the silence over the past few days had become unbearable. He could not get rid of a slow, creeping fear that something permanent had broken between them.
He didn’t knock softly. He rapped sharply on the door, then pushed it open almost before waiting for an answer.
Iceman was already standing, dressed in simple navy-blue pajama pants and a plain white t-shirt, looking like he’d been reading at his small desk. His expression shifted from mild surprise to quiet concern the moment he saw Maverick’s face.
"Maverick," Ice said gently, closing the book in his hands. "What’s wrong?"
Maverick stepped inside and let the door shut behind him. His throat felt tight. All the words he had rehearsed in his head on the way over suddenly tangled up. He could see Ice clearly now — the familiar steady presence, the man he had leaned on for years — and it made his chest ache worse.
"I —" Maverick started, then stopped. He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes flicking away. "I know I said I didn’t want to talk. But you’ve just been gone. Only speaking to me about work stuff."
He swallowed hard, the fear rising up and making his voice rough. Maverick’s eyes stung. He tried to keep his breathing even, but it kept catching. He hated how small he sounded, how obvious the fear was, but standing here in front of Ice after days of nothing made everything feel overwhelming.
"I know why you had to do it," he added quickly, almost defensively. "I put you in a shitty position, I get that now. But then you just… disappeared on me. And I kept thinking… what if this is it? What if I finally pushed too far?"
He stood there, fists clenched at his sides, trying not to let the tears that were threatening actually fall. The silence between them these past days had hurt more than the correction itself.
Iceman’s expression softened with understanding and something heavier. He stepped closer to Maverick.
"Maverick —"
Maverick stood there with his fists clenched at his sides, trying to hold himself together. The words kept getting stuck in his throat, but when he finally looked up and met Iceman’s eyes directly, everything broke open.
"Did I?" His voice cracked badly. "Are you done with me?"
The tears came then, hot and sudden, spilling over before he could stop them. He hated it, hated how weak it made him feel, but he couldn’t hold it back anymore. The fear that it was finally over broke through the dam.
Ice’s face shifted instantly. The careful composure cracked, replaced by something raw and pained. Without hesitation, he pulled Maverick into his arms, holding him tight against his chest.
"No," Ice said, voice low and fierce, hand cupping the back of Maverick’s head. "Pete, I’m not done with you. I’m so sorry I made you think that. I never meant to. I was just trying to give you space after you said you didn’t want to talk. I didn’t realize it was hurting you like this."
Maverick broke.
A harsh sob tore out of him as the pressure of the past few days poured out of him in messy waves. All the guilt, the uncertainty, the fear that he had finally ruined the one relationship that mattered came crashing loose. His shoulders shook as he cried against Ice’s shoulder.
"I’m sorry," Maverick managed between sobs, voice muffled against Ice’s shoulder. "I shouldn’t have treated Hughes that way at the debrief. I knew it was out of line even while I was saying it. I put you in a terrible position and I’m sorry."
Ice held him tighter, one hand rubbing slow circles on his back.
"You were pushing," Ice murmured. "I understand. But I’m not walking away. Not from you, never."
Maverick stayed in Ice’s arms for a long minute, forehead pressed against his shoulder. Maverick’s sobs gradually eased into shaky breaths, the worst of the storm passing. The tight knot in his chest loosened just a little. His hands slowly loosened their death grip on the back of Ice’s t-shirt. He still felt vulnerable and exhausted, but the worst of the panic had drained out of him. The rush of fear was gone now. Embarrassment at how shaken he'd been lingered, yet he felt safer than he had in days.
Ice didn’t let go right away. He kept one hand steady on Maverick’s back, the other hand’s fingers curling lightly into his hair.
"You really thought I was done with you?" Ice asked quietly, voice low and close.
Maverick nodded against his shoulder, not trusting himself to speak at first. He pulled back a bit to look at Ice’s face, eyes still red. Ice gently moved his hands to Maverick's arms to give him some room.
"Yeah," Maverick admitted, voice rough. "After me messing up the debrief and you going quiet… I thought maybe you finally had enough, that I had pushed you away for good. I thought maybe making O-6 made you realize I’m more trouble than I’m worth."
Ice shook his head, expression serious but soft around the edges.
"I’m not going to lie — you put me in a tough spot that day," he said. "You were rude to your senior officer when he asked a valid question about you disregarding the larger training goal. I had to act. If I let it slide in front of everyone on our first big cruise together…"
"I know," Maverick cut in, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. "I get it now. I was out of line. I was… I don’t know. Pushing because it was you. Because I thought maybe you’d still let me get away with it."
Ice’s mouth twitched, almost a small smile.
"You’ve always tested me more than anyone else," he said. "But listen to me, Mav. I’m not walking away because you’re difficult. I knew what you were like since ‘86. That hasn’t changed how I feel about you."
Ice’s grip on his arms tightened slightly, reassuring and steady. Maverick let out a shaky breath, some of the tension finally leaving his shoulders.
"I missed you," he muttered, almost reluctantly. "The last few days sucked. You didn’t even save me your ice cream like you used to."
Ice huffed a quiet laugh, the sound warm in the cabin.
"I thought you wanted space," he said. "You told me you didn’t want to talk so I was trying to respect that. Clearly I misread how bad it got for you."
Maverick nodded, looking down for a moment before meeting Ice’s eyes again.
"I did say that. I was pissed. But then the silence just made everything worse. Made me think you were pulling away forever."
Maverick hesitated for a second, then continued.
"It’s getting harder," he admitted quietly. "Reaching out to you when you don’t. And it’s only going to get worse the higher you climb. I’m scared one day I won’t be able to talk to you at all."
Ice looked straight into Maverick’s eyes, his expression serious and sincere.
"Then I’ll make more effort," he said firmly. "I’ll find ways. I’m still your wingman, Pete, whether I'm up in the air or down here. That doesn’t change just because of our rank. You can count on me. Always."
Ice gave his arms one last gentle squeeze before slowly letting go, though he stayed close.
"We’re good," he said simply. "Now get some rest, we’ve got an early brief tomorrow."
Maverick nodded, wiping at his eyes. He felt raw, but the fear that had been eating at him had finally started to ease. Without thinking, he pulled away from Ice’s hold and dropped heavily onto the edge of Ice’s bunk, then flopped back onto the bed like he belonged there.
Ice raised an eyebrow, clearly amused.
"Is my cabin a hotel now?" he asked, lips twitching. "You just inviting yourself to stay the night?"
Maverick glared up at him from the bed, though there was no real heat behind it. The glare quickly melted into something tired and relaxed as he settled more comfortably against the pillow.
Ice chuckled softly, the sound warm and familiar. He reached down and gently ruffled Maverick’s hair, petting his head in that good-natured, almost fond way he sometimes did when they were alone.
"Idiot," Ice murmured affectionately.
Then he picked up the book he had been reading before Maverick barged in, sat down on the chair beside the bed, and opened it again.
Maverick lay there watching him for a moment. The steady presence of Ice beside him finally quieted the last of the noise in his head, allowing him to begin to recover. He closed his eyes, exhaustion pulling at him. But for the first time in days, he felt like he could actually breathe.