Work Text:
Viper said there was one in almost every class. That one pilot who thought he was God's gift to flying. That believed they had nothing to teach him and didn't even care to learn. Apparently Mav's class had been a notable exception. Full of pilots who knew they were hot shit, but all of whom were willing to listen and learn.
Unfortunately, the same could not be said of this class. A promising bunch of pilots on the whole, but Lt. Reeves (callsign Banjo) was a walking migraine. He was insolent, disobedient, and didn't listen in the air. Didn't listen full stop, but not listening in the air was the worst part.
Mav was self aware enough to know he had embodied a lot of those qualities himself, but he was trying to be better. Banjo was just going to get someone killed. If not himself and his RIO, then his wingman. Not on Mav's watch.
In today's hop, he'd nearly collided midair with Firework and Tigger because he hadn't listened and only the other pilot’s quick thinking had saved the situation.
Having been on the receiving end of more than his fair share of dressing downs, Mav hated ripping his aviators new ones. But Banjo had earned it.
He summoned the pilot to his and Ice's office, knowing he had time before Ice finished showering off his latest hop.
Mav tried to reach this kid (kid, probably his age but ten times stupider which Slider would scoff was saying something). Not just lecture him but try and reach him before he did the one thing no pilot could come back from.
Banjo just looked bored.
Mav stood, leaning his knuckles on his desk. “Is there a reason you look like I'm wasting your time, Lieutenant?”
A smart man would say 'no, sir' and carry on taking his lumps. Banjo smirked.
Smirked.
If Mav wasn't his superior officer...
“Everyone knows you're only instructing here because the Navy felt sorry for you.”
Mav froze. Guilt and grief slamming into him with the force of 10 G's. The pain he tried to push down through the day. Goose.
He squared his shoulders, preparing to get in Banjo's face. To continue the lecture the pilot desperately needed.
Someone else got there first.
“I beg your pardon?”
The temperature in the room dropped below freezing.
Ice cold, no mistakes, Goose had described him. When he was pissed, it was more like ice cold, I'm going to murder you.
Shit.
Mav hadn't even realised Ice had finished in the locker room. His internal wingman proximity radar hadn't even blipped. His first instinct was to turn and smile, play it off. Ice didn't have to deal with this.
Banjo was his headache today.
Ice, as ever, ignored Mav. Striding forward with that ice cold persona practically creating icebergs in his wake.
Banjo stilled, like a deer in the headlights. Bravado failing him.
No one liked to mess with Iceman. Mav hadn't worked out yet if it was because he'd been TOPGUN, or if it was just because he was Ice. Man's money was on it just being Ice. He was going to go far.
There was less than an inch of height difference between them, but Ice towered over Banjo, glaring down at him like he was a bug smear on his window.
“Look me in the eye and say that again.”
“I-” Banjo faltered. “Lieutenant Kazansky, sir-”
Ice raised an eyebrow, Mav wincing in internal sympathy. He'd suffered under that eyebrow, was never fun.
“What you said about Lieutenant Mitchell,” Ice repeated, almost conversational. “I'd like you to say it again. To me.”
“Ice-”
Ice's frozen blue eyes snapped to Mav, and had he spoken? He had no opinions about anything at all. Was just going to stand here and shut up and let Ice deal with it. He was a smart man. He liked having sex.
Ice turned back to Banjo, his voice eerily soft. “Lieutenant Mitchell is an instructor at TOPGUN because he is one of the finest aviators the Navy has. He has three air to air kills.”
Mav held up three fingers, agreeing helplessly with Ice. He didn't need to, and really he should've been taking this himself. But Ice was his wingman and trusting each other was just what they did.
“The Navy offered him his choice of duty station, and he chose TOPGUN. To teach pilots like you how to be better.” Ice took a step forward, Banjo all but bending backwards to maintain eyecontact. “If you ever disrespect him again, I will bounce you from this programme so fast you won't even have time to learn 'would you like fries with that?’ Am I understood?”
Banjo nodded frantically. “Yes sir.”
Ice nodded tightly. “Dismissed. Get out of my sight.”
Banjo bolted from the room so fast Mav half expected to hear a meep-meep, silence falling in his wake.
Ice took a deep breath, turning slowly to Mav. Perfectly professional, eyes as warm as a summer day.
“You okay, Mav?”
“You have never been hotter to me.”
Mav blinked. Huh. That wasn't the I'm fine he'd been going for. But yeah, okay, he owned it. Ice was a specific kind of hot when he was defending his honour.
Ice chuckled, rolling his eyes. “Careful, Lieutenant Mitchell,” he purred. Purred. Come on, that's not fair. “We're at work.”
Mav shook his head, reaching out to brush a non-existent wrinkle from Ice's uniform. A thank you they both knew Ice wouldn't let him voice.
Still, Ice was flirting with him and that happened so rarely at work.
“I thought you liked it when I'm dangerous.”
Ice grinned, a flash of sparkling teeth. “Did I say that?”
No. But it was implied. Every single day since the Layton.
Ice winked, reading the answer in Mav's face. “It's like loud chewing, Mav. I put up with it.”
Loud-? Mav blinked. The audacity of his man.
“I'll show you dangerous,” Mav decided, leaping over the desk. “Get over here, Kazansky.”
Ice had that look, the I'm not making this easy for you, Mitchell look. But he looked out into the corridor and leaned down obligingly.
“Yeah, you like it when I'm dangerous,” Mav grinned triumphantly.
And then he kissed him.