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If Pete had thought for even a moment that it would take him months to get back into Tom's bed after the first time he woke up in it, he'd have laughed. The last thing he expected was for the man who pulled a gun to protect him to go all Victorian on him.
But he had. Tom had taken him to his bed, taken care of him, made sure he was okay, and then sent him on his way with the promise of dinner on Monday. And then he'd almost acted as if none of that had happened at all - or, it might have seemed so except that when he showed up for dinner, the restaurant had been decorated with candles.
He'd been glad that he took a chance and brought a small bouquet - though he'd been ready to dump it in a trash can around the corner if he thought the vibes weren't right.
Tom had been strangely nervous, shy almost. Cute, he'd thought. He seemed confused that Pete came back, that Pete didn't blame him for what happened to him, that he still wanted to be around him.
Pete had shrugged it off - the time in his life where he might have cared about that sort of thing had been forcibly ended by the Navy themselves. What did he care what Tom's extracurricular activities entailed? All he asked was whether or not there was any trafficking, but Tom's reaction had been so sincerely affronted by the implication that he didn't think the man was lying about it.
Still, Tom had stayed skittish for a couple of weeks until Pete started bringing more little gifts. If the man wanted to be courted, if Pete had to prove he was serious, then he would. Watching his life flash before his eyes in that grubby warehouse floor had just cemented that his interest in Tom and his restaurant went a lot deeper than that. Reminded him that tomorrow wasn't guaranteed.
And when the chef-owner-criminal(???) hadn't punched him for kissing him that first time in his bed, had kissed him back, well. It meant he had a chance and he was not one to let those slip by, never had been.
So, one brunch morning over a delicious focaccia bread, Pete made his move and asked Tom out.
Tom somehow still looked surprised about it, but he'd finally accepted that Pete was both lucid and serious, and finally said yes.
He'd started to hang out on evenings the restaurant was closed now, too. As soon as he finished up for the day and closed the garage, he was across town and spending time with Tom. This had been about when Tom asked what had happened to his little restaurant review notebook, if he'd stopped coming up with new dishes for Pete to bother writing about.
He clearly hadn't expected Pete to tell him that they took it from him when he'd been kidnapped. His expression had gone dark and distant, and he idly apologized for not asking sooner.
Less than forty-eight hours passed before Ice came back with a flinty spark in his gaze, a little blood on his sleeve by his shoulder, and-
and Pete's notebook.
Pete hadn't bothered trying to restrain himself from jumping Ice as soon as he got home, dragging him to the bed whose location he actually knew, now.
He also started seeing more of what went on in the back of the restaurant, getting a more complete grasp on who the man he was rapidly falling in love with was. A thought he tried not to think too loud, tried not to focus on too much.
Tom had also let him in on what his magic was. Had explained how he could compel someone to answer him truthfully, but in return he also had to answer the next question he was asked honestly. Pete had asked if that was why his eyes sometimes became very blue, and Tom had just given him that crooked little smile that told him he was right.
It hadn't taken long for him to start meeting people in Tom's crew, too. Though he'd learned very quickly that he should call him Ice around them after one freakish giant of a man pinned him to a wall with a gun out to interrogate him for knowing Tom's name, for daring to say it.
He'd tried to choke out a reply, or kick the asshole in the balls, or anything, when Tom had swung around the corner with his own weapon out.
The man - Slider, he'd gathered, and it was strange to be in a place where people used callsigns again - had taken a good deal of convincing before he believed that Tom had given Pete his name willingly. That Pete wasn't holding anything over him.
The incident probably should have made him question what he was doing, why he was keeping himself around people who would pull a gun in a heartbeat. He was a little too busy being fixated on the furious steel in Tom's gaze when he'd pulled around the corner to see Pete in danger. Signs he was crazy, he's sure, if he wasn't already aware.
He hasn't felt this alive in years.
And he isn't even involved in Tom's more…underground activities (yet, anyway).
Ice - and it is Ice asking - eventually sits him down to ask what callsign he'd like to go by. Pete hesitates on that for a long minute, and Ice starts to tell him that he doesn't have to pick something right away when he holds a hand up. Ice waits, ever patient, and Pete exhales before finally murmuring a quiet, "Maverick."
Ice had nodded like it wasn't new to him - and he supposed it wouldn't be, given the fact that even the first piece of shit who interrogated him knew it. That means more, in a way. Ice didn't just assume he wanted to keep the callsign he'd had when he lost everything before. Didn't expect it of him or just start using it. He waited to ask Pete.
That's what makes it easy, almost, for him to tell Tom his callsign.
And then he finds out very quickly just how much he likes hearing 'Maverick' and 'Mav' on Ice's tongue.
So, all in all, it's the best few months he's experienced since he got out of prison. His freedom had felt a little hollow, empty and directionless, right up until he met Tom. The pull he'd felt to him had started out platonic (mostly), but now it's all-consuming. And he's more than happy to let himself be consumed.
Now that he had his notebook back, he started trying to take Tom to a few of his favorite places, figuring it was only fair that he take him out on some dates too instead of expecting him to always cook.
'Trying' being the operative word there, because each spot on his favorites list got quickly vetoed. Mav started to think Ice was judging his taste in food until the man started laughing and asked to see the book. He handed it to him, confused.
"Jesus, Mav. Are you sure you're not with the feds?" he'd snorted.
"What? What are you talking about?" Mav had asked, astounded.
"These are all fronts, Pete."
"What-? Even the kimchi granny?" He'd thought Ice was fucking with him, as he liked to sometimes.
"She'd kill you if she knew you called her that," Ice had snorted, flipping further and further into the notebook. Apparently looking for some place Mav liked that wasn't a front.
"She likes me, thanks very much," Pete had huffed.
They'd gone to some pizza spot that Ice knew and Pete had decided he'd find a good spot to take Ice if it killed him.
He finally finds a little Thai fusion spot that Ice doesn't immediately veto, and they go that next Wednesday.
Mav brings one of his newer bikes, knowing Ice will appreciate it, and the ride there is not long enough, in his personal opinion. Maybe he'll suggest they take the scenic route home, go along the cliffs by the sea, just ride for a while. Just have Ice's arms around him, taking the turns with him, pressed up against him.
He's still thinking about and looking forward to it as they leave the restaurant, and is just opening his mouth to say as much when something cold presses against the back of his skull. Before he can twist and throw an arm back he hears the safety click off. And then something slams him over the head, and the last thing he sees as his vision goes dark is Ice, struggling against two sets of arms wrangling him down to his knees.
—
He wakes up taped to a chair again, and this may only be the second time but it's really getting old. He jerks against the restraints, slowly coming to - he still has his boots this time, at least - before he lurches into wakefulness at the realization that he hadn't been alone. Where was-
"Nice of you to finally join us, Maverick," someone says, pulling his attention to- to the chair facing him. To Ice, restrained with tape and rope, a lot more thoroughly than Pete himself. Ice's expression reveals nothing, but his gaze is sharp, filled with a quiet worry and a much louder fury. He's looking over Pete, searching for something, maybe injuries.
"What-" he rasps.
"Nuh-uh. I'm asking the questions here." The man pauses, and then his smirk grows meaner. "Actually, Iceman here will be asking the questions."
Maverick's gaze snaps back to Ice, alarmed. Ice's jaw clenches, tight with anger, with helpless rage.
"Go fuck yourself," Pete growls.
The man tuts, shaking his head. "You'd like that, wouldn't you? Let me make this exceedingly simple for you so you can follow along. I have some questions for you. Iceman here will be doing the asking for me. If he refuses to, I shoot you in the head." Pete lurches, stiffening. "If you refuse to answer, well. Just try it, I'm sure it'll go well for you."
Ice's lip twitches, the tiniest curl of a deep, fathomless anger.
"We'll start easy, just to make sure you understand what I'm expecting of you." The man pulls out an ostentatious gold revolver and pulls the hammer back, aiming it at Pete. "What's your name?"
Tom exhales, but before the asshole can get impatient, his eyes flash blue and stay that way. "What's your name?" he repeats, his voice even, unbothered.
Mav's never tried to resist Ice's magic - it never occurred to him to want to before and Ice never used it on him again after they got together. He expects it to feel like it had when they'd drugged him, but it doesn't. That had been sharp and acidic, sour and burning. This- this burned in a different way. It was cold, sinking into his blood instead of wrapping around his throat. "Tony," he coughs out, and that just makes it worse.
Ice's expression shifts, just a hair, but Mav isn't sure what that means.
"Bold of you," the man commends. "We'll see how long you last. How many fronts does Iceman have?"
Ice's jaw twitches, and Mav realizes distantly that he hasn't been able to be truthful either, that he's just as bound by the magic. It's a wonder he manages to not answer the man and repeat the question, instead.
"This one," Mav grits out, twisting his wrist as much as he can to flip the guy off. The freezing sensation carves deeper into him, trailing cold tendrils down his arms.
"Hm. What do you know about Iceman's operations?" The man continues. He's not the guy who captured Mav before - Mav's pretty sure that asshole is dead - but he's the same breed.
Ice's shoulder twitches, and Mav realizes it must be his Thorn - him being punished for not giving his price to the magic he called on. "What do you know about my operations?" he repeats, his blue, blue gaze getting somehow more electric the longer Mav is pinned by it.
"I- I-" Mav shudders, trying to pull in a breath. "I know you spend your days knitting," he rasps. "What color are those tablecloths in the back?" He spots the moment Ice realizes what he's doing, the instant where he mouths 'checkered red and white' and seems to relax a little. That's one. Mav has to get him two more. "And the- the throw blanket, on the couch, what color's that?" Green. "So- so much knitting," he continues, unable to stifle the shiver that jolts down his spine. "And that little flag above the kitchen door-" he says, quickly, before they can try to shut him up. "Color's that?" Red-white-blue. None of those items are knitted, but then, he hadn't said they were in his questions. Ice gave real answers, and he can see the pain disappear from his expression, hidden though it had been.
The man gestures with his revolver, and someone whips him over the back of his head with something. He grunts in pain, blinking away spots.
"How much longer can you hold out? It'll stop hurting if you just answer," the man says pityingly. "Where does Iceman stash his goods?"
Ice repeats the question, his gaze sharp on Mav.
Mav isn't sure what he's trying to say, if he's trying to give him permission to answer truthfully. He won't- he refuses to let him down, to put him or his people in danger just to save his own skin. "Up your ass," he gasps, heaving for breath as the chill freezes his legs, the stabbing cold making them cramp. "'s where- where the best shit's kept, right?" he asks Ice, grinning crookedly.
Yes, Ice mouths, a quiet sadness lurking under the bright blue of his gaze.
"Why bother resisting? What are you going to do, continue lying until it kills you?" The man smirks, cruel. "What operation is Iceman pulling off next?"
"A-an- an operation to- to get you some bitches," Pete manages, his shoulders locking up as the freezing shards of ice stab through his blood. He's not sure if it's really happening or just the magic, but it feels like he's being shredded slowly from the inside out by cold. "You- you clearly need it. Doesn't he, Ice?" his gaze falters, graying at the edges.
Yes, Ice mouths again, his expression twisting a little more visibly.
The man's expression is looking rapidly less amused the longer this goes on. "You like wasting my time. Think it's funny, huh? How funny is it going to be when you make your little boyfriend kill you? That's what's going to happen to you, if you keep lying," he says, gesturing emphatically with his gun.
And that- he doesn't want to do that to Ice. But he can't risk everything that Ice has built. He can't jeopardize that. Besides, he's so new to Ice's life, there's no- there's no way he's that important.
"That's five. How many more can you withstand? You're not looking so hot," he says, sneering.
"You could get a day job as a comedian," Mav fires back without even looking at him. He hasn't looked away from Ice's bright, entrancing gaze since he first started interrogating him.
"Bet you were popular in the prison yard with that pretty face," the man taunts, and Mav fixates on how Ice tenses. "Don't worry, you won't end up back there. You won't end up anywhere if you don't start answering my questions. Where is Iceman's base of operations?"
Ice's gaze is piercing as he repeats the question, so intense that he can feel it, a physical shroud of cold.
"N-Narnia," Mav rasps, gasping as the cold surges through his chest, creeping towards his heart.
"Mav-" Ice says, strained. "Just answer it."
He's struggling to remember how to breathe, how to make his lungs expand when they feel frozen over.
"Listen to your boyfriend," the man agrees.
He doesn't quite hear him, fighting to stay conscious. He gets the feeling that if he passes out here, he's not going to wake up again.
"You've got balls, I'll give you that. Surprising for a civilian. Who is Iceman's fence?"
"Mav- just tell him. Who's my fence?" Ice asks.
"Nngh-" is all he can manage, a low wheeze rattling through his chest.
There's a loud crash somewhere behind him, and then the deafening pops of gunfire. His gaze is still locked on Ice, unable to make himself look away from him. Something thuds to the ground directly behind him, and then the asshole running the interrogation charges forward, leveling his gun at Pete's forehead. Pete opens his mouth to say something, processing and reacting too slowly, when a bullet whizzes past, clean through his gun hand. The gold revolver drops to the floor as the man roars in pain.
"He's mine," Ice snarls, and he twists his wrist to catch something being thrown to him from the side. He flicks it once it's in hand and a blade pops out. He's cut himself free in moments, moving to step over their captor, who's writhing on the floor, like he's little more than roadkill. And then he's suddenly there, standing in front of Pete.
"Mav," Ice murmurs, gripping his jaw, gently tilting his face up to meet his gaze. "Mav, look at me," he insists quietly, a soft plea. "C'mon, Mav, what's your name?"
"M-mngh," Mav mumbles, slumping a little into his touch, hardly noticing the continuing chaos around them.
"Mav," Ice insists, squeezing a little. "This is important. C'mon, tell me," he urges softly.
"'s'mav-erick," he rasps with the last of his strength. And then he jerks hard as he inhales sharply, suddenly able to breathe again.
"Yes- just like that, Mav," Ice exhales in relief. "What color are your eyes?"
"Green-" he murmurs, and the freezing cold starts to melt away from his heart.
"Good boy," Ice breathes. "Again, c'mon, what's my restaurant?"
"I-Italian." He shudders, but the cold leeches out of his chest, down his shoulders.
"What's it called?" Ice asks, his other hand, the one with the blade, moving to cut him free.
"Tony's," he answers. It still hurts, but there's a rush of pins and needles chasing the parting frost, down his arms and to his extremities.
"That's it," Ice's voice is uncharacteristically gentle. "Just keep answering, you'll be okay."
"Wha- what about you?" Mav croaks, swallowing hard.
"Don't worry about me, Mav," he insists softly. "It doesn't do the same thing to me."
"Oh, good." He shudders a little as he feels warmth starting to return, and Ice cuts the tape around his wrists.
"Just a little more," Ice reassures, stroking a thumb under Mav's eye. "What's my name?"
"Ice," Mav whispers, knows better than to say Tom here. He can almost feel his fingers again.
"Good. What did we drive to that Thai place?" Ice continues.
"Bike- the Ninja," Mav responds. Ice cut one of his hands free without looking, but has been preoccupied with quizzing him since. Mav slowly pulls his arm away from the arm of the chair with a low groan. He can feel his toes, wiggling them as he straightens up a little.
"That's it, Mav," Ice praises, leaning in to kiss him as if they aren't surrounded by guns and blood and in the middle of enemy territory. Mav melts into it, kissing him back desperately, reaching up with his freed hand to grasp his shirt and pull him in. "One more, just to be safe," he says into his lips. "What do you do?" he asks, and there's a playful little glint in his eyes. He must see the moment Mav remembers that this is the first thing he'd asked, interrogated him on, all those months ago.
"Mechanic," he replies, smiling small.
"Good." There's some tension in Ice's expression as he pulls away, but he doesn't say anything to Mav's questioning glance. He lets go of Mav's jaw with one last squeeze before kneeling to cut the rest of the bindings off of him.
"Ice-" Slider calls from where he'd apparently been waiting off to the side.
"Slider," Ice greets him with a relieved smile. "Good work."
"Amateur hour," Slider replies with a grunt. "You okay, boss?"
"Been worse," Ice replies brusquely. "Bring him with us," he says, tipping his head back to their captor, who had been trying to slowly push his way toward the gun he'd dropped.
"With pleasure," Slider says, kicking the asshole in the ribs and then gesturing for two others to come collect him.
"C'mon Mav, let's get you home," Ice says, softer now. He offers him a hand up, and Mav takes it, pulling himself shakily to his feet. "Think you can walk?" he asks.
"Yeah- yeah I can walk," Mav insists, though he leans on Ice. "You sure you're okay?"
"Yes, I'll be fine," Ice insists. "I'm more worried about you. What the hell were you thinking? I told you to answer!" he growls, squeezing Mav's shoulder a little tighter.
"Wasn't, really," Maverick admits. "I just- couldn't let you down." He winces when he realizes Ice's eyes are still too-blue, wondering if he can't stop.
"Jesus, Mav," Ice exhales roughly, heading down the hallways, following his people. Mav recognizes a few of them - mostly Slider and another pair that inexplicably went by Hollywood and Wolfman (were they from LA?). "If I tell you to answer the question, just do it, okay?" his voice is rough, just this side of angry, but Mav can hear the undercurrent of fear to it.
"I'll think about it," he grumbles, tripping on something as they walk down the hall with a low grunt. Ice catches him, steadying him with both strong hands on his arms.
"Mav-" Ice tries.
"'m'fine," Mav insists, straightening a little, determined to walk himself out of here.
"I can carry you," Ice offers.
"Tempting," Mav teases with a little smile. "Let's just- go home?" he hesitates for just a heartbeat before he finishes the question, realizing the impact of his words. Worse, that he means them.
Ice's expression softens into something sweet, almost fond. "Yeah. I'm taking you home, Mav," he promises. And he does.
They leave that cold concrete maze and head back to Ice's place, together.
