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Maverick leant against the railing at the far end of the flight deck, alone, isolated from the rest of the ship as she cut through water with a lethality not possessed by any other vessel. The darkness worked like a blanket; it hid him from the skeleton crew working the watch, even as they walked the deck to check everything was in order every half hour.
Wind blew around him, and his hair ruffled with it. The once brushed strands had become tousled the moment he’d stepped out onto the deck. It echoed through the bones of the ship, rattling against the guard rails and blowing any debris off the deck and into the scuppers. It felt almost foreshadowing of the day to come, Maverick thought privately, like it was trying to tell him something would go wrong.
He watched the ship’s wake, observing silently as artificial waves dissipated outwards until they’d sunk back under the surface. Somewhere behind them, one of the Navy’s many submarines would be scanning the depths for other, enemy submarines looking to put a hole in the side of their ship. And out to their sides, the rest of the carrier strike group steamed along at a matching speed, assuming formation with a well practiced ease.
Maverick could see the bridge lights of a destroyer, not too far off their port side. He wondered if there was someone like him aboard that ship, standing on her decks unable to sleep with a mind working in overdrive.
He pulled his phone from his pocket to check the time. It was almost 01:30, far too late to still be up when they had what was effectively a suicide mission being run at 10:00. Or far too early, if you were to be pedantic. Maverick turned the device over a few times in his hands, palms slick against the simple silicone casing. It was dangerous to hold it over the edge of the railing, but he trusted himself not to drop it. And even if he did, it was more likely to land on the catwalks than to tumble into the ocean, never to be seen again.
Fear pooled at the base of his stomach, threatening to overtake his entire body if only Maverick let it. He feared someone wasn’t coming back tomorrow. He feared that if he didn’t choose Rooster as Dagger Two, then he’d hate him forever. But he also feared that if he did, he’d lose him to an enemy missile forever. He feared that any one of them could be hit by a SAM, blown to smithereens by an unfeeling feat of engineering.
The pilots, his pilots, were risking their lives for the sake of their country, at the orders of a man who sat in a cushy office chair without knowledge of the dangers posed to those who must carry them out. It was a mission they’d receive no glory for, no medals would be awarded, all because it would happen on the wrong side of a line on a map.
Nobody would ever know of the sacrifices they made, the limits they pushed, in order to keep their country - and their European counterparts - safe.
All because it was classified.
Maverick clicked the power button on the side of his phone once again. He did nothing more than stare at the screen for several moments, finger hovering over the button to unlock it.
Even though Ice was set to join them on the carrier the next morning, a couple of hours before the mission was scheduled to deploy, Maverick wanted to ring him. He wanted the reassurances of his husband, even if he’d be unable to believe them fully. Even if he knew Ice wouldn’t believe them either.
It was late, edging into the realm of 02:00 by now, as stated by the clock in the corner of Maverick’s phone screen. He shouldn’t even be awake. But the feeling loitered. And a hunch told him Ice would still be awake too, working himself to the bone to stop himself from worrying.
Mind made up, he jabbed in his passcode 311262, Ice’s birthday, and navigated his way to his husband’s contact. Hesitation lingered for only a moment, and he pressed the small call icon in the centre, lifting the phone to his ear as it began to dial.
“Hey Mav.” Ice picked up on the third ring, sounding incredibly tired but happy to hear from him.
“I didn’t wake you, did I?” Maverick asked, just wanting to make sure.
“No, I was answering some emails I let pile up.”
“You, not on top of work? Impossible.”
“Har har de har har. You okay?”
The concern was evident in his voice, which was barely above a whisper. Mav could hear Ice pick up a glass and drink from it each time he spoke more than a few words at once. And he could hear Ice coughing after finishing a sentence.
“I’m fine,” Now that he was on the phone, Mav found he didn’t actually want to talk about his fears about the next day. Instead, he was content to just enjoy the present. “I just wanted to hear your beautiful voice.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere, Captain.”
“Evidently it got me somewhere, you married me. Remember?”
Ice laughed, “You’re insufferable.”
“Keeps your life interesting. You’d be a complete bore without me.” Maverick found himself grinning, his mood lifted by their playful bickering.
“Probably. I’d have less grey hairs though.”
“Potato potato. Are you okay? You sound wrecked.”
There was a long pause, wherein Maverick decided his concern was probably warranted.
“Just .. tired.” Ice paused, like he was going to say more, but instead broke off to cough harshly away from the phone. It was slightly muffled, suggesting he’d used his sleeve to cover the speaker.
“You want to switch to sign?”
“Might be a good idea.”
Mav brought the phone away from his ear and pressed the button to switch the call to FaceTime. He was first greeted with the sight of his own face, illuminated by the screen, before Ice accepted the request and Maverick disappeared into a little box in the corner.
The first thing he saw was darkness, but it lasted only until Ice flicked a light switch on and it became clear where he was, though Mav had had a pretty good idea beforehand. Ice was in his office, sat at his desk, where he had probably been since eight o’clock that evening.
“Hey.”
“Hi.” Ice signed, small smile pulling at the edges of his lips. Maverick drank in the sight, wanting to make the most of every moment he had with Ice, just in case they never got to do this again. “How’ve your kids been?”
The reference to them as his kids was almost like a punch to the stomach. He hadn’t realised how attached he’d become to this squadron until it was almost too late.
“Jumpy, on edge. Rooster’s been more tense than usual.”
“It’s to be expected. You worked out who's going to be your two foxtrot teams yet?”
“Mm. Payback and Fanboy, and Phoenix and Bob.”
“Two solid choices. And your wingman?”
Maverick paused, unsure how to broach the topic.
“Ah.”
It appeared he didn’t have to, as his silence seemingly told Ice everything he needed to know. It took a second, but eventually he began to expand on his thoughts.
“My head is telling me to pick Rooster. He flies safely, takes calculated risks but not unnecessary ones. I’ve already got one me in the air, I don’t need another. Hangman is an excellent pilot, one of the best I’ve seen in a while, Ice, but he can be unpredictable. And his teamwork needs some effort. But..”
“But?”
“But my heart doesn’t want to let go. Bradley already hates me, I can deal with that as long as he’s alive to do so. The selfish part of me wants to keep him on the carrier as Dagger Spare, just so he’s safe.”
He finished talking, and closed his eyes against the wind, dropping his head down until he was looking at the water once more. He was going to have to choose, and fast.
“Mav’rick.” Ice rasped, an attempt to get his attention.
“Shit, sorry love.” Maverick replied, turning his gaze back onto the phone screen so that Ice could talk.
“It’s okay,” Ice signed, then took a singular moment to gather his thoughts. “It sounds like, to me, that you need to listen to some of that Pete Mitchell ethos. Don’t think just do, remember? You need to take the leap, trust that Bradley knows what he’s doing and will have your back. Because he will. Leave Hangman on the carrier as Dagger Spare, if he’s the kind of pilot you say he is, then he’ll move heaven and earth to get to you if there’s an emergency. He won’t hesitate to push the envelope, to get there by any means necessary. And that’s, exactly, what you need in your spare. It’s what I needed in you, all those years ago.”
Maverick was once again baffled by his husband's ability to be right in every situation ever. It was almost unfair, how he always knew exactly what to do, even when faced with the seemingly impossible.
“You’re right. I think. How are you always so right?"
“It’s one of my many talents.”
Maverick chuckled, twisting his body around until he was sat with his back to the railing, facing the flight deck, with his knees drawn up in front of him to help balance his phone.
They talked for another hour, about everything and nothing at all, until they were both fighting sleep and decided to call it a night. Ice had a flight at 05:30 that would get him to the carrier just after they left US Waters so he could be there for the entire duration of the mission. And Maverick had to be awake at 05:00, in order to give the day’s brief to the rest of the daggers.
He thought about that as he descended below decks, heading for the unnecessarily large stateroom in the officer’s mess that he’d been allocated to share with Ice. It was unnerving, being given the best housing on the carrier, when he was so used to being forced to squash himself into beds that were barely big enough length wise, despite him being.. vertically challenged.
Maverick fell into bed the minute he got back, not even nothing to change out of his flight suit. But he did spare a moment to kick his boots off, a line had to be drawn somewhere. Once his head hit the pillow, he was out for the count, blissfully dead to the world.