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derpinathebrave · 2 years

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And We’ll Never Be Lonely Anymore - IceMav

READ ON AO3

So @pollyna gave me brainworms with their AU about IceMav getting drunk Vegas married and then I wrote 13000 words.

SUMMARY: After a night in Vegas to blow off steam before they head to Miramar, Iceman finds himself sporting an incredible hangover and a shiny silver wedding ring. With no spouse in sight all he can do is head to Top Gun and work it out later. He hasn't let anything ruin his perfect run before, and he sure as hell wont start now.

TAGS: Tom "Iceman" Kazansky, Pete "Maverick" Mitchell, Ron "Slider" Kerner, Leonard "Wolfman" Wolfe, Rick "Hollywood" Neven, Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, Las Vegas Wedding, Alternate Universe, drunk wedding, we got 99 problems and homophobia aint one, Angst with a Happy Ending, Iceman's very bad no good month, ron slider kerner is the best boy, no beta we die like goose, No DADT, No Homophobia, Dead Nick "Goose" Bradshaw, Grief/Mourning, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms-ish

WORDS: 13,860 (bruh)

-----------------

Someone was scraping the inside of his ears with sound. Somewhere, every second or so, a sharp blast of noise hit him dead in the face.

Tom "Iceman" Kazansky rolled out of the too-soft pillow. The light, what little there was coming through the heavy curtains, stung at him. He searched the room, finding the grating noise to be the alarm he had set the night before. With that taken care of, he rolled back into the mess of blankets and promptly passed out once more.

An uncertain amount of time later, Tom woke to rattling in his own head again.

"Ice, hey, Ice, get up," Slider was shaking him roughly from above.

He let out a groan, a pained exhale and then forced his eyes open.

"Holy shit, man," Slider said, grinning from ear to ear. "How wasted did you get last night?"

"Incredibly," Ice said, his voice a gravelled rasp. "What time is it?"

"Almost 900. I can't believe I beat you out of bed for once." Slider slapped Ice's shoulder before wandering off.

Ice almost laid his head back down to sleep until the sting of daylight hit him full force. Slider had thrown open the curtains to reveal sunny down-town Las Vegas.

"Fuck, you're such an asshole," Iceman groaned but hauled himself into a sitting position. The room spun, tilted and finally settled into place. His head throbbed, the urge to try and hold his brain together from exploding was tempting.

"C'mon, up and at'em," Slider said with a clap.

"Why the fuck aren't you hungover?" Ice groaned, desperately trying to clear his eyes, rubbing at them with the heels of his hands and taking a deep breath in.

"Because I am—" Slider's superior tone faded into silence.

Iceman pulled his hands away from his eyes, blinking at Slider. Slider who was standing, staring with an open mouth at Ice in the bed. His eyes were wide, blinking rapidly before an incredulous grin spread over him.

"What the hell is that?" Slider pointed at Ice.

"What the hell is what?" Ice snapped back, way too hungover to find anything remotely amusing at the moment.

"That! On your finger! That!" Slider jabbed the pointing hand with each word.

Iceman dropped his gaze to his hands in his lap.

There, shining in the sunlight from the window, was a plain silver band. His class ring still firmly in place on the other hand. This ring was new. This ring was on a finger that it should not possibly have been on under any circumstances.

Iceman glanced up to find Slider still staring at him, now with a look of uncomfortable concern.

He looked back to the ring, trying, straining to remember anything about the night before.

Vodka sodas, lots of them. The flashing lights of a dance club? Ice rubbed his eyebrow, there must have been many, many more vodka sodas than he thought if he ended up dancing. He searched for more in the haze of alcohol and hangover. Maybe he could remember kissing someone? Maybe he could remember grinding on someone? He remembered laughter. More laughter than he had ever had in his life.

"What did we do last night?" Ice asked, eyebrows furrowed as he looked at Slider.

"Well, I didn't fucking marry you, if that’s what you're asking," Slider said. And indeed his fingers were bare of any wedding rings.

"No," Ice shook his head and then gripped it to hold it together from the pain. "I mean where did we go, what did we do? I don’t remember anything except a dance club?" Iceman tossed the blankets off and stumbled to the bathroom. He was at least wearing boxers and his apparent spouse was nowhere to be seen. Maybe this was all some stupid joke.

"We had a few drinks at the bar, some girls invited us out to a nearby club." Slider recounted as Ice washed his face and brushed the scum from his teeth. The mint helped settle the roil in his stomach. "We went with them. We drank some more. Uh," Slider hesitated, "It gets a little fuzzy for me there. Katy took me back to her place and, you know me, a gentleman never tells."

Tom stared at his reflection, still frowning as he tried his best to remember any of that. Why had he stayed at the club after Slider had gone? He couldn't remember. It was all just foggy blackness and that same memory of dancing and kissing.

"This can't be possible." Iceman straightened and towelled his face off. "I can't be married. I was so drunk I can't possibly have consented to that. This is a joke. You're fucking with me, right?"

"Ice, Tom, I wish I was. But I swear, I didn't do that," Slider said, face earnest. "I went home with a girl last night."

A sick feeling that had nothing to do with his hangover settled into his stomach.

"Who would perform a ceremony for someone that is so drunk they can't even remember it?" Ice clenched his hands into fists the silver band pressing into this palm. He unclenched them and immediately removed the ring.

"This is Las Vegas," Slider shrugged. He turned away and continued packing his duffel. "I know this is bad but we have to get moving. Check-out is in half an hour and we need to be at the airport by 12."

Ice's lips pressed into a hard line. Slider was right. They had to get moving. He would deal with it later.

With considerable effort, Tom slid his Iceman persona back into place and began to pack as well. He tucked the silver band into a pocket of his toiletries bag.

===

The trip to the airport was torture. His hangover ramped up, the last of the alcohol processing until he was nothing but pain, nausea and misery. They managed to grab a sandwich at the airport that Ice immediately threw back up in the bathroom. The only way it could have ever gotten worse was if someone from the academy had spotted him in the sorry state. Slider was merciful and refrained from teasing him. Mostly.

The plane was delayed by two hours that turned into four. Iceman and Slider sat on their duffels and waited by the gate.

Around 2pm Ice finally felt he could keep solids down and bought them both another sandwich. He used the extra time to wrack his brains for any more memories. The alcohol had done it's job though, nothing new came to him.

The flight was horrendous. They always were for Ice. Even if he wasn't already miserable with his hangover, the flight would have done the job. Commercial jets were cramped with hordes of other people and the total lack of control needled him. He and Slider sat side-by-side gripping the arm rests on take off and landing. The same tension present in Slider's face that Iceman felt.

"I fucking hate flying civilian," Slider muttered as they waited to depart the plane in San Diego.

"Me too, Sli," Ice clapped his shoulder. "But it's better than driving eight hours on this hangover."

"I guess," Slider sighed and finally ambled out into the aisle.

===

By that night, checked into their base housing and unpacked, Iceman felt almost human again. He was pressing his uniform and attempting to focus on the upcoming five weeks. This would be another step closer to his perfect run. He was desperate to know just who the other aviators would be; who he was going to beat. Surely Hollywood and Wolfman would be here. Maybe Mojo and Rabbit? Cougar had to get a spot, he was almost as good as Ice himself.

Tom hung his clothes and groaned. It didn’t seem to matter how much he tried to pretend he was focusing on Top Gun, the little silver menace in his bedside table was never really far from his thoughts.

Las Vegas was supposed to be stress relief. A big blowout for him and Ron before they went back to working their asses off. Instead everything was in turbulence more than ever.

Iceman ran his hands through his hair and sat on the edge of the bed. With a long, slow exhale, he opened the drawer and took out the ring. Slowly he rolled it, searching for an inscription on the inner band or at least a date. It was clean of any markings at all. No clues of where or why he had it at all.

Tom slid it onto his ring finger once more. It fit perfectly. It had definitely been chosen just for him. He groaned again and tossed it back in the drawer, slamming it shut.

He needed to get in contact with Births, Deaths and Marriages. Surely he could get paperwork that showed whether he was truly married or not. And it would reveal who, if anyone, his mystery spouse was. That was the other thought that plagued him.

Who would marry Tom "Iceman" Kazansky? He wasn't exactly the most approachable person. By design.

He couldn't imagine proposing to any one. He wasn't that type of guy!

But he also couldn't imagine being drunk enough to accept a marriage proposal either. He definitely wasn't that type of guy. If he was going to marry someone it would be like everything else in his life, carefully examined and executed perfectly. He was not spontaneous. He did not colour outside the lines. He was patient and calm, cool as ice.

“Messy drunk Vegas wedding” and “cool as ice” were mutually exclusive. There had to be some other explanation!

The briefing room was supercharged with testosterone and ego. Iceman snapped his gum, running his pen over his fingers idly as he watched the other aviators file in. He knew some of them; Wood and Wolf were indeed here, sitting in front of him. Chipper and Sundown had been called up too.

Slider leaned close, whispering the callsigns of the others that Iceman wasn’t sure of. Ice nodded as he listened. He pointed his pen at the two near the front before returning to running it across his fingers.

“Mother Goose,” Slider mumbled.

“No shit,” Ice rolled his eyes.

“Not sure who he flies with these days.” Ron shrugged and resettled himself to glance around the room once more.

Iceman watched the short pilot beside Goose. There was something so damn familiar about him. He wracked his brains for their academy class and came up empty. As he was going down the list of squadron’s he’d flown with Commander Heatherly strode in.

He tried to give it his full attention, except Ice was still stumped by the mystery of Goose’s pilot. He was still listening, mostly. He tried a little harder to listen as Viper entered, a living legend among aviators, but it was no good. The other pilot held his attention anyway.

Ice knew he was staring, didn't bother to look away as the other aviator turned and met his eyes. Iceman simply snapped his gum again until the other man turned away once more.

Viper was still talking but now Ice really wasn’t listening at all. Now that he’d seen the other pilot’s face, he knew he hadn’t flown with him before and yet the tickling sense that he was familiar hadn’t faded.

He turned back, eyes locking to Ice's once more. A thrill ran through Tom and he couldn't help but offer up his cockiest smile. Whoever he was didn’t really matter, Ice decided, what mattered was who was going to be the best.

“Just wondering who’s the best,” the pilot said, louder than he probably meant to.

Viper paused. Ice smirked and Slider scoffed.

“In case you’re wondering who the best is, they’re on this plaque here.”

Anticipation spiked high in Tom’s chest. He wanted his name on that plaque. For the first time in 48 hours he forgot about the mess in his personal life. That plaque, graduation and being named Top Gun was all that mattered.

===

With the briefing done and Goose and his pilot gone, Iceman turned to Slider.

"Who's the half-pint with Mother Goose?" Iceman asked, sliding his dark aviators on as they wandered into the sun.

Slider snorted and shrugged. He flagged down Hollywood as he and Wolf strutted by.

"Yo, Wood!" Slider called, waving them over. "Who's piloting with Goose?"

"That's Maverick," Hollywood looked between Slider and Ice with a look of confusion. "You know, the MiG sighting?"

"Shut the fuck up," Slider scoffed.

Iceman snapped his jaw shut, grinding into the gum between his molars. No wonder he was a cocky shit.

“Yeah, you guys know why Cougar isn’t here right?” Wood continued, adjusting his cowboy hat.

Ice flicked his eyes around behind his glasses, watching for any sight of Goose and this Maverick. They were already gone back to quarters.

“See, Cougar was up with Maverick at the time of those MiGs,” Wolf picked up the story easily. “Cougar was RADAR-locked, he lost it man. Turned in his wings afterwards I heard.”

Tom felt his jaw tick and he stared at Wolf. “What?” It was all he could muster without shattering the illusion of control he projected.

“Yeah, he quit,” Hollywood said. “Merlin and I were on the Roosevelt together before he was with Cougar, he caught me up just before we shipped here.”

Cougar had quit? Iceman clenched his fist before letting it relax once more. This wasn’t the time or place for emotions like that. It didn’t matter that a man he considered close enough to be a brother hadn’t fronted up with the information himself, it didn’t matter that one of the best pilots he knew had quit, right now all that mattered was keeping everything from showing on his face.

Slider clapped a hand on his shoulder, giving a small squeeze before dropping it. It settled Iceman’s stomach a fraction.

“He was a good pilot,” Ice said.

The others just nodded. A silence hung, the idea of any of them washing out hanging with it.

“O-Club tonight, boys!” Wolf clapped his hands together. “Last blast before training starts! Let’s go.”

And just like that they left Cougar behind and headed back to their quarters.

Tom set his jaw once more. Cougar, Maverick, the silver wedding ring; they were thrust to the back of his mind. He had to keep his head in the game.

===

The O-Club was packed. It felt like every officer from the base was crammed into the building. Smoke hung heavy in the air and the blue and red strip lighting gave everything a surreal haze. It did not serve to improve Iceman’s mood that there were several dozen civilians clearly looking for a man in uniform. All it seemed to do was remind him of their night in Vegas and the things he couldn’t remember more than he could.

He almost wanted to give a sick laugh, at least he had a good reason to turn down anyone now. “Sorry, sweetheart, I’m already married.” Ice could have laughed but for the horrid feeling in his stomach.

He and Slider broke off from the two women trying a little too hard, and headed toward the bar. Ice detoured to snag some food, desperate to settle the rolling discomfort. As he drew back to where Slider had stopped he almost sneered.

“Mother Goose!” Ice slid his persona into place.

As they were finally introduced, Tom got a decent look at Pete “Maverick” Mitchell. He was truly kinda short but there was something in the way he held himself that closed the gap. He was almost good looking, Ice decided, but there was something that left him wanting. Maybe the nasty look in his eyes as they spoke about Cougar.

The sensation that they had met before washed into Tom once more and he quickly downed a shot to hide it. Surely he would have remembered a short, dickish pilot with green eyes.

He and Slider moved on, Tom resisting the urge to glance back.

“That guy is a dick,” Ice muttered to his RIO.

“Maybe,” Slider said. He held up his hands in surrender as Ice turned on him. “You know we’re gonna be the best anyway, Ice, don’t let him get to you.”

With a genuine smile, Iceman shook his head before giving Slider a nod. Somehow the RIO always knew just what to say to him.

He opened his mouth to tell Ron just that when a commotion broke out at the bar. They turned to watch Maverick and Goose incite the age-old tradition of That Lovin’ Feeling. Ice slid his aviators back on, trying to tamp down his second-hand embarrassment as they watched.

Slider joined in the singing, popping his shoulders to the absent beat of the song. Ice rolled his eyes. As he turned back to watch Maverick perch on the bar-stool beside his designated target, another fluttering roll hit his stomach. There, in that boyish laughing face, Ice could see that Maverick was actually very good looking. He clamped his jaw tight once more and turned away.

“I’m turning in,” Ice said to Slider. “Don’t have too much fun.”

They exchanged a quick clap to the shoulders before Ice headed for the exit. He wasn’t running away, he told himself. He was focusing on the priority: being the best.

It took less than one briefing to cement for Iceman that Maverick was an annoying prick. Every time he spoke it grated against Ice. He wanted to slap a hand over Pete Mitchell’s mouth and tell him to shut the fuck up.

Everything seemed specifically designed to throw Iceman off. It was as though some power out in the wide universe had seen all of Tomas Kazansky’s specific weaknesses and irritations and then crafted Pete “Maverick" Mitchell to hit them all.

He was smug, rude to the point of farce, and dangerous. His flying was ridiculously unpredictable and he had no regard for rules.

Ice couldn’t let it stand that Maverick obviously thought he was better than anyone else when he was nothing but a accident waiting to happen. Someone needed to say something to him, attempt to get it into his stupid head that he was going to kill someone one day. Ice was looking out for all of them when he provoked Maverick.

In the dark of his own quarters, staring at the ceiling, an unpleasant reality settled into Tom’s bones. It hurt to admit it, but Maverick was good. Dangerous, stupid and rude. But actually a talented fucking pilot. It felt like chewing glass to admit, even in the quiet darkness of the night. If he actually applied himself to some rules he might actually match Tom.

Maverick didn’t just piss him off because of all the rule breaking and hazards.

He pissed him off because Tom had worked his ass off to be perfect. There had never been a moment that he had wilfully broken a rule or buzzed a tower because Iceman Kazansky was perfect. He had put in blood, sweat and tears to be as good as he was, to be the best. Maverick just fucked around and still managed to be good.

Everything Ice did was perfect; school marks, extra curriculars, the academy, everything was perfect. The closest to breaking a rule Ice had gotten was choosing to be an aviator instead of a SEAL.

He gave a sardonic laugh at that thought.

That used to be the closest he got to breaking a rule. Now he had a Vegas Wedding and an MIA spouse.

For the first time since it happened, Ice let himself imagine what would happen if he told the Admiral about his new martial status.

It wasn’t pretty. The choice to fly had been a big enough blow, there was no way his father could handle a scandal like this stupid marriage. It might actually kill the miserable old fart.

Ice sighed. It was probably not a great idea to try and kill his dad by announcing he was married. Now he was on deployment most of the time it wasn’t like he had to deal with the bastard much anyway.

Beside that, Iceman had sworn Slider to secrecy and wasn’t about to go telling anyone else about this fuck up. He was Iceman. He would get the situation under control, get a quick divorce and maybe, in twenty years or more, laugh about this whole stupid month of his life.

===

“Yo,” Ron called to Ice from the locker room. “Volleyball in ten, us verse Sundown and Chip.”

Iceman doubled back, pulling his sunglasses off and checking for any of the other aviators. They were, thankfully, alone.

“I can’t, Sli,” Ice said, voice quiet. “I have to get down to Births, Deaths, Marriages and get this shit sorted.”

He would have done it before now but the temptation to beat Maverick and Goose at volleyball last week had been too strong even for Iceman to be cool about.

Ron pressed his lips together with restrained disappointment but he gave a nod of understanding.

“Do you want me to come with you?” Slider asked, pulling a shirt on.

“I don’t need a babysitter, but thanks for asking.” Iceman rolled his eyes and slid his dark glasses back on.

“Just don’t trip and get some girl pregnant next, OK?” Slider jumped out of Ice’s reach, cackling at his own joke.

“Fuck you, asshole,” Ice chuckled in spite of himself and set off for the parking lot.

===

The piece of wall cladding drooping away from the upper corner of the room was the epitome of the feeling the Births Deaths and Marriages office gave Ice. He was doing his best to keep face but he wanted to rage.

The carpet was a shade of disgusting brown and the chairs had to have been scientifically designed to be as uncomfortable as possible. He’d had mess halls on carriers with a more welcoming atmosphere than this place. Plus carriers rarely had screaming babies crammed into them as well.

He clung to his paper ticket, desperate for the number to be called next so he could get this over with and leave. A headache throbbed behind his left eye. He couldn’t help but feel this was a sick form of justice. This was what he got for being so irresponsible on shore leave. This was what the Admiral had always warned him about.

“Mark my words, Tomas, you’ll thank me for this one day.” His posture was stiff, upright and unforgiving. He was staring down at his eldest son with barely contained disdain.

“I just wanted to go with the other kids to get an ice-cream, sir,” Tom, barely ten, stood in his best approximation of the Admiral.

“Frivolity has no place here, Tomas. You have chores and homework to attend to. I will not have you fall behind and I refuse to let you squander the small amount of potential you have hinted at.” The words weren’t new but the sting was fresh against Tom’s heart. “I thought you to have a better sense of duty.” The Admiral sniffed.

“I do have a sense of duty!” The words were out before he could think better of them. Tom froze. He drew himself back into the stiff posture and bit hard onto his tongue.

“Clearly you don’t. A lack of duty and respect.” The Admiral turned away from him. “You’re dismissed.”

“Number thirty-three!” A woman’s voice called, startling Ice from his memory. He stood, clutching the ticket in his sweaty fingers and heading for the open window.

The woman was middle-aged, her hair an artificial red that she had obviously chosen a red lip to complement. She gave him a tight smile, the kind of smile that didn’t want conversation but efficiency. Thank God for small mercies.

“How can I help you today, sir?” She asked.

“I need to find a marriage record, please,” he said. He had rehearsed this in his head but it still made his whole chest ache and quiver with fear.

“Sure.” She turned and snatched down some paperwork from the pigeon holes behind her. “Fill this in, take a ticket and bring it back to be lodged.”

Ice held back his biting irritation and scanned the form.

“Uh,” he said.

“Problem, sir?” The woman blinked at him.

“I, uh,” his cheeks flared with shame for the first time in several years. “I, uh, don’t have the name of both parties. Will that matter?”

She blinked again, face going slack a moment. “Oh, well, do you have the date of ceremony?”

“Yes,” he nodded, trying to keep the nausea contained to his stomach.

“Then with a single party, date of ceremony and location you should be able to file it anyway,” she said, looking unconvinced. “Do you have the names of witnesses? The officiator?”

“Uh, no, ma’am.” Ice would rather have spun-in over the ocean than admit it, but life was cruel like that.

“I see.” She pursed her lips a moment and spoke again. “Did this happen to be an out of state marriage?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Ice said. A second blush hit him and he prayed for an asteroid to take him out there and then.

“I see.” She turned away and plucked down a new form. “You’ll need this form for out of state marriage. Do you best with the details,” she gave him a meaningful look. “The results will take ten to forty business days.”

His eyes bulged at the length of time but he bit down on the tip of his tongue. With a short nod he stood, holding his form tight enough to mark it.

“Fill it out, bring it back when your number is called,” she said, a shadow of pity passing through her eyes before she turned away and pressed the call button for the next in line.

It only took him a minute to fill the form with his knowledge. His name, the date and the location were all he really had. With the form lodged, this time with a balding man, Ice crammed his glasses on and stalked out of the office.

After slamming the door of his Jeep, Ice took a slow breath and settled his shoulders back down. Movement clipped and short, he started the Jeep and headed for the base. He didn’t take the front gate but drove until he was beside the runways, jets thundering overhead in takeoff and landing.

Ice killed the engine and set his forehead on the wheel, listening to the roar of engines and the scream of fighter jets. He sat back after a while, watching the sky turn golden and the endless silhouettes of planes coming and going. Slowly, the raging storm in his chest burnt itself out until he felt hollowed out and empty once more. There was nothing more to be done about it. He had to wait and see. Ten to forty more days and he could have this whole stupid thing behind him once and for all.

He would be Top Gun, he wouldn’t have to spend another moment around Pete Mitchell and he would have a divorce on the way. And that was that.

“You know what really pisses me off?” Tom said, leaning forward to talk to Slider across the mess table.

“Fuck, the list is as long and distinguished as my dick,” Slider said.

Ice stared at him, expression dead.

“What pisses you off, Iceman?” Slider’s tone was exaggerated and just as aggravating as his worn-out joke.

“You, right at this fucking moment,” Ice said.

“Trouble in paradise, boys?” Wolf asked as he slid into place beside Ron.

“Just Ice being Ice,” Slider grinned and sat back comfortably.

There were downsides to your RIO knowing your every thought and mood to the point of no longer being scared of you. Iceman remained expressionless and returned to eating without acknowledging either of them.

“Ooh, look Hollywood, he’s frozen solid again,” Wood said and cackled.

Ice sniffed, turning his eyes onto Hollywood. “How’d the hops go today, Neven?”

Hollywood’s mirth petered out as he registered Ice’s question.

“Shit, as you well know, Kazansky,” Wood said, voice hardening.

A heavy silence fell. A flash of regret that he had allowed himself to take his mood out on Hollywood spurred at Ice. They were all pissed with Maverick’s brainless choices that day. They were all left seething at the lack of shits the other pilot seemed to have for anyone except himself and his RIO.

Without much more than a nod to the others, Iceman lifted his tray and left.

===

A knock sounded on his door and Tom looked up from his study. Slider stood in his doorway, face impassive as he looked down at Ice.

Ice nodded him in, tilting his head toward the bed silently.

“You right, man?” Slider sat on the mattress, stretching his legs out and filling half the space.

Ice sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. He rattled his pen against the desk before beginning to run it over his fingers, a nervous habit and Slider knew it.

“He really gets to you, doesn’t he?” Slider said, voice barely touched with incredulity. “Mav really gets under your skin, huh?”

“He’s dangerous,” Iceman ground out, as he had for the last few weeks.

“I guess.” There was a beat of silence and Slider spoke again. “He’s also a pretty ballsy and talented pilot.”

Ice felt his jaw tic.

“That’s why he pisses you off so much. Because even though he’s… unorthodox, he still manages to keep up with you,” Slider said.

Tom wished Slider wasn’t so fucking perceptive. He wished his stupid RIO was just as dense and vacant as all the other aviators liked to believe he was.

“I never would have pulled the shit he did today,” Ice said, voice deadly quiet. “Glory-seeking bullshit.”

“I know.” Slider’s voice was plain and simple. “Do you wish we could, though?”

Iceman fixed him with a glare, the pen falling still on his knuckles. Slider gave him a mild smile in reply.

“I know you, Tom,” Slider said. “I know sometimes you just wish you could go apeshit. That’s why Maverick gets to you so bad. He gets to be wild and untamable and gets away with it all.”

“Please, stop talking,” Ice’s voice came out as a whisper rather than the order he meant it to be.

“I think it turns you on a little too,” Slider carried on as though he hadn’t heard. “And that probably makes you even more pissed off. He’s everything you can’t be and can’t have.”

“Kerner, shut the fuck up, please,” Ice’s voice worked this time, the order snapping out.

There was a mirthless chuckle but Slider fell silent.

Tom couldn’t believe how hard his heart was pounding, rage pulsing thick and fast through his temples. He felt like strangling Slider, squeezing tight until the prickling words ceased to ring in his head. His fingers tingled and Ice realised he wasn’t breathing. He drew a slow, shaking breath and looked at his RIO with death in his eyes.

Slider merely looked back, face bland.

Ice was the first to look away. Eyes fixing to the page of his notebook without seeing it. The words were burrowing in, fixing into his chest with sharp claws and refusing to let go. He didn’t want to look at it too closely, he wanted to back away and pretend that everything Slider had said was bullshit. Yet there it was, clawing and digging into his chest until the only thing he could do was close his eyes and hold on for the end.

Did he want to go apeshit sometimes, as Slider so eloquently put it? Yes. Very much so. Was he annoyed that Maverick seemed to be bulletproof in his bullshit? Extremely. Was he turned on by the boyish smile and rebel attitude? Unfortunately so.

Ice sighed and threw his pen hard against the backboard of his desk. Slider gave another huff of laughter.

“You’ve always had a thing for bad boys,” Slider said, laughing a little louder now.

“You know what, Kerner, you’re a real fucking dick.” Iceman glared at him without too much heat.

Slider laughed again. “First a Vegas marriage and now a crush on the one and only Maverick, you’re going to ruin your reputation if you keep this up.”

“Not if you keep your damn mouth shut,” Ice snapped, his whole body flushing hot.

“Ease up, Ice,” Slider said, raising his hands in surrender. “I’m not going to tell anything to anyone.”

Ice slumped in his chair.

“Remember Jig? I never breathed a word about him, did I?” Slider said. “It’s OK to be human, Tom. You can be human around me.”

“I know.” Iceman nodded and looked at Slider once more. “I know. Thanks, Ron.”

“Don’t hold on too tight, Ice.” Slider stood, towering over the slumped and defeated form of Tom Kazansky. “Let yourself breathe a little.” He squeezed Iceman’s shoulder and slipped from the room in silence.

Easy for Sli to say, he didn’t have a hard truth trying to strangle him from the inside out. Tom sat at his desk, glaring at the carpet, and thinking of Pete Mitchell singing off-key in a bar. He thought of the kernel of admiration he had for the fact that Maverick managed to take down Jester the very first hop. He thought of the briefing class showing Mav’s inverted dive with a MiG and how outrageously sexy that had been to see.

Slider was right, of course, he had always had a bit of a thing for a bad boy. Jig had been full of insubordination all through their early days at Annapolis. Ice hadn't been able to keep his eyes off him every time Jig had opened his mouth and sassed a higher-up.

It hadn’t taken more than a month for Iceman to find out just what else Jig could do with his mouth. A few intense liaisons off base before Tom had come down to Earth with a hard thump.

The Admiral himself had heard that Tom’s off base days weren’t spent with his family and questioned him extensively. Questioned his dedication to his training. Poked at his choice to become an aviator and then flaking from his studies.

Jig had been confused at first, then angry. Hurling nasty words that Ice was accustomed to seeing pointed at authority. Then everything went silent between them and Jig washed out at the end of his first year.

The memories prickled and stung. Iceman couldn’t tell which he regretted more; starting the whole affair with Jig or ending it like an asshole because of the Admiral.

Tom sighed and packed his study stuff away. He stripped off his clothes and climbed into bed. Sleep was reluctant despite the weariness he felt in his bones. As Ice rolled onto his side, clutching his pillow. As the edges of sleep mingled with his idle thoughts of the evening, a fuzzy picture of Maverick began to form.

His green eyes were crinkled with mirth, that devastating smile beaming up at Ice, lights and sounds swirled. Then they were kissing, thrumming synthesiser and bass spurring Ice’s heart on.

He groaned. Great, now he was fantasising about Pete “Maverick” Mitchell. He was gonna kill Slider.

Iceman didn’t allow himself many indulgences but his incessant urge to snack was almost impossible to repress. Usually he kept it at a minimum with peanuts, pretzels or chewing gum, but a heavy stormy afternoon with all hops cancelled and briefings finished, Ice could afford be a little bad.

He had gone off base to a greasy-spoon diner on his own. Slider had passed out, refusing to leave his bed unless there was an actual state of emergency in the US Navy and then he maintained it was "only a maybe" that he would go. So Ice sat in a booth on his own, savouring every last greasy, spicy chilli cheese fry and watching the rain lash the coast.

Strangely, his words and the words of their commanders appeared to finally be getting through to Maverick. The contrary bastard had, for all intents and purposes, pulled his head out of his ass. He was still risky and unpredictable but now with a solid dedication to improvement in the right direction.

It chafed Ice. It was so much easier to keep a distance and ignore his crush when Maverick was just a out and out dickhead. It was so much easier to keep faith that Ice and Slider would take the Top Gun trophy when Maverick self-sabotaged every other hop. Now, everything was a huge question mark. Ice found himself pushing harder, working later and fighting once more for his reputation as the perfect aviator. It was something he hadn’t had to do in quite a while. The feeling was torturous and exhilarating at the same time. He had forgotten how awful and amazing it felt to be actively challenged.

It was the main reason Ice had let himself splurge on his comfort junk-food. That and there had been nothing else for him to do. As much as he wanted to be working on solving his problems, lately they were all ‘hurry up and wait’. He could do nothing about the marriage, still waiting for the paperwork to return. He could do nothing about his crush on Maverick except pray it stopped sooner rather than later. He couldn’t stop the fuzzy strange fantasy that hit him sometimes of kissing Maverick in what appeared to be a public bathroom. So he would eat fries and watch the weather instead.

With the plate finished and the rain setting into a constant low drizzle, Ice dropped his money on the table and sauntered back to his Jeep. He shrugged deeper into his jacket to keep the rain off. He keyed the engine to no response.

He tried again, there was a clicking but no fire. Ice sighed, rolling his eyes and too far gone on the shit he had been faced with in the last few weeks to be overly surprised that his Jeep wasn’t starting. Popping the hood, he jumped out and rounded the car.

The rain worsened, cold water trickling down his neck as he searched for an obvious cause of the problem. Everything looked normal to him. Mostly because Tom Kazansky was a pilot not a mechanic.

He was disconnecting and reconnecting the battery when a familiar voice spoke from behind him.

“Need some help there, Iceman?” Maverick sounded far too smug at the situation.

“Mav-rick,” Ice snapped, too wet and cold to bother being polite. “What no Charlie date today?”

Maverick simply grinned more, flipping his soaked hair off his forehead and shrugging. “Seemed like a nice day for a ride.”

Ice shook his head, unable to mask his incredulity. “You’re genuinely insane.”

“And you appear to be genuinely broken down,” Mav said with another shrug. “Do you actually need help?”

Water dripped from his hair, plastering to his head uncomfortably, the cold drizzle beginning to permeate his clothes properly now. Ice gripped a fist and let it go.

Maverick rolled his eyes, gave another easy smile and stepped around Ice all together. He climbed into the cab and turned the key.

Tom watched, frozen in shock as Mav merely jumped straight to helping without waiting for an answer. By the time Maverick was back, Ice had hold of his senses once more.

“Sounds like your starter,” Maverick said before climbing onto the bumper and swinging himself low over the engine.

There was nothing for him to do but watch as Maverick fiddled with something. Ice found himself unable to tear his eyes off the slim waist that was peeking out from under Mav’s jacket. Not to mention the position all but begged Ice to stare at his perfect ass. Tom cleared his throat and dragged his eyes away.

“How badly do you need this running?” Maverick asked.

It took a moment once more for the question to process, Ice was so distracted by the open kindness on Pete Mitchell’s face. It was something he knew could be there, but it was startling to see it directed at Ice himself.

“Uh, I mean, I need it to get back on base at least,” Ice said internally wincing at just how dense that sounded.

“Well, I could get you back on base, but your Jeep isn’t going anywhere without a new starter solenoid.” Mav slapped Jeep affectionately. “I can fix it, but not in the rain.”

“You’d fix it?” Ice asked, his tone far snarkier than intended.

Pete gave a scoff and glanced away. When he looked back the familiar irritated smugness was back.

“I mean if you want to walk back to base in the rain, Ice, you go right ahead,” Mav said. “If you want to pay a mechanic to fix it and have your car in the shop for the next week while they piss around on an easy job, you do that. I’ll see ya around.”

With that he turned and strode off down the parking lot, hands crammed in his pockets.

“Shit,” Ice mumbled to himself, both at his stupid words and the uncomfortable position he was about to be in. “Mitchell! Wait!” He called and jogged to catch up to the other man.

To his credit, Maverick did actually stop and wait. It was probably more than Ice would have done in his shoes.

“Look,” Ice started, running his hand through his hair and flicking the water off. “I’m not having the best day here. If you can help, I’d appreciate it.”

Maverick waited, eyebrows quirked up a little and eyes laughing at him already.

“I’m sorry for being a dick,” Ice sighed.

“Good.” Mav laughed, all signs of irritation disappearing once more as his boyish smile returned.

Tom felt his pulse quicken and he turned to look back at his forlorn Jeep.

“Go grab what you need, lock it up and we’ll head back to the base,” Maverick said. “I’ll bring my bike over.”

Ice nodded, ready to escape even for a second to prepare himself to climb on that death trap with a dangerous pilot in the rain. That was absolutely the only thing making his heart pound and his stomach flutter.

===

Riding in the rain was miserable. Iceman decided that Maverick really was genuinely insane. It didn’t matter that Maverick was warm where Ice pressed against him to hold on, feeling ridiculous and oddly lightheaded.

The cold rain felt as though it had permeated into his bones by the time they climbed off at the base. He was truly living up to his callsign now, his hands and cheeks frozen to numbness.

“Christ, you enjoy this?” Iceman asked as he and Maverick wandered through the drizzling rain toward their quarters.

“Not such a fan of the cold, Iceman?” Mav teased with a good-natured smile.

“Not really. Or the damp,” Ice said.

They walked in silence for a few metres.

“Sometimes you just need to shock your system, y’know?” Maverick said, voice quiet. “Really just do something that resets everything. Clean slate.”

Ice nodded. He understood exactly what Maverick meant. His personal choice leaned more toward running until his legs gave out, but the spirit was the same.

“Anyway, I’ll grab the part we need for your Jeep and we can head down tomorrow after end-of-day to fix it. It won’t take too long, just too slippery and miserable to do in this.” Maverick gestured to the sky.

“Uh, sure,” Ice said. “Thanks, Maverick. Really.”

“Don’t mention it, Ice,” Mav gave him one last friendly grin and wandered off toward his own room.

Tom was left watching him go, a strange sense of delight and regret mixing in his stomach.

===

“Where’d you learn to do this?” Ice asked, hip leaning against the left fender as he watched Maverick work.

Mav was once more atop the engine, his short legs making it impossible to replace the part from the ground. His white t-shirt was already smeared with black grease and his jeans hugged his ass just right. Ice let himself look, finally relenting on repressing that urge as well. Hell, after they were done he might as well go and get more chilli cheese fries with how much his self-control was failing.

“My second foster home,” Mav said, voice strained as he worked. “They were decent enough. Owned a mechanic shop. I helped out after school and on the weekend.”

The words stunned him to silence. It was unsettling how often Pete Mitchell managed to render Ice speechless.

“Oh,” was all he could come up with.

Mav gave him an easy smile and tossed a small piece of the engine at him. Ice caught it, examining the part but coming no closer to understanding it.

“Don’t worry about it, Kazansky,” Mav said. “You know my dad was KIA, my mum died not too long after. So there wasn’t anywhere else for me to go.” He shrugged but something in the line of the movement told Ice it wasn’t as easy as Mav made it out to be.

“I’m sorry,” Ice said, voice earnest.

“I said don’t worry about it,” Mav said. “Pass me that new solenoid would you?”

As he retrieved and passed over the part, Tom couldn’t stop the unbidden comparison of his upbringing with Pete Mitchell’s. Tom’s was comfortable, he was never left wanting in his childhood with the glaring exception of paternal approval. He had attended private schools all the way, his extracurriculars usually taking place at the country club. Tennis camp, rowing teams, diving teams, all of paid for by his parents with the expectation of perfection in every field.

“I was with them for almost three years,” Pete continued, interrupting Tom’s thoughts. “It was shit when I had to go, but they had another bio-kid and the state wouldn’t let them keep me.”

Ice was never more thankful for his dark sunglasses than at that moment. The idea of being forced out of your home was too painful to even think about.

“I went to a new place, they were horrible. Ran away for a while. Had about a week on the streets.” Pete’s voice was carefree as he spoke but Ice found himself transfixed, watching the shadows of pain flicker through the other man’s face. “State put me back with a new family. They were bearable. Stayed there until I could enlist. And now I’m here, about to win that Top Gun trophy and be the best.”

Ice snorted, rolling his eyes. A steady foundation of respect settled into the place where Ice had previously written Maverick off as a lost cause.

“Keep dreaming, Mitchell,” Ice said, voice snarky but not unkind this time.

Pete laughed, his eyes sparkling and mouth pulling wide. Tom found his usual fuzzy fantasy of Mav rising to the forefront of his brain. It was alarmingly accurate to the real thing. His heart began to pound, throbbing and skittering in his chest.

Ice shook his head in mock exasperation.

“So,” Mav said, jumping back down to the pavement. “I think that’s good to go. Try turning it over.”

Without a word, concerned that if he spoke Mav would see straight through his cool exterior and realise what a radical effect he was having on Iceman’s circulatory system, Ice moved to the drivers seat. With a single turn the engine fired and purred. He flashed a genuine grin at Mav before climbing back out of the Jeep.

“Thanks, Mav,” Ice said, holding his hand out to shake.

Mav cleaned most of the grease away with a rag and returned the gesture.

“No problem, Ice,” he said, eyes still sparkling.

“You want some cheese fries?” The words were out before Iceman could stop them. He flushed but maintained the blank expression he always wore.

“Well, I would, but I got a better offer,” Pete chuckled, “I gotta go meet Goose and Carole for dinner.”

Ice gave a curt nod.

“See ya ‘round, Iceman,” Pete’s voice was teasing.

“Sure, sure,” Ice said because it was the only thing he could think of that wouldn’t totally ruin his reputation. He watched Mav walk back to his bike, an awful tugging in his chest. Yep, it was definitely time for more chilli cheese fries because Ice could not handle the amount of affection he had just felt for a man that he actually hated.

Iceman stood with his face turned up into the scalding spray of the shower. It didn’t seem to make any difference to the knot of cold beneath his breastbone. The aching, frozen thing inside him was cracking and shifting, spreading through him like a glacier.

He knew he needed to get out of the water. Get dressed in his uniform and do his hair. He needed to report for his debrief and mandatory psych eval. He needed to carry on being perfect Iceman Kazansky, top naval aviator.

He stood in the shower. Face now pressed to the cold tile wall as he let two traitorous tears leak out.

He wasn’t perfect.

The whole thing was a farce. He was a goddamn liar and a fake. He had a messy secret marriage, no idea who his spouse was, a secret burning desire to either punch Maverick Mitchell or kiss him, and now he had killed the man’s best friend.

Iceman was the furthest from perfect he could ever fucking get. His entire life was in tatters, everything he had been was now lying broken at his feet as he stood in a shower and cried over it.

Nothing could be perfect. Not anymore. Tom gave a heaving sob that was almost a laugh. What was the fucking point anymore? Why fucking bother anymore?

He leaned back and let his forehead fall against the tile with a thud. The pain reverberated through his skull and he sucked in a breath.

“Tom?” Of course Slider was here.

Ice ignored his RIO.

“Tom, come on, you’ve gotta get out. We need to head to debrief,” Slider’s voice was earnest. No hint of pity or disappointment.

“Yeah,” the word was a scratchy noise. Ice tried again. “Yeah, uh, I’ll be there in a minute,” he called.

“It wasn’t you fault, Tom,” Slider said, voice quiet.

“I’m…” Ice turned the water off and pressed his towel to his face, trying desperately to press all the raging emotion down into the frozen knot where his heart was. “I’m not so sure, Sli.”

With the towel around him he drew the curtain back to find Slider with his arms crossed and leaning against the wall, sadness in every line of his body. They stared at one another in the stunned silence of grief.

With effort Ice wasn’t sure he could muster, he lifted his goddamn cold persona back into place. They had to get on with it.

He gave Ron a nod, receiving one in return before they both went back to work.

===

Iceman didn’t see Maverick for the rest of the day. He couldn’t decide if it was better or worse.

What could he possibly have said to him? “I’m sorry I killed your best friend”? Ice didn’t want to see him for the rest of his life, the caving guilt and grief too much to bare without seeing the hate that Pete Mitchell would have for him now.

And yet Ice longed to catch sight of the other pilot, even just to know for himself that Maverick was alive and unharmed. He craved to see Pete’s expressive eyes and read what he could for himself.

When he returned to quarters a clerk found him, passing over a yellow A4 envelope before scurrying off to whatever other duties he had.

Iceman wanted to giggle until he broke into sobs. “Births, Deaths and Marriages” was printed in the corner. Instead, as with everything in his life, he tucked the envelope to his chest and kept on toward his quarters.

He tossed the unopened envelope onto his bed and began to pace the small space. Pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes and fighting to find even a small piece of calm.

It was no good.

Turning on his heel, Ice fled to the gym.

===

Iceman was sitting on the floor of the gym, tucked into the back corner behind a stack of spare step-ups. He couldn’t walk, his legs well and truly spent. The best he could manage was dragging himself into the corner to hide until he recovered.

Ice leaned his head back against the wall, eyes closed as he let the sludgey grief ebb and flow in his chest. He had liked Goose. He had helped force the callsign onto him in the academy. He had laughed as Mother Goose struck up the same tired old tune on every piano they found. He had respected the man and his intense love for his son. He had craved the love Goose clearly had for his wife. He craved the open, cheerful way that Goose lived his life.

It wasn’t fair. How had someone like Goose died? Why, when Ice was still here, was Goose the one that was taken?

Viper was the one to find him this time.

He spoke words, crouched down to look into Ice’s red-rimmed eyes. He said things about accidents, guilt and flying records. Ice just stared.

“It’ll never stop hurting, kid.”

Those words permeated the haze and Tom blinked.

“It’ll always feel like a splinter stuck in your chest. But we keep going anyway,” Viper said. He sighed and brushed a hand over his mustache. “We keep going because that’s the job, that’s what we trained and worked for. And we keep going because if you went down tomorrow, you’d expect every one of us to keep flying as well.”

“Yes, sir,” Ice’s voice was a croak.

“Good.” Viper nodded. “I’ll see you for your hop tomorrow, 1100 sharp.”

“Yes, sir.” Ice nodded back. He dragged himself up, legs shaking but holding him up.

Viper gave him a final nod and left once more.

Tom drew a long shaky breath and followed him.

Tom stared at the yellow envelope, the silver wedding ring placed on top of it.

The night of his run and chat with Viper, Ice had crawled into bed and fallen into a restless sleep. The following day filled with classes, hops and briefings like normal. The afternoon dedicated to a memorial service for Goose on base. The night spent at the O-Club for a wake and R&R after the incident.

Now, buzzed from a few shots in Goose’s honour and a few vodka sodas to soothe his own frenzied grief, Ice picked up the envelope and ring. He turned the ring over in his hands and then gripped it in his palm. Time to rip the bandage off.

The document was short and official. A copy of a governmental marriage certificate.

Party One: Tomas Daniel Kazansky. Party Two: Peter William Mitchell.

There was a strange noise in the room and it took Tom a good minute to realise it was coming from himself. He was laughing. A strange, unhinged kind of sound was bubbling out of his chest. He bit his lip, trying to stifle the noise but it made no difference, the laughter rocked him until he had to release it. Tears streamed from his eyes and he swung to side to side with the heaving laughter.

It was the perfect ending to the worst month of his entire life. He could not stop laughing at the perfect ending to the whole stupid thing.

What the hell was he supposed to do with this information now? The thought brought more laughter and Ice had to drop the document in favour of holding his aching sides.

“Guess what, Mitchell, turns out you still have family because we’re married!” Ice snorted and giggled to the empty room.

Eventually the hysteria faded and Ice slumped down on the bed. He opened his fingers to find the ring still pressed tight into his palm, a red ring marking where he had gripped it tight. This whole time Maverick probably had a matching one somewhere and Ice found himself wondering where the other man might have kept it.

He wondered which of them had chosen silver. He wondered if he had asked or if it was a hair-brained Pete “Maverick” Mitchell scheme. He wondered if Pete remembered kissing him the same way Tom did. Those fantasies were memories, drunken fuzzy memories of their night in Vegas. He wondered if they made Pete’s blood burn and race through his body as well. He wondered if Goose hadn’t died, if there could have been a minute chance that they could have actually tried to work it out together.

He shook his head, weariness weighing into him. He had hoped to solve at least one of his problems with the letter, the burden pressed heavier instead. Not only did he now have a new complication, but he would have to eventually broach that complication with Pete.

Tom placed the ring on his bedside table, retrieving the marriage certificate from the floor and placing it with the ring. He stared at the words a moment longer before climbing into bed and switching out the light.

He lay staring at darkness for hours before sleep came.

===

Slider’s face said it all. Ice gave a small tilt to his head in agreement as they both watched Maverick stalk away from Sundown. He wasn’t coping. He was losing it and all the other aviators could see it.

“What the fuck do we do?” Slider mumbled, carrying on their preflight.

“I don’t know, Sli.” It galled him to admit. “I don’t fucking know.”

The exhilaration of competition was well and truly gone now. The way that Maverick couldn’t keep his head in the game when he had been so bombastic in the air, it rattled all of them. The one aviator they never expected to lose it was Mav. He was indestructible; just ask him.

Following their hop Ice searched out Maverick. He found him packing in the locker room. The sign of a full duffel crushing any hope that Ice had.

He wanted to spill it all. He needed to tell Maverick how sorry he was, how he had killed his best friend and he would never forgive himself. He wanted to tell Pete that they might have done it for a laugh but he was still prepared to be his husband if he needed it. He wanted to reach out and shake Mitchell until he realised that everyone around him was desperate for him to stay, to fly again.

Instead he clamped down on his own feelings and desires and turned.

“Mitchell,” Ice started, willing his voice to remain level. “I’m sorry about Goose.” He gripped his fist tight, fighting the rising tide of emotion. “Everybody liked him.”

Maverick gripped the locker, listening but refusing to face him. Tom felt his heart fracture, the sharp sting making him sniff and hold tight once more before he could speak.

“I’m sorry.”

He fled.

===

“I can’t believe he did it,” Slider said, exhaustion heavy in his voice.

Iceman nodded, head in his hands as he sat on Ron’s bed.

“Wolf said he called Charlie but no joy,” Ron said for the third time that evening.

Ice nodded again, not looking up.

“I can’t believe he did it.”

“It was him.” Ice spoke at last, letting out the words that had been burning against his throat for almost an hour since he had come to Slider’s room.

“What was?” Slider asked, finally shaken from his repetitions.

“The ring. Vegas.” Iceman looked up. “It was him.”

“Bullshit.” It was so succinctly Slider that Ice actually gave a startled bark of laughter.

“No, truly, here.” Ice pulled the certificate from his pocket and passed it over.

Slider unfolded it, eyes going wide. “Bullshit,” he repeated.

“I know.”

“Did you tell him?” Slider passed back the page and fixed Tom with a serious look.

“No,” Ice said. “What was I going to say? You think me telling him we’re married would have stopped him?”

“I mean, maybe!” Slider threw his hands up. He let them fall onto the desk with a thump and a sigh. “No, it wouldn’t have. But, Ice, he needs to know. At least that you know.”

Ice raised his eyebrows and leaned onto his knees. He stared at the carpet once more.

“Feels like an empty victory, huh?” Ice said, glancing up at Slider again.

“Exactly.” Slider sighed.

The silence stretched between them once more.

“I can’t believe he did it,” Ice whispered.

The day was perfect, a hint of a breeze and clear skies. Ice smiled for the camera, eyes resuming their sweeping search of white uniforms between each click of the shutter.

“He isn’t here,” Slider muttered, always clued in to Ice’s every move.

“I can see that, asshole,” Ice snarked, keeping his smile bright.

And then, as though the pair of them had summoned him up from thin air, he was there. Someone moved in the crush of people and Pete Mitchell appeared. Ice almost choked, only Slider’s casual knock against his shoulder keeping him cool.

“Congratulations,” Maverick said, hand out to be shaken.

“Thank you,” Ice replied, eyes drinking in the battered-but-alive look Mav was wearing.

Then he was gone again, melting back into the sea of dress whites.

“I need food,” Ice finally muttered for Slider’s ears only and they extracted themselves toward the spread.

He barely had a chance before Viper found them. His face was grave as orders were passed out.

Ice read quickly, heart thrumming. They were headed to the Enterprise. He swept his eyes over the group, registering the tightness around Mav’s eyes and the slight shake to the paper in his hands. This wasn’t a good idea.

===

Mid-packing a knock sounded on Ice’s door. He swung it open, expecting a clerk or Slider. He froze, Mav was standing in place, hands behind his back as though this was a reprimand from a CO.

“Mitchell?” Ice said for want of any other reaction. His stomach gripped tight, anxiety spasming.

“I need to talk to you, Kazansky.” His voice was grave, subdued.

“Uh, sure,” Ice said, stepping back from the door. “Don’t you need to pack?”

“Never unpacked,” Maverick said, tone clipped.

“Right.” Ice winced internally. Of course he had just come back to graduate. He turned away, continuing to cram things into his duffel.

In his peripherals, Maverick moved to Ice’s desk and dropped a crumpled piece of paper. There was a resounding clack as a silver ring was dropped beside it.

Ice stilled. He straightened and waited for one of them to find something to say.

“I, uh, found that in my bag.” Pete’s voice was gruff.

Tom turned slowly. They stood facing each other in the small space. Tom opened his mouth to speak but found he actually had nothing to say and closed it once more. He turned and pulled the ring and his own copy of the certificate from the side of his bag. Dropping them on the bedside table where he had just packed them from.

“How long have you known?” Pete asked, a roughness in his voice.

“The wake. The night of the memorial.” Ice watched pain spike over Mav’s face.

“You and Slider went to Vegas the night before Top Gun,” Mav said, he rubbed the back of his head.

“We did.” Ice settled himself on the balls of his feet, trying to will himself back into a calm state. “You and Bradshaw did too. Obviously.”

“My idea,” Pete gave a ghost of a smile. “A blowout before we got here to work.”

Tom nodded, it was easy to believe.

“Do you… remember any of it?” Pete said.

He couldn’t stop the bitter smile on his face. “A little. Bits and pieces.” Ice sighed and rubbed his face. “I remember a dance club, being incredibly drunk. And laughter.”

“Lots of laughter,” Pete whispered, nodding.

“I think…” Ice bit his cheek hard but let the words spill out anyway, “I think I remember kissing you.”

Pete opened his mouth but a sudden rap of knuckles against the door cut him off. His jaw snapped shut.

“Lets get the lead out, Kazansky!” Slider called through the door.

Maverick gave him a short nod, collecting the ring and paper before pushing out of the room, not stopping as he shoulder-checked Slider in the doorway.

Slider took a quick inventory and smirked. “Really? Now was the best time for that chat?”

“He came to me,” Ice said. He grabbed his own ring and paper and crammed them back into his bag. “Lets go.”

“Uh-huh,” Slider drawled and lead the way back into the hall.

===

The Enterprise was just another carrier but Ice couldn’t help but look around with interest every time one of the crew called a greeting to Maverick or pulled him aside to offer condolences. Tom watched the tension in Pete’s shoulders gather until he looked fit to burst. He knew the other sailors were trying to show support but all it seemed to do was force Mav to relive those horrible moments, or acknowledge all the ways Goose wasn’t here anymore.

He was silent through dinner and retreated to his cot immediately. Ice, Slider, Hollywood and Wolfman watched him go, all of them reserved.

“He’s not going to make it,” Ice said, happy to be the bastard as long as someone said it.

“What can we do about it?” Wolf said, leaning on his elbows on the table.

“Nothing,” Wood said, getting to his feet and slapping Wolf on the shoulder. “We can’t do anything. I’m turning in.”

Ice watched them go, a rather obvious frown on his face for once.

“Leave it, Ice,” Slider sighed. “He’s right. We can’t do anything but our job.”

Iceman held his hands up in surrender as Slider usually did to concede a point. Sli clapped him on the shoulder and followed Wood and Wolf.

After about two minutes of sulking that he would never admit to even under pain of death, Ice stood and followed them.

Back in their bunks Ice checked to see he was alone before pulling the stupid silver ring out of his pack. He shook his head, feeling utterly ridiculous, but with swift movements he undid his dogtags and slipped the ring on them. With a short sniff, he settled the tags back under his shirt and carried on with his sleep preparations.

===

“Are you kidding me with that, Kazansky?” Slider hissed as they marched through the carrier to their F14s.

“Leave it, Kerner,” Ice said, voice tight.

“He heard you say it too, you want to step on the guy’s confidence any harder?” Slider continued, voice acidic.

“No, I wanted the CO to know that it’s dangerous to send him up,” Ice snapped. “It’s dangerous to Maverick to send him up. He’s wound so tight he’s going to snap and you know it. I can’t stand by and watch it happen.” He flashed an icy glare at Slider as they came to a stop to start preflight.

Slider’s jaw was set, mouth twisted up. There seemed to be a moment where the rest of the commotion on deck faded and recognition flashed into Slider’s eyes.

“Well, shit, Ice,” Slider almost whined. “Why didn’t you just say so?”

“I really, really don’t want to talk about it right now,” Ice said, his cheeks heating as he clenched his fists tight. “I want to do preflight and focus.”

“Alright. Let’s do it,” Slider said.

Tom took one more moment, one more breath to worry about Pete Mitchell before he shut it all down and locked Iceman into place.

===

Five MiGs. Five.

That stupid fucking silver ring felt like it was burning its way through Iceman’s chest.

===

Maverick was disengaging.

Iceman felt there was a sick sort of repetition here but all he could really think of was that stupid boyish smile.

===

“I’m not leaving my wingman!”

He would have cried if he wasn’t desperately trying to stay alive.

===

“Holy shit,” Slider’s voice came through on their private radio as Ice limped their plane back to the carrier with Maverick still on his wing.

“We made it,” Ice said.

“He did it,” Slider laughed a little.

Suddenly the hysterical laughter bubbled up and out from Ice as well. The laughter only grew as Mav called a request to fly-by the tower and was denied.

So they both fucking did it anyway.

Tom threw his head back and cackled, a lightness in his entire soul he couldn’t remember ever feeling before. The weight of perfection lifted away from him for just an instant. A few truths clicked into place with just that one instant and Tom “Iceman” Kazansky landed his F14 a very different person to when he had taken off.

===

Through all the celebrating, the back clapping and hugging, the shouted congratulations and requests to hear the story again and again, Ice smiled and played along. He nodded and told the story. He listened to Slider’s version. He listened to Merlin and Maverick. Waved down praise and offers of cigars from the crew.

As soon as he could, Ice slipped out of the throngs of people and hunted out the one place he could think of that would be empty. He tucked himself into the paraloft, folding down onto the floor among helmets and spare flight suits. There was no sound here but the very distant rush of the wind from the deck above. He breathed, blood finally settling back into a steady rhythm in his veins.

He drew the tags out from under his flight suit and gripped them, letting the ring press tight into his palm. With a slow, shaky breath, Tom allowed the day crush back down onto him.

He had almost died.

He and his best friend had almost been shot down.

He had killed.

A sharp hitch of a silent sob hit him. Ice leaned back and crushed the ring harder in his grip.

He jerked up at the opening of the door. Boots approached, Ice desperately tried to compose his face once more.

Mav appeared from among the helmets. He slumped down beside Ice, letting their shoulders brush, and not saying a word.

They sat, side by side, quietly crying over just what they had done that day.

Ice lost track of time. It didn’t really matter anyway. All that mattered was that the vacuous sense of loss in his chest had begun to fade.

“Thanks,” Ice said, voice croaky from disuse.

“You too, Ice,” Mav whispered.

“So, I guess we need to get a divorce?” Tom said, turning his head lazily to look at Mav.

“I thought you said I could be your wingman any time,” Pete grinned, the free smile that Tom had come to adore.

Tom laughed, opening his hand to show Mav the ring pressed into his palm. Mav opened the hand clenched in his lap to show a silver ring looped on Goose’s dogtags.

They laughed again, knocking boots and elbowing each other. The buoyant lightness returned to Ice once more as they sat side by side laughing.

Pete turned, catching Tom’s face in one hand and pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. Ice blinked, startled. With a small huff of laughter Mav kissed him again and released him.

“What about Charlie?” The words tumbled out and Ice couldn’t find it in himself to regret them.

Mav’s smile faded a little and he looked up at Ice earnestly. “There was no laughter,” he said, voice soft. “All I remember of our wedding is laughter. I remember feeling happier than I had in years.”

Ice gave a soft laugh and nodded. It was almost all he could remember too.

“You make me…” Ice hesitated, he looked at Mav once more and sighed. “You piss me off, Mitchell. You and your goddamn rebel spirit.”

“Gee, thanks,” Pete muttered.

“I’ve always had a thing for bad boys,” Ice said, grinning. “Just ask Slider.”

That startled a laugh from Mav and he bumped their shoulders together. Without really stopping to think, Ice tangled their fingers together and held on.

Pete looked up at him, green eyes shining. Tom closed the small distance, taking a kiss for himself this time. He savoured it. The way Mav tasted a little of cigars and smelt like sweat, tears and smoke. He leaned in, taking a little more until Pete’s hand gripped the front of his flight suit. Thrills of desire and anticipation crested and crashed through him. Ice pulled Mav’s face closer still and gave a small noise of want before they broke apart to breathe.

Mav’s eyes were bright, the same desire and anticipation reflecting back to Ice. He stole another kiss, hand still holding tight to Ice’s flight suit.

“I guess you can be my husband,” Mav muttered between kisses.

“Bullshit.” Ice chuckled. “You can be mine.”

It had taken almost a year from the uranium mission, but as Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw stepped through the front door into Mav’s house, he realised it felt like coming home. The dark wood floor and cozy cream colouring settling the fatigue of travelling. It was nice to have somewhere to go on shore-leave again. Somewhere that called him back every time he shipped out.

“Bradley? That you?” Ice’s voice called through to him.

“It’s me!” Rooster called back. He dumped his packs by the kitchen island and went in search of his adoptive father.

Ice was sitting in his study. He looked so welcoming in his maroon knit sweater, a bowl of pretzels half empty by his elbow, he could be someone’s grandfather rather than the COMPACFLT.

“How was the flight?” Ice said, glancing up from whatever he was working on.

“Rough, turbulence for seventy-five percent.” Rooster shuddered at the memory and Ice winced in sympathy.

“It’s good to see you,” Ice said, voice warm. He stood and folded Bradley into a hug.

It had previously felt odd to be embraced by the boss of his bosses boss, but just like the house feeling like his home, this hug from Ice was soothing and warm. He found himself smiling as they parted.

A trill sounded from the desk and Ice scowled, the expression powerful on his usually mild face.

“That’s the Bat-phone, huh?” Rooster said with a grin.

“Indeed.” Ice threw the ringing phone a dirty look. “We’ll catch up later.”

“Later, pops,” Rooster said. He closed the door on his way out, anything on the Bat-phone was way above his clearance level to hear.

He toted his bags upstairs to his room, showered and changed into fresh clothes that didn’t have hours of travel clinging to them. With that done, Rooster wandered back down to the lounge. He could hear Ice was finished in the study but didn’t want to interrupt any more of his work.

As he was contemplating hunting out one of Mav’s surfboards from the garage and heading to the beach, the photos over the mantle caught his eye. Rooster wandered closer, realising he hadn’t ever really looked at them before. He had always felt more than a little awkward with the open displays of the relationship he had missed out on after Mav had pulled his papers.

There was one of Ice and Mav sitting in a booth at the hard deck, Mav was laughing so hard his eyes were closed and he was hanging onto Ice’s shirt with one hand. Ice was leaning in toward him, face scrunched in silent frozen laughter as well. Rooster smiled at it.

Next there was a photo of Mav and Ice in tuxedos, arm in arm, at what was most likely Slider’s wedding. They were looking at each other with huge grins, paying no attention to the camera at all.

The next one made Rooster’s breath catch. It was him. He was probably six or seven, his hair still bright snowy blond. Ice was holding him perched on a hip. They were staring at each other, both frowning seriously. In the side of the photo Mav was laughing at them. His mum must have taken this one. It made his chest ache and his throat sting. He couldn’t remember this photo being taken. He had vague memories of Mav being in and out of his life, but he couldn’t remember meeting Ice way back then.

He turned onto the next photo. Four men all wearing aviators and crammed tight into frame. Behind them was an airfield, it could have been Miramar but who knew, they all looked the same after a while. Slider, Ice, Mav and the last one there must have been Boxer, the RIO Mav had flown with for almost five years after the Gulf.

There were small photos too, Polaroids collaged together. There was his dad, Nick Bradshaw, smiling and waving at the camera. There was a shot of Ice, sitting at a kitchen table giving the finger. There was Mav, straddling his motorcycle in his old leather jacket. There was even another one of Bradley, sitting on ugly carpet playing with toy planes. With a shaky breath Rooster brushed the tears away from his eyes and cleared his throat.

In the centre were two marriage certificates, one flowery and ornamental, the other an official typed report of the legal status. They were framed in glass but both visibly battered. The ornamental one appeared to have been violently crumpled, much the way Bradley’s old homework would look if he fished it from the bottom of his schoolbag the night before it was due. The official one was scuffed with black marks that looks suspiciously like a bootprint and had been folded into quarters so often the creases had worn through the type.

He read the date, June 28th 1986. Mav and Ice had been together thirty-four years! No wonder there were so many photos. As he examined the beaten up pages, Bradley’s head tilted. They had been married in Nevada? A small ticking of intrigue began in his brain. He read the date again, frowning hard.

He knew the date of his dad’s death. He knew that it had been toward the end of their time at Top Gun, mid-July.

Bradley’s mouth dropped open. Unreasonable glee began to filter in to him.

Rooster walked back to Ice’s office, he kept all his Navy memorabilia in there. He knocked lightly and wandered in.

Ice glanced up at him in question but Bradley ignored it, making a beeline for the Top Gun trophy in pride of place. He read the shiny gold plaque, the date showing July 25th 1986.

“Everything alright, Roo?” Ice said, voice amused.

Bradley turned, opening his mouth to interrogate Ice when the sound of the front door closing interrupted him.

“I’m home!” Maverick’s voice called. “I got dinner. Yes, I got an extra serve of chilli cheese fries for you both, and yes, Bradley, I got no mustard on your burger! Come and eat now before it gets cold and gross!”

They shared a look of affection and shrugged. Mutely, Bradley and Ice made their way down the hall to the kitchen together.

“Hey!” Mav beamed.

Rooster found this was another thing he hadn’t realised he missed until he was back. Mav would light up every time he saw him, face open and shining with happiness as he looked up at Bradley.

“Hey dad,” Rooster said, bending to give him a quick hug. “Thanks for dinner.”

“It’s good to see you, Roo,” Mav gripped his shoulders tightly before letting him go.

Bradley moved around to the far side of the island, pulling up a stool to perch on. He watched as Ice and Mav embraced, mumbling to one another and sharing a kiss before laughing and kissing one another again.

“Let’s eat!” Mav clapped and climbed onto a stool himself.

Bradley conceded to answering all their questions despite being desperate to get to his own. He knew they were both aware where his deployment had been and what he had been doing, but it felt wonderful to share it with them anyway. They listened, offering comments and commentary in all the right places. It was like having parents again, something Bradley hadn’t realised he had been craving all those years.

When the food was mostly finished, Mav sitting watching the two of them share the luke-warm chilli cheese fries, Rooster pounced.

“Hey, when did you two meet again?” Rooster began, ignoring the mild surprise on their faces.

“Nineteen eighty-six,” Mav said, “at Top Gun.” He gave Ice a fond smile.

Rooster nodded. “And you got married in eighty-six too, huh?”

He suppressed a smile as he watched Ice’s face tighten with realisation and shock, a fry halfway to his mouth.

“Yep,” Mav carried on, blissfully ignorant.

“On the twenty-eighth of June.” Rooster smirked at Ice.

“Yep,” Mav looked between them, still smiling.

“But Ice won Top Gun in July.”

He left the words hanging, struggling to contain his giggles as Ice and Mav shared a look that spoke volumes.

“You’re a regular, little sleuth,” Ice chuckled, squeezing Mav’s hand on the bench. “You should have joined the Airforce instead.”

Bradley laughed, shaking his head. “Married in the state of Nevada the weekend before Top Gun? Tell me you didn’t.”

Mav shrugged, his smile turning sly. “Yes, we did.”

He laughed harder, gripping the bench to stay on his stool.

“Oh my God!” He gasped for air, the picture of his dads in 80s Vegas was hilarious enough without the implication that they had ended up getting drunk married. “How?” Was all he could manage between laughs.

Mav and Ice exchanged another meaningful look, both of them now beginning to laugh as well.

“We really don’t remember,” Mav said, unable to squash his grin. “I like to think that Tom heard me tell the story of the first MiG sighting and proposed to me on the spot.”

Rooster slid off the stool, just managing to stay upright as he howled with glee.

“And I let you have that little fantasy because we all know who actually would have thought a Vegas wedding was a great idea,” Ice said, voice bland but eyes sparkling with affection and humour as he munched a fry.

Mav merely shrugged, leaning over to kiss Ice on the cheek.

Slowly, tears streaming from his eyes and sides aching, Bradley caught his breath once more. Small chuckles still bubbled out but he sat back on his stool and shook his head.

“How did you— How are you still—“ He tried to frame the question without sounding like an asshole.

The pair of them turned to one another, love and adoration written all over them.

“He makes me laugh,” they said in perfect unison.

-----------

NOTE: The “should have joined the airforce” comment is a referece to the fact that the airforce has intelligence officers (spies).

TAGGING: @pollyna @topgunruinedme @lisedanie

#Icemav #top gun 1986 #top gun maverick #tom iceman kazansky #pete maverick mitchell #ron slider kerner #fanfiction

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