Chapter Text
It's a bright Saturday morning, and the weather is so perfectly pleasant that Mav had to open the garage door so he could enjoy it, bask in the blissful breeze, while he worked on his latest bike. It's still early enough that the rest of the world hasn't quite woken up yet, the ambient birdsong not yet drowned out by suburbia's weekend activities.
Ice is in the garden, he thinks, but it's a toss-up as to whether he's actually relaxing with a book or if he started responding to emails again. He'd dodged the question when he came by a little ago to bring Mav a fresh coffee - and collect a kiss in payment.
Mav makes a note to himself to get the next coffee refill so he can actually pester Ice into relaxing. They didn't have any plans for the day, but maybe he'll suggest lunch on the beach.
He still isn't used to just how much time he gets to spend with Ice now, even around their working hours. He spends less time in the hangar, and definitely doesn't spend the night there anymore unless Ice is with him.
Still, he doesn't take it for granted. It's a gift, and he loves exploring the area and finding new restaurants that even Ice hasn't tried yet. It's a bit of a game of theirs, and sometimes it results in failure, but they've only gotten food poisoning once, so he's still counting it as an overall win.
It's just as he's wondering which restaurant to suggest that a delivery truck stops by the sidewalk at the bottom of their driveway. He only notices because he happened to be musing while he sipped at his coffee instead of actually working on his bike.
He doesn't think they're expecting anything, but they might just be stopping there and dropping things off at their neighbors' houses.
The delivery guy - one Maverick recognizes, because he has had the unfortunate luck of having to haul heavy parts up the driveway before - climbs out of the back of the truck with a large rectangular package under an arm. He does start to walk up their driveway, even waving at Mav when he spots him. Maverick toasts him with his mug of coffee, and steps away from his project to go meet him.
"Hey, how's it going?" Mav asks as he gets close, greeting him with a smile.
"Pretty good, how about you? That a new bike you've got going?" he asks, glancing past his shoulder.
Maverick laughs, though he's nodding. "Yes, I'm still going through cataloguing what I'm gonna need to replace," he says. "Heavy packages in my future probably," he adds apologetically, though he's grinning.
"I'll make sure to keep my dolly in working order," he snorts. "Need a signature real quick," he adds, setting the package down gently as he pulls his scanner out. He scans the tracking number and then turns the device to Mav, who 'signs' it with the worst single squiggle of the stylus he can bother with.
"Thanks," Mav says, reaching down to pick up the package, and straightening up in surprise at how light it is for the size.
"Any time. Have a good weekend!" the man says, turning to head back down the driveway and off to the rest of his deliveries.
He only has one hand to carry the package with - on account of his almost-empty coffee in his other hand - so he doesn't look at it closely, just taking the box in to the kitchen and setting it on the dining table as he passes it. He starts up the espresso machine, getting a couple of shots going, before he actually swings back around to look at the label.
In sharpie, above the printed label from the shipping service, is
To: Admirals Mitchell & Kazansky
From: LCDR Bradshaw & VFA-141 Daggers
Mav perks up once he realizes who it's from. "Hey Ice!" he calls, heading for the open sliding door to the backyard. "You busy?"
Ice has turned in his chair to look back over his shoulder at him with a soft, indulgent smile. The answer is, of course, always yes, but Ice takes special care to put aside whatever he's doing when it's their weekends, when they're both together. "What is it?" he asks.
"C'mere, we got a package," Maverick says, tipping his head back toward the dining table behind him.
"We did?" Ice asks, looking surprised. "From where?"
"The kids," Maverick says wryly, knowing they are very much not children. Even less so now, but old habits die hard. It's hard to look at any young aviator and not see them as kids after everything he's seen.
"Were we expecting something?" Ice asks as he stands, setting aside his book, his place saved with a little metal bookmark.
"Not as far as I know. I haven't opened it yet," Maverick explains, waiting by the door for him. "More coffee? I started another round of shots before I saw who the box was from."
"If I say no you'll just drink them both," Ice replies drily, amused. He isn't wrong about that.
"Let me go fix those up then," he says, pressing a kiss to the corner of Ice's lips before he darts back into the kitchen, pouring milk into the steamer and the shots into their mugs. Ice's mug isn't here - it must still be outside with his book - but he'd given Mav one of the two '2ND BEST PILOT' mugs they own, so Maverick retaliates and pulls the other. The milk is frothed in short order, and he reaches to fill their mugs, only to be surprised with Ice's arms wrapping around him from behind.
"Hey there," Ice murmurs, tucking his chin over Mav's shoulder and squeezing lightly.
"Hey yourself," Maverick replies, turning to press another kiss to his cheek. "Couldn't wait for your coffee?" he teases, as if Ice doesn't know just how much he loves that they can do this now. That they have the time to.
"Mm. Couldn't wait to have my husband in my arms again," Ice corrects, though he reaches past Mav to pluck his mug up off the counter, before stepping away.
"Who knew you were so easy to please?" Mav grins mischievously, knowing he's signing up for trouble later.
"You might be the only person on this planet who thinks that," Ice huffs with a little laugh.
Maverick's smile softens a little, fond and adoring in one. It's a privilege, he knows, to get to be that for Ice. To get to bring him joy almost as easily as breathing. "An honor I treasure, I assure you," he says.
"What do you think that is?" Ice asks, refocusing them on the task at hand, and the reason Mav pulled him from his book in the first place. He's pulled a pair of scissors from the drawer where they live, moving back to the dining table.
"Dunno," Maverick says. "It was lighter than I thought a box that big should be, though," he adds.
Ice hums, setting his mug down on the edge of the table and slicing through the tape holding the edge of the box shut. He untucks the flap, pulling it free. Then he pulls a sheet of thin styrofoam out, tossing it aside. Maverick moves to stand beside him, setting his own mug down just in time to see the edge of the item in the box.
It looks like…canvas?
It is canvas, he confirms when he lends a hand to Ice pulling it free from its cardboard prison. Canvas stretched over a frame, wrapped in another large sheet of styrofoam. The empty box lands on the floor with a light thunk, and they're left holding a…painting?
No, not a painting. Ice tugs aside the last layer of styrofoam to reveal a photo.
A photo of them, taken on their flight home from the Mission From Hell. Clearly neither of them knew they were being photographed - hell, Mav hadn't known any pictures were taken at all - given how they're looking at each other like no one else exists. They might as well have been alone in the plane, honestly, if Mav's remembering that moment correctly. The only evidence of the ordeal they'd just been through is the bandages peeking out from under the edge of Mav's shirt.
Silence has reigned for a few long moments, as they both took in the photo. It's Mav who speaks, finally. "Huh," he says softly. "Did they include a note?"
Ice turns the canvas, and there is, in fact, a note taped to the back. That's Bradley's handwriting, Mav thinks. It reads, 'Hey Dads. Coyote mentioned this pic one night while we were having drinks and we thought you might like to have a copy. Obviously you need more decorations for your living room (though you can always put it up in the hangar if you've run out of wall space).'
Maverick tries not to let himself get overwhelmed just two words in, but it's a battle. The fact that Bradley felt like he could call them that again strikes right into his core, and touches him almost more than the gift itself.
"We should thank them," Ice says softly, pulling the note carefully free and setting it aside. It'll probably end up on the refrigerator, pinned under a well-loved magnet, if Mav had to guess.
"Should," Maverick agrees. "Bet I can find a spot on the wall for it," he adds, glancing around the kitchen, Ice humming in agreement. Maybe on the wall by the edge of the bar, or behind the dining table. He steps away from Ice to go back to the garage for a moment, just to grab a hammer and an angled wall-hook.
His phone starts going off by the time he returns, and he pulls it out to check the notifications. He huffs a soft laugh, shaking his head in disbelief.
Of course Ice couldn't thank them normally. His penchant for finding mischief wherever and whenever he could was too strong. Mav smiles to himself as he returns to the kitchen, warm and content.