Chapter Text
“What do you think the odds are some poor fool gets tossed out into the sand before this things over?”
Maverick started at the voice at his shoulder—he’d thought he’d hidden himself fairly well, tucked in the back corner of Penny’s bar with the piano in front of him and a wall behind him. But there was Admiral Kazansky, dressed in civvies, sidling over to drop into the seat next to him. He was a bit surprised to see him this early. They usually gravitated to each other at shindigs like this, but not until much later in the night.
“It’s not impossible,” he said. “It’ll probably be me if I venture back to the bar again. I already had to pay for one round and I don’t have much more cash on me.”
“How many times have you been thrown out?”
Maverick laughed. “Only the first was an accident, to tell you the truth. Then I decided it was a very me way to bow out at night. It has happened a fair few times.”
“And that decision has nothing to do with your flying ducklings needing to blow off steam and hit back at you every now and then after training, hm.”
“Eh, you remember how it was. You never wanted to toss Viper around after he finished schooling our sorry asses? Punch him just once?”
Ice made a sort of grimace and took a long swig of his beer. Maverick was having to speak pretty loudly to be heard over the ruckus in the bar, it had started out with him and his team of pilots but it hadn’t been long before other pilots and local riff-raff joined in on the fun. He was counting down the minutes until Rooster took over the piano, he estimated he’d only have to sit through a few more rounds of loud pop music before his ears were rescued.
“They make the nonsense we got up to back in the day look tame,” Maverick said.
“Careful Mav, you’re aging both of us with talk like that,” Ice said wryly, and Maverick grinned, because true. It hadn’t really hit him how old he was getting until he’d come back to teach at Top Gun and stood in front of these pilots. Pilots who just looked like babies to him. Especially Rooster. Sometimes, he looked at him and saw Goose. Other times he looked at him and saw the little boy he used to carry on his shoulders and toss into the air for a different kind of flying.
“Hate to tell you, Ice, but your icy grey hair does that job all on its own,” he said.
“It’s blond. My hair has always been this shade of blond.”
A joke about frosted tips was on the tip of his tongue, when he was distracted by that damn bell being rung. Penny was grinning at the Vice Admiral who apparently didn’t spend much time here and had laid his phone on the bar. He could barely make out Rooster and Hangman and Phoenix waving their empty pint glasses and laughing. Looked like it was Bob’s turn to get their free refills tonight. “Well shit,” Maverick sighed. “I wouldn’t have put odds on him getting in line for a trip to the sand. Shouldn’t you be over there rubbing shoulders with brass closer to your rank, anyway?”
Ice grimaced again. “I was stuck in meetings with them all day. They’ve seen me plenty. I’m going to hide here for a bit and if you rat on me, I’ll be the one tossing you outta here tonight.”
“I would never,” Maverick said. His throat was beginning to hurt from having to raise his voice over the music. He wondered if he could signal Rooster to step in soon, somehow. They were getting along better than they had in years, but telepathy was still only a thing in the movies. “Sarah didn’t make the trip?”
‘No, it’s her weekend with the grandkids. I had them last time, and we played nice and had them together the time before that.”
“Setting new standards for how to co-grandparent, I see. No date, either?”
“We were friends before anything else, no reason for that to change now. What about you? You got a date hiding from you somewhere?”
“Nah, makes it harder to ditch when I want. Especially if I exit you-know-how. Though odds of me doing that get lower—”
The longer I sit with you, he had been going to finish with, only he didn’t because Rooster chose then to unplug the sound system. The music cut off abruptly right as it was reaching a screeching crescendo and for a few moments, the silence was ringing. The regulars were the first to recover and clap, knowing what that meant, while everyone else looked around with questions written across their faces. Penny flicked the switches behind the bar. The lights dimmed everywhere except over the piano.
He looked over for Ice, to see if he wanted to follow him over what was sure to be a resounding performance of Great Balls of Fire, but he’d disappeared. Had he guessed what was about to happen and run away? He racked his mind, trying to remember if Ice had ever been present for one of the times Goose had been the one to put on the show.
He didn’t think Ice ever had. And even if he didn’t want to join the singing, Maverick knew he’d never been averse to watching others make fools of themselves. Something cold and wary trickled down his spine.
Maverick stood and moved toward the piano, thinking he might manage to get there soon enough to sing the opening lines—Ice was probably fine, he’d find him after, just in case—then he kicked something on the ground. He frowned and looked down. It was a beer bottle, with enough liquid left in it that he’d sloshed some out on the floor when he walked into it. It must be Ice’s, no one else had been in this corner with them. That was odd. Ice wasn’t the type to knock over a drink, and he definitely wouldn’t leave it on the ground if he had. He glanced over at the bar again, hoping to see Ice over there. Getting a towel.
No such luck. Maybe something was wrong.
He thought back over the last few moments, examining his memory in a way he usually reserved for when he was reviewing what had happened when he was in the air. And he could be wrong, but he thought he’d caught Ice flinching when the music cut. He’d been distracted by the crowd and the meaning of that potential flinch hadn’t registered.
He looked around again. Still, Ice wasn’t anywhere in sight. His stomach twisted into knots.
Nothing for it then, he’d catch Rooster some other time. He made a circuit around the bar, weaving through the crowd, all while trying to convince himself that he was overreacting. Ice was probably fine. Maybe he’d gotten an urgent call and left in such a hurry that he hadn’t noticed knocking his beer bottle to the floor. Maybe. But something in his gut told him that wasn’t what had happened.
He finally found him outside, standing at the deck railing. He wasn’t just standing there though, he was gripping that wooden rail with both hands, head bowed low. Maverick could hear his shaky breathing as he eased closer.
“Well, shit,” he sighed for the second time that night. He crossed the ground between them in two more strides. “Ice,” he said, his voice low and gentle. He wanted to reach out and touch him—but he knew that wasn’t a good idea. Not until he had a better idea of what was happening. He needed a sit-rep. “Hey, Ice, it’s just me. Your favorite wingman.”
“My. . . only. . . these days,” Ice said, barely understandable with his jaw clenched as tight as it was. His voice was rough, rasping in a way it hadn’t ten minutes earlier. His grip on the rail was so hard Maverick half expected the wood to splinter under it. He tried to think, tried to remember what he would do for anyone else in this situation. But this wasn’t anyone else. It was Ice.
In the end, he simply leaned there next to him. “You have to slow your breathing down, man,” he said, and he inched a bit closer. Still, he resisted the urge to touch him. “Come on, you know how. Just like when we’re flying, take a deep breath. Come on, please, Ice.”
“Can’t,” Ice gasped. Jesus, it sounded like Ice could barely get any air. This was bad, this was very not good, and Maverick couldn’t get his thoughts in order to figure out what to do.
“Yeah, you can,” Maverick said. He risked touching him then, gently coaxing one of Ice’s hands-free and bringing it up to rest over his heart. A gamble, one not recommended by any manual, but he knew Ice. And as long as he didn’t try to manhandle him, it would likely be okay. Ice angled towards him, but didn’t look at him. “Just match me, Ice. Breathe in, okay good now hold. . . and out again, nice and slow. Good, that’s good bud. Keep breathing with me. In again, and hold for five beats, there you go.”
They went through that routine a few times, until Maverick was confident Ice had calmed down enough to try talking some more.
“You’re doing beautifully Ice, now can you look around and tell me five things you see?”
Ice jerked his head in what was probably a negative, unless the shaking had gotten much worse. His eyes were shut now. “Fuck,” he whispered.
“Hey now, no cursing with kiddies nearby. It’s okay Ice, just look around and name a few things. Just three, even.”
Ice’s eyes were still closed, but he wasn’t shaking his head anymore. He wasn’t nodding either. “Please open those pretty blue eyes,” Maverick said. “I know you don’t want to, but this will help, I swear. Just open your eyes and look at one thing, okay? Just one, open your eyes and look at the railing in front of you. Yeah, that’s it. That’s great.”
“Railing. . . sand . . . and moon,” Ice ground out, never one to not meet a challenge, apparently. Maverick squeezed his hand before he could try and hit the original five he’d asked for.
“Good, amazing job. Now, focus on what you can smell. Come on, there are a thousand things to smell here. For example, even from out here I can smell that awful cologne Hangman favors, for God knows what reason. It’s not getting him any dates, that’s for sure. And you can smell the sunscreen Penny keeps in that cabinet over there, I think Amelia—her daughter who I don’t know if you’ve met—spilled an entire bottle earlier. Maybe on purpose. That’s gonna linger for days.”
He was talking to just talk, his voice low and patient and even, trying to give Ice an anchor he could hold onto. Anything to keep him here. On the ground, in the here and now and not in whatever hell his mind had been flung back to.
“No, nope, turn right back around,” Maverick snapped in the direction of the door he’d heard open behind them, the noise from the bar increasing and light spilling out over the deck. The person, whoever the fuck it was, stumbled and hesitated. “Back inside now,” he barked, in a tone he usually reserved for life or death situations, for when someone’s life depended on them listening to his orders. The guy, judging by his cursing, retreated back inside and the door fell shut with a bang. Ice flinched. Maverick had to take a deep breath rather than scream. It was time to get out of here. He’d apologize to Rooster and the others for leaving the celebration without saying goodbye tomorrow.
“Alright, listen to me,” Maverick said, forcing his voice back to low and gentle. “It’s time to make our graceful exit. I’ve got a place nearby that’s nice and quiet and I have meds or liquor, whatever poison you’d like.”
A short jerk of the head that could only be a yes, was his answer. “Sorry,” Ice managed. “I didn’t—I tried—”
“Hey, no, don’t you apologize, we’re both okay. You’re gonna be okay. Just lemme think about the best way to make our escape.” They could leave from here, but the deck didn’t go around to the front or the parking lot. They’d have to brave the sand if they left from here, and he wasn’t sure Ice could manage that route right now. He was trembling next to him, and if Ice went down, Maverick didn’t like his odds of being able to hold them both up.
Going back through the bar didn’t seem like a great option either.
He turned to look in the window. Rooster had relinquished the piano and was leaning against a pool table now, watching Hangman line up a shot. There was an idea.
“Alright, listen to me,” he said again. “I have an idea. You remember Rooster? Bradley Bradshaw? Goose’s kid, my—” he stopped and tried again “—he was my wingman the other day. Saved my life. Can I ask him to help get you to the parking lot?”
Ice turned his head away. “No,” he said. “Don’t want him to—”
“I get that, I swear that I do, but he can help. He’ll understand.”
“I said no,” came the tight reply, a whisper of a sound. Still, it wasn’t a tone to be argued with. Maverick closed his eyes and firmed his resolve.
“Have it your way, but if we end up taking a spill into the sand, I’m blaming you. Okay, I’m going to have to touch you some more. Is that okay?”
“Yeah,” Ice whispered.
“Alright, okay. I’m going to put your arm around my shoulders and I need you to hold on okay. I need you to hold on and lean on me.”
Ice stiffened next to him, the hand he was still holding to his chest clutching at his shirt. He’d managed to catch his fingers onto Maverick’s dog tags and the sharp pull around his neck stung. He didn’t say a word in protest. “I won’t let you fall, I swear. I was just joking before, you know. Ice—Tom, I swear on Goose’s grave that I won’t drop you, I’ll get you out of here with no one the wiser. Do you trust me?”
He didn’t answer him with words. Instead, with a force of will, he could only marvel at, Ice’s hand released his shirt and he slung his arm over Maverick’s shoulders without any help, and Maverick got his arm around his waist, gripping tight. The trembling was more apparent now that they were pressed together. It was worse than he’d thought. “I’ve got you,” he murmured. “I’ve got you, and I’m going to get you out of here. Before you know it you’ll be treated to Casa de Mitchell and all the hospitality I can muster. You ready to move? Just hang on to me, I’ll do all the work.”
He managed to get Ice’s other hand off the rail—that one he wasn’t releasing voluntarily and Maverick practically had to pry it off—and that one too found it’s way to him, grasping at his shirt and staying there. He let them stand there for a couple of beats, and let Ice get his bearings. But only for a few beats, lest they lost all their momentum.
“And, here we go,” Maverick said, and he kept his voice as soothing as he could. “Just another stealth mission, no one will even notice us. Ramps right there, and it’ll only take a few steps to get down it and to the sand. Okay? Here we go.”
Somehow they managed to get down the ramp, across the sand, and to wind their way around the building back to the parking lot and the front of the bar. They stumbled a few times but Maverick grit his teeth and kept them steady every time. He’d be damned if he failed Ice now.
Thankfully, Ice’s truck was easy to spot. Most of the time Maverick was more than content to get around on his bike, but times like this, he understood why it wasn’t practical. He stopped them when they reached it, and Ice’s hand grabbed at the hood. He let go of Maverick then, and braced both hands on the hood. He just stood there, his eyes shut again, his breathing slowing down.
Maverick let him have all the time he needed, standing where Ice had left him.
“I’m. . . fine now,” Ice said. Maverick raked a hand through his hair. He sighed, and leaned back against the truck next to Ice, so he could see his face as much as possible in the dim light.
“You’re doing better,” he said softly. “But you’re not fine yet.”
“I’m fine enough to get myself back to the hotel. I’m fine.”
“Ice,” he said. “There’s no way in hell I’m letting you do that, you understand that right? You’re doing better, and you’ll be okay, but you’re not there yet. Let me help, please. You don’t have to pretend with me. Besides, you already agreed to come home with me. No take-backsies.”
Ice huffed out a laugh. “Still—still such—a child,” he managed. He really was doing better if he was managing to insult Maverick, and he was ridiculously reassured by it. What the fuck did that say about them?
“You know it. Come on, let me drive us back to my place. Your wingman just so happens to have a fully stocked bar, or if you prefer, the very best PTSD meds the Navy can provide their rebellious pilots. All under the table too, since I’m technically still flying for Top Gun. Let me help, please?”
His breathing was steady now, and the trembling was barely noticeable. He hadn’t straightened up or made any move to stand on his own power though. His eyes opened and were miraculously clear and lucid when he looked back at Maverick. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“Stop with that nonsense. You never have to apologize to me, Ice. Never to me, and definitely not about this.”
Ice nodded, and reached into his jeans pocket. He almost missed the catch, when the set of keys were tossed at his face. He glanced around the parking lot and down the street. It was pretty deserted even for this area, but then, it was long past midnight, and pretty much everyone who lived or worked on-base was back inside, partying.
”Alright, so we’ve got a couple of options here. I can help you into the truck, or you can do it yourself. Only if you’re sure you can,” he said. Ice did not look like he was going to be able to make that trek, or make the decision at all, so helping him into the seat it was. Probably for the best anyway. They took it slow, and thank fuck no one exited the bar. Ice was silent as he let Maverick guide him around to the passenger side. He didn’t say a word of protest when he opened the door for him and all but lifted him up and into the seat with only minimal help from Ice.
Ice, whose hands were shaking, though he tried to fasten his seat belt anyway. “Here,” Maverick murmured, “let me.” Once he was sure Ice was settled in he made his way over to the driver's side and got in. He started the engine, and after a moment of consideration, lowered the windows. The cool night air would be good for Ice’s breathing, would help ground him. At least as long as he throttled back and didn’t go as fast as he usually drove. Ice said nothing the entire way, but he did rest his arm along the window sill, his face tilted into the breeze. It was a bit like he was coming out of shock, and Maverick was trying not to panic about it.
The minute they got to the temporary lodgings that had been provided to Maverick, he got Ice out of the truck, through the door, and planted him on the couch. It was one Penny had helped him get, swapping out the awful brick of a couch that had been there before. This one was the kind of couch that enveloped you and kept you. Maverick slept on it more nights than he made it to the bed.
“Alright, do you want a drink or meds?”
Ice had collapsed back on the couch, his eyes shut again. It looked less tense this time though, more like he was just too tired to sit with his usual perfect stature. “A drink. A strong one, please,” Ice murmured.
“Of course,” he said. He went to the kitchen, searching for what he knew was in there somewhere. Rooster had restocked and reorganized his kitchen the other weekend, in what he’d said was a prank but they both knew was a way of adding ‘healthy’ food to Maverick's diet. Still, though, Rooster would have hidden the alcohol—not thrown it out. He’d raised him too well for that. Sure enough, he found a bottle hidden in the cabinet under the sink. He grabbed that and a couple of glasses and headed back to the living room.
He picked his way around the shoes and throw pillows on the floor and sat on the couch beside Ice.
Maverick uncorked the bottle he was carrying with hit teeth and set the two glasses on the coffee table. “Couldn’t find any liquor, but this wine is pretty good,” he said, pouring a generous amount into each glass. “You still like reds, don’t you? You’re shit out of luck if not, Rooster did too good a job of hiding my other bottles.”
He smiled at the quiet whuff of Ice’s laugh. He passed one glass to Ice and lifted his own to savor the first sip. “Drink up, it’ll settle your nerves,” he said.
“Yeah, sure.”
They sat in silence, the room lit only by the lights he flicked on during his search of the kitchen. Maverick was beginning to wish he’d bothered getting a TV if only so he’d have something to turn on for background noise. He hadn’t spent much time here since moving in, his time monopolized by Top Gun. “So, I’ve been where you are,” Maverick said after a while, “And if you’re anything like me you must be thinking that—”
“I can’t,” Ice said quietly.
“Can’t what?”
“I appreciate all this Mav, you know I do. But I just—I can’t talk about it. . . not right now okay?
He examined Ice’s profile, the set of his jaw, and the knot in his stomach that had begun to loosen, tightened again. A split second of startling noise in a bar, and it had catapulted Ice back to something terrible. Maverick didn’t know exactly, what that terrible thing was—but he’d been there. Recently too. Sometimes listening to other pilots having trouble in the air, especially if he wasn’t up there with him, was enough to transport him back to the day he’d lost Goose. . . Maverick downed his glass of wine and reached for the bottle to refill it.
“You were right, you know. About it being time to let go,” he offered after a while. A compromise.
“I’m always right.”
Maverick shook his head and laughed. He grabbed the bottle again and topped off Ice’s glass. He wasn’t drinking as quickly but he extended his glass just the same. “You trying to get me drunk, wingman mine?”
“Is it working?”
“Hell, no. Not yet anyhow. My tolerance has gone down over the years, but it’s not that low yet.” He took another sip of wine and tipped his head back against the couch, then tilted his head over to look back at Maverick. “You always have been a bad influence.”
“I have no clue what you mean,” Maverick said, swirling his glass. “You’re not the goody two shoes you pretend to be either.”
“Course I am, I’m an admiral and you’re still a captain. Speaks for itself.”
“Yeah, you’re definitely feeling better now.”
They sipped their wine in silence, and Maverick watched as the leftover tension in Ice’s frame drained away. “About before,” Ice finally said. “I want you to know that hasn’t happened in. . . a while. Years. You don’t have to worry about me.”
“Alright.”
“Alright?”
“Sure. You think I don’t need to worry, and maybe I don't, but I will anyway.”
Ice took another sip, and examined what was left in the bottom of his glass. “It was just the suddenness of the music cutting off,” he said. “Took me back there for a minute. You know how it goes.”
Maverick huffed a laugh at that, and Ice looked up at him. “During training, there was this close call. You probably read the report. First Coyote blacked out from pulling too many Gs, and then right as it seemed like everything was okay there was a bird strike. Phoenix and Bob had to eject. I kept my head in the moment because I had to. . . but later? Once there wasn’t anything to distract me? I shut down. It was too similar to. . .”
“Yeah, I know. You’re a good teacher, Mav. The rest of the brass might not want to admit it, but they know it too. All your kids are better pilots because of you.”
“You’re giving me far too much credit.”
“I don’t believe that. I don’t think Rooster or any of the others believe that either.”
Maverick peered through the bottom of his empty glass, examining the scuff marks on the coffee table. “Doesn’t matter. We both know this was my last mission, my last post. I’m expecting to be forcefully retired any day now.”
“You and me both,” Ice murmured.
“What the hell are we gonna do with ourselves?”
“Be beach bums? We’ll be those old guys who spend so much time in the sun our skin turns to leather.”
“Doesn’t sound half bad. Except for the leather part, that’s what they invented sunscreen for, you know.”
Ice nudged their knees together. “It might be your last post, but it doesn’t have to end with the mission.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I mean, teach the next round of regular Top Gun. You’ve still got a few years of flying left in you.”
“What, they’re gonna let me influence more pilots than I already have? Somehow I doubt that.”
“They will, because I told them to.”
Maverick sighed. “You—what? Why? Ice, man, it’s not that I don’t appreciate your support, damned if know where I’d be without it. Dishonorably discharged years ago, probably. But you didn’t have to—”
“Yes, I did. You’re a good pilot and a good teacher, and they need to get their heads out of their asses about it.”
“Ice. Tom. You can’t keep sticking your neck out for me. Not when you spent your entire career building a sterling reputation—”
“Sure I can. My reputation can take it.”
Maverick stared at him for a moment. He grabbed the bottle and refilled both their glass to the brim, emptying the bottle. “Stay,” he said quietly. “I know you probably want to go back to your hotel, and if you want to I’ll drive you there or get you an uber, but please stay the night.”
“You want me to stay? Not just because of what happened at the bar?”
“Yeah.”
“Then I will. Of course, I will, Mav.”
He nodded and took a long sip of wine. He let himself slump sideways, just a bit. Just enough to bump shoulders.
“I have one condition,” Ice said.
“What’s that?”
“Admit I’m the better pilot.”
Maverick laughed so hard that he, purely coincidentally, ended up leaning all his weight into Ice so they were pressed together. Shoulder to hip to knees. “I knew it,” he managed. “I knew you couldn’t do it. Couldn’t let us have this nice moment, huh.”
“You admitting the truth, wouldn’t ruin the moment for me.”
Maverick reached over and squeezed his knee. “Ice, I mean this sincerely. Never gonna happen.”
It was Ice’s turn to laugh and Maverick didn’t bother hiding his smugness.
“Go on, finish your glass. And then you can go find us something else to drink,” Ice said, and he could hear the grin in his voice. It warmed him better than all the wine in the world could have managed.