Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He answered the phone immediately, because the muted shuffling to his left and the silky, sleep-warmed sheets transported him back to a time when he would have given his right arm to hear Bradley Bradshaw's voice again.

"Where the fuck are you, Mav?"

Somewhere in the bedroom, Ice let out a low chuckle; apparently, he'd heard. Maverick watched the shape of him in the dark, still blinking away sleep as he pulled the phone away from his ear and set it facedown on the bed. He was convinced he might be dreaming when the bathroom light clicked on and fluorescents flooded the room, stabbing dual bolts of pain into his skull.

"Shut the fucking door," Maverick said, shielding his eyes from the glare with his forearm. Ice turned back to him. The tousled hair on his head was decidedly not blond, even with the afterimage imprinted on Maverick's retinas. "Ice…?"

"Sorry, sorry." Ice grabbed the doorknob and pulled it shut. "Did I wake you up?"

"No." He fought through the confusion, trying to orient himself. This was Ice's bedroom, yes. This was Ice's house. Ice's COMPACFLT house. Maverick had come here last night against his will and oddly enough, he was still here. He would have to figure that part out later. "This is…real, right?"

"You're not dreaming," Ice said, still standing awkwardly by the bathroom door. That didn't comfort Maverick as much as he thought it would. "Is that Bradley?"

Right, the phone. Maverick looked down at it, then back up at Ice. He nodded.

"You better get it, then. Um…close your eyes."

"Why?"

"I'm going to open the door again." Maverick shut his eyes and bright light bloomed against the lids. A moment later, the door clicked shut. He picked up the phone again.

"Maverick?" Rooster asked. "Are you there?"

"Yeah…"

"Did you pay someone off to discharge you from the infirmary?"

"What?" Maverick eased back onto the pillows, staring at the rectangle of light under the bathroom door. This was all so strange. "No. There was no paying…what time is it?"

"I don't know," Rooster said dismissively. "Early. Were you asleep?"

"Probably. Where are you?"

"Standing outside your front door, looking for you. Your bike's not here."

Believe me, I know. "Why, exactly?"

"You tell me why your bike's not here. I obviously don't have any idea. Can you let me in?"

"I'm not home," Maverick said. "I…why are you at my house?"

Rooster sniffed haughtily. "Lookin' for you," he replied. "Making sure you haven't harassed any more nurses. The receptionist told me you were discharged last night. How the fuck did you manage that?"

The toilet flushed in the bathroom. Maverick shrugged to no one. "Lucky, I guess," he hedged. "I'm fine, Bradley. You— you don't need to chase me all around town."

"Who will, then?" There was a bit of snark in Rooster's voice; Maverick must be impeding his morning coffee. "Why didn't you tell me you were getting discharged?"

"So we could celebrate?" Maverick retorted. "Look, I really didn't think it would matter to you one way or the other."

Rooster was quiet for a moment. "It does," he said eventually. "Fuck, Maverick."

Maverick wasn't sure if he believed that, and immediately cursed himself. How could he ever think such a thing like that?

"Are you going to tell me where you're at or not?"

"My bike's still at the base. Ice…Ice was the one who discharged me. He took me back to his house, because I can't drive, and…it's a long story."

"Oh."

Yeah. Oh. "It's not like that. I'm not— whatever you think this is, it's not. Ice, he just doesn't know when to quit, alright? And—"

"Why are you making excuses for him?"

"I'm not," Maverick said. "I'm making excuses for myself, I think. Ice didn't kidnap me. He knew I wanted out of the infirmary, so—"

"He yanked hard on those strings of his, got it."

"Stop interrupting me, kid."

"I'm not a kid," Rooster huffed irritably. "Whatever. I really don't care where you're at. Makes no difference to me. Just thought I'd check on you, see if you needed any help. The daggers, not me. They want to help." Maverick felt a flash of disappointment and squashed it. He shouldn't expect Rooster to do anything.

"The squad has apparently decided I'm their messenger boy," Rooster continued. "Bob's making a casserole, Hangman's got some disgusting jerky shipped from Texas, and Coyote, Fanboy, and Phoenix are taking it upon themselves to bake a cake for you. God help us."

"A…you're joking," was all Maverick could stammer out. At first, he thought Rooster was shitting him, but the sheer fatigue in his voice couldn't be a fabrication. A cake? What the fuck was he, a cranky old war veteran bound to a wheelchair? What was next, his very own quilt, maybe a puppy to keep him company?

He saw a not-so-distant future in which that was the case, and swallowed hard.

"I really wish I was. They wanted to wait until you were discharged to visit, but the moment they find out you're outta there…I can't keep them away for long."

"But—" But they can't come here, was Maverick's first thought. Ice would kill him. Rooster would kill him. They'd probably fight about who got to kill him first. He rubbed at his temples. "Can't you take receipts or something? I'll give you the key to my house, you can just…"

"They want to see you, Mav. It's not about the presents. They're here for you. And I'm going to be the one to blame if you don't figure something out, so put your two brain cells together. We've only got a week or so of leave and then we're all out of here."

"Sure," Maverick muttered under his breath. "A cake? Seriously?"

"They were going to try and make it plane-shaped. Don't ask me how the fuck that works. If it makes you feel any better, I tried to talk them out of it. You're some kind of fucking hero."

He licked his lips. "So are you."

"I just sat in the back of the plane and pissed my pants. I'm not special."

"I— yeah, Bradley, you are. You saved my life. Without you, I wouldn't be a hero. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

"Sure," Rooster said, not sounding like he meant it a whole lot. "I know I'm a good pilot. I don't need a cake to prove it. Did Ice pay somebody off?"

"Bradley. Do you really think he'd do that?"

"I've seen him do lots of things I didn't think he'd do. Most of them have been for you. Habits are hard to break."

"So you're going to blame him, but not me? It was my idea."

"No, I'm blaming both of you," Rooster seethed. "But at least I know you would take a bullet for me when it counts. You have that much to show for yourself. Ice hasn't done anything except for sending me on this stupid mission to begin with, and appointing you to be my instructor when he knew damn well how I would feel about it. And if you two just want to defend each other until you're both blue in the face, I don't see any point in talking to you."

The bathroom door opened back up, thankfully with the light off this time. Ice hovered in the doorway, wiping at his mouth. Maverick chewed the inside of his cheek.

"Okay," he said. "Okay, you're right. But that's not all we've been doing. You'd be surprised at how much we don't get along, honestly."

Rooster harrumphed. "You two are disgusting. Figure something out, okay? I'm tired of listening to them talk about you." He hung up without another word. Maverick dropped the phone on the bed with a soft thump. He looked up at the ceiling.

"We have a problem," he said to Ice. "The daggers like me."

"That's a problem?"

"For Bradley, it is. And it's going to be for me, too. They want to come see me. I guess they probably all look up to me now."

"I can see how that would be a problem." Ice padded over to him, wrapped in a fluffy blue bathrobe. He sat down on the edge of the mattress next to Maverick. "Good morning, by the way."

"Morning. I don't think I've ever had anyone look up to me before."

"Bradley."

Maverick glanced at him. "That doesn't count." He didn't know how to let them down about all of this. He was an ace now, an honest to God hero, but at what cost? The closest thing he'd had to a son had walked out of his life. His wingman had kicked him out. When he closed his eyes, he saw everything that he'd ever lost. He was a good pilot, but he couldn't outrun the life he'd created for himself.

"Mav?"

"I didn't mean to snap at you, earlier." He hadn't, and it felt good to tell the truth about something. Even if it wasn't what he really wanted to say, that flying wasn't fun to him, that it was survival, that up there it was him and the plane and nothing else and that was why he craved it so much. He was a hero. Yeah, right. The daggers hadn't seen him gasping up every scrap of air in the cockpit, selfishly afraid to give up his life. Ice's eyes and Rooster's eyes. Sitting in the bathtub all night, wondering what the fuck he was doing, knowing he couldn't stop it, wondering all over again.

But it was a truth all the same.

"Okay."

"I thought— I didn't remember where I was right away."

"You've been moved around a lot," Ice agreed. "They'll get over it eventually. You won't be their hero forever." He smiled encouragingly at Maverick, but he couldn't return it. The dread was still hanging on him. "What are you so worried about, huh?"

"That one of them will get someone killed," Maverick said quietly. "I'm not the kind of person they should respect. I'm…I'm there to do the dirty work. They need a better role model. Someone like you."

"Oh, some snotty old admiral?"

"You're not snotty. Old, maybe." There wasn't an ounce of humor in his voice. "I don't want anyone getting full of themselves and making a mistake. It'll be my fault, and…"

"Woah, woah, woah. It will not be your fault. Maverick, look at me." Begrudgingly, Maverick turned his head towards Ice again. "You can't control what those kids do. And they're not stupid. Sure, they think you're hot shit, but they're not just going to drop everything they've ever learned. You've got to trust them."

"That's funny."

"What?"

"Hot shit," Maverick said. "I sure don't feel like it anymore." He closed his eyes. Ice found his hand on the bed and gave it a squeeze.

"Don't blame yourself for something that hasn't happened yet, Pete."

"Easier said than done." He thought of Rooster again and sighed. "Bradley doesn't like that I'm here."

"Figured that out all on your own, did you?" Maverick heard the ire in his voice and tried not to wince. He knew that logically, Ice wasn't mad at him, he was mad at himself, but it still cut through old wounds. "I know."

"I can't ask him to come here. I don't want to lose him again."

"Do you want me to take you back home?"

You would do that? Maverick cracked his eyes open. Ice was staring down at him intently, his face tense with anticipation.

"No," he said. "No…I don't know. I— I'll figure something out, okay? I— tell me if this is the wrong thing."

"I don't know if this is the wrong thing," Ice said. He swallowed, looking away from Maverick for a moment. "Bradley should come first. Bradley should always come first. If he won't come here, then…then maybe you shouldn't be here."

"I'm not letting him decide which bed I sleep in at night. That's ridiculous."

"Does it really matter if it means he'll spend time with you?"

"Why do you care so much? You're the one who pitted us together in the first place. Shit," Maverick said. He scrubbed both hands over his face. "Fuck, Ice."

"Yeah."

"It's too early in the morning for this. I need to take a piss." Ice moved off the bed, and Maverick pushed himself upright. His whole body was one big ache, and his legs felt like lumps of steel. He let out a low hiss under his breath.

"Okay?" Ice fetched his crutches from the floor. Maverick thought it was premature, the way he could hardly sit up at this point.

"Just stiff." He rolled his shoulders, slinging his good leg over the side of the bed. His mouth was uncomfortably dry, and he licked at his chapped lips a couple of times.

"You're not twenty anymore. Take your time."

"I shouldn't need any time. I don't get it, I hardly even did anything yesterday." Maverick braced both hands under his knee and hauled his other leg over. The pain was distant, like a low current of thunder rolling under his skin. "Christ."

Ice handed the crutches to him wordlessly. Maverick hooked them under his arms and used them to propel himself to his feet, leaning on one leg precariously until he got balanced.

"Thank you," he said, "for not helping me."

Ice merely snorted at the irony. Maverick clunked past him to the bathroom, huffing in deep breaths through his nose. Maybe he should have just stayed in bed and held it.

"What do you want for breakfast?"

"I don't usually eat breakfast," Maverick replied, unbuttoning his fly. Fuck, Ice had put the toilet seat down. What kind of single man did that? "Can you put the seat up?"

"Oh, right." Ice reached past him to flip the lid up. "Breakfast is the most important meal of the day. And you can't take your meds on an empty stomach."

"Reading my paperwork now, are you?" Maverick adjusted himself, sighing with relief as his bladder let go. "You don't have to watch me take a piss, Ice. I think I can handle that myself."

Ice merely raised a brow. "Were you ever going to read your paperwork?" he countered, not moving.

"If I got bored enough, yeah, maybe I would have." Ice flushed the toilet for him. "Come on. Breakfast and a nursemaid? That's pushing it."

"Just for that, you're helping with the breakfast."

"At least I'm doing something around here. Don't touch," Maverick said when Ice moved to put the seat down. "Your mother taught you way too many manners. I'm not going to risk fucking up my other hip just because of your obsession with hygiene."

"Yes sir, Captain sir," Ice said sarcastically. Maverick leaned against the sink to wash his hands. "Maverick…did you mean it, last night?"

He feigned confusion. "What part? I said lots of things last night."

"Maverick."

"I don't know. Probably. But who knows, these drugs can make me higher than a kite sometimes." Maverick eyeballed the orange pill bottles sitting innocently on the bathroom counter. "Do we have to talk about it right now?"

"Well…I'm pretty sure we have to talk about it at some point. Cyclone and I have to figure out what to do with you all sooner or later, but that all depends on what you want."

Of course it does. Maverick reached over for the towel and dried his hands off. He made sure to fold it nicely before hanging it back up, making eye contact pointedly with Ice. "So you want me to decide what I'm going to do with the rest of my life today?"

"I never said today. This week would be nice, so we can plan the promotion ceremony."

"I already told you, I don't want a—"

"Does it really matter if you're going to retire anyway?"

Maverick clenched his jaw at the word. He'd wondered when one of them would have the balls to say it. Typical, it would be Ice.

"It matters to me," he said, trying to keep his voice even. "If you don't understand that…I don't really blame you. But it does matter. If I'm going to…retire, I'm going to do it as a pilot. Not the one thing that's been trying to ground me ever since I enlisted."

Without waiting for a response, Maverick limped out of the bathroom. He had half a mind to go start the coffee, but his body told him that was a much longer trip than he was up for, so he sat down on the foot of the bed. Not twenty anymore. Yeah, don't I know it. And I'm not thirty, and I'm not forty…and I'm probably about the most stubborn person on this whole planet.

Ice leaned against the doorway, tucking his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants.

"Our arguments are about to get a lot less interesting now that I can barely walk," Maverick said tiredly. "Some things I just have to do. Like this. This is important. And my bike being here. That's important to me, too. Like…like your wrinkled sheets."

"You—" Ice tilted his head back and exhaled loudly. "You seriously remember that?"

"Of course I do."

"Maverick—"

"You don't want me wrinkling your sheets. I don't want you promoting me."

"For God's sake, I don't give a damn about the sheets anymore. If it means you're here, in my bed with me, I'll let you wrinkle every fucking sheet in the house until they get holes in them. It wasn't the sheets, okay, it was…it was…"

"It was the principle of the thing," Maverick finished for him. Ice sighed. "You're fighting a losing battle, Iceman. You just can't resist, can you?"

"It is what I do for a living."

"Yeah, well. You're not at work right now." He thought about that. In this house, practically gifted to him for his promotion, Ice probably felt like he was at work all the time. All clean cut lines and modern furniture and lifeless décor. It wasn't a home, Maverick decided. It was just another office.

"Come on. We have breakfast to make."

"I'm not sure you should really…" Maverick glared at him. Ice raised his hands in surrender. "I'll drop the promotion idea, okay? But you need to take it easy, as long as I'm here. When I leave, that's up to you. You can do whatever you want and I'll be none the wiser. But watching you hobble around like an old man is…is kinda freaky."

"I'm pretty sure you're offending a whole bunch of old men who also hobble around," Maverick grumbled. "But I'll bite. How, exactly, is it freaky?"

"I never thought I'd see you so…" Ice paused to search for the right word. "I never thought you'd make it this far, that's all."

That makes two of us.

He dragged a chair over to the kitchen counter, partially for Ice's benefit, partially for his own. If he couldn't even stand for more than a few minutes, how could he deal with all the daggers coming and going, talking his ear off, presenting him with congratulations-you're-not-dead gifts?

"Your hip will get better," Ice said, spooning pancake mix into a frying pan. Maverick focused on the toaster, waiting for the bread to pop out of it. "You did a lot of walking yesterday. You just need to give it some rest and some time."

"You read all my paperwork. When did you have the time to do that?"

Ice merely shrugged and smiled. "I can multitask. You're going to be fine."

"I'm not worried about that."

"Okay. What are you worried about?"

Everything. "They're making me a cake."

"Who?"

"The daggers. Well. A few of them. And Bob's making me a casserole. I guess Hangman's giving me jerky. At least I won't feel bad about that. I know they're just being nice, but it's super unnecessary. And I can't handle…I'm so fucking tired. I've been tired ever since I got here. It's just never ending." The toast jumped up and Maverick tossed the pieces on a plate, sucking on his burning fingers. He cut off tiny squares of butter from the stick and slathered them on.

"A cake, huh. You're right; they do need a snotty old admiral. Think I can teach them a thing or two?"

"No way. They'd all probably piss their pants at the sight of you, anyway. I know I sure would."

"Yeah. Uh-huh. Well…I could tell them embarrassing stories about you, try to get them off your back."

"You wouldn't do that. You don't know any embarrassing stories about me, first of all. I'm over people. I never want to see another person in my life."

"Mav, I hate to break it to you…"

Maverick waved the knife at him. "You are not a person."

"Oh." Ice flipped the pancakes, trying his best to hide a smile. "What the hell am I, then?"

"You're the fuckin' Iceman, of course."

They stared at each other. Ice was the first one to crack, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he put a hand to his mouth and laughed. Maverick couldn't help himself and followed, hanging his head. He laughed until his sore ribs hurt, and then tried to stop. But it was hard, because Ice was still laughing, and it was just all so…

"That wasn't funny," Ice said, wiping tears from his eyes. "That really wasn’t funny."

"Why did you laugh, then?" Maverick replied, not thinking it was very funny, either. "It sure looks like it was."

"I don't know. Really, I don't. Do you need me to scare them off?"

"Who, the daggers? No. No way. I'm— don't. I don't need you using your executive power for me again. I can take care of it."

Ice glanced at him. "I was more thinking along the lines of medical power of attorney."

"Same thing. And I don't need one of those. I have a hip strain, I'm not a vegetable. And I'm not mentally incapacitated, either."

"The daggers don't know that."

"They shouldn't have to worry." Maverick buttered more toast. "It's not nice to lie to them. I don't know what I'm going to do right now, but I'll figure it out. I just need some time to think."

~

He did a lot of thinking, but he didn't figure anything out. It was way too tiring trying to plan his own party, especially when he didn't even want it in the first place.

He couldn't get Rooster's words out of his head, honestly. Maverick had shot down two planes, but Rooster had survived, for him, for Goose. He was the real hero. If he had gone down with his jet, Maverick didn't know what he would have done. He might have never made it out of Siberia. He might never have come back.

He owed Rooster everything, but he didn't think Rooster knew that.

Maverick sat up, wiping sweaty hair from his brow. Ice had a surprising collection of workout equipment in the garage, and he'd spent most of the morning lifting weights and stretching his muscles out until the monotony of it all bored him. He'd cracked open the side door to the garage, letting in the soft glow of sunlight from outside. It smelled like grease and gasoline and home.

To Maverick, it was the most comfortable place in the whole house by a long shot.

The stretching made him feel a little better, but he hated that it was the only thing he could keep himself busy with at the moment. Sure, he could poke around Ice's house and probably get himself lost in the process, but he really wasn't in the mood. Plus, it sounded like a lot of walking, and the floor had become just so damn comfortable lately.

He reached over for his phone sitting on the dirty— but not that dirty, this was the COMPACFLT's house, after all— concrete floor and shot a text to Rooster: Do you have Phoenix's number? Maverick clicked his phone off and waited. Five minutes later, Rooster sent him a phone number back. He punched the digits in and put the phone to his ear.

"Hello?" Phoenix said on the other end.

"Phoenix?"

Maverick heard a muffled oh, shit and found himself smiling. "Captain Mitchell!" Phoenix yelped. "I wasn't— I wasn't expecting you. Good morning, how are you doing? Is everything okay?"

"Things are fine, Trace. How are you? Keeping busy?"

"Yes, sir," Phoenix said brightly. "All of us are A-okay, don't you worry. And we're all staying out of trouble, too. I, um…sir, why are you calling? Did something happen?"

"Rooster told me about the cake."

"Oh." Maverick looked up at the ceiling of the garage, propping one arm behind his head. "I told him not to do that. It was supposed to be a surprise, sir. Javy actually took a couple of home-ec classes in college, so we sort of know what we're doing…you really weren't supposed to know about it."

"It's probably better if I do." If I get any more surprises within the week, I think I might go hide in a closet and never come out. "I don't know if Rooster told you, but I got discharged from the infirmary last night."

"You did? That's great! He was…if you don't mind me saying this, he was sort of worried about it." Phoenix cleared her throat. "Rooster's a sort of private person, but we've been friends for a long time. I know you guys have a complicated relationship."

"You do?" Maverick couldn't help but ask.

"Well, sorta." She sounded a little embarrassed. "I mean, I wouldn't ever pry. You're my superior, and Rooster's just…a friend. But, y'know, it frustrated him. Are you back at home now? Are you doing alright? The rest of the daggers, we were going to drop in eventually, just to check on you."

"Yeah, I figured." He hoped Phoenix couldn't hear the fatigue in his voice. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about, actually. I was wondering if you could make some alterations to your plans."

"For you, Captain? Anything."

Maverick sort of understood what Ice's fondness for executive power was all about now. He only hoped Rooster wouldn't take this the wrong way. It was a long shot, but he thought it might work out.

Finally he peeled himself up off the floor, wincing at the fresh burn in his limbs. No amount of exercise would ease the ache in his hip, though. Only time could do that. His worst enemy.

As he was padding over to the door that connected the garage to the house, Maverick heard a rumble in the driveway. He froze, waiting for the noise to pass, but it only grew louder.

"Jesus, what now," he hissed under his breath, pivoting his crutches. He'd had enough excitement today to last him a month. And it wasn't even noon yet. He checked his watch just to be sure. He still had thirty-five minutes.

Maverick poked his head out the open side door, blinking a couple of times to make sure he wasn't completely hallucinating. Bob was sliding off his bike— his motorcycle, his Kawasaki, his, Bob— and waving back to a sedan parked in the street. He flipped the keys back and forth on his thumb, eyes shielded from the sun by a pair of mirrored aviators.

Maverick pinched himself. He heaved his crutches over the lip in the doorway and limped down the driveway. Bob froze when he spotted Maverick, ripping off his sunglasses.

"Captain!" he said, already snapping into a salute. Obviously, this hadn't been what he was expecting. Maverick couldn't really blame him, because he hadn't been expecting this, either. "Captain, sir."

"Bob?" Maverick asked, just to clarify. Bob nodded hastily.

"Yes, sir."

"Are you…am I imagining this?"

Bob's head tilted to the side. "No, sir. I don't think so. Aren't you supposed to be—" He snapped his mouth shut, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else. Maverick hobbled over to his bike, running a hand over the seat. It really was his. He resisted the urge to climb on and take off, Ice and Bob and Rooster and everyone else be damned.

"Did you drive this here?"

"Yes, sir."

"Seriously?"

Bob's eyes flicked nervously to him. "I have a Class M endorsement on my driver's license, sir. It's perfectly legal. I didn't go above the speed limit, at all. And Payback drove behind me just to make sure…nothing happened."

Like a meteor, Maverick thought dumbly. He looked over at the sedan, which was still idling in the street. Bob squirmed.

"Do you want me to get him?"

"No." Maverick walked a full circle around the bike, checking for dents or scratches or any other minor flaw. He thought about Ice and his stupid wrinkled sheets and stopped himself just short of looking at the odometer. No way would Bob take his bike on a joyride. Not Bob. He was probably the last person on Earth who would. "You can drive? Really?"

"Yes, sir." At this, Bob smiled wryly. He turned to Maverick, looking a little more relaxed. "Ever since I was eighteen. I don't get to do it all too often, but…she's a dream." He nodded at the Kawasaki. "You take good care of her."

"She's my baby," Maverick said explanatorily. Bob nodded, beaming at him. "Uh, who…"

"Admiral Kazansky ordered me to bring it over, sir. And he said that if I get a single scratch on it, he'd find out and I'd be dishonorably discharged within the week. Are you alright?" He was staring at the crutches rather concernedly. Maverick dragged a hand through his hair.

"Hip strain. No big deal." Except now I walk like I'm eighty years old. And sometimes I feel that way, too. "Admiral Kazansky? Talked to you?"

Bob nodded again. "Yes, sir."

"Huh. I wonder what's wrong with him. Do you want to come in? I can get you a…" He wasn't really sure what exactly Ice had in his refrigerator, besides whiskey. "I can get you something."

"In there?" Bob pointed innocently to Ice's house. The smile on his face turned a little nervous. "Oh, no. You don't have to do that, sir. I wouldn't want to intrude, definitely not. Payback's waiting, I should probably just…"

Well, Bob looked close to pissing his pants, so Maverick would take it. "Yeah, I get it. I feel weird as fuck being here, too. Can I at least walk you to the car?"

Bob looked at him doubtfully. "Captain, I think I can manage just fine on my own. I don't want to wear you out."

"You've already done that, Bob," Maverick sighed. "The driveway's not that long, okay? It's the least I can do for bringing my bike over."

"Okay…" Bob tucked his hands in the pockets of his jeans. "It's good to see you up and at 'em. Although I doubt you'll be able to drive anytime soon," he said with a laugh as they walked slowly down the driveway to Payback's car. "You deserve a real break, after what you did. I can't even imagine what that must be like."

"Oh, I'm sure you could handle it," Maverick said. "'Sides, Phoenix will never let anything like that happen to you. She's a smart pilot."

Bob fell silent, not missing the implication that Maverick wasn't a smart pilot. Payback rolled the window down as they approached.

"Captain, sir," he said, saluting Maverick. He didn't bother telling Payback the formality wasn't necessary; Maverick was already tired of waving down salutes. He didn't know how to tell the daggers he didn't give a fuck what they called him, only that they kept their toes in line and their heads up when it counted.

"Hey," Maverick replied simply. The sun and the heat were making him dangerously tired, and Payback must have noticed because his serious expression turned sympathetic. "Ah, thank you. Both of you. It really wasn't necessary, but…"

"It's no trouble," Bob said. "Take it easy, now. That's an order." He chuckled at his own joke, sliding into the passenger seat. Maverick waved at the both of them, watching the car take off down the street before making the trek back up to the house.

He paused at the head of the driveway, looking back at the bike. He would really like to call Ice and shout at him for allowing somebody else to touch it, let alone drive it all the way here, but he figured he'd have the rest of the day to do that.

It didn't even occur to him that neither Bob nor Payback had asked Maverick why he was at Admiral Kazansky's house instead of his own.

~

Maverick dozed on the sofa in the living room but never really slept. The blanket he'd grabbed out of the closet smelled like Ice— it was funny, really, how he could still remember exactly what Ice smelled like after twelve years apart— and it brought back too many gloomy memories to allow him to fully relax.

Eating breakfast threw him off, too, and by the time he was hungry enough to rummage through the kitchen for something to eat it was well into the afternoon. Maverick yawned behind his hand, blanket wrapped around his shoulders like a cape as he poked his head into the cabinets. They were surprisingly stocked for a bachelor; there was more food than Maverick could have dreamed of, if he was being honest. It daunted him a little, if he was being honest. Making a choice between two things was a lot easier than making a choice between twenty.

Finally he decided on a frozen pizza because he simply couldn't imagine the COMPACFLT coming home just to throw a sausage deep dish into the stainless steel convection oven. Maverick sat down in a chair and watched it while it cooked, basking in the low heat the oven gave off.

It wasn't the worst pizza in the world, but Maverick hardly tasted it as he ate. He figured that now after all the adrenaline of the mission— and everything that had happened after it— had worn off, life would go back to the same dull monotony. And it wasn't like he wanted that, necessarily…but still.

Phoenix sent him a few more texts that afternoon, too. Apparently, she'd had a very productive group chat with the other daggers, letting them know the other details, but she refused to tell Maverick any more. He'd have to trust her, just like he'd trusted her and the others during the mission.

This wasn't life or death, but it was pretty close by Maverick's standards.

He put on a baseball game on TV, laid down on the floor using the blanket as a pillow, and watched the shadows slide down the walls. Eventually his eyes slid shut, and he dreamed.

The front door opened at the same time Goose pulled the ejection handles. Maverick's lips moved in his sleep, telling him to watch the canopy for God's sake, and then a very real hand was shaking his shoulder, knocking him back into consciousness just as he heard the parachute snap open.

"Mav?" Ice was saying his name. Maverick blinked at him stupidly, wondering what the fuck was going on, what was Ice doing here? "Hey, Mav, talk to me."

What…He tried to push himself up onto his side and felt a starburst of pain in his lower body. Ejection, right. That was no joke, even at…

He wasn't twenty-four anymore. Maverick dropped down onto his back again. The living room was a couple of shades darker than it had been earlier. The sun was starting to set. He felt around his hip, massaging the area until the worst of the stabbing sensation subsided.

"Maverick?"

Ice was next to him on one knee. Maverick squinted at him. His throat tickled; he hadn't drunk enough water today. Or at all. His stomach ached distantly.

"I'm…" He doubted Ice would believe him if he said he was fine, so Maverick changed course. "Need a sec. Was sleeping."

"Why are you on the floor?"

The question floated away from him and then back. Maverick concentrated hard. He was in Ice's house, not ejecting over the Pacific. It had been nearly forty years since that had happened, and yet his body still hurt from the impact.

No, that was from a different ejection. Talk about whiplash.

"…Pete?"

Ice loomed over him, blocking out the sunlight. Maverick wondered when he'd gotten so gray. And those two extra stars, where had those come from?

I want to be good.

He could make it all better, he could take away those nearly forty years of pain and loss just like that. All Maverick had to do was ask. And he was suddenly very certain that Ice would do it, if Maverick asked him to. The idea tempted him. One last time.

Ice pinched him in the arm, hard, and Maverick let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding in. He rubbed at his arm furiously with the opposite hand, sluggishly coming back to his surroundings.

"Hey," Ice said as he pushed himself up into a sitting position, using the couch as a support. "You alive in there?"

"Barely," Maverick replied. He rubbed at his face; there was sweat on his brow. His mouth was still painfully dry, and he moved to stand, but Ice put a firm hand on his shoulder.

"What do you want?"

Maverick glared at him balefully. Ice cocked a brow in response. Yeah, he wouldn't be winning this one. He'd probably already exceeded Ice's limit of goodwill. "Water. And ice."

"Don't move," Ice said and got to his feet. Maverick shifted his weight, trying to keep as much strain off his sore hip as possible. He listened to the sharp sound of ice cubes clinking into a glass. His head felt like a pressure cooker.

Ice handed him the glass, and Maverick took a large gulp immediately, resting it between his knees because he didn't trust himself not to drop it. "How was work?" he rasped.

"You're going to lead with that?"

"Worth a shot." Maverick shrugged, tracing the rim of the glass with his finger. Ice settled down on the couch above him, close enough to be considered hovering, of course.

"Work was fine. Did you fall down?"

"Did I— what a stupid fucking question, Ice." Ice reached down to squeeze his shoulder lightly. "No, I did not fall down. I was on the floor willingly. I know that may seem crazy to you wealthy—"

"Okay, I get the point," Ice said. "Why were you on the floor willingly?"

"I was taking a nap."

"On the floor?"

"It's comfortable," Maverick grumbled. "Argue with me about this when you've been chained to a bed. Then you'll understand. You woke me up."

"Sorry about that."

"Probably for the best." Maverick waved him off. "Day's over already, huh?" He glanced out the sliding glass door. So much for being productive.

"Yup. What did you do today?"

"Honestly, nothing. Speaking of that." He turned his upper body just enough so he could look up at Ice. "You were just going to have Bob leave my bike in the driveway and not even tell me, weren't you?"

"He didn't dent it, did he?"

"You didn't answer my question, Ice."

"You got what you wanted," Ice said. “Lieutenant Floyd actually knows quite a bit about motorcycles. I made sure he could be trusted beforehand."

Maverick remembered Bob's comment about getting discharged and clenched his jaw against the smile that wanted to form. "Bob could be trusted with a nuclear bomb."

"He can? I'll have to remember that. I looked up his driving record. He doesn't have a single citation, not even for speeding."

Maverick snorted. "You're such a weirdo."

"I figured it would be a nice surprise. You like surprises, don't you?"

"Absolutely not."

"This would have been a good surprise." Ice chewed the inside of his cheek. "Like flowers, or dinner."

"Sorry to disappoint, but I don't have either of those things." He felt a sudden, strange flicker of guilt at that. Shit, Maverick thought. "You have a really skewed understanding of romance."

"I wasn't trying to— so do you," Ice scoffed. "Would you prefer flowers?"

"No."

"That's what I thought. I better not see you trying to get on it, though."

"I don't think that'll be a problem," Maverick said truthfully.

~

Phoenix: Roo's bored. Go over and see him
Phoenix: Hes pissed at you for some reason
Phoenix: Well more than usual

Maverick: So I should go over and see him??

Phoenix: Yea
Phoenix: He needs some1 to vent 2 besides me

Maverick: I don't know if that's such a good idea.

Phoenix: Nah hell take pity on u. Dont worry about it

Maverick: I don't know how to break it to you, but I can't drive.

Phoenix: Pity remember
Phoenix: Tell him u need to go to the store or smthn. Always works with me
Phoenix: Ive had to listen to him complain about u for the last 5 years now that ur in the same state u should at least try

Maverick: Try to do what?

Phoenix: Get along with him what else

~

"Why'd you ask Bob to drop my bike off?" Maverick asked, picking at the limp remains of his salad. Across the table, Ice glanced up from his cell phone.

"Because you…wanted it?" he said, angling his head towards Maverick confusedly. "Unless…we were fighting about that for no reason, and you didn't really care where your bike was."

Maverick frowned. "I didn't mean that. I meant my bike. Your house."

"Oh." Ice was silent for a moment. "It's about time, I guess."

"What's about time?"

"You're going to need someone to drive you around. The daggers are going to see me eventually. They should probably get used to the idea of me first before I show up and scare the crap out of them one day, don't you think?"

"You make it sound like we're adopting a couple of abused dogs. Why does it matter to you what they think? They're hardly minnows on the food chain. You've got bigger things to worry about. I hope."

"Well, it matters to you."

"It does?" Ice smirked. "Yeah, it does. I mean…I don't really care one way or another." Maverick stared down at his bowl, poking his fork into a tomato halfheartedly.

"Don't give me that. I know you don't want to make excuses for yourself, Mav. It's not that hard to see. If anyone asks why you're staying here, we'll tell them the truth."

"Not the whole truth."

"The truth is that we're friends and you can't drive and everyone's agreed that you should live with someone until you're cleared by a doctor." Who's everyone? Maverick thought, but he didn't say anything. "The whole truth would take way too long to explain. Besides, you haven't even said the whole truth to Bradley, have you?"

"Not yet," Maverick admitted begrudgingly. "So, we're friends? Just like that?"

"Do you have a problem with that?" Ice asked. He sounded serious, but not accusatory. Maverick hated how he was taking this with so much stride. Then again, he'd probably spent twelve years thinking about it.

And what were you thinking about? Surviving, mostly. One day at a time.

"No. But I figured there'd be a test, or something. Like, we'd have to do a trust fall. Or say which three women we'd take with us to a deserted island."

"Is that how you make friends these days?" Ice asked, his eyes crinkling with amusement. "I wouldn't know. I think we've already had a test, and we passed."

"We did?"

He angled his head in agreement. "We spent a whole night together, Pete. One bed, both of us, no fooling around."

"Hmm. You want to, too, don't you?"

"Want to what?"

Maverick's eyes flashed. "Make me be good."

Ice, to his credit, didn't even blink. "I want to like I want a cigarette, and I've been off those twelve years now. I won't deny it."

"But."

"But I know it won't really last," Ice said. "And that's what I tell myself, every time I start thinking about it again. It's not something to live off of. I don't want to stand between you and the daggers. And as long as you're here, as long as we're friends…you shouldn't have to hide this part of yourself."

"What, the bad part? The absolutely fucked up, deranged part?"

Ice smiled only when Maverick did. "The human part."

"Ah. I see. If you must know, Bob was probably more afraid of scratching the bike than being here. I tried to invite him in, but…you know. If I were him, I'd be the same way. Maybe you should be the one having a party."

"Yeah, right. How are things going on that front? Convinced everyone that you didn't really do anything that important?"

"Not exactly. We'll see. I just think that the others need to be congratulated, too. I wasn't the only one on the mission. I hate taking all the credit. The respect is nice, sure. I don't know. It all feels fake."

"Welcome to the Navy," Ice mused.

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"The bike."

Ice looked at him. "You're welcome, Mav."

"Don't smile at me."

"I'm not."

"Yeah, you are. You're definitely smiling. You can't hide it now, I already saw it. Stop," Maverick said with mock anger when Ice pursed his lips. "God, if I knew a simple thanks was all it took…"

"Shut up. Were you alright earlier? You seemed kind of out of it."

"Alright's a pretty subjective word." Maverick took a sip of his water to cover up the pitch in his voice. He licked his lips. Ice waited. "I got that feeling again. That's all. I wanted to."

Ice nodded. He didn't say anything, only returned to his food with a deliberate intensity.

"If you already knew that, why'd you ask?"

"Because it's important that we tell each other things. We don't have the time for…we're old now. And maybe you think that we have the rest of our lives to talk about how we feel, but I want to do that now. That's what friends do. They don't hide everything behind their backs until the last minute."

Touché.

"I don't think that, by the way. The rest of our lives isn't exactly a long time anymore."

Ice shrugged his shoulders. "Whatever the case. I like talking to you."

Maverick didn't know why that stunned him so much. He pushed his fork through his salad. "Weirdo. Nobody likes talking to me. Nobody likes me, period."

"First time for everything. Now, you say that you like talking to me."

"But I don't like talking to you. I like being with you. Talking is just so exhausting."

"I'll drink to that," Ice said, and raised his water glass.

After dinner, Ice disappeared into his study for a while, and Maverick made no move to bother him. Instead, he wandered into the library next door, taking a couple of books to read at the kitchen table, where the chairs were a lot more comfortable for his hip.

He'd never been much for reading, especially the thick, mind-numbing tomes that almost exclusively filled Ice's shelves, but at least there were pictures he could look at. It was a surprisingly good way to pass the time and take his mind off of earlier.

"Reading?"

Maverick jerked upright, swearing under his breath as Ice came up behind him. "Warn a guy," he hissed. "Jesus. What did you do, teleport here?"

Ice shrugged. "Socks."

"I thought you were working."

"I was. I'm done now."

"Good for you," Maverick grumbled, still not over the initial shock of Ice scaring the piss out of him. "Next time, walk a little louder."

"You must be used to living alone."

"I'm used to living where someone announces their presence before coming up behind me. I don't have eyes in the back of my head, you know."

"Could have fooled me. I think Bradley would disagree with you on that." Maverick tried to bat him away when Ice ruffled a hand through his hair. "You really hate that, don't you?"

"Took you long enough, Sherlock. Stop it." Adamantly, Ice let him go, and Maverick flattened his hair back down irritably. "Yes, I hate it."

"How come?"

"Just 'cause. I don't like people touching me. What do you want?"

"What makes you think I want anything?"

Maverick looked over his shoulder to glare at him. "You always want something. I'm literally here because you want me to be. Your whole life is wanting."

"Um…okay. I was just wondering if you wanted to go for a drive."

"A…drive?" Ice nodded mutely. "What are you, eighty?"

"Not the last time I checked." He fidgeted. "I figured you'd want to get out of the house for a while. You can choose the radio station."

Maverick raised a brow. "Promise not to drop me off in the middle of nowhere and leave me there?"

"As long as you promise to let me know about any impeding asteroids."

"Deal."

Maverick thought Ice would want to have another serious conversation— as he must be under the impression that they were helpful or something— but instead the ride was silent except for the classic rock Maverick put on. It had taken him a moment, because instead of an assortment of buttons and knobs there was a huge touch screen on the dashboard that was just about the most sensitive thing in the world. Ice's car was like looking into a distant utopian future complete with floating houses and robot butlers.

He watched out the window as the city lights slowly flickered on one by one, lighting up in the evening in bright white fluorescents. It was so different than the desert, where the closest light was the moon and if you saw another person it was probably a mirage. So much brighter. It hurt his eyes.

"We're going to the beach."

"We're driving by the beach. We're not going anywhere."

Maverick looked over at him. "You drive by the beach a lot?"

"Sometimes. I like driving. It's like…a less stressful alternative to flying."

"Your bodyguards probably hate you," Maverick said, not unkindly. Ice scrunched his nose.

"I don't have bodyguards. I'm not the president, Mav. I can go where I want, it's not like I need a personal escort everywhere. Nobody's going to shoot me."

"That's a shame." Maverick didn't really care if Ice had bodyguards or not, but it was a funny thought. He figured there were probably special people with special cameras and microphones listening in on everything Ice did regardless; that was just how the government worked. Honestly, he had no clue. He hadn't been interested enough in power to ever learn about that kind of shit.

But if those special people did exist…they were probably having the time of their fucking lives right now.

They fell back into silence. Occasionally, Ice would hum along to the song playing on the radio. Maverick leaned his head back, narrowing his eyes against the light. He wasn't tired— one of the perks of sleeping all day— but the world kept dragging at him. He was used to sitting in his base house or the hangar alone, eating what could hardly be considered a meal and then lying down in bed until his body finally gave up. He wasn't used to actually doing things.

Pathetic, Maverick thought. At least Ice had his work to fall back on. Sooner or later, Maverick wouldn't even have that.

"I wonder if this is how Goose ever felt," he said absently, barely aware the words were leaving his mouth. Ice's head snapped up.

"Like…how?"

"Being in the backseat all the time, always having to…to put up with me. Just dealing with it, not knowing what's going to happen next."

Ice's hands flexed on the steering wheel. It was a long time before he spoke, long enough for Maverick to wonder if Ice had even heard him at all. Of course the Iceman needed a millennium to answer Maverick's stupid fucking question, probably so he didn't offend anyone or speak ill of the dead somehow. Considerate bastard.

"I don't know," he said quietly. The glasses he wore reflected the streetlights, lighting up his eyes. "But I do know that he didn't put up with you. Goose wasn't like that. He wouldn't have stayed so long, if…if…"

Maverick licked his lips. "Yeah?"

"Yeah, Mav." Ice stopped at a Stop sign and turned to him. He hovered his hand over Maverick's, waiting for him to make the first contact. Gingerly, Maverick turned his palm face up and slotted his fingers in Ice's.

"What about you?"

Ice tilted his head. "I stayed because that's what Goose would have done. But that's not why I'm here now. I think…we've got to do what's best for us, not for him. And maybe that's not fair to Goose, but…it's not very fair to you, either."

Nothing's ever been fair to me, Maverick wanted to say, but the words stuck in his throat. He nodded. Ice let his hand go, but Maverick curled his fingers tighter. If that surprised Ice, it didn't show on his face.

"You've been thinking about this."

"Yeah," Ice said. "A long time. I've been thinking about all the things I wish I'd said to you. All the things I wish I'd done."

"Why didn't you come, then? When my deployment ended?"

"After what I did to you?"

"You wouldn't be the first asshole," Maverick said. Ice frowned at him. "If it weren't for the mission…would you ever have?"

"Maybe." But Maverick heard the unspoken: Maybe not. "It takes a long time for the Iceman to admit when he's wrong."

"Because it happens so little," Maverick murmured. The crease between Ice's brows softened at the quip. "That's what I always liked about you. That damn perfectionist streak. I was afraid that it might start to rub off on me."

"Wouldn't want that to happen, now," Ice said, equally as soft. Maverick kissed him then, because he didn't know what else to say. His sore ribs twinged at the way he had to lean over the center console, but he hardly noticed. Ice's mouth was the same way he remembered, all warm and wanting.

Suddenly it was too much too soon, a hot burst of emotions churning in his gut. He pulled back, and Ice blinked at him hazily.

"Pete," he said. Maverick nodded. "Are you alright?"

"Just fine," Maverick replied. He let go of Ice's hand finally, feeling a little embarrassed. "You should have started off with the apologies, the first time we met."

"I know."

~

Maverick: You busy?

Rooster: why

Maverick: Need food. Can't drive. Doctor's orders.

Rooster: that you need food? What about Ice

Maverick: Work.
Maverick: We can talk shit about him.

Rooster: you don’t want to do that

Maverick: You'd be surprised. If you don't want to go I won't be offended.

Rooster: never said that Mav
Rooster: be there in fifteen

~

Rooster gave him an unimpressed once over as Maverick boosted himself up into the Bronco, dragging his crutches in behind him. Maverick adjusted his sunglasses and reached over for the seatbelt, ignoring him.

"Are you sure you need food this badly? Doesn't Ice have like…a whole house?" He gestured to said house in front of them. "You look like you just got out of bed."

"At least it doesn't look like I'm still in bed," Maverick grunted. "Humor me, would you?"

Rooster's mustache twitched. "Sick of it already," he said, sounding distinctly smug. "Gotcha."

Maverick let the comment slide. Surely, if he kept telling himself that a loathing Rooster was better than a deadbeat one, it would start to feel true. Eventually. One day. Maybe.

"How's your leave going?" he asked instead.

"Fine." Rooster pulled out of the driveway and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "The weather's nice."

"Keeping busy?"

"Yup." Maverick opened his mouth, but Rooster beat him to it. "No more small talk, alright? It's pathetic."

Yeah, it probably is. Maverick nodded, sinking a little in his seat. Take pity on me, Phoenix? Really? I'd like to see the day that happens. Ice was the pitying one; Rooster couldn't care one way or the other.

"I just want to…" He cleared his throat. "I want to get to know you, that's all."

Maverick was staring at his lap defeatedly, so he couldn't see Rooster's expression, but he could about imagine. It only made him want to curl up into a ball and forget the world.

"Get to know me? Get to know me? You had eighteen fucking years to do that, Mav, but instead you were always running off to Ice, never paying any attention to me. You thought if you pretended hard enough, I would just cease to exist, so you wouldn't have any horrible reminders of what happened."

Rooster gripped the wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white. "I don't get to fucking forget. I had to grow up without a father. You can't forget that."

Maverick closed his eyes and inhaled deeply through his nose. "I know," he said quietly. "I know, that's why…"

The words lodged in his throat. His chest ached. He wanted to tell Rooster that he knew exactly what it was like, because he'd grown up without a dad, too. It had only made him want to prove himself even more, to really do something. And that's what Rooster had done, wasn't it? Except Rooster was still fighting him and Maverick was still fighting the brass and it would never end, not until the both of them took their last breaths.

"Bradley," he said. "I'm going to retire."

Rooster swung his head around to stare at him, nearly running a Stop sign. He hit the brakes hard, and Maverick winced as the seatbelt jerked him around. "You are? Really? Why?"

"Well…lots of reasons. I can't keep doing this to myself. This mission…every day, it felt like walking to my own grave. And I— there's just a lot of problems that I can't do anything about while I'm in the Navy." You being one of them.

"I thought you were hellbent on flying, though."

"I was, but…I've reached the end of my rope here. I'm not getting any younger, and it's going to take me a long time to recover from the mission as it is. If I do at all."

Rooster's brow furrowed. "The doctor said it was just a pulled muscle."

"I'm not just talking about physically, Bradley," Maverick sighed. "I don't want to pretend you don't exist anymore. And I know that probably means shit, coming from me. But—"

"You're going to have to do a lot more than that," Rooster said irritably. "We haven't made up just because you've finally decided to admit that you're human."

"I'm gonna go to therapy. Me…and Ice, too, probably. Ice brought it up, but you were the one who put it in my head, I guess. When you made me do that stupid psych eval."

"It wasn't stupid—"

"Still. You wouldn't have forced me into it if you really didn't care. Okay? That's all."

Rooster sniffed disbelievingly. He didn't say anything until they pulled into the parking lot for the grocery store. Then he took off his aviators and slid them into his shirt collar, leveling Maverick with a steely look. "It doesn't change anything. You can't take it back."

"I know."

"Good," Rooster said. "Good for you, Maverick."

Doesn't it mean anything to you? All that stuff I told you on the carrier? Maverick wanted to ask, but he didn't.

"Can we be civil with each other, for now? At least until your leave's over. Then you can go back to being…"

"Being what? Completely reasonable in how I feel about you?"

Maverick gritted his teeth. "If that's the way you want to put it."

"No, that's how I want you to put it," Rooster muttered, and hopped out of the truck. To Maverick's surprise, he walked over and opened the passenger door. "What? Just because I'm pissed at you doesn't mean I'm going to treat you like a piece of crap. Would be pretty hypocritical of me, don't you think?"

He cocked a brow, obviously waiting for Maverick to gripe at that. But Maverick knew he'd lost this time around. And he figured he'd lose many more times after that.

Is it worth it? he thought. All of this fighting, and for what?

For your son. Your family. That's what Goose would do, right?

Maverick swallowed and eased himself out of the truck. "Bradley…"

"What?"

"Thanks," he said. "For the ride. You didn't have to."

"You asked me to."

"Exactly."

Grocery shopping had never been very high on his list of priorities, ever. Maverick wouldn't deny it; the majority of his meals had come from microwave dinners and takeout. He could cook pasta and heat up soup and occasionally not burn a grilled cheese, but that was about the extent of his culinary endeavors. Even less so when he'd gotten the hangar.

He hadn't actually planned on living there, at the start. It had just gradually evolved to staying there on the weekends to fix up the Mustang— which he'd gotten practically for free, an offer too good to refuse— to leaving more and more of his things scattered around the dirty floor. The Airstream had sort of cemented the whole deal, not for its kitchen or queen sized mattress but the toilet, because Maverick was getting sick and tired of checking for scorpions whenever he went outside to take a piss.

So it was weird, limping up and down the aisles, trying to decide what sort of items Ice already had and what he would vehemently outlaw. Even weirder still with Rooster, who had an obsession with checking the expiration date on everything Maverick put in the cart.

"If you're going to get cheese, at least make sure it's real."

"Ice already has real cheese."

"Then why are you— never mind. I'm not going to ask."

"I'm not a freeloader," Maverick said. "I'm going to buy my own cheese and eat it, and it's not going to be a problem."

Rooster eyed him. "No wonder you two broke up. Real cheese is healthier for you. Pretty sure Ice wouldn't care."

"I do."

"Insufferable," Rooster said under his breath, but it didn't sound particularly malicious. "You do realize you live in world where you can order groceries off your phone at any time?"

"Could have told me that earlier, you know." Rooster remained stubbornly silent. Maverick resisted a smile. "I don't like being cooped up. Figured grocery shopping was a good start."

"It's the biggest house on the fuckin' block, Mav. Probably the biggest house in the whole town."

"It's not that big," Maverick argued. He could be living in a mansion and still feel trapped by all four walls. He wanted the wind in his hair, the sun in his eyes…looking out the window just didn't cut it for him. "Until I can drive again, I'll take what I can get."

"Bob told me he dropped off your motorcycle yesterday. What was that all about?"

Maverick shrugged. "A favor."

"From who?"

"Take a guess," Maverick said. "I'll bet he was shitting a brick afterward."

"Just a little." Rooster inspected the jar of black olives Maverick handed over to him. "He probably thinks you guys are running a secret Navy gang or something. Or having secret celebratory sex. Either way, he doesn't want to know."

"You can tell him we're not doing either of those."

"Eh. It's better than Payback's suggestion. He said you became Ice's slave as compensation for getting shot down and stealing an F-14."

"And you didn't try to…clear the air? You can tell them, Brad."

"Tell them what?" That stung a little. Maverick resisted chucking a jar of salted peanuts at Rooster's head. "I don’t want to become a nepo baby. The daggers treat me like I'm normal, and I'd like it to stay that way. As far as they know, I don't know any more about the COMPACFLT than they do, and we got a little chummy over almost dying during the mission."

"What about Hangman?"

"Seresin and I are good," Rooster said coolly. "You and Dad flew together a long time ago, so what? Doesn't mean anything to him."

Maverick nodded slowly, adjusting his grip on the crutches.

"Can you respect that? What I want?"

"Yeah," Maverick said. "Sure. If…if it makes you happy."

"It's not personal."

"I know that. I don't mind. They're your friends."

"I wouldn't say that."

"Okay. They're your…coworkers. What about Phoenix? She's your friend, isn't she?"

"Sometimes," Rooster said begrudgingly. "It's complicated."

"I know all about that."

"Oh, do you?" His tone was sour. Maverick scratched his cheek with his shoulder. Typical Rooster, always latching onto the one thing he didn't want to talk about. "Pray tell. Please, I want to know all about your complicated relationships."

I'm pretty sure you were there, Maverick thought. He didn't want to talk about himself and Ice in the middle of the fucking grocery store of all places, but Rooster was glaring at him like he was waiting to be proven right.

"It's a long story."

"Good thing I've got loads of time," Rooster snapped, stalking down the aisle. Maverick trailed after him, head hanging. He was suddenly glad he'd slept all day yesterday; he might not have had the energy to deal with Rooster.

They finished the rest of their shopping in silence. Rooster was clearly expecting an answer from him still, but Maverick didn't know what the fuck to say. Where did you even begin? How do you talk to your kid about shit like this? Hello, son. I'm a big fuckup and so is my ex-fuckbuddy-turned-roommate, but you already knew that, right? We had lots of disgusting sex in the nineties but after you left there wasn't much of that anymore, so we just sort of…ignored each other. Every day.

How's that for complicated?

"Me and Ice…you don't even know the half of it," Maverick said finally as Rooster loaded sacks into the back of the Bronco. He leaned against the taillight, taking his weight off his crutches for a few blissful moments.

"And whose fault is that?"

"You were just a kid," Maverick hedged. "It was none of your business. It's— it's still not any of your business, really, but—" Abruptly, Rooster slammed the tailgate and walked around to the front. Maverick hurried to catch up to him, noting with a sick sense of humor that Rooster didn't even try to help him get in this time. He tossed his crutches onto the floor and pulled himself up onto the seat, wincing as his sore ribs throbbed. "Rooster. Bradley."

"Jesus Christ, Mav. I'm trying to give you the benefit of the doubt, but it's really fucking hard when you keep treating me like a baby. I'm not a kid anymore, so that excuse doesn't work. At least try to come up with a different one next time."

Maverick stared at him desperately. "I'm— I'm not. I swear I'm not, I…I'm not proud of it." The words stuck in his throat, and it took an immense amount of strength to say them. "We…I…I was just a pity fuck for him. That's all it ever was. It wasn't like…like your parents. They were in love, y'know?"

Rooster didn't say anything. His mouth turned down.

"I mean, they had it all, after you were born. And they were so happy. Ice and I…guys like us can't do that shit. We can't do that, not even now. Too much has happened. Look, Ice was using me and I was using him, and I don't know how it lasted for as long as it did. He chose me because I made him, because I asked him to, alright? It wasn't because he didn't care about you."

"Yeah. Yeah, right." Rooster's voice was thick. "He's your superior. He wouldn't do that. He doesn't have to listen to you. That doesn't even make any sense."

Nothing about us makes sense, Maverick thought. "Ice didn't want to find out what…what would have happened, if he stopped me."

"What would have happened?"

Nothing good. He turned his head away, looking out the window. "I made him do it," he repeated. It was the wrong choice, but he'd done it anyway. And now he was choosing Ice again, for himself. Maverick only hoped it wouldn't turn out like last time.

Rooster contemplated this. "When you can't even take care of yourself, it's hard to take care of someone else," he said. "But it is my business. It's my fucking life."

Maverick nodded dumbly. It felt like the last of the strength had been sapped out of him. He could take care of himself. He could get by. He had done it, day by day, all by himself. No Ice, no Rooster. No family.

"Something's different about you," Rooster said. Funny, Maverick had been thinking the same thing.

He hadn't really planned this out, and they both realized at around the same time that there was no way Maverick was going to be able to carry the sacks into Ice's house, so Rooster would have to go in with him. Maverick noticed the dark look on his face and winced, but Rooster didn't say a single word.

"You can set them on the table. I'll put everything away."

"No." Rooster already started unloading things into the refrigerator, the scowl on his face growing bigger and bigger. Maverick sank into a kitchen chair heavily. Rooster paused and looked over at him. "Do you need anything?"

"I'm good." By the time he mustered the courage to say thanks, Rooster had already stuck his nose back into the fridge. "I think I can handle this on my own."

"Ice will have my head if he finds out I made you put fucking groceries away. Relax. Why did you get more Pepsi? There's already some in here."

Maverick shrugged. "Emergencies."

"A Pepsi emergency?" Well, at least Rooster wasn't yelling at him anymore. Or ignoring him. Was this what progress looked like? "I don't even know why you still drink this shit. You'd be better off getting drunk."

"I don't get drunk."

"How come?"

"Makes me feel weird."

"That's the whole point. Christ, there's three different types of milk in here. Remind me never to become an admiral." Maverick smirked at that. "Is Ice going to promote you before you retire?"

"No."

"No?" Rooster pulled his head out again, looking genuinely surprised.

"I told him not to."

"Yeah, but—" He cut himself off, closing the door to the fridge and poking through the remaining sacks. "Huh," he said finally. "He's just going to let you do that?"

"I think," Maverick hedged. "If you want, I can put in a good word for you, too. Could probably get you posted anywhere."

Rooster's brow furrowed. "I'll take what the brass gives me. I told you, I don't want to be a nepo baby. I don't deserve special treatment just because…because you and Ice had sex a long time ago."

God, kid, sometimes you remind me of myself.

"You could always call it payback."

"I don't want payback," Rooster said angrily. "I want someone to take some fucking accountability for their actions. I want someone to actually give a damn for once." He chucked a package of oranges at Maverick. "Eat one. You look hungry."

"Felt good, didn't it?"

Rooster looked up at him, his eyes dark. "So are you and Ice screwing again? What's the deal there?"

"We're not screwing." He didn't think Rooster believed that, but whatever. "Ice is letting me stay here because it's more convenient for us. I can't do a whole lot until my leg heals. He's the one making his own life more difficult. We're friends."

"Friends."

"Yes, friends. We're not in a relationship. Things ended badly between us." And things started badly, and continued badly, and… "We're starting over."

"Why? Why even bother? If you guys were just toxic for each other, what's the point in doing it again?"

"Because he cared about me enough to assign me to this mission," Maverick said vehemently. "And he cared about me enough to let me fly it. He knows how much you mean to me. He's made a lot of mistakes, and so have I. But that doesn't mean we should just give up again."

Rooster squished the plastic sacks between his hands. It made a weird, squeaky sound. "You guys are nothing like me and Phoenix," he muttered. "Jesus."

"You can stay if you want. Ice won't be here for a couple more hours."

"I think you should rest," Rooster said. He tossed the sacks in the trash can, almost defeatedly. "Call me, if you…need anything."

"Do you mean that?"

"Of course I do. I said it, didn't I?" He waited while Maverick pulled himself out of the chair. "Maybe you're right. I don't know. But it's different between us. We can't just kiss and make up. It's not that easy."

They walked to the door together. "Okay," Maverick said. "You still want to be mad at me forever?"

Rooster put his hand on the doorknob, but didn't turn around. Maverick waited. "Some days," he said.

When he left, Maverick found himself smiling so hard it hurt.