Chapter Text
1989
It had taken him some time to come around to accepting their spots at teaching TOPGUN. He and Slider wanted to finish out their tour on the Enterprise, first. And then Slider suggested they go teach, and he saw it as a good opportunity to start his climb up the ranks. He has plans, and he doesn't settle for less than perfection.
It's strange, though, being back at Miramar without Maverick. His presence - and Goose's, to some extent - seem to haunt the hallways.
Slider says he's moping.
He is doing no such thing.
Regardless, he'd sent Mitchell a postcard, purely to give him his new mailing address and phone number.
They'd been sending each other letters, ever since the Layton rescue. They'd called each other wingmen, and they'd meant it. They'd meant…more, than just in the air. At least, he'd started to gather as much from the letters he'd received. And maybe the letters he'd sent, too.
Of course, they'd been careful. All mail to and from the carriers was screened, so the letters were perfectly normal and friendly, but Ice didn't think he was imagining things. Except he couldn't ask, not even if he got phone time, until he was back on land. And then Maverick got deployed onto another carrier.
But Ice was nothing if not patient. He just had to hope Mav would call him at some point once he got shore leave.
And that he wasn't imagining things.
And that Maverick didn't get tired of waiting and give up.
Maybe it's just being at TOPGUN that has his mind on Mitchell lately. Or maybe it's the gaudy pink hearts he's been seeing everywhere, with ads for chocolates and date locations on the radio too. Not that they could do anything nearly so obvious.
Still, a man can dream, and he doesn't have anything better to do tonight anyway, besides sit at his kitchen table and work on the next day's lesson plan. He'd offered to handle it so that Slider could go on a date with his latest girlfriend for Valentine's day.
He'd have offered regardless, but Slider promised him some good alcohol for the trouble, so he pretended he'd planned to exact payment one way or another.
The work takes him longer than he planned, and he shut off the radio an hour in because it kept playing horribly sappy love songs no matter what station he tuned to.
So when there's a noise in the back of his yard - perks of instructor housing - he happens to hear it. His gaze flicks up to the window, and he goes still, listening.
And then he hears it again. Something rustling? It's probably just an animal - he thinks he remembers hearing someone say they'd seen a coyote on base a few weeks ago.
He turns back to his flight planning, when something hits his window.
Ice stands up suddenly, his chair scraping across the linoleum with a painful sound. But he hadn't imagined it. A second something hits his window.
He strides over, yanking aside the curtain, just in time to see-
To see fucking Pete Mitchell throwing a pebble at his window.
Ice just stares at him.
Maverick stares back.
And when Ice doesn't move to do anything else, Mav gestures roughly at his door, a clear 'are you going to let me in or not?' in his eyes.
Ice isn't sure he is, actually. But then Mav opens his hand and - how many pebbles is he holding? And Ice would really prefer not to have to deal with scratches in his window, so he moves for the door before Mav can throw another one.
"What the hell-" he says, the moment the door's half-open.
Maverick breezes in, casual as anything, like he lived here. "Hi Mav, how are you? It's been ages, I've missed you," he says, with a shit-eating grin. "Oh, I'm good, Ice. Of course you missed me-"
"What the hell are you doing here?" Ice says, instead of indulging his script. Because no, he's not going to admit he missed this idiot, and definitely not if Maverick didn't.
"It's called shore leave?" Maverick says, with an eyebrow raised. "I know you're a workaholic, but surely you've heard of it before."
"Yes, Mitchell, I've heard of shore leave. What the hell are you doing throwing rocks at my window, in my backyard?" Ice spells it out, slowly, for him. He clearly needs the help.
"What, I'm not allowed to come see my wingman during my leave? Was I interrupting something? Got a hot date coming over?" he asks, looking around the room, at the scattered papers over the kitchen table.
"No, Mav," Ice says, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose, seeking patience. The idiot hotshots he's been teaching for months have helped to immunize him to Maverick's particular brand of bullshit, but even still, the man always aimed to exceed. Even, especially, in being annoying. "I do not have a 'hot date' coming over." That- wasn't what he'd meant to say. What he'd meant to say was, "And 'visiting your wingman' generally doesn't involve sneaking into his yard at night."
Maverick shrugs. "Didn't feel like waiting on your porch, in case you weren't home." He glances away, and Ice wonders-
"Why are you here, Pete?" Ice asks, and it's the most he's willing to take a chance on. He never called him by his first name. It's as glaring of a sign as Ice can give him, without risking himself if he's misread everything.
Maverick sighs, a big gusty exhale, his shoulders slumping. "Look, Ice-" he drags a hand through his hair - the one he'd been holding his pebbles in, so he must have tossed them when Ice went to open the door. "I…tell me if I'm wrong," he starts, and the intensity of his gaze is caught on Ice, suddenly, pinning him. "There's- this- we are…something, right? I'm not imagining things?"
He's standing in Ice's living room, looking out of place, looking uncertain. Uncertainty isn't a good look on Maverick, and Ice finds himself suddenly wanting to do anything to make that look go away.
Fortunately, it seems he's got the ability to do that, at least this time. "…I don't send letters to anyone else, Mav," he says quietly, carefully. Trying to tell him without words, trying to feel around this thing. This dangerous fucking thing, that could ruin them both. That, if either of them aren't meaning the same thing, would be the end of their careers.
But…but, Maverick makes him want to risk it. And isn't that a marvel?
"…neither do I," Maverick whispers. He takes a slow step forward, his gaze flicking all over Ice, looking for something.
A sign that he's tensing for a fight, for flight?
He won't find it. Ice takes a step forward, too. They both step closer, until they're a few inches away.
And then Maverick pulls the arm he'd been holding behind his back forward. "Got you something," he says, and it sounds like it means more than that.
Ice looks down.
It's a bright red box of chocolates. In the shape of a heart.
"You-" he says, lost for words. Maverick seemed to be the only person capable of rendering him speechless.
"Happy Valentine's Day?" Maverick offers, suddenly shy.
But he's done it- he's done the terrifying thing. Stepped off the edge of a cliff, no clue if Ice will catch him when he falls.
Ice will always catch him.
He fists a hand in the front of Maverick's old bomber jacket and pulls him in to kiss him, hard.
Maverick's tense for all of two seconds, before he reaches up with his free hand to grip the back of Ice's neck and hold him there, deepening the kiss. Tilting his head a little to make it better.
And holy fuck, can Maverick kiss. It makes Ice's head spin, makes him feel winded, makes him feel like he's flying.
It ruins him for anyone else.
And he finds that he doesn't mind that, in the end.
"Happy Valentine's Day, Mav," he whispers against his lips, pressed close, keeping him close.
The start of something. Of everything.