Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“Maverick, your hands are freezing!”

Like most things in their relationship, it starts with an insult, or rather a thinly-veiled one. The joys of being a Navy pilot, Maverick supposed.

“No, they’re not!” Mav throws back, going back to working on his bike, “Now can you hand me that wrench you dropped?”

Iceman scrutinizes him from where he sits cross legged on the workbench. Maverick hated when he did, he felt as though there was a secret he wasn’t being letting in on.

“The wrench, baby?” Mav prompts, snapping his fingers.

Iceman snaps out of his stupor, “Right, of course.”

He swoops down and picks up the wrench, handing it to Mav, having forgotten the temperature of Mav’s hands that he was just complaining about. Iceman hisses at the cold of Mav’s hands, staring at him once again.

“What?” Maverick blinks up at Iceman innocently, batting his eyelashes.

Of course Maverick knew he was cold, it had been a teasing point for years. Goose has joked he couldn’t keep the body heat because he was so short. It wasn’t his fault most of the foster homes were in dry climates and Miramar wasn’t exactly the Arctic.

Iceman ran naturally hot (ignore the irony) with irked Maverick. He once watched his boyfriend jump in the ocean in December for a swim, and get out like nothing happened. Meanwhile, Maverick screamed when his toes touched the water.

Iceman sighs in that intriguing way he did whenever Maverick did something stupid, “Why do I try?”

“Because you love me?” Maverick gets up from the cold floor of the garage, walking over to Iceman, and planting a kiss on his nose.

He walks into the house, wanting to grab a hot coffee to warm his hands. Even though he would never admit it, yeah, it was cold.

In all honesty, Mav forgot about that conversation quickly. The next few days passed in a blur, him and Ice waking up together, breakfast, flying, classes, paperwork, lots of complaining (mostly on Mav’s part, who is he kidding, it’s all him), and collapsing on the couch in the evenings just to repeat it all tomorrow. It’s that and the biting cold that leaves Maverick feeling drained at the end of the week.

“I’m home!” Maverick yells one evening, gravitating toward the kitchen where he smells something good.

He spots Iceman bent over the stove. Ice spots him, but instead of embracing him, he digs through his satchel until he finds what he’s looking for.

“Here,” Iceman throws something without a second glance.

“Ice-” Maverick barely has a chance to catch the object as it goes flying into his chest.

He holds them to the light and sees that it’s actually two things, a pair of mittens to be specific. He looks up at Iceman for confirmation, who nods encouragingly, like a kid on Christmas morning.

They’re a fine pair of mittens, obviously the person who made them putting time and effort into them, something Maverick has not had a lot of in his life. They were a light blue, almost the color of Ice’s eyes.

Gosh, he really was a sap.

Mav goes back to examining the mittens with awe. There were intricate patterns of snowflakes on the cuffs, and swirling vines with flowers on the back of the hands. A thin fur lining covered the wrists, which looked impeccably warm. The cover of the mittens came out easily, transforming the mittens into fingerless gloves.

This was probably the most personable thing he had been given in his life. Sure he had winter clothing, but they were mostly threadbare and hand-me-downs, given a second thought. This was made for him.

“My babushka made them,” Ice runs a hand through hair, looking sheepish, which Mav finds quite endearing.

Maverick presses the wool to his face, basking in the coziness of the fabric. He can smell something familiar, like Ice’s cologne and the mint gum he often has on him.

“Wait a minute, are these yours?” Mav comes to a conclusion, cocks his head, and presses the mittens to his face once again to be sure.

Iceman’s face goes bright red, “I-I, well I mean, they were, but now I want you to have them.”

Whoever said Iceman was cold-hearted clearly had never gotten to know him. Maverick saw the way Ice acted with Bradley, with his friends, and now with him.

“That’s not all, check the inside,” Iceman motions impatiently.

Maverick flips over the wrist lining to see an inscription, newly embroidered there.

Navsegda s moim golubem

Forever with my dove

Maverick can feel his heart stop as he takes in the expression. Iceman had used that pet name for months, knowing Maverick melted whenever he heard the name. It was their secret, no one understood.

“I thought you’d like them and the inscription. That way you’ll always have a piece of me with you,” Iceman clarifies, “But if you don’t like them I can always…”

Ice stops his sentence short once he spots Mav furiously putting the gloves on. Once the younger man finally manages to put them on properly (he got there eventually), he looks at Ice with that goofy, love-sick expression Ice had grown incredibly fond of.

“No one has ever taken care of me this much, thank you,” Mav pulls back to look at Ice, he can already feel tears forming in his eyes.

If Ice’s heart wasn’t already full, it was bursting now. How had he fallen head over heels for this daredevil pilot? The one who made every day a thousand times more bearable and lit up his life. The same pilot who was won over by a simple pair of mittens.

“Glad you like it,” Ice smiles, leaning down to kiss Mav’s forehead.

“That doesn’t mean I have to stop doing this,” Maverick’s mischievous voice says, and before he knows it, two ice-cold hands are being placed on the back of Iceman’s neck.

If anyone asked, his screams were completely dignified.

Chapter Text

It’s a crisp morning as Iceman and Maverick walk hand and hand down the streets decorated for Christmas toward the coffee shop. Iceman can feel Maverick’s wedding ring on his finger, and was reminded for the thousandth time how lucky he was to have this man, who was currently grinning like a kid on a sugar high.

Maverick had told him about it over the phone while he was in Pearl Harbor. His excitement was palpable through the phone. Apparently the Dagger Squad had dragged him to this new coffee joint downtown. 

Tom wasn’t sure how to feel about the Daggers stealing his husband. There was a blurred line on who adopted who, but they are good kids and damn good aviators. To their credit, they had Bradley back to Pete, something that he would have never imagined fifteen years ago.

Pete had woken him up this morning, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he asked Tom innocently if he had plans. The latter had paused before answering, spotting the grin that so often entailed destruction and chaos in its wake. Luckily, it was only a suggestion to go to a coffee house and not the abduction of a priceless aircraft this time. Maverick has gotten ready in record time, stealing one of Iceman’s scarves and waiting impatiently outside on his motorcycle.

Iceman had taken one look at the thing and nearly went back inside, but somehow he had let his menace of a husband convince him that riding the Kawasaki was a brilliant idea.

Here they were, standing in the cold, Iceman holding the jacket Maverick refused to wear because “he could handle the chill”.

The bell at the top of the door rings shrilly, as a warm blast of heat greets them. The cafe is cozy, with a blazing fire going in the corner. Couples and friends chat warmly, a quiet hum filling the air.

Maverick chats amiably with the hostess, who reminds Ice of Penny, and soon they are seated in the back corner. Frost graces the windowpane next to them, perfect for people-watching.

They sit there in comfortable silence, reading their menus. Iceman scans the top part of the menu, skimming the regular coffees until he lands upon the seasonal menu. He can’t let the smile that threatens to escape out, because this was a secret he would take to the grave.

The COMPACFLT had a sweet tooth.

“You see anything you like, honey?” Maverick hums, nodding at the menu.

Ice is about to respond when he notices the devious grin on Maverick’s face as he points to the bottom of the menu, where the seasonal drinks are.

“Something sweet, huh?” Maverick laughs at the glare he is receiving from his husband.

Iceman motions the waitress over, ignoring the puzzling look he’s getting from Maverick. He reads her name tag, Melissa.

“Hi there! What can I get started for you?” Melissa chirps.

Ice waits for the scrutinizing look that has so often followed the two of them throughout their relationship. Then he remembers it’s the twenty-first century.

“I’ll-” Iceman starts, before his lovely menace of a husband cuts him off.

“I’ll have the caramel latte with whipped cream, of course! My husband will have a black coffee, please,” Pete winks at the waitress, reaching over to grab Tom’s hand.

“Aw, that’s perfect!” the waitress scribbles their order on her notepad and Ice didn’t know anyone could smile that much, “The caramel latte is my favorite.”

Tom chooses to stay silent in this situation. Pete knew he hated small talk, only doing it to get by in social situations. On the flip side, his husband could converse with someone for hours on the weather, which Tom had seen him do.

“I can’t wait!” Pete grins, handing the waitress their menus.

“Those will be out soon, hun,” Tom blinks and Melissa has disappeared to serve another table.

“Did I get your order right?” Pete blinks, looking at Tom for confirmation.

Ice shakes his head and his mouth twitches in spite of himself, of course Maverick had gotten his order right.

“Yeah, you did,” Ice sighs.

“Score!” Pete cheers, causing the couple in the booth next to them to turn around.

“You’re such a dork,” Ice coincides.

“Only for you, baby,” Mav bats his eyelashes, “You know you love it.”

Heaven knows he did.

Almost as quickly as she took their order, Melissa comes with the two coffees, checking the number on their table. She places the caramel latte in front of Maverick and the black coffee in front of Iceman. Maverick is stifling a giggle, and Iceman shoots him a look as if to say, be polite.

He figures the mistake is due to their appearances. Years of repressing feelings and building a fearsome reputation had led to his “resting bitch face” as Bradley called it. Nowadays it seems like Maverick has a perpetual smile gracing his face.

“Thank you,” Iceman says, and she smiles at the couple before disappearing off into the kitchen.

Iceman sips his latte, savoring the caramel taste he could acquire this time of year. He doesn’t mind the whip cream that no doubt is covering his face, if not for the overwhelming sweetness with just a hint of bitterness from the coffee.

Maverick downs his coffee in no time despite the heat, and is left staring at his wingman savoring his coffee. Once he puts it down, Maverick swoops in to steal it, taking a big swig.

“How do you like this stuff?” Maverick gags, taking a sip of his coffee to clear the taste.

Iceman rolls his eyes at his husband’s dramatics, “It’s sweet like you, darling.”

Maverick’s eyes widen and he smiles, one that Iceman would never stop chasing. That smile felt like flying, second nature for him. Even though he hadn’t been in the sky for years, every time he saw Pete so happy, every regret disappeared.

Pete leans across the table and kisses him on the lips, and all coherent thoughts fly out of Iceman’s head. He gets lost in the moment, until Maverick pulls back, leaving his face exposed to the cold.

“I can still taste the caramel on you,” Pete pretends to wipe his mouth dramatically, causing Ice to pull his wingman in toward him.

He is so damn lucky to have Pete “Maverick” Mitchell in his life.

Chapter Text

Their first Christmas in their new house was bound to be a disaster, Bradley could already tell.

His dad and pops were coming over, along with the Dagger Squad, his grandfathers Viper and Jester, along with an assortment of flyboy uncles and his Aunt Sarah from his pops’s side. For some odd reason, Hondo, Warlock, and even Cyclone were coming. Maverick had grumbled about that for days when he first found out.

If you asked Bradley a few days ago, he would have told you he regretted nothing. He had room to breathe, a home to raise a family in, and his boyfriend by his side.

If you asked him at twelve pm on Christmas day, he would have told you that this was all a stupid idea and they should have had thanksgiving and Ice and Mav’s house, like they had for the past thirty-some years.

“Roo, breathe, baby,” Jake comes up behind him, wrapping his arms around Rooster’s shoulders, “I can feel your anxiety from across the kitchen.

Bradley lets out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. As soon as he snaps out of his trance, the scents of the dinner overwhelming him.

“I’m fine, darling,” Bradley guides Jake’s hands until they’re resting across his waist.

They stand there for a moment, both relishing the fact that they were here, together, in their new house.

The timer dings on the kitchen counter and Jake springs back, “That must be the turkey.”

As Bradley’s boyfriend rushes to get the poultry, he turns back to Rooster, “Can you finish the snickerdoodle cookies? I left the batter on the island, I just need you to add cinnamon and put them in the oven.”

Bradley was surprised Jake asked him to do that, the latter had been cooking and baking since six am, not allowing Bradley to do anything except hang decorations and set the table. Now he was asking him to bake? Sure he remembers baking with his mom, but barely as that was when he was four.

“Will do, soldier,” Bradley mock salutes, leading to him getting swatted by the kitchen towel.

He spots the golden-brown batter in the mixing bowl his mom used resting on the island. Bradley is suddenly overcome with a wave of emotion, thinking about how much his parents would have loved this.

He glances around the room, but there is no recipe in sight. Jake had made most of this from memory, accounting it to big Christmas gatherings back in Texas. Bradley didn't ignore the way he flinched when one of the Daggers mentioned the family that had been at Christmas. It may have been a Christmas, but there certainly wasn’t a lot to be thankful for in Hangman’s childhood.

Which was why Rooster was determined to make this the best Christmas dinner his boyfriend had ever had.

Deciding to wing it, Bradley eyeballs the cinnamon, figuring that the more the better. He stops when almost the entire top of the batter is covered, then he stirs it a little, before finally placing it in the oven, where the turkey once was.

“Can’t wait to try those cookies, babe,” Jake winks at him, making his heart flutter, “Especially since they were made by my ever so talented boyfriend.”

Just then the doorbell rings, and Bradley’s anxiety skyrockets. Jake squeezes his hand and whispers, Good Luck, before disappearing into the dining room to check on the seating arrangements. Bradley opens the door, greeted by the crisp Californian winter air and the site of his two parents.

“Baby Goose!” his dad exclaims, wrapping his son in a hug, “Merry Christmas!”

Maverick steps back, and a look of nostalgia flickers over his face, which Bradley is ninety-nine percent sure is to his biological father. They stand there for a moment, until the person behind his father clears their throat.

“Merry Christmas, B, but if you please, do you have anywhere I can set these bags?” Iceman smiles at his son, while juggling at least four bags full of presents and bottles of wine he told his dads not to bring, “Your father left me with all the heavy lifting.”

“Of course, Pops,” Bradley grabs a few of the bags, while spotting a Subaru rolling in, which he knows belongs to Phoenix and Bob.

Soon, all the guests are here, the side dishes are set, and the presents are underneath the tree to be unwrapped after dinner. Hangman ushers everyone into the dining room, where they have pulled a separate table in just to fit everyone. Bradley and Jake share a seat at the head of the table, which sends a warm shiver of pride through him.

Before they can start, Jake gets up, and brings out the cookies Bradley forgot to get out of the oven.

Whoops.

“Before we begin dinner, may we enjoy these cookies which my lovely boyfriend has baked?” Hangman starts serving up the cookies, without waiting for anyone’s approval.

Phoenix groans, “You’re sure you baked these yourself?”

Bradley glares at his pseudo-sister, “Yes, I did. Go ahead and try them if you don’t believe me!”

The table takes his advice, and it’s a moment of silence before everything goes to hell. It’s almost like a chain reaction, starting with Bob starts coughing after he takes the first bite, which Bradley can usually chalk up to his allergies, before he remembers it’s the dead of winter. He looks around the table, horror rising as he sees his Uncle Slider coughing, Hondo gulping down a glass of water, and his Aunt Sarah wiping away tears in her eyes. He looks over at his boyfriend for reassurance, but even he is struggling to swallow the cookies.

“Oh god, I think I put too much cinnamon in them,” Rooster feels the heat beginning to rise to his face.

The entire table goes silent and Bradley can feel the humiliation in the air. He knew it was too much cinnamon, he should have just asked his skilled boyfriend to take care of it, and now he ruined the entire dinner as well as-

“Wait a minute,” Iceman speaks over the silence, taking another bite of the snickerdoodle cookie, “Wait for the aftertaste.”

Leave it to his pops, the Iceman himself, to sort the situation out. Everyone at the table follows their COMPACFLT, and Bradley holds his breath.

“I agree, darling,” Maverick finishes his cookie, “They are quite good, once you get past the initial taste.”

Brad catches his pops elbow his dad in the ribs, then he catches his son’s eye and raises the cookie in a mock toast.

“Yeah, MavDad, I agree!” Fanboy chirps, munching on what Rooster thought was his third cookie in five minutes.

“To our chicken, for making the best snickerdoodle cookies since they were invented!” Fritz raises his glass, and the entire table shouts their agreement.

Soon the entire table is helping themselves to the turkey Jake had laboured over for hours this morning. Even his pops compliments Jake on his turkey, which Bradley thinks Jake might faint over. They’re about halfway through the side dishes, when the predictable happens.

“If I may, offer a toast,” Maverick clears his throat, standing up.

The table laughs, as Maverick has never been one for formalities, yet this was a yearly occurrence at the dinner table. Hollywood, Slider, and Chipper egg him on, Payback lets out aloud shout, and Iceman gazes up lovingly at his husband.

“I would like to firstly thank my husband, for making every Christmas more special than the last,” Ice goes bright red at that one, Omaha and Coyote let out twin wolf whistles.

“To my friends, who have become like family,” the flyboys all coo and carry on, until Maverick motions at them to shut up.

“To Viper, Jester, Hondo, Warlock, and Cyclone, thank you for putting up with my shit every year,” the two formers give Maverick a thumbs up, Hondo claps, Cyclone grumbles, and Warlock slings an arm around the older man,

“To my lovely adopted children, for making my life a little brighter and introducing me to pop culture,” the Daggers let out the noisiest cheer, and Bradley is sure their neighbors can hear them.

“And last, but not least to the happy couple,” Maverick raises his champagne toward where he and Jake are situated at the head of the table, “May you remain wingman and have many more Christmases to come, and many more batches of snickerdoodles to be made!”

Even Rooster has to laugh at that one, embarrassment forgotten. With that, Maverick sits back down and the table resumes its usual chatter. Hangman presses a kiss to his boyfriend’s forehead, and Rooster ravishes the feeling.

He has not felt happier in his life.

Chapter Text

Twelve fully capable aviators.

Two cars.

One snowstorm.

What could possibly go wrong?

This was the question Phoenix was currently asking herself as Rooster’s Bronco roared down US-395. Rooster is driving against the oncoming snow, knuckles white as he grips the wheel. Hangman is beside him, navigating through the constantly crashing google maps. The female pilot would make a joke about matchmaking if this was any other scenario. Bob is situated next to her, in the center of the middle row, with Omaha on his left, offering constant updates about the weather. Halo was spread across the backseat, anxiously checking the windows every three seconds. In the car behind them, Payback, Fanboy, Fritz, Harvard, Yale, and Coyote were in a similar situation.

The snow, which had been light sleet only ten minutes ago, was coming down in sheets now, and the windshield wipers were barely helping. It had been smooth driving for the first seven hours of the trip, but all of a sudden the gray clouds had rolled in.

How on earth did they manage to end up in this situation? Another question Natasha was pondering. Penny for her thoughts?

The Dagger Squad had spent the better part of their two weeks off at Lake Tahoe, where Payback’s family owned a cabin. It had been a relaxing week, no commanding officers or crazy stunts, just snowball fights, skiing or snowboarding, and ending the evening with cups of cocoa and outrageous stories from their childhoods.

Bradley’s phone starts ringing, the opening notes to Ice, Ice, Baby breaking the tension in the car. Hangman answers for him, since the older man’s attention is 110% focused on the road.

“Hey Pops,” Phoenix can’t help but notice her best friend’s voice sounds incredibly strained, so different to his usual easygoing attitude.

“B, how is your time so far?” Ice jumps right to the point, as she supposed he would.

Iceman becoming just Ice. Phoenix would never get over the fact that the living legend was Bradley’s adoptive father, married to their insane instructor, and had adopted the twelve of them.

“Um,” Rooster glances over at Hangman in the passenger seat, mouthing to him to check what their time is.

Phoenix’s attention is briefly diverted from the call to the cars around them, driving like there is tomorrow. The lines are barely discernable, and Phoenix is unsure if there are lanes anymore.

“We have an hour and two minutes to go, sir,” Hangman confirms, playing with the edge of his phone case nervously.

Phoenix can hear Ice swear on the other end of the line, “Are you sure it’s safe for you to be driving in this weather? It’s coming down pretty hard, and there’s more precipitation expected in the next half an hour.”

As the admiral says that, Phoenix glances over to where Bob is sitting. The WSO already had a catalog of hotels nearby opened up. She looks out the window at the side of the highway, but she can barely see anything because of the snow.

“Maybe it’s better if you stay at a hotel,” Maverick’s voice says through the speaker, practically reading their minds, “We can call Payback as well and see what he thinks.”

Suddenly, Natasha has a strange, overwhelming urge for Ice or Mav. They would know what to do, in their ancient, parental wisdom.

“If we stay at a hotel, we’ll be snowed in,” Omaha chimes in from the back.

“That’s a good point,” Ice huffs, and after a moment of careful consideration, he continues, “Please be careful, hopefully we’ll see you in an hour.”

“See you soon, Pops and Dad,” Hangman presses the red button for Rooster once again, slinking back into his seat in defeat.

“I guess we’ll plow through,” Bradley shrugs, which is not reassuring to those in the backseat.

“Please pull over if you need to, I don’t want to crash,” Hangman’s usual swagger is gone, replaced by an eerily down-to-earth voice that is all Jake.

“I hate to agree with him, but please Brad,” Phoenix tries to force a smile, but her face feels frozen, and not just from the cold.

“I’m trying,” Bradley whines, “How much longer?”

“Fifty eight minutes,” Jake slams the phone down on the dashboard.

The tension in the car has returned, the radio having cut out minutes ago. The windshield is growing increasingly foggier, Natasha is not sure how Bradley can drive at this point. The heater is blasting, but there is an underlying chill in the old Bronco. Omaha keeps trying to wipe at his window to glance at the other car in the imposing lane, to no avail. At this point, they can only pray that the others are safe.

“You know what, I’m getting off the highway,” Rooster mutters, turning on his turn signal, which is completely unnecessary.

They slide down the exit ramp, coming to what she thinks is the backroads but truthfully has no idea. The GPS isn’t much help either, constantly cutting out because of the horrible weather.

“Wait, what’s that ahead?” Halo gasps, pointing to the horizon, where something is coming down and littering the roads.

“Hail!” they all simultaneously scream, as the icy solid comes showering down on the Bronco.

The icy pellets must be the size of golf balls, as they relentlessly pound on the car. The noise is deafening and destructive, the glass on the windshield splintering and the rearview mirrors being put out of use.

Phoenix is paralyzed, all she could hear was Rooster’s stream of cursing as he fought to get the car under control and Bob’s frantic grabs at their bags that had gone flying across the car. She was from Arizona, she had never dealt with this weather before. Wasn’t this California, land of sunshine?

Before she can ponder any deeper, her head is spinning, no - that’s the car. The car is hydroplaning, Bradley has lost all control and Jake is trying to grip the wheel from the passenger's seat. The visibility out of the windshield is completely gone, covered by snow and cracked by the hail. They’re spinning, the car is tilting, and now they’re sliding across the ice on the road.

All of them are screaming, and this might be how they go out. Not from a ball of fire in a jet, but because they were stupid enough to drive with hail outside. Distantly she hears Bradley whispering sorry to his dads, and feels Bob gripping her arm with surprising intensity.

The last thing Phoenix remembers is everything going upside down and the roof of the car rushing up to meet her, before everything goes black.

Chapter Text

One thing that Ron “Slider” Kerner was good at was baking.

For many, it was surprising. How could the muscular RIO, well over six feet, whose arrogance extended beyond the sky, have such a simplistic hobby?

Like most things Slider did, he was good at it. You named it, Slider could bake it. Red velvet cakes, pumpkin pie, cinnamon rolls, the list went on and on. The thing he was best at?

Chocolate chip cookies.

They were perfection in dessert form. A crispy outside with a gooey center, filled to the brim with chocolate chips, which made the whole thing melt in your mouth.

It started when he was young. He remembers golden afternoons with his mother, light pouring in through paneled windows as she taught him to roll the dough evenly, place the cookies in the oven, and always managed to sneak him a few extra chocolate chips. They would savour the cookies, mother and son, just them against the world.

Then his mother changed, she started staying out later and turning to the bottle. Ron was left to fend for himself, and more often than not, he would have a batch ready for his mother. Maybe it was a feeble attempt for her to finally notice him, but it never worked. Thus, Ron forgot about the cookies just like his mother wasted away until eventually she forgot him too.

So, he joined the academy, met a man who was like a brother (or a mother, a mother goose, as he would come to be called), but he never once looked back on his childhood. That was, until he met a seventeen year old kid in the Academy. That’s what he truly was, a kid who came back from visiting his family with bruises and a new wall built. Ron supposed he saw himself in the kid, or rather Tom. One day, Tom came back from a visit with his “father” (Ron would scoff, if you could even call him that) and the kid looked like he had been beaten to hell and back.

It should have brought back all the wrong memories, but instead it made him hungry for that comfort, both for himself and this teen he had somehow adopted. As the batch came out of their measly oven, Ron felt himself return.

Ron simply offered a cookie and sat with him on the sofa until Tom stopped trembling.

That became their tradition through the years, even as they evolved to Iceman and Slider, the most fearsome pilot and RIO partnering to grace the Navy.

Had a bad day? Have a cookie.

A commanding officer yelled at you? There was a batch of cookies waiting on the kitchen counter.

Another unwanted letter from your parents? Trauma could wait, a cookie would fix it in the meantime.

Then came Top Gun, and Slider’s baking spree was put on hiatus, much to Ice’s chagrin, who secretly had a sweet tooth.

During that time, came the dreaded day that nearly tore them apart.

After Hop 31, Iceman came home from filing reports, watching his best friend die, and seeing the man he loved secretly lose his entire world to find his brother stress baking. The heat from the oven seemed to alleviate his tears. Ice came up behind him, quietly placing a hand on his shoulder, and letting the older man break down in his arms.

That night, in a fit of grief, they ate the sixty cookies Slider had managed to bake.

Life went on, as it often does. Slider watched the pilots he considered brothers mature and find their own course in life. He especially kept a close eye on Maverick, with whom his brother had seemed to fall hopelessly in love with.

Ron clearly remembers one day, when Tom and Pete were going on a date. The younger pilot had shown up at the door with a bouquet of flowers (Ice’s favorite, that got Mav brownie points) and Tom had let him in, practically tripping over his own feet in a love struck stupor as he ran upstairs to finish getting ready.

That left Slider and Maverick in the kitchen alone.

“Watcha got there?” Maverick’s hand wandered to the rack, where the cookies were cooling.

“Don’t,” Slider swats his hand away with the kitchen towel, “we’ll see if you’re worth it at the end of the night.”

Maverick did, in fact, prove himself worthy when he delivered Iceman to the door three hours later, the latter talking about Maverick non-stop until the RIO wanted to rip his ears off.

(If there were a fresh batch of cookies in Maverick’s locker the next week, that was nobody’s business)

Slider’s cookies had become famous. Suddenly every flyboy wanted them every month, year after year, weddings, birthdays, anniversaries. He made batch after batch, never accepting payment because that was the type of thing he did, you know?

Another infamous moment in the history of Slider’s cookies would live in his memory forever. It had rained the day of Carole Bradshaw’s funeral. Slider had cried with the rest of them, she truly was the best of them, but his attention was focused on one Bradley Bradshaw.

The kid had clung to Maverick or Iceman all day, tears coming and going at random intervals. He couldn’t blame the kid, he had become an orphan before the age of six. Eventually, Bradley had to be torn away from his two favorite uncles as they had to finish up paperwork (Slider also suspected it was for Maverick to fall apart in his lover’s arms, away from the curious eyes of a five year old) The kid had sobbed at the separation, and had not stopped for the past ten minutes when he was left alone with Uncle Slider. The RIO was at his wit’s end, when he spotted the dessert he made of the funeral on the table.

“Do you want a cookie?” Slider offers it to the kid as an olive branch.

“Huh?” Bradley stops sobbing for a moment, looking at the cookie curiously.

“A cookie, I made them,” Slider takes a bite, exaggerating the goodness, “They’re really good…”

Bradley follows suit, taking a tentative bite and his eyes light up for the first time in days, “They are really good, Uncle Sli!”

“There you go, squirt,” Ron scoops his nephew into his arms, feeding him another cookie and holding him until he fell asleep.

Thus, Uncle Slider became his favorite uncle as Iceman and Maverick grew into the role of fathers. The tradition he had cultivated with Iceman blurred until it was Bradley partaking in it with him, after a baseball game or a flunked test. Maverick had joked that they were partners in crime.

Until they weren’t, during the fifteen years of silence.

Slider watched Maverick fall apart and Iceman with him. The cookies disappeared again, too painful to make. The years went by, but his nephew stayed well out of their way.

Then came the suicide mission, the reconciliations, promotions, and most importantly…

The wedding of Admiral Kazansky and Captain Mitchell, over thirty years in the making.

There Slider stood proudly as Ice’s best man, Bradley in a similar position as they watched the vows from which they had hoped for so long, be spoken into existence. The happy couple had gone into the Hard Deck to celebrate, surrounded by their family, friends, and food.

“Who made these?” one of the Daggers, who Slider recognizes from Maverick’s constant texts about his new children as Phoenix, exclaims through a mouthful of cookie.

“My Uncle Slider did!” Bradley exclaims proudly, “You should try these, quite possibly his best creation.”

Slider is taken aback by the praise, but narrows his eyes at the kid. He relaxes slightly, comforted by the memory he had already scared the fear of God into him due to his absence for the past 15 years. Soon he is surrounded by ten other aviators, whom he supposed were his new nephews and nieces. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots Bradley staring at an arrogant blond headed pilot.

“Maybe I should do your wedding next?” Slider smirks, pointing to Hangman, who is talking with the newly married couple.

“What? God no, Uncle Slider!” Bradley makes a face, tearing his eyes away from his crush.

Two years later, the retired admiral received a call from a certain Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw Kazansky - Mitchell to ask if he could provide the chocolate chip cookies for a summer wedding.

If Slider cackled at that for a good hour, that was for himself and him only.

Some things never changed. 

Chapter Text

“Come on, it will be fun!” Ron shouts behind him.

Nick scoffs, Famous Last Words. Any ideas by the brown haired wannabe pilot were bound to lead them to an early grave.

They were currently tracking through the foot deep snow toward a frozen lake that Ron had sworn was the best in the area. Ron had convinced them to grab some fishing poles from the shed and head to the ice over the fire two hours ago, and they all agreed somewhat begrudgingly, since they had nowhere else to go. The Academy wasn’t exactly known for its Christmas festivities and it’s not like any of them would dare to face what waited at home.

Suddenly ice fishing sounded like a great idea.

Thus, they had gathered the chairs, bait, and poles in a hurry, stepping out into the North’s coldest winter yet.

“Where are we even going?” Bill mumbles through his scarf, which Nick is pretty sure is cutting off all circulation to his face.

“Around here somewhere,” Ron scratches his head, turning in a circle.

Like he could see anything here anyway. For as far as the eye could see, it was snow and evergreen trees. They were so far out from the academy, that no sign of civilization was present.

“I don’t know, Ronnie,” Tom gulps beside him, looking impossibly small in the coat Nick had lent him this winter, “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.”

Nick had originally been drawn to the kid. Firstly, Tom had given him his callsign, Mother Goose or Goose for short. Secondly, the kid looked like he needed someone to be there for him, which Goose took it upon himself to provide. Even looking at Tom, Nick could see the bruises left over from the last time the kid had visited his father.

“Nonsense!” Ron laughs, taking two of the fishing poles from Tom, “Look, there it is!”

Goose looks up to see a glittering frozen lake, existing serenely among the snow covered scenery of Annapolis. Sunlight reflects off the surface, and Goose is glad he remembered to bring his ski goggles.

“Watch your step!” Ron chirps, stepping on the ice cautiously before throwing his hands up in excitement, “Who’s ready to fish?”

“No me,” Bill huffs, but follows Slider onto the ice, walking ahead of the group.

That leaves Nick and Tom to halt on the riverbank, not daring to venture any further. 

“Ready when you are, kid,” Nick ventures, glancing at Tom who is still holding the basket of bait and his fishing pole.

“I’m not a kid,” Tom steps onto the ice and slips.

Goose quickly reaches out and steadies him, bringing him in toward his chest. Tom huffs a thank you and trudges ahead, keeping an even pace.

Poor kid’s never seen a day of affection in his life, Goose thinks somberly, but follows the imbeciles toward the center of the lake.

Once they arrive there, Bill is quick to set up his beach chair and sit, not wanting to be caught up in the mischief. Ron motions to Tom to hand him the ice pick he had acquired off of one of the new recruits. Once he has it, Ron starts carving a foot wide hole in the ice, the chunk landing in the frozen water below with a plunk!

“Are you sure it’s safe? The ice looks quite thin,” Goose gazes into the hole.

“Don’t worry, mother goose, we’ll be fine,” Ron throws a fishing pole at him, “Last one to catch a fish has to cook them all!”

The four of them gather around that hole, casting their lines into the frigid below. Nick doubts there are any fish down there, but didn’t want to spoil Ron’s fantasy. They sit there for a good hour, talking about everything and nothing all at once, just like four buddies could do. By this time, Ron has made the hole wider by a good two feet, and Nick makes sure to stay far from the edge.

Ron is in the middle of an outrageous story of how he tricked their commanding officer three times in one day, when a soft voice interrupts him, “Ron?”

“Not now, Tommy. So anyway-” Ron continues with his story, rechecking his line.

“Ron…” the kid sounds downright anxious now, glancing around at their icy surroundings.

“...this officer told me…” Ron gestures wildly, building up to his climax.

“Ron!” Nick’s attention is finally drawn toward the kid, who is staring in horror at the crack that is traveling toward him.

That is the last thing Goose hears from him before the crack grows and swallows him into the icy water. They all jump out of the way, not wanting to end up as another casualty of the lake. Nick’s heart is beating in his throat, as he looks at the others’ petrified faces.

“Shit!” Ron shrieks, going flying across the ice to where his best friend is flailing in the water.

Tom can't even shout anymore, shouts stuck underneath the ice as the water fills his mouth. They only have a few minutes before he’ll run out of oxygen. Besides that, the crack in the ice has grown larger, if they don’t move quickly then they’re all going to disappear.

Bill reaches his arm into the water, wincing at the temperature, “Someone grab his other wrist!”

Ron does that, and on the count of three they lug him out of the water, and onto the slowly cracking ice. From there, it’s a blur. Someone shoulders Tom and they abandon their equipment, only focused on getting off of the frozen lake. After what feels like hours, they collapse onto the snowbank, breath coming heavily in white puffs of cloud. As soon as they do, Nick is rolling over to check on Tom.

The kid is shivering profusely, wet clothes molded to his body. 

“Come on, Tommy, just breathe for me,” Nick pants, taking off his parka to wrap around the shivering boy.

“G-g-od i-it’s-s s-s-so c-cold,” Tom can barely speak through his chattering lips, which are quickly turning blue.

“Yeah, it is,” Bill whispers, placing his scarf around the kid’s neck.

It's not the brightest idea to have a hypothermic person in the snow, Goose thinks brightly.

“Can you walk?” Nick asks hopelessly.

Tom tries to get up, but his legs spasm and he slides back down toward the ice. Nick makes a split second decision and hauls Tom into his arms, adjusting him until he’s comfortable. The kid makes no protest at being carried, which worries Nick even more.

They begin their trek back to the academy in silence, save for Tom’s whimpers or Goose’s quiet reassurances. Ron leads the way, apologizing every three seconds. When the brick building comes into view, Nick nearly sobs with relief. His arms feel like lead, but he can’t stop now, not until they’re through the dorm door. 

Ron takes him from Goose’s arms and leads him into the shower. Bill and Nick are left in uncomfortable silence as they strip from their icy layers, settle on the couch to watch mindless television, and wait as their adrenaline comes crashing down. 

After around ten minutes, Ron comes out, with Tom. who is slightly more steady on his feet. They get him situated in the dorm bed, piling all the blankets and quilts they could find until Goose is sure the kid is drowning in them. Goose decides to put his callsign to use, heating up chicken broth and grabbing painkillers from the cabinet. Soon the four of them are settled on the bed around their youngest brother, slurping chicken noodle soup.

“So how about that, Iceman?” Ron laughs at his own joke, and soon everyone is laughing in a tired, trance like state.

Thus, arguably the greatest pilot the Navy would ever see had been set.

If anyone asked Goose, he would tell them that Iceman earned his callsign from the way he flew: ice-cold, no mistakes.

To him, Iceman was born out of the kid who had fallen into the lake because his older brother had the brilliant idea to go fishing in the dead of winter.

Chapter Text

Thomas “Iceman” Kazansky was not easily breakable.

He had stared down MiGs, dealt with the rage of admirals without so much as a flinch, and loved a man in secret while serving in the Navy. All of this he had confronted with an even keel, because he was in the Iceman in everything he did.

A crying baby at two a.m., however?

That might just about break him.

Ice took a deep breath, staring at the wailing infant in his arms - his daughter.

She had come to him and Maverick untraditionally, yet bought immeasurable joy into their lives. A pilot he knew in the academy had perished during a dogfight, leaving his pregnant wife on her own. The mother wasn’t exactly motherly material, she had said so much to Iceman. Knowing Maverick, he knew what the effects of the foster system were, and couldn’t leave this poor child to it.

On December 6th, only a few hours after she was born, Iceman and Maverick adopted their first daughter Calliope “Callie” Mariya Kazansky - Mitchell. Maverick had chosen her first name, meaning “beautiful voice” and Iceman had chosen the middle name, after his grandmother. She was quite simply the best thing that happened to the two pilots.

He and Maverick were now parents, a word he couldn’t quite comprehend. Iceman would be lying if he said he wasn't scared. As he held her that first night, memories from his childhood came flooding back, holding his mind in a vice-like grip. After a lot of reassurance, mostly from his husband, Iceman was past that point, though his anxiety resurfaced every now and again.

Iceman tries to console himself with those thoughts and he rocks Callie in his arms, but she keeps crying. He had taken the night shift, insisting that his darling husband get some rest. Now he was at his wit’s end. He had no idea how to be a parent, and it wasn't like he had any positive fatherly role models in his childhood.

Just as he’s about to give up, Ice spots something on the sofa. Wandering over, he sees that it’s a polar bear stuffed animal. Sarah had given it to him the day after they adopted Callie. Apparently it had been his comfort toy when he was a child, and he clung to it until he was kicked out of the house.

He shudders at the thought, but picks up the stuffed animal to examine it. It was worn, with one of the ears barely handing on. Its beady eyes stare up at him, with its lopsided stitched smile daring him to do something about the child in his arms. He holds it out to Callie cautiously, and she immediately quiets, latching onto the bear.

Iceman sits down on the loveseat in the living room, in awe about how easily the stuffed animal calmed Callie down. He wasn’t going to take it for granted however, and almost as soon as he closes his eyes, he’s asleep. 

From that day onward, Callie’s favorite animal was the polar bear. She clung to that ragged stuffed animal, nicknamed “Frosty” by Slider (after Iceman apparently, which he was going to punch the RIO for later) like Iceman had done in his childhood.

Every time they went to the store, Callie would helpfully point out something that was polar bear themed, which would mysteriously end up in the cart. Maverick just rolled his eyes fondly, but doted on her all the same.

One morning, when Callie was five years old, Iceman woke up to feel a warm weight on his chest.

“Wake up, wake up!” Iceman opens his eyes slowly to see a mess of brown hair on his chest.

“Callie? Why are you here?” Iceman looks over at his husband in confusion, who is sleeping soundly.

“I have a surprise, remember?!” she shouts, flopping on his chest dramatically.

Iceman smiles at the thought, “All right then, but stay here for a little.”

She complies, and crawls in between him and Maverick, The happy family gets up a little while later, and soon with Iceman’s efficiency, Callie is buckled into the car, bright eyed and bushy tailed.

“Don’t forget him,” Iceman holds up Frosty, as he struggles with the buckle of the car seat.

“Daddy, where are we going?” she blinks up at him with those owlish brown eyes that reminded him of his husband.

“The zoo and aquarium, sweetpea,” Maverick chimes from the passenger seat, “Your father wanted to take us.”

“What’s an aquarium?” she asks, sounding out the word.

“It’s a place where fish are,” Maverick says eloquently, earning him a look from his husband.

“Not just fish, Callie bear,” Iceman winks at her, causing his daughter to giggle.

It’s an hour drive there, which Iceman thinks is funny considering the area they live in is surrounded by water. During that time, he reflects on how lucky he is to have Maverick by his side, who is stroking his hand over his wedding ring. He looks back and smiles at his daughter, never thinking he would get this far in life.

Once they get there, Callie clings to Iceman, who picks her up so she can get a better view of the marine life. Maverick snaps a quick photo of them, smiling as he tucks it into his pocket to put on the dashboard of his jet. The family walks through the exhibits together, stopping every few minutes to admire the colorful fish or read the signs. After about two hours of this, Callie looks like she’s ready to drop.

“Daddy, I’m tired,” she says from Maverick’s arms.

“There’s one more thing you have to see, okay Callie bear?” Iceman smiles, grabbing Maverick’s hand.

When they get to their surprise destination, Callie’s eyes light up with glee. Standing right in front of her in the enclosure, are two polar bears. Tiredness forgotten, she immediately begins talking their ear off about all the facts she knows related to polar bears.

Maverick kisses her forehead and smiles at Iceman over her head. Iceman feels joy light up in his chest, as he leans over to kiss his husband, and wrap his arms around him and their daughter.

He could get used to this.

Chapter Text

“Bradley! Rooster!” Maverick shouts for the tenth time in two minutes.

The car window is rolled all the way down, bringing the rapidly falling snow into the car. For once, Iceman doesn’t care about his pristine car. Not when his kids’ lives are at stake.

“Phoenix, Halo, Bob?!” his husband calls desperately before turning to his husband frantically, “Where are they?”

Iceman sighs in frustration, “I don’t know, darling, that’s the problem.”

Maverick growls in anger, turning his attention back to the road. They should have taken their advice and have not driven during this weather, like they told the kids. After seven missed calls and ten frantic text messages, Maverick had made the executive decision and dragged Iceman to the car.

The snow was coming down harder, which means Iceman has to strain to see out of his glasses and the windshield, which was not much help. Maverick was practically bouncing out of his seat, checking his phone every three seconds and calling the Dagger Squad’s names.

They had called both Rooster and Fanboy’s phones, the latter of whom was driving the other car. Both times they had not gotten through, but Iceman had attributed it to bad weather and was satisfied to let the pilots find their way themselves. That was, until they had finally gotten through to Rooster. The noise on the other end was nothing but silence and ominous creaking. Then, a blood curdling scream pierced the air, before the cell service cut out once again.

Iceman longed to gather his husband into his arms and reassure him that he wouldn’t lose something else. He couldn’t, because he had a mission to do, and he was going to complete it.

Just as Iceman gets his burst of motivational energy, Maverick’s phone rings. He lunges at it, pressing the speaker button with shaking hands. Both men’s hearts lurch, fearing the worst.

“MavDad?” a timid voice calls, which Iceman cannot believe belongs to Fanboy.

Maverick practically sobs in relief, “Hi kid, are you okay?”

“Um…yeah, I’m okay,” Iceman winces at the implication behind his words.

The kid stutters something incomprehensible. Iceman can hear the anxiety radiating off him in waves, which never means anything good. He takes a deep breath, pulling over so that they can focus.

“Are you with Rooster’s car?” Iceman prompts, deciding that would be the best place to start.

“Y-yes, sir,” Fanboy mutters.

“Are you still driving?” Maverick asks, sharing Ice’s brainwave.

“N-n-no,” Fanboy gasps.

“Where are you?” Iceman starts the car again, listening as the younger pilots rattles off their location in relation to nearby businesses.

“Did you crash? If you did, is there any damage?” Maverick inquires with bated breath.

“Y-yeah, B-b-bradley’s car w-w-was f-flipped,” Fanboy speaks the words which break Iceman’s heart.

Maverick looks up at him with horrified eyes. They sit there in silence, marred only by the steady thump of the snow. Iceman knew firsthand how dangerous these accidents were, only miracles came out of these.

“Mav…are you there?” Fanboy asks daringly.

“Yeah, bud, right here,” Maverick whispers in shock.

They stay on the phone for another five minutes, while Iceman tries to navigate the icy roads and simultaneously speed to Fanboy’s location. When they get there, both men jump out of the car to get a better look at the accident in front of them.

Rooster’s Bronco is flipped over, having apparently struck an evergreen tree. Ice couldn't blame him, the visibility was shit, even if there was any. The other car, Fanboy’s F-150, was parked haphazardly by the side of the road. Harvard and Omaha are huddled together by it, with Harvard speaking in short, controlled whispers to what Iceman hopes is 911.

“Fanboy!” Maverick screams over the roaring blizzard, “Where are they?”

“Right here, sir!” Fanboy waves his arms from the side of the Bronco.

Maverick runs over and Iceman follows, nearly going flying as he steps on a slick patch. Fanboy and Payback guide him down to the ditch, where the Bronco is flipped over around an evergreen tree.

Iceman breathes a sigh of relief once he sees Bradley upright. He had cuts along his face and arms, from the broken windshield. Luckily, those are superficial, and can be stitched up in a matter of moments. Hangman has similar injuries, with a nasty shiner over his eye from flying into the glovebox. Omaha looks unscathed, if not shaken up. What worries him are the pilot and WSO duo he had grown to love.

Phoenix and Bob.

Bob is conscious at least, blinking sluggishly through his glasses. He’s cradling his arm to his chest, which is visibly broken. A nasty cut lines the side of his face, which will leave a lasting scar. Omaha is trying to help him up, which Iceman goes to stop himf from doing.

What scares Iceman most, which doesn't happen often, is Phoenix, who is lying there, unconscious, a growing pool of blood around her head standing out against the pure snow. Halo is tending to her, trying to staunch the bleeding coming from her head and arms.

“Oh my god,” Maverick rushes over to her side.

“Harvard!” Iceman yells, “Are you calling 911?”

“Yes sir,” the corresponding voice informs him.

She doesn’t wake up, no matter how much Maverick and Halo try. The longer she stays in the snow, the longer the increased risk of hypothermia grows. Help can’t come soon enough.

It takes a good ten minutes for the ambulance to come. Once there the paramedics make quick work of loading Phoenix into the ambulance. They go to investigate the others. Rooster waves them off, but then upon seeing his dad’ faces, relents that he and Hangman will get checked at the hospital. Bob is also loaded up into an ambulance, and Iceman can see Maverick’s heart breaking at his youngest WSO looking impossibly smaller.

Iceman and Maverick load up Rooster, Hangman, and Omaha in the back of Iceman’s Subaru. The drive there is silent, as they watch the ambulances in front of them. Road rules be damned, Iceman holds Maverick's hand the entire way to the hospital.

Once they get there, they are informed that Iceman and Maverick are Phoenix’s next of kin, which surprises him if he’s being honest. The, along with the remaining ten daggers, learn that she has gone into surgery, and won’t be out for another hour. Bob is in the room down the hall, looking pitiful with a cast on his arm and swollen eyes.

The next hour is hell on earth, as they fill the waiting room anxiously, waiting for any sign that their beloved pilot is out of the woods. Finally, after two hours (Iceman had been counting) the doctor arrives to tell the group that she’s out of surgery. Iceman and Maverick are allowed into her room. They expert the worst, but are met with the smiling Natasha Trace.

“Hi Mavdad!” Phoenix chirps, which is probably the morphine’s doing, “Did the snow stop?”

Ice catches Mav looking out the window, and sure enough the snow has stopped falling. It coats the surrounding land in a beautiful glow, like it didn’t wreak havoc only an hour earlier. If Iceman had to guess, he would suppose that the planes would be downed for the next week or so.

The other kids crowd into the room, shouting their relief as they gather around the bed-ridden pilot. Iceman smiles, pulling Maverick into his side.

Just like an evergreen, their family has no end, no matter the season.

Chapter Text

It was a known fact that Pete “Maverick” Mitchell hated the cold.

Well, except a certain type, he thinks, smirking to himself as he stares at the beautiful, blond man he had fallen in love with.

Why shouldn’t Maverick hate the cold? He flew like his callsign, acting like he was on fire. His warm personality also helped that fact.

Maverick sighs, borderline whining as he watches the news channel. The weatherwoman is speaking way too animatedly about the temperature being below zero for the rest of the week. He has felt the winter chill that has been coming on for the past month, seeping into his bones and making him feel that classic “winter depression”. That and the nights getting longer had put him in a funk he couldn’t quite get out of.

“Mav, darling, I can feel you moping from here,” Iceman calls, coming into the living room.

He is dressed in nothing but a tank top and a pair of ratty basketball shorts, while it is freezing outside. 

How? Maverick nearly asks.

Meanwhile, Maverick is wearing a pair of Ice’s sweatpants, a long sleeve shirt, his bomber jacket, and the warmest blanket he probably stole from Hollywood and Wolfman. Despite all this, the man is still cold.

“You don’t like the cold?” Iceman infers, glancing at the TV.

His smirk is driving Maverick crazy, and he wants to do something about it, let it become his everything, at least for the next few hours. At the current moment, he can’t bring himself to do anything, because getting up would mean cold.

“What do you think?” he snaps, burrowing further into the blanket.

Iceman just laughs at that, leaning over to peck his boyfriend on the lips. Maverick wants more, to feel the warmth of Iceman. His boyfriend cut off the kiss abruptly, strolling into the back of the house to get the laundry.

He barely survived the following week. The Navy didn’t care if you were cold, you had to get up there and fly the planes like normal. At the end of each training hop, he could barely feel his fingers. Maverick practically ran to the showers after each run, lavishing in the warmth for as long as he could.

He comes down one morning to find Iceman making crepes on the stovetop. For someone who denied it fervently, he was an amazing cook. Maverick creeps up behind him, slipping his arms around the taller man’s waist and standing on his tip tops to tuck his head onto his shoulder.

“Morning, baby,” Iceman murmurs, twisting his head around to place a kiss on Maverick’s crown.

They stay there for a couple beats, staying wrapped in each other. Eventually Iceman moves to grab sugar from the upper cabinet. Maverick hops up on the counter next to the stove, swinging his legs as he revels in the domestic bliss they’ve created.

He’s so blissed out that he doesn’t catch the weird, but fond look Iceman levels him with.

“What?” Maverick mutters, hoping there’s not still drool on his face.

Tom doesn't grace him with a response, instead pointing at what he’s wearing. Pete glances down to see the Academy sweatshirt he has on, more specially the one with Kazansky stitched across the back in giant yellow lettering.

“Do you want me to take it off?” Mav asks in confusion, already going through the motions.

“No, no, no,” Iceman hurriedly waves him off, “It…looks good on you. I like it.”

Maverick feels himself blushing, caught under the gaze of the blond man.

“Really?” Maverick asks, not used to this level of affection.

“Oh yeah,” Tom scoffs, “Anytime you’re cold, just borrow it. That way you’ll always have a piece of me with you.”

Over the years, Maverick fully took him up on that offer. The sweatshirt belonged to Maverick more than Iceman at this point. It helped him through deployments, homesickness, and those days were living felt like it was a burden.

He did, however, lose the sweatshirt briefly for about fifteen years where Bradley claimed it. He got it back eventually, after much convincing on part while Bradley was at the Academy.

Now that they were, Maverick could even wear it in public, but he usually chose not to, out of respect for Ice. Except for one morning. He had woken up half an hour late, finding Iceman had already left, and had to rush in. Deciding that he would change into his uniform later, he threw on whatever he could find and stepped on it on his bike. He was almost to the building when something in the parking lot stops him.

“Hey, Cap!” one of the daggers calls out enthusiastically.

Maverick takes a deep breath, readying himself for the boundless enthusiasm of a certain Mickey “Fanboy” Garcia at seven in the morning.

“Hey, bud,” Maverick greets his second youngest WSO, then stops short once he sees the confused look on the latter’s face, “What’s wrong, kid?”

“Um, uh, well your sweatshirt, sir,” Fanboy stutters, pointing nervously at the navy blue piece of clothing.

It had to be today, Maverick nearly rolls his eyes at his impeccable timing.

His heart then lurches as he thinks of all the crew, officers, and other naval personnel he passed on the long walk from his bike to his office. He and Ice didn’t have to hide their relationship anymore, but that didn’t mean there weren't certain people who still looked at them strangely, especially since it was Admiral Kazansky that he was married to.

“A bit cold outside today, eh darling?” the voice Maverick knows all too well comes up behind him.

He turns around to see Iceman smirking at him. No matter how many years have passed, he would always think that man was beautiful.

“Glad you’re warm, Mav,” Iceman kisses his forehead, before strolling down the hallway, “I’ll see at the ten o’clock meeting, Maverick. Good to see you Lieutenant Garcia, my husband says great things about you.”

Maverick’s attention is turned from his menace of a husband (oh how the tables have been turned) to his pilot, who is standing there gobsmacked.

“So…Admiral Kazansky, huh?” Fanboy asks timidly once he regains his ability to speak.

“It’s always been him,” Maverick wraps the scarf he stole from his husband tighter around his neck.

Chapter Text

Let it be known to the public that Iceman and Maverick were menances. Everyone only thought that Pete “Maverick” Mitchell was, but Slider knew better, when those two were around each the world was better and worse at the same time.

Slider rolls his eyes at where he watches his best friend and his lover practically sitting on top of each other and whispering excitedly in (somewhat) hushed tones. They had been like this for the past twenty minutes. It was supposed to be a festive gathering among the Top Gun crew, sort of an early Christmas celebration.

Slider thought it was ironic it was being held at his and Iceman’s house, since they were both Jewish. He shouldn’t complain though, because it looked like Iceman and Maverick were planning to move into a house of their own in the new year. Which brings Slider back to his original problem.

“What are you two up to now?” he snaps, internally grinning at the way Ice and Mav jump apart.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Mitchell sasses, ignoring him and looking only at Iceman with lovesick eyes.

Oh my God, Slider was going to die before thirty if they kept up with this.

Slider was glad his pilot had found someone to love, but if it meant having to drag around a lovesick teenager all day, then he wasn’t sure he was all for it.

“Whatever you do, for the love of God do not defile my couch,” Slider gets up, done with the couple, “I just bought that thing.”

Twin groans sound from behind him, but he elects to ignore them in favor of the brownies Chipper made that are sitting invitingly on the table.

“Slider,” Iceman says from behind him in his infuriating cool tone, that can simultaneously mean you're my brother in everything but blood and I am going to dig your grave in a few minutes if you don’t start talking.

There’s something in that tone though, that makes him turn around and reconsider. Iceman and Maverick stand behind him, looking like they owe him something. He hopes for himself and the rest of them, that he doesn’t.

“We need your help,” Maverick says, standing with a hand from Iceman slung around his shoulder, “...with matchmaking!”

“Who?” Slider’s mind immediately racks through the possibilities, “We already have you two.”

“No you idiot, just look,” Iceman points subtly at the kitchen.

Hollywood and Wolfman are making heart eyes at each other from across the counter, where they are supposed to be making chili for the rest of the flyboys. Merlin is stuck on the other side, and if Slider needed an image of a man that wanted to die, he would forever think of Merlin.

“Okay, then, what do you two geniuses suppose ‘we’ do about that?” Slider puts that in air quotes, because he would never give Maverick the satisfaction of knowing he’s right. 

Maverick gets a crazy grin on his face, and pulls out a green object from his jacket pocket. Upon closer inspection, Slider observes that it’s mistletoe.

“Oh no,” Slider groans.

“Oh yes!” Maverick grins cheekily, and Slider braces himself for whatever comes next.

“A little to the left,” Maverick grunts, reaching high above his head.

“I am to the left!” Slider grits out.

For someone so short, Maverick sure was stockily built. Slider didn’t know why he had to be the one to lift Maverick on his shoulders, when his boyfriend could do it.

“Are you almost done?” Iceman asks, yawning.

“Yeah!” Maverick clips it to the doorway of their atrium, then waves his hands in victory.

Rookie mistake.

He tilts off balance, grasping onto Slider’s neck to regain his balance. Slider chokes a little, loosening Maverick’s vice grip on his throat. Maverick goes tumbling down, bringing Slider with him.

Iceman, the troublemaker, laughs his head off at both of them. The three of them hear footsteps coming from the kitchen, and knowing the intended consequences, they get the hell out of dodge.

Iceman drags Maverick behind the stairs, where they have a clear vantage point of what’s about to unfold. Slider grumbles but stands behind them, still eager to see the show go down.

“Did you hear something?” Hollywood comes into the foyer, looking around.

“Yeah, sounded like a bang, probably Maverick’s doing,” Wolfman comes up from behind Hollywood.

Maverick makes a muffled noise. Iceman covers his mouth, keeping his attention fully focused on the scene unfolding in front of him.

“Hey Wood,” Wolfman squeaks, pointing to the doorway.

“Oh, that’s mistletoe,” Hollywood stutters.

Slider has to admit that he’s on edge as well. One move and a new relationship could form. The tension in the air is palpable.

“I mean, you know what’s supposed to happen,” Wolfman says, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly and then quickly adds, “Only if you want to, of course…”

“Come here, you beautiful man,” Hollywood whispers, pulling Wolfman in by his jacket laps to capture his lips in a breathtaking kiss.

Merlin, Sundown, and Chipper come into the foyer to find them making out, and let out unified excited screams. Slider and the couple beside him come out of hiding, laughing their heads off.

They congratulate the couple on their blooming relationship, and all retire to the kitchen for drinks. Before he can follow them, Slider has one more surprise, but this time it’s for Iceman and Maverick, who are flirting behind him.

What Slider didn’t tell them was that he had secretly had mistletoe this entire time. Acting innocently, he trips Iceman, sending him sprawling into Maverick, who gets body slammed into the closet. Before they can react, Slider has closed the door and locked it.

Muffled shouting greets him from the other side of the door. Slider counts down from five, and suddenly the shouting has turned into something else. He leaves them to it, glad not to deal with their bullshit for once.

“Who wants another drink?” Slider asks when he returns to the living room, to cheers from the flyboys, especially Hollywood and Wolfman.

Chapter Text

Tom “Iceman” Kazansky thought that he would never become a father.

First of all, he was gay, which obviously complicated things to a further extent. He had known this since he was old enough to understand what love was, so the thought of kids was just a fleeting fantasy.

Secondly, he didn’t want kids to go through the same thing he had. Anytime he thought of the word childhood it brought back all sorts of memories of screaming matches, bruises, and quiet realization that they were never going to accept him before they actually said it out loud.

Thus, Tom grew to be content with what he had. He had a loving husband, family that loved him (which he could finally say for the first time in his life), a career on the rise, and a nice house.

Then came Bradley Bradshaw.

The kid wasn’t even his, not at first. He tagged along with Maverick, who adored the kid, on his weekly visits to Carole’s house. For some reason Iceman couldn’t fathom, the kid loved him. When he ended up moving into Ice and Mav’s home, that love only grew.

Next, was Callie.

His little star.

The moment he held the hours-old baby in his arms, it was like something had shifted. This was the kid he dreamed of, but was damn scared to raise. She taught him to be patient and enjoy the simple things in life.

Finally, Natasha.

The two-year-old had come with a whirlwind energy to rival Maverick’s, which was definitely an adjustment. She taught him to let go and there was always light in the darkness.

Now, Iceman had the same components as before, but his life was infinitely better because of the three menaces he called his children.

Iceman was dreaming about this when he felt something poking him. He murmurs and shifts uncomfortably, expecting it to be Pete’s food or something. The poking continues, until it stops for a fleeting moment. 

“Pops, are you awake?” he feels a hand being shoved into his side.

He opens one eye to see his youngest eight-year-old daughter standing over him expectantly. Natasha’s eyes are bright with a contagious smile that Iceman knows is all Pete’s influence. Where one is, the others are sure to follow.

“What do you need, sweetheart?” Tom rasps, voice thick with sleep as he runs a hand through Natasha’s brunette curls.

Natasha looks at him in confusion, which makes Iceman feel as though he is forgetting something. Just as he had predicted, Bradley comes tumbling into the room next, with the balance of a baby deer. Callie is a spirit behind him, moving slowly and without a sound.

“Natasha, you were supposed to wait for us to sur-!” Bradley exclaims, before clamping a hand over his mouth once he sees the now-awake Tom.

“Happy Birthday!” Callie greets him, jumping onto the bed and snuggling into his side.

Oh, that’s what he was forgetting.

His birthday was…forgettable. In his childhood, birthdays were not celebrated, his even less. After years of this treatment, Tom had just viewed his birthday as a normal day on the calendar, and anything else was a bonus.

No one paid attention to your birthday when it was on New year’s Eve.

Then Pete came into his life and brought with him his shock.

“What do you mean you don’t celebrate your birthday?” he remembers Pete’s shocked expression.

“Wasn’t much to celebrate,” Iceman had shrugged.

“I mean, I get the whole childhood thing,” Pete puts it bluntly, “I had that too. Even now, you don’t celebrate?”

“I mean…” the conversation had shifted to something else, and Iceman mainly forgot about it.

Until on December 31st, Maverick showed up on his doorstep with an armful of gifts, flowers, and had to gall to say “Happy Birthday!”

Iceman had shown him a real good time after that one.

Since then, his birthday has been celebrated most diligently by his husband. Even with kids, the younger man still found ways to make sure his partner felt loved. Iceman glances over at the sleeping form of Maverick beside him, his heart melting.

“Maverick,” Ice croons, “Are you awake?”

“Mhgm, five more minutes…” his partner mumbles unhelpfully, turning around to hog the blankets.

Bradley makes a fake gaging sound, bringing Iceman back to face his children. All three look at him expectantly, which he realizes they must have gotten from him.

“Dad can stay, we need you Pops,” Callie pulls him out of bed.

If that statement didn’t warm his heart, then he didn’t know what would.

“Wait, wait, put this on,” Bradley stands on his tiptoes to put a blindfold around Tom’s face.

“What is going on…” Iceman groans, but decides to go along with his kids’ most likely crazy idea.

“You’ll see!” Callie giggles from his left.

They make their ways down the stairs very slowly at Tom’s insistence. Even then, he bumps into at least three walls, but the pain wears off in anticipation for the surprise. Eventually they reach the bottom of the staircase, and he bends down so that Natasha can take off his blindfold.

What he sees there makes his heart burst and his eyes start to water.

“Surprise!” all three kids cheer, a little bit off beat.

“You guys did this…for me?” he whispers, emotion filling his voice.

Laid out on the table are many gifts, but that’s not what he’s focused on. A couple of handmade cards sit on top, bursting with glitter. Some part of Tom sees the mess it would have created, but the other part sees past that.

“You’re crying, do you not like it?” Tom doesn’t register the wetness on his face until Natasha is pulling on his hand.

“No, no, no,” he reassures her, scooping her into his arms, “This is all I’ve ever wanted.”

“Wait until you see breakfast,” a certain voice Ice loves and knows all to well smirks behind him.

Iceman wasn't going to make it through the day if this was the tone.

Chapter Text

Bradley wakes up to find a warm weight on his chest. He sighs contently, basking in the realm between sleep and wake. The weight on his chest moves and gets more comfortably. The dog must have fallen asleep on him.

Wait a minute, his family doesn't have a dog. He had asked his dads for one earlier that month and they (more likely Pops) had vetoed it. Oh well, the sixteen year old thinks, getting distracted, I can always ask Dad separately for my birthday.

That still did not solve the problem about what, or rather who, was lying on his chest. Bradley finally opens his eyes, a faint light from the sunrise streaming in through the windows. Right in front of his face, rests a heap of brow curls, which can only belong to one person.

“Natahsa,” he groans, not having the energy to deal with his twelve year old sister at…

Bradley glances over at his alarm clock and winces when he spots the time.

…6:04 in the morning.

“Why are you here?” he asks groggily.

Natasha's head peeks up from Bradley’s chest, her eyes shining with excitement, “Why wouldn’t I be here? It’s Christmas!”

In all of his stupor, Bradley had forgotten what day it was. Now that his vision was returning, he could make out Natasha’s christmas tree pajama bottom, the santa hat he had been wearing at Slider’s party yesterday, and the mound of gifts he had received from his friends in the corner of his room. A burst of warm excitement fills his chest.

“How long have you been in my room?” Bradley wraps his arms around his little sister, figuring that fighting her, especially this morning, was a losing battle.

“Since two am,” she smiles, like it is a perfectly normal answer.

“TWO AM?!?” Bradley shouts, jolting up before remembering he has an entire human on top of him.

“Shh, you’ll wake up Callie!” she clamps a hand over his mouth.

“I’m already awake,” a voice sounds from the doorway.

Bradley looks up over Natasha to see his middle sister stand there, with their dad’s blanket from his grandmother wrapped around her shoulders.

She says no more, stepping across the room in two large strides to fall onto the bed, landing on Bradley’s spleen. He lets out a quiet oof as she struggles to get comfortably, ending up smushed into his side with an arm around Natasha shoulders.

“Did you know she snuck out?” Bradley asks the thirteen year old.

She shrugs, “I didn’t notice anything, as soon as my head hit the pillow I was out.”

Bradley can relate to that. The family had been at his Uncle Slider’s for a Christmas Eve dinner, which had extended well into the night. The three Kazansky - Mitchell children had been instructed to look after their younger cousins, which included Hollywood and Wolfman’s twin girls, Merlin’s new baby, and Aunt Sarah’s two teenagers, whom Bradley actually likes. Afterwards, he distantly remembers his Pops carrying Natasha inside and dragging his half asleep dad with him.

Natasha responds, “I didn’t!”

Bradley was amazed at his sister's seeming endless amount of energy, even at these ungodly hours of the morning. Usually his parents let him sleep in until ten am, and keep his sisters from interrupting them. He had a sneaking suspicion that they had been in a deep slumber too.

The three siblings lie there in peace for the next few minutes. The sun rises, casting an orangy glow across the floor, while the siblings bask in the company of each other.

Bradley has nearly fallen asleep when he hears Callie mutter, “Hey Brad, did you see the stockings at the end of your bed?”

“What?” Bradley is suddenly more awake.

Natasha doesn't wait for conformation, instead scrambling off her brother to check the end of the bed. She falls somewhat gracefully off the bed in her hurry, causing Bradley to wince at the noise. The youngest Kazansky - Mitchell doesn't notice in her haste, popping her head over the endboard to reveal three, red stockings with their names on them filled to the brim.

She crawls back underneath the covers, depositing the stockings on their laps. Bradley paws through his, spotting candy, a book from his Pops, a baseball from his dad, and more gifts.

He looks over to see Callie holding up a brand of Polish chocolate that she had begged their Pops for the last time they saw his side of the family. Natasha taps him on the shoulder and proudly shows off her array of rainbow nail polish colors, which no doubt Aunt Sarah helped pick out. Soon his otherwise clean bed is full of trinkets, crinkling candy wrappers, and more.

“Why did Dad and Pops put all the stockings in your room, Brad?” Natasha asks through a mountful of chocolate.

Bradley grabs the chocolate before she can scarf the entire thing down, “Maybe they knew we would all be here.”

At the mention of their dads, the three siblings come to the same conclusion. Natasha hurdles over him, running down the hallway. Callie climbs out of the bed, dragging Bradley by his arm to where Natasha has stopped outside their parents’ room. She counts down from three and quietly pushes open the door.

The room is dark, but Bradley can clearly see where his dads rest in the middle of the bed. Ice sleeps with Maverick tucked against him, with their hands intertwined. Both have a look of sereness, which the children didn't often see given their line of work. Anyone who said that his dads were just “friends” had clearly never seen them interact. There was love in everything they did.

“Daddy, Papa, it’s Christmas!” Natasha gleefully shouts, announcing her presence by jumping onto them.

They awake with a jolt, looking at their children in the doorway and their daughter on the bed. Callie comes over to Ice’s side, burrowing her beneath the covers and into Pops’s side. Bradley comes to lie across the end of the bed, seemingly too cool for all this, but in reality still seeking the coziness of his family.

“Merry Christmas!” Maverick says, “How long have you all been up?”

“Since two am, apparently,” Bradley grumbles, and Iceman gives him a knowing look.

“Thanks for the stockings!” Callie says on their behalf, causing the other two to murmur in agreement.

“So you got them?” Pops teases, motioning to Bradley, “Come on kid, you’re not too old to join us.”

Bradley relents with little pressure, collapsing next to Natasha in the middle of the bed. In an hour they’ll get up, open gifts and start prepping for the annual flyboy Christmas dinner. For now, the family lays in bed, content with each other and how lucky they had been in the face of tragedy to have this.

“Merry Christmas, Bradley,” Pops runs a hand through his hair.

Bradley can’t hear him, because he’s already asleep.

Chapter Text

Let it be known that Sam “Merlin” Wells was a competitive person.

He didn’t show this side of himself to most people, especially not his newest classmates, the Top Gun class of 1986. Nevertheless, he decided that flying a nation-saving mission and almost dying with these people had to give some leverage.

The flyboys were having a delayed “hooray we didn’t die and saved the world along the way” and a Christmas party. Merlin somehow found himself on the list, and he wouldn’t admit it, but he felt a warm feeling upon being included in the group.

He had arrived early, hands full with wine his wife had picked out and a box of dominos he dug out of his closet.

“Ah, Merlin!” Slider opens the door, ushering him in.

“Good to see you, Slider,” Merlin greets the other RIO, giving him a hug.

Merlin liked Slider, but apparently most people didn’t. He was caring when he wanted to be, and Merlin only ever saw that side of him. He had shown Merlin the ropes of being and RIO and even clued him in a little bit about ever elusive Pete “Maverick” Mitchell.

Slider escorts him through the house and into the living room, where Hollywood and Wolfman are cozied up to each other. Chipper is arguing with Sundown over drinks in the kitchen and Slider just rolls his eyes at them.

“Where’s Iceman?” Merlin asks, scanning the room, “Don’t you guys share this house?”

Slider rolls his eyes, “Not for long. He’s practically moved in with shortstack and last I heard from him, they’re been househunting.”

Chipper lets out a wolf whistle at that comment and soon they’re all laughing. Just then, the doorbell rings. Slider mutters under his breath and goes to open the door. Merlin hears Slider yell at Iceman to close the door, and Iceman shout something back at Slider in a language he couldn’t recognize. After that ordeal, Maverick and Iceman enter the kitchen, holding bags in their arms and wrapped up in their finest coats.

“Hi guys!” Maverick greets the group enthusiastically, arms full of board games.

Merlin scans the contents in his arms. Every game imaginable, from Twister to Uno to a simple pack of playing cards is there. If Merlin didn’t know any better, he would think that they would be playing until the early hours of the morning.

Iceman trails behind him, holding bags full of gifts. He looks at Maverick with love and adoration in his eyes.

Merlin was glad Maverick had found someone to bring him out of his funk after Goose’s death. The older man had been seriously worried for his new pilot. Merlin didn’t care who Maverick loved, as long as he was happy.

“You’re late,” Slider tells him bluntly, checking his watch.

“Boo hoo,” Maverick sticks his tongue out at Slider, “I bet you won’t be singing that tune when you receive your gift later.”

That shuts Slider up. The group moves to the living room, where Iceman begrudgingly explains each game they brought and why they did.

Wolfman throws some chips in a bowl and appears with salsa out of seemingly thin air. Hollywood throws a pillow and Maverick, and keeps doing that until the younger man sits down. Iceman slides in next to him, placing an arm around his shoulder.

Soon he’s head to head with Iceman. Truthfully, the blond man scares him. From his no mistakes flying skills to his piercing blue-eyed stare, every component about the man radiated power and I will dig your grave if you make one wrong move.

“We can play Twister when we’re drunk,” Slider says wisely, “That way we’ll forget about it. Let’s start with Monopoly.”

The group does that, and the Monopoly game goes on for a good two hours. Maverick lands in jail a minimum of five times meanwhile Slider is a tycoon and owns half the properties. At this rate, Merlin will have to call his wife and let her know that he’s staying over. Finally, Iceman wins and puts them all out of their misery, Slider coming in at a close second. Merlin is in third, which gives a little twitch of jealousy, but he pushes it down to prepare for the next game.

Soon they’ve cycled through most of the games: Uno, which Maverick almost won until the rest of the flyboys somehow combined their cards to place a plus thirty-two on him, Candy Land, which turned oddly competitive and ended up with Slider wrestling Maverick outside, and Twister, which left Merlin wanting to permanently blind himself.

They agreed never to speak of Twister again.

Finally, at midnight, they agreed that this would be their final game of the night. An epic game, the game to end all games and establish who was the true champion.

Go Fish.

Merlin collected set after set, keeping a careful eye on Iceman, who appeared to be sneaking up on him. Maverick gave up after five minutes because of the competitive atmosphere, electing to lean over his boyfriend’s shoulder and whisper unhelpful strategies in his ear.

After a few more rounds, it was a toss-up between Iceman and Merlin for the winner.

“Ice has one…two…three…four…five…six…seven cards,” Slider comments, “and Merlin has one…two…three…four…five…six…seven…eight cards! Merlin wins!!!”

Maverick cheers for him and soon everyone is acting like this is the Layton rescue all over again. 

“You win,” Iceman says, throwing his cards down on the table.

“No way!” Chipper screams, “The Iceman? Just got beat by the newbie? This is a once in a lifetime chance, gentlemen!”

The rest of the room eggs Iceman on, who despite his callsign looks flustered. Maverick leans over and whispers something in his ear then kisses him deeply, causing the red flush on his cheek to only deepen.

“Good job, Merlin,” Iceman grips his hand in a firm handshake, “You’re a damn good aviator and a good poker player.”

“Does this mean you’ll let me win next time?” Merlin smiles, trying to test his luck.

“Absolutely not,” Iceman glowers, eliciting a chortle out of Merlin.

This was how Merlin wanted to spend his Christmases from now on, surrounded by his brothers, the people who loved him.

Chapter Text

“Come on baby, it’ll be fun!”

Like most things that Pete “Maverick” Mitchell proposes, they start with that interjection. Only the “fun” he supposes will happen soon turns into a downward spiral that ends with three minimum admirals angry, a plane crashed, one hundred pages of paperwork, a call to the president, and Iceman left to pick up the pieces.

“What are you giving me that look for?” Maverick pouts, attention focused elsewhere as he opens the hanger’s garage door.

Iceman sighs, “Your idea of ‘fun’ is never what you say it is.”

“Nonsense, I’m tons of fun!” Maverick whoops.

Iceman had to admit, Pete had brought imaginable joy and fun into his life ever since he met the man in 1986.

“The kids said it was fine, do you not trust them?” Maverick counters.

“The exact kids that worship the ground you walk on and didn’t bother to tell me last month when you crashed an F-18 for ‘training purposes’? Those kids?” Iceman smirks when he sees the look on his husband’s face, “That’s what I thought.”

“Well Halo loved it, and she’s all your child,” Maverick makes a reference to their daughter, “Besides,we’re out here now, and you might have to find yourself a new ride home.” 

They had ridden Maverick’s deathtrap of a motorcycle one hour to his hangar in the middle of nowhere, which was not the brightest idea in hindsight. Iceman had packed a picnic lunch, which made a lovely lunch in the sunlight that decided to grace their area of the world. Maverick was planning to take him on a flight, before they enjoyed a dinner Ice would no doubt prepare, before being occupied through the night.]

It was the perfect plan.

“Darling, there is nothing more that I want than to go up with you in this plane,” Iceman reassures his lover, latching onto his hand.

“Aw, is the Iceman being soft?” Maverick deflects, “I should tell the Navy that their COMPACFLT isn’t so cold-hearted after all.”

“Only for you darling,” Iceman lets go of Maverick’s hand to admire the plane, “Besides, I want to see what has been capturing my husband’s attention.”

“Ah, how rude!” Maverick swats his arm, but Iceman can see how the gears are slowly turning in his husband’s mind as he readies himself for takeoff.

Tom is perfectly content to sit back and watch as Pete begins his pre-flight checks. Despite his teasing, Ice is incredibly impressed at what his husband pulled off by restoring this plane. Ice remembered years ago, after he bought the hanger as an anniversary present for Maverick, when he first bought the plane. Tom had scoffed at it, thinking that it was nothing more than scrap metal held together but nuts and bolts.

Over the months, he had watched as his wingman rescued the plane from its evident ruin, putting love and care into it just as Ice knew he would.

“Are you going to keep staring, or come here?” he looks to see Maverick looking at him, with his hands on his hips.

“Of course, my love,” Iceman allows himself to be helped up by Maverick.

He hops into the second seat, content and entirely trustful of Maverick to lead the way. Usually, he feels some of that anxiety left over from his childhood slip out when he’s not in control, but with Pete-

-with Pete, he would give him everything, even himself.

He goes through the usual checklist, checking in with Tom, who is playing the role of the ever helpful RIO. Maverick taxis the plane onto the makeshift runway, talking to Iceman about everything and nothing all at once. As soon as it’s time to take off, Maverick is in flight-mode, attention entirely focused on his flight.

Iceman’s breath catches as Maverick guides the plane up, up, up until it feels as though there is no more sky to fly through.

Iceman has always felt at home in the sky, ever since he was a little child. It was an escape from the tragedies of his ordinary life. Even as his job turned from one of constant flight to one behind a desk (which he wouldn’t trade for the world if it meant spending more time with his family and keeping his husband in the air), he still made sure to keep his pilot’s license.

Even today, as a four-star admiral and commander of the pacific fleet, he flew wherever he could. Come to think of it, Maverick was planning a hop with him on his wing, to scare the kids a little bit.

The sunset is hues of golden brown, rosy pink, vibrant orange, and fluffy clouds that seemed perfectly crafted. It reminds Iceman of that one poem by Robert Frost he had recited to Maverick years ago:

Nature’s first green is gold,

Her hardest hue to hold.

Her early leaf’s a flower;

But only so an hour.

Then leaf subsides to leaf.

So Eden sank to grief,

So dawn goes down to day.

Nothing gold can stay.

He used to believe that poem was his destiny, people only loved him for his flying and without that he had no identity. Then he met Maverick, who rocked his world and loved from his head to his toes and for the person he really was. They had hidden their relationship, raised children together, and gotten married.

There was nothing they couldn’t do.

Iceman can’t help but stare straight ahead as his husband guides them through the dusk, the wooded scenery rushing below. 

This is all I want, Iceman thinks with glee, as he glances down at his hand, resting behind Maverick's head, his silver wedding ring with a sapphire stone in the middle on his fourth finger.

“Why don’t I take us down to land?” Maverick whispers through his headset, eyes sparking with the reflection of a thousand stars.

Snowflakes have started falling, adding to the beauty of the night.

“Show me the way, honey,” Iceman smiles at the breathy laugh his husband gives him, wishes finally having come true.

Chapter Text

“Well, it looks like we’re stranded.”

Those were words Pete “Maverick” Mitchell never wanted to hear, especially from Tom “Iceman” Kazansky. Now that they were the only two stuck in a cabin, in the middle of nowhere, and snowed in, Pete figured his best option was to make a run for it and jump out the window.

“You’re stuck inside, Maverick,” Iceman seems to read his mind, scarring him out of his thoughts, “As I was saying, before you spaced out, the forecast predicted there will be no more snow for the next two days.”

“Does that mean the others can come?” Maverick asks, in a moment of stupidity.

Tom sighs at his wingman’s antics, pinching the bridge of his nose. If Maverick didn’t know any better, he would say that the man had a headache.

People often conveniently had those when dealing with Maverick.

“No, the last I heard, Slider was stranded at the airport before the phone line cut out. So no, I don’t think the others will be coming,” Iceman grits out, stalking off to one of the back rooms to grab Advil, most likely.

He didn’t know why Iceman had turned upset all of a sudden. He and Pete had been getting along great ever since the mission. Even more so because of Iceman’s generous offer to invite all of the flyboys to his family’s winter cabin in Colorado for the weekend. Maverick had conveniently booked the same flight as him, and they had talked about everything and nothing for hours, until they realized they were the only ones in the cabin.

Then the snow started falling and the icy mask Iceman had put in place came back on.

Pete stares out the window, in order to divert his attention away from his wingman and rapidly growing panic. At least two feet of snow cover the ground, blanketing the surrounding area. The fireplace is reflected in the windowpane, its heat drawing Maverick closer.

“We’re snowed in,” Maverick repeats to no one but himself, “And I’m stuck with my crush, there is no way this could go wrong.”

Chapter Text

“Well this is fun,” Maverick grumbles, tightening his scarf impossibly tighter around his face.

“You were the one who agreed to come,” Iceman practically gloats, but he grabs Maverick’s hand nonetheless as they walk down the lit street.

They were in Vilnius, visiting a distant part of Iceman’s family to spend the Christmas season. They had already been to Poland and Ukraine, which had both swept Maverick off his feet with their rich history and breathtaking landscapes. 

Sure he had traveled before, but it was on carriers, where they were given a day at most to explore.

Now, he was in the Baltics, meeting his boyfriend’s family. Firstly, the fact that he was visiting the family of his lover amazed him, that had never happened before. Additionally, the fact that he was even in the Baltics was incredible, considering the circumstances that had taken over the region for the past decades. He and Iceman had watched months ago, with bated breath, as the news came in that the Soviet Union fell.

Two weeks later they were on a plane to Poland.

“I’m so cold,” Maverick groans, his breath puffs of white smoke in the frigid air.

They had been walking in downtown Vilnius for two hours now. I was fine for the first hour, until it became apparent that it was not going to get any warmer. Don’t get him wrong, the decorated storefronts and delicious food were heavenly, but the five inches of snow were not.

“Why?” a blond head peeks out from out of Iceman’s coat, “I’m warm.”

“Of course you are, kid,” Maverick mutters to his son.

Iceman had made the executive decision to bring Bradley along with them on the trip. It had been a tough year and a half since Carole’s death, but Pete could proudly say that the kid seemed happy. This trip only reinforced that fact.

Bradley had surprisingly loved Europe. He even picked up Polish and Lithuanian alarmingly fast, and Maverick was sure, with Iceman’s guidance, that he would know them fluently one day. Pete could admit that he felt relaxed for once, no navy assignments to remote places, no angry admirals, no hiding his relationship, just him and his little family.

In below freezing temperatures.

“See? Bradley’s fine,” Iceman mouths over Bradley’s head.

“That’s because he’s curled up to you,” Maverick argues, folding his arms over his chest in a vain attempt to keep himself warm.

“Would you like to be curled up to me? Would that keep you warm?” Iceman smirks at him, knowing he’s hit his mark when Mav blushes furiously.

Maverick looks away from him, pretending to admire the lavishly decorated store window that held mountains of books inside. He knew this would be perfect.

“Let’s go inside!” Maverick practically pulls his boyfriend inside, wincing when he and Bradley nearly topple over.

The warm air greets Maverick like an old friend,  almost making him melt into a puddle on the floor. Tom gives him a funny look, but guides Bradley to the children’s section, leaving Pete to bask in the warmth of the indoors and shop for Tom.

He wasn’t sure how he was going to last another week in this weather, especially when Tom had so many plans, most of which included outdoor activity.

He looks over at his boyfriend, who has their son on his hip as he points out dearly beloved book titles. He digs around in his satchel for the polaroid camera, but as soon as he locates it, someone is talking to Tom.

Maverick’s not surprised, Iceman seems to know half the town at this point. He inches toward the nonfiction section, pretending to read another novel about spies, just to overhear the conversation.

Ar girdėjai, kad yra minus dešimt? Šalta žiema pas mus jau senokai.

From the miniscule amount of Lithuanian Maverick knows, he catches the word ten. Putting the pieces together, with the measurements and a little math, Maverick comes to a startling conclusion.

Turėtum pamatyti mano vaikiną, jis jau beveik sušalęs.

Pete scoffs, hearing the words boyfriend, ice, and mine and knowing what Iceman meant. (He had learned the word ice just so he could watch his boyfriend light up whenever he called him that nickname.

The man Iceman is talking to waves goodbye at him and disappears into the back of the store. Meanwhile, Pete waits by the nonfiction section, arms full of books for his boyfriend to give him on Christmas Day, foot tapping impatiently. Iceman saddles up his side, Bradley clutching his hand with one of his and in the other holding a Lithuanian fairytale book.

“Hey, darling, are you ready to venture back out there?” Ice whispers in his ear, making him feel warm inside, until he remembers why he demanded Ice come to him.

“Did you mean to tell me earlier that it’s fourteen degrees fahrenheit?" Maverick shivers, sputtering at the mention of the weather.

Tom nods his head, attention preoccupied with checking out. As soon as they are outside, Maverick waits for an answer, trying to busy himself with that and not the biting cold threatening to consume him.

“I think you mean negative ten degrees celsius,” Tom corrects infuriatingly, acting like a temperature below zero in any unit is a normal occurrence.

“Is this normal?” Pete asks in horror, as Tom narrowly catches him from getting run over by a frantic driver.

“No, this is actually a cold snap, it’s usually two degrees warmer,” Ice informs him nonchalantly.

“Come on, Dad!” Bradley jumps down from Ice’s arms and motions for the shorter man to follow him, “Let’s go play in the snow!”

“Haven’t we played enough?” Maverick groans, but willingly follows along because he would do anything for that kid.

“You’re so whipped,” Tom nudges him in the ribs good-naturedly, as they watch their kid bolt toward where some other kids are playing soccer in an alley.

“Only for you, baby,” Pete reaches up to press a kiss on his boyfriend’s neck, “Only for you, mano meile.”

Chapter Text

Maverick sighs for the thousandth time today, shifting and writhing uncomfortably (though he would never admit it) on the sofa. The ice packs had long melted and were warm against his torso as well. His ribs ached subtly but just enough to make breathing a burden.

He pushes himself to a sitting position, taking a moment to get his bearings. The sky is dark and littered with stars, meaning he must have slept longer than he expected. Last time he opened his eyes, the late afternoon sunlight was filtering through the paneled windows and he was in Iceman’s arms-

Iceman. His husband.

Maverick jerks his head to the side looking for the man, and lets out an involuntary whimper as it makes the pain in his neck flare. Once he figures out that his husband is not in sight, he (with the help of the armrest) eases himself to a standing position, stretching out his back.

Don’t get Pete wrong, he was eternally grateful that he had Tom “Iceman” Kazansky to care for him. The younger man thanks all his lucky stars that he survived the mission and was able to curl up in his husband’s arms. Said husband insisted he get checked over by medical and surprise, surprise, two ejections in a month hadn’t been beneficial!

Which led him here, stuck on the couch for the past day and a half. Ever sice they had stepped off the carrier, Ice had put him under strict bedrest orders. That would have been fine for anyone else but Pete “Maverick” Mitchell, who was incapable of sitting still.

“Can you not sit still?” Iceman reads his mind and appears out of seemingly nowhere, towering over Maverick.

Pete startles a little, slowly angling his head until he’s staring up into the inquisitive and ever bright, blue eyes of Tom, who is looking at him with a look that seems to scream really?

“Hello to you too, honey,” Maverick waggles his eyebrows in what he thinks in a suggestive gesture, but it causes him to wince, aggravating the stitches on his forehead.

“Maverick, please,” Iceman draws out the syllables, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Would it kill you to let yourself rest?”

To anyone else, Tom’s tone might seem degrading or downright rude. To Pete, it was just his love language that came with over thirty years of loving the man that many called "difficult" “impossible” or “challenging” (Pete had found those words tossed around multiple times in the files he “borrowed” off Ice’s desk).

“Probably,” Maverick admits with a little more remorse than he’s like.

Iceman’s eyes soften, as he gently takes his husband by the arms and guides him toward the couch until he’s in a reclining position. Maverick feels his eyes start to drift closed again as he realizes how much energy standing up took. He distantly hears Iceman gathering materials in the kitchen. A few minutes later, he is back with two steaming cups of tea.

“I can’t have coffee?” Maverick whines, throwing a hand over his eyes dramatically, “Not even decaf?”

“Doctor’s orders,” Iceman teases, watching as Maverick gulps down the tea, despite the scalding temperature, “You know this is the third time I’ve caught you trying to escape?”

“Really?” Maverick questions, “I could have sworn it was four.”

“Maverick,” Tom’s voice hardens, not taking the joke like he expected him to, “Please just rest, it won’t kill.”

Maverick feels anger rising in his gut. He knows it’s unfair to harbor this anger against Iceman, who got him the job and took time off his big-shot job to care for him. A tiny part of him, however, yearns to go do something or really anything at this point, and Tom is the one stopping him from doing that. There had been tension simmering for days, they could both feel it.

“Maybe it will!” Maverick bursts, “I’m not your charge to look after, just let me do something!”

Iceman takes a deep breath, not bothering to meet Maverick’s gaze. The silence stretches between them, waiting for an answer. That response doesn’t come for another few minutes, until it's Ice that breaks it.

“You almost died, Pete,” Tom uses his real name, scaring the dark-haired man, “Twice.”

“But I’m here,” Maverick reaches up to stroke Ice’s arm, who is sitting on the edge of the sofa, in what he hopes is a reassuring gesture.

Iceman shrugs him off, unshed tears glistening in his eyes, “Can you not comprehend that you almost died? I remember watching as they declared you missing and, oh God, knowing that I would have to bury both my husband and son in empty caskets, that really does something to a man. So, Maverick, by all means, go do something to fill your time, maybe staying still will almost kill you for a third time.”

Maverick is shocked by his husband’s outburst. Iceman usually doesn't show his emotions to this extent, and Maverick can’t remember the last time he saw him cry. A guilty part of Maverick reminds him that Iceman is right, he hadn’t been thinking of leaving his husband a widow, it had been about reaching the next milestone.

Then, the more humane part reminds him that thinking of Iceman was the reason he returned home, every single time. 

“Ice,” Maverick cups Iceman’s face between his hands, forcing him to look at the younger pilot, “I am so sorry I made you feel that way. I have to say, you were the reason I made it home. Without you, I don’t know what I would have done in that situation.”

Tom smiles as Maverick wipes away a stray tear from his face, “So would it kill you to take a break?”

Maverick rolls his eyes fondly, “Maybe it wouldn’t.”

Iceman takes that as his cue to drag his husband down with him until Maverick is lying on top of the older man.

For the first time in a month, Maverick feels no pain, only comfort.

Chapter Text

Jake “Hangman” Seresin was more than enthusiastic about the snow.

He knew most people who were from the South and ended up in the North did not share his same feelings. To them, it was a symbol of chane, and of course the uncomfortable sensation of the weather.

To him, it was a symbol that he had escaped that lifestyle.

“Hey, Bagman, what’s got you so deep in thought?” Phoenix shouts at him, even though they’re feet apart.

“I didn’t know he could think,” Bob says in that quiet and deadly way of his.

“Har de har, baby on board,” Hangman says, glad that he and the squad have reached the point where they can joke around easily.

“Can you hold this for me?” Phoenix shoves a wooden sled in his arms, before bolting up the hill, “Be a real dear and haul this up here for me!”

“Where did you even get that?” Hangman scoffs, nearly buckling under the sudden weight the female pilot had dropped into his arms.

“It was my father’s,” Rooster appears beside him suddenly, scaring the living daylights out of the younger man.

Hangman was proud to say that they were now on speaking terms, friends you might call it. After a series of late night (mostly drunken) conversations, they had come to the conclusion that they had more in common than they did different. Plus the fact the Hangman saved him and Maverick from certain death, but oh well, he could rub that in Rooster’s face at a later date.

Preferably when he wasn’t crushing on Rooster so hard it made it difficult to breathe when he was next to him.

Before Hangman can ask why on earth Maverick would have a sled, Rooster clears it up for him, “From Annapolis, apparently he and my Pops used to be great friends back in the day. Pops dug it out of the closet.”

Pops. The COMPACFLT.

Hangman still found the fact that Tom “Iceman” Kazansky, possibly the most feared man in the Navy, was his wingman’s adoptive father and married to his crazy instructor, who he may or may not see as a father. The Admiral had immediately clocked the way he looked at Bradley, giving him a mildly threatening shovel talk once Jake had stopped denying he liked the man’s son.

Then, he received a phone call from home that sent him into a spiral. Rooster had noticed immediately, and after some urging from him and an insistence from Maverick to come for dinner, he figured out that he and Iceman had similar upbringings.

Now he had the COMPACFLT on speed dial, which was still mind-blowing to the younger pilot.

“Are you going to come sledding, or not?” Rooster glances at him, hands in his jacket pockets, not dressed in one of his hideous Hawaiian shirts (which Jake secretly loved) for once.

“You bet, Rooster,” Hangman cracks his cocky smile at the older man.

“You can call me Bradley, you know,” his wingman says to him.

Bradley. Bradley. Bra-d-ley. 

Jake likes his name immensely, despite all his teasing for the horrendous first and last name combo.

“Are we going sledding or not, Bradley?” Hangman drawls his name, eyes focused on the top of the hill.

“Are we five?” Rooster rolls his eyes, but starts the journey up the hill.

The snow makes it hard to take a cohesive step, so Hangman opps for a slow trudge, which makes having dignity in front of his crush hard. All around him, families with many children are laughing and having a good time. It makes Jake ache for what he could have - should have - had in his childhood.

“...should we make dad get on a sled?” Hangman only catches the tail end of Rooster’s line of thought.

“Pardon?” Hangman snaps back to full awareness.

“Manners, those are new,” Rooster comments snarkily, “Do you think we can get MavDad on a sled?”

“Probably,” Hangman nods, all of energy gong into making up this goshadarn hill, “I mean if Ice is there, then yes.”

“Now you get it!” Bradley throws his hands up, nearly toppling over.

Jake instinctively reaches out an dplaces a hand on the small of his back to steady him. Rooster straightens up, as if the touch electrocuted him. Both men stare at each other for a moment, seemingly stuck in time.

“Thanks,” Bradley coughs, resuming his earlier conversion, “Now you get what I mean! Growing up with them in the house meant I had plenty of run-ins with lectures about ‘knocking before you entered’.”

Hangman wants to reach out (again) and shake Rooster by the shoulders until the man has gotten some sense shaken into him. The man had grown up with two sets of parents, and his dads were clearly still madly in love with each other, which was more than Jake could say for his own parents. They barely showed affection to each other except if it was at one of their lavish dinner parties.

“Well, I can’t imagine hiding your relationship for that long,” Jake counters, “ I would never be able to dela with that now, it’s hard enough being gay in the Navy as is.”

Rooster gives Hangman a shocked look which makes him wnat to disappear into the snow.

“Oh yeah definitely," Rooster mutters, getting his composure back together, “I’m really glad they were able to raise me the way they did.”

As well as being stupidly in love, his dads would drop everything if they found out Bradley needed them. Meanwhile, Jake’s father told him he never wanted to see him again after he simultaneously decided to come out and join the Navy at seventeen.

Hangman shudders at the thought, wanting to erase all memories of the elder Seresin out of his memory.

“What took you so long?” Coyote yells at them once they are dawning at the top of the hill, giving Jake a knowing look.

Jake gives him a glare as if to say shut up before I lose it in front of my wingman who I’m 99% sure is straight and I just accidentally came out to.

“I elect that Hangman and Rooster take the first sled ride,” Fanboy mutters with a diabolical grin.

Hangman is about to argue with him about how a wooden sled could take the weight of two Navy men, but Rooster is already saying a little too enthusiastically, “Sure!”

Jake’s stomach is filled with butterflies as he takes his place on the sled behind Bradley. His legs are around Bradley’s torso as Phoenix pushes them off the ledge to begin their sled ride.

They push off with a whoosh and soon the wind is rushing beside his head. Bradley lets out a scream with Jake following. He feels weightless for the first time in his life, without a care in the world.

That feeling quickly dissipates, as the snowbank some children had built at the bottom of the hill comes rushing toward them.

Oh shit, is Jake’s last thought before the sled flips, sending him slamming into Bradley and head over heels into the snow.

He ends up sprawled half on top of Bradley. Hangman feels heat rush to his cheeks, which he will later blame on the snow. In his haste to get off, he feels Rooster take his wrist. He pauses, looking Rooster in the eyes, before the older man takes the gall and kisses him.

Hangman kisses back just as hard and for the first time is in heaven, this is what he’s been chasing for months, this is just perfect.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do that,” Bradley whispers, pulling back, and sending Jake melting into a puddle in the snow.

Chapter Text

“Tommy, you have got to be kidding me,” Slider groans, staring at the wooden structure like it’s personally offended him.

“I’m not,” Iceman furrows his brow, shrugging off the arm Slider had placed around his shoulder, “Besides, you said you were cold.”

“Not like…ya know, never mind,” the RIO mutters, watching as his pilot’s attention is entirely focused on his boyfriend, who is curled into his side seeking warmth.

Slider rolls his eyes at the couple. Iceman and Maverick had practically been inseparable since the flyboys had stepped foot on Finland’s soil for some strings of conferences about the Layton rescue. The brown haired RIO supposed it was because they couldn’t usually act this way in public at home, but he digresses.

“So…why are we out here in the middle of snowy nowhere?” Chipper asks sourly, taking his sarcastic callsign into his nature.

“Have you not figured it out yet?” Sundown slings an arm around his pilot, dressed in only a thin tank top and some beach shorts with an atrocious pattern on them

Slider suspected there was also something going on between that pilot and RIO pairing, but it wasn’t his to stick his nose into.

At least, not for now.

“Iceman, where’d you find out about this place?” Hollywood asks in awe, admiring the woodworking of the sauna.

Slider looks around at the barren landscape. They had left the warm, inviting cabin and journeyed for half an hour guided only by Iceman’s vague directions of “that way”, “straight ahead”, and "Maverick if you don’t stop veering off the trail, I’m going to send you to an early grave”. 

Finally, they had arrived at a wooden hut off the beaten path, which Slider soon figured out was a sauna. It looked like it hadn’t been used for years, but Iceman reassured them it was fine, though the five inches of snow in front of the door begged to differ.

“Let me guess, some family friend in Russia?” Wolfman asks, genuine question with a lilt of teasing in his tone.

Iceman’s jaw clenches, and Slider knows his pilot is about two seconds away from either muttering all the curse words in the five languages he knew or saying something he would definitely regret.

“Of course,” Ron gestures magnanimously, “Ol’ Tommy here has friends all over the world.”

“Har de har, very funny,” Tom jokes, but shoots Ron a grateful look. 

Ron had known his pilot, the man he considered his brother, which meant he was there for every joke, insult, or any sort of connotation that came with having the last name Kazansky. Personally, the RIO didn’t care, and even in some alternate universe if he did resent it at first, Iceman made a mean Pelmeni.

“Can we go, I’m freezing here!” Maverick says, teeth chattering as Ron notices a faint blue tinge to his lips.

Iceman opens the door with the lock he had somehow acquired, slamming it a couple times to get it to open. Slider waits for the other flyboys to file in, hanging around with Maverick at the back of the line.

“Ladies first,” Slider holds open the door with a flourish.

“Thanks,” Maverick replies, tone dripping with sarcasm.

Slider laughs to himself. Just because his brother had found his true love didn’t mean that he couldn’t still have a little fun.

“This says maximum occupancy: four,” Merlin squints, reading the tiny sign attached to the backside of the door.

“It’s a suggestion,” Slider provides helpfully, letting the door slam shut behind him.

He must admit, it’s a tight squeeze. Correction: tight squeeze is an understatement with eight Navy men shoved in there. Jackets are shed in rapid succession and soon all the flyboys are huddled together in the tiny wooden structure that looks like it would blow over in a storm.

“Why is it so hot?” Sundown complains, melting down into the wooden bench he plastered himself over.

“It’s a sauna,” Iceman deadpans, paying him no mind while he fiddles with the timer near the door.

They wait semi-patiently, all waiting for the heat to begin. Right now it’s only slightly warmer than the chilly weather they left outside. Slider glances at his puffer jacket on the floor and wonders if he should don it again.

“Got it!” Iceman exclaims with a flourish, settling beside Maverick.

The first few minutes of their time pass languish. They talk about everything and nothing all at once; the latest base gossip from home, how Bradley is doing, and trying not to gag at Hollywood and Wolfman’s flirtations. The glow of the hot coals in the middle was the only light source; that and the stars that illuminated the glowing tundra outside. Distantly, Slider is irrationally worried that he’ll see a flash of white fur.

If so, he’s glad he ran track in high school.

The next few minutes are a bit unpleasant. The room goes from a comfortable warmth to a tropical destination. The flyboys all squirm uncomfortably in their seats, itching to do something. No one speaks for fear of upsetting the group.

“Okay, it’s too hot man, someone do something,” Slider approaches the problem head on.

“Yeah, I hate to admit it but I have to agree,” Maverick rolls his eyes, getting up from where he was situated, half in Iceman’s laugh, to try the door, “Wait a minute, it’s locked.”

“What,” Iceman’s eyes go cold (no pun intended).

“Maybe it’s the timer?” Wolfman suggests wisely, “How long did you set it for?”

“Thirty minutes,” Iceman responds, “How long have we been in here for?”

“Twenty minutes,” Chipper responds, glancing at his watch, causing the others to groan.

“We’re never going to survive,” Hollywood moans, and Slider has to agree, the heat has gotten to an unbearable temperature.

Thus, they wait. Merlin tries to initiate conversation, but it fails as all flyboys are wrapped up in the uncomfortable sensation.

When the timer finally dings, it’s as though heaven has sent. Maverick is the first one to bolt out, even though he had just complained about the cold before. Slider is next, barreling past him to faceplant into the snow.

He doesn't move for a good two minutes, letting the cold overwhelm him. When he finally does, he sees the flyboys sprawled in the snow, except Iceman, who seems immune to temperature.

“Now’s it really cold,” Maverick says wisely, “Can we go back inside?”

Slider groans, he was going to have a serious chat with Iceman that night about why he decided to choose that man.

Chapter Text

“What a beautiful day!” Iceman hears Slider say behind him, but he’s too busy staring up at the snow covered mountain.

He sps from his watterbottle, trying to cath his breath, and figuring out the latest course of action. Some felt off, he couldn’t figure out what though.

“Are you sure this is a good idea, man?” he asks cautiously, turning around to see Slider behind him, staring at him with radiant optimism, “There’s a lot of snow at the top there.”

“Of course there is, it’s a mountain,” Slider says sarcastically, placing his hands on his hips, “Besides, we’ve made it this far, we can’t quit now.”

Slider was right, the sun was coming up and casting the top of the mountain in an orangey glow, almost like a halo. The snow glittered on the mountain slope, making it look almost like something out of a postcard. Iceman wonders if he should look for something for Maverick, but that thought fades as his anxiety comes back.

Iceman was glad Slider had suggested this when they found out they were being sent to Switzerland for a string of conferences. Tom had always loved hiking and mountaineering, ever since he was old enough to know what they were. When he met Slider, that love only grew, as the two would spend hours of their free time searching the best mountains to climb and feeling that sense of accomplishment once they peaked.

Given their history, Slider had originally suggested Mount Blanc, the highest mountain in the Alps. Iceman had vetoed that idea, instead settling for his second suggestion, Monte Rosa. Thus, Slider had rented a car that was definely not big enough for two Navy men, and had insisted on driving them to the monterosa valleys. There, they had spent a day exploring the town, before doing their own pre course acclimation.

From there, they had driven up to the Tasch train station and let the car, opting to take a train to Zatterhorn and completed the four hour walk from there to a quaint little cabin, where they spent the night with many other climbers and an incredibly view of the Alps.

Finally they had gotten up before the crack of dawn to suit up and leave the warmth of the cabin. There they had started the glacier route, determined to reach the top at an even pace, deterred only by the snow that was starting to fall.

“Are you going to spend all day thinking, Tommy, or are we going to climb?” Ron says teasingly.

“First one to the top has to buy dinner when we get back,” Tom incentivases, smiling when Ron gives him a shark-like smile.

“You’re on,” Ron says ever competatively, pushing his hiking stick into the ground to rstart their journey.

The pilot and RIO climb in peace for the next couple hours, talking about base gossip back home sometimes or just admiring the view. It was a relatively steep climb, but Iceman reassured himself that the descent would all be worth it.

Finally, after four and a half hours, according to Slider’s watch, they reached the summit after scaling a rocky and slippery portion that almost sent Slider flying down the ravine. It was everything Tom wanted, freedom, and the satisfaction that he didn’t foten feel, always pushing himself to he next milestone.

“How do you feel, Tommy boy?” Slider huffs, barely balancing on top of a rocky ledge, “Being on top of the world?”

From the top, he can see the little Swiss and Italian towns, partially obstructed by the surrounding snow-capped peaks.

“Can’t be better,” Iceman responds, fishing out the polaroid camera Maverick lended him.

After they take the photo and have a piece of Swiss chocolate Slider somehow acquired, the two of them decide to start their descent in order to make it down the mountain by sunset. They walk in silence for a couple hours, keeping an even pace.

They are about forty five minutes out from the train station when Iceman’s anxiety returns. A low rumbling can be heard from above tem, almost like a "Whumpf” noise.

“Slider, what’s that?” Iceman stops dead in his tracks, causing Slider to neraly crash into him.

“Probably some other climber being stupid,” Slider tries to reassure him, but he sounds just as nervous.

Iceman knows that’s not true. The last time they saw another climber was at the summit. They had looked behind them every once and a while and every time, there seemed to be a dwindling number until there was no one.

Iceman starts to sweat, and he knows it’s not just because of his rapidly climbing anxiety. The weather had grown warmer over the past few hours, turning the snow to slush beneath their feet. Slider himself was only in his Navy windbreaker.

Suddenly, the conclusion of what’s happening comes all too quickly to Iceman and he gasps for air liek a dying man.

He might as well be.

“What is it, Tommy, you’re scaring me?” Slider gaps, shaking his shoulders which does not help him.

“We need to find a cave, or s-something that will protect us,” Tom starts panicking, looking around at the barren landscape.

That’s the problem, that’s all the landscape is: barren. Hes sure if he looked hard enough then he could find some shetler, but he doesn’t have that sort of time.

“Protect us? From what?” Ron sounds downright hysterical, which is believable.

“An-” Iceman begins to tell Slider what he thinks is going to happen, but before he can, nature does it for him.

A sickening crack sounds from the mountaintop above them. The pilot and RIO look up in horror as tons of snow break off and come sliding toward them. The rocky ledges they caled only hours before rapidly disappear under the white, powdery cloud of snow rushing straight to them.

They were young and strong, but that didn’t matter if they were covered in hundreds of pounds of snow.

“An avalanche,” Slider finishes, “Run.”

Chapter Text

Despite what most people say, Pete “Maverick” Mitchell was not short.

Maybe he had to stand on his tiptoes to see over the larger crowd, or he wore his infamous cowboy boots to make himself taller, or he even had to ask his darling boyfriend to reach his mug on the top shelf of the cabinet (he suspected the older man did that for a reason, but that was a conversation for a different time). Those were just minor occurrences and height was just a number, right?

“Tommy, I literally can’t reach that,” Pete huffs, staring in annoyance at where his boyfriend decided to write his latest evaluation.

“Hm, you can’t?” Tom asks nonchalantly, tone suggesting he knew exactly what he did.

Maverick huffs, grabbing the whiteboard marker from his boyfriend’s hand to finish the equation at the bottom of the whiteboard. The couple works on their evaluations and testing for their newest Top Gun class in peaceful silence for half an hour, before they decide to pack up and go home.

“We have the day off tomorrow,” Tom reminds him, as he’s holding his hand over the console.

“Yes,” Pete mentally flips through his calendar, “I was planning to take Bradley to the zoo, if you wanted to come along.”

“Of course, my love,” Tom responds, squeezing his hand, and setting Pete’s heart on fire.

Thus, their plans for the next day are set in motion. They swing by Carole’s house later that evening to grab Bradley, who is talking their ears off about all the different animals they’ll see at the zoo.

“Oh! And my friend, Marley, said that there’ll be tigers, and - and big snakes, that have a fancy name? What are they called, Uncle Ice?” the boy chatters excitedly.

“Pythons,” Tom supplies helpfully.

Pete’s heart is close to bursting at the gentleness Tom shows to his godson. Everyone who said the Iceman didn’t have a heart was wrong, he was one of the kindest people Pete knew.

Once they get back to their humble abode, the couple somehow manages to get the boy into bed, who’s asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow. Pete guides Tom back to bed, falling into it and immediately curling himself around Tom like an octopus.

“You know…you’d be a really good father,” Pete whispers in his ear, setting his senses on alarm.

“You…mean that?” Tom asks him cautiously.

“Tom, you’re not him,” Pete reassures him, running his hand through the frosted tips he had come to love so much.

Tom sighs into Pete’s shoulder, marveling at the way his boyfriend seems to know exactly what he means.

“I saw the way you acted with Bradley today, and I really mean it,” Pete insists, seeing the gears in his boyfriend’s head turning.

“Thanks Pete, I’ll definitely consider that,” Tom tells him, tone implying that it’s not a no, but not a definite yes either, “But…”

“Yes?” Pete’s breath hitches in his throat.

“Could you handle our child growing up to be taller than you?” Tom teases him, pulling the younger man into his chest.

“Oh shut up,” Pete snarks, but his heart is lulled by the word our.

The couple gets a good night’s sleep wrapped up in each other’s arms, until they are woken up by a certain Bradley Bradshaw jumping on their bed at six am.

“Uncle Ice, Uncle Mav, get up?” he shakes the younger man’s shoulders.

“Bradley, it’s six am,” Pete groans, glancing at the alarm clock, “How about you come stay with Icy and me for a little bit?”

Bradley reluctantly agrees, but is soon wrapped up between his uncles, one happy family together. When it’s a reasonable hour (at least for Tom), he drags his boys out of bed, making pancake mix while Bradley sits on his hip. Pete sits on the countertop next to them, offering helpful commentary and mostly trying not to imagine Tom with children of their own.

After they have breakfast, which ended up with more syrup on the floor than on Bradley’s plate, the couple buckle Bradley into Tom’s Subaru and hit the road. It’s a nice day, not too hot and not too cold, but perfect for roaming around for hours.

Once they enter the zoo grounds and see the San Diego zoo, Bradley’s excitement intensifies by ten, and so does Pete’s. Iceman corrals him out of the car while Pete takes a polaroid to show Carole later.

“You ready to go, buddy?” Pete asks him, grabbing his left hand.

“Yeah!” the six-year-old cheers enthusiastically, grabbing on to Tom’s hand with his right.

Tom buys the tickets and leads them into the park, seeming to know his way around.

“Which way are we going first, Bradley?” Pete asks him, pointing to the fork i the path.

“Which side has the penguins? I want to see them first!” Bradley scans the map Tom acquired, looking for the symbol.

“Why do you want to see the penguins?” Pete asks.

Bradley shrugs, “They seem cool. Which way is it?”

“To the right,” Tom says, gently steering Bradley in the right direction, and sending Pete a wink over the boy’s head.

The family visits all the exhibitions before then, marveling at the pythons, Tom joking he’s going to throw Bradley into the tigers’ den, and Pete buying them ice creams. However, they still have not visited the penguin exhibit, which Bradley is anxious to see.

“Uncle Mav, when are we going to see the penguins,” Bradley whines feet dragging.

“Right now!” Iceman supplies, gesturing to the wooden enclosure, “Ta da!”

Braley’s tiredness is forgotten and his eyes light up once he spots the white and black creatures. Tom hefts him onto his hip, allowing him to get a better view of the penguins perched on the rocks above the water.

The kid watches them in fascination for a few moments before saying something that Pete didn’t see coming, “Uncle Mav, these penguins are like you!”

“Really, why?” Pete asks his godson cautiously.

“They’re short too!” he exclaims innocently.

Tom nearly drops Bradley in laughter, wheezing as he congratulates Bradley for thinking so smartly. Pete feels his face turning red, comforted only by the hand his boyfriend puts on his shoulder.

He wouldn’t give this up for the world.

Chapter Text

The smell of warm honey and fresh bread greets Maverick when he enters his and Iceman’s house. It’s not unusual to smell something baking in the Kazansky-Mitchell household, especially around the winter months, when Iceman seems to have something new on the table everyday for a different feast.

“Darling, I’m home!” he calls out, “What are you making?”

Ice peeks his head out of the kitchen, smiling once he sees his husband. Ice walks toward him, with six-year-old Natasha on his hip. He kisses Maverick on the lips, causing their daughter to squeal an ewww!

“Natasha, do you want to tell Daddy what we’re making?” Tom asks the girl.

“We’re making…sh-ch-ch-oh…DRAH - knee?” she sounds out, her little brow furrowing.

“Shchoh - drah - kee,” Tom corrects gently, “Why don’t you go into the kitchen and carefully grab the bowl on the counter so Daddy can have a taste?”

“Okay,” she jumps down from Tom’s arms, curls bouncing as she runs toward the kitchen.

“What did you just say?” Pete asks in confusion, hanging up his jacket.

“Szczodraki,” Tom tells him, wrapping his arms around his husband from behind, “It’s a Polish pastry filled with sweet cheese and fruit.”

“That sounds really good,” Pete leans back to kiss Tom on the corner of his lips, “then again, everything you make sounds good.”

Tom hums in agreement, before the couple moves back toward the kitchen, where chaos has erupted. Bradley is crouched on the floor on his hands and knees, while Natasha is standing on his back trying to reach the bowl on top of the counter. Callie is supervising from the kitchen table, all Tom’s child.

“Natasha, you could have asked,” Pete sighs, lifting his daughter onto the counter to save Bradley from his misery.

“Thanks, Dad,” his ten-year-old son breathes a sigh of relief, retreating to the couch.

“My siblings will start arriving in about ten minutes, so you should go upstairs and get ready,” Tom directs Callie, wiping the flour off her cheek.

“What?” Pete stops in his tracks, mouth full of the sugary bread he was “sampling”.

“Yeah, it’s been on the calendar for a month now,” Tom points to the kitchen calendar, and sure enough, Szczodre Gody - Tom’s siblings, is circled in red, “Remember, Ray and his family and his family are staying? The rest are just coming for dinner.”

Maverick’s mind draws a blank. He feels guilty for doing so, especially since it’s so dear to Tom. Just then, the doorbell rings, announcing someone's presence. Tom sighs patiently, hand reaching out to smooth Pete’s hair from where Natasha messed it up.

“I’ll get that, you make sure the guest rooms are ready and help Callie,” Tom kisses his forehead, stalking off to greet his siblings.

Pete does just that, rushing up the stairs to quickly throw on some nice clothes, and makes sure his children do the same. He hears Tom’s warm laughter conversing with his siblings, slipping from English to Polish, which he can only catch bits and pieces of. Eventually, he leaves Natasha and Callie with Bradley as he runs downstairs to greet their guests with his husband.

The first of Tom’s siblings to arrive is one of his triplet brothers, Ray, his partner - Walter Crow Horse, and their four children: Lukas, Marceline, and the twins - Bea and Orion. 

“Hey Pete,” Walter greets the younger man, pulling him in for a hug.

Pete smiles, “Hey, Walter, good to see you, how are the kids doing?”

He motions over to where Tom is standing, where the kids are currently jumping all over him with shouts of “Uncle Tom, Uncle Tom!” Ray laughs, causing Tom to look at his older brother with a sense of pride. Tom gently directs his nieces and nephews upstairs to where their own kids are peering down excitedly from the top of the stairs.

“Pete,” Ray gives him a hearty handshake, “Good to see you.”

“Good to see you too-” Pete begins to reciprocate, before Ray pulls him into a hug to whisper in his ear, “I hope you’ve been taking care of my brother?”

Pete leans back and nods nervously, not wanting to cross his brother-in-law, the ex-FBI agent who still terrified him. 

Ray relaxes, shooting his brother an easy smile, “You picked a good one, Tom.”

“I sure did,” Tom smiles, looking at Pete with all the admiration in the world.

The doorbell rings again, this time Pete goes to open it. Tom’s younger triplet brother, Chris, turned there, dressed in something that is mild for his taste.

“Tommy!” he exclaims, barreling into Tom with a giant bear hug.

“Chris!” Tom laughs, returning the hug.

Tom always spoke fondly of his younger brother, marvelling at his genius or extreme science projects. Pete watches as Ray walks ver to the pair, receiving his own hug from Simon.

“It’s good to see them all together,” Walter says, scaring Pete out of his thoughts.

“Yeah, there’s something about him this happy that I don’t see too often,” Pete responds, a gentle smile gracing his lips.

The doorbell rings again. This time, it reveals the youngest Kazansky sibling, Simon. He enters the house dressed in a nice plaid shirt, holding many bags filled to the brim. Pete hadn’t heard much about Simon from Tom, due to his work as an undercover agent, and he had only met the man once or twice.

“Simon,” Tom says slyly, raising an eyebrow, “Back in the country, I see?”

“You betcha,” Simon winks at his older brother, “I also brought gifts, so…”

“Come here,” Tom rolls his eyes fondly, bringing his youngest sibling in for a hug.

Finally, the only Kazansky sibling arrives with her family, Sarah, with her imposing presence. Tom always seemed in awe of his big sister and her prestigious job as a diplomat.

“I see you’re all here,” Sarah raises her eyebrow.

“Well it is my house,” Tom snarks, eyes softening, “Good to see you, Sarah.”

“You too, Tom,” Sarah ruffles her brother’s hair, causing him to snark in indignation.

Her two pre-teens, Anya and Lev, are greeted by Tom, and immediately shooed upstairs by Sarah, most likely to join the Kazanksy cousin chaos upstairs. Her husband, Mark, greets the siblings, giving each one a hug and holiday greeting.

“It’s good to be back together,” Sarah comments, looking at her younger brothers.

“Yeah,” Tom replies, pulling Pete into his side until the younger man’s head rests on his shoulder, “It really is.”

Chapter Text

Iceman is interrupted from the quiet that being home alone brought to the doorbell ringing. He sighs, checking his watch, and wondering who on earth could be knocking at this hour of the night.

The Daggers.

Putting his book down, he starts for the door, expecting to maybe see one or two of the kids Maverick adopted (and him apparently, by marriage and all) on the doorstep, asking Maverick for something.

Instead he is met by all twelve aviators, each dressed in pajamas and armed with snacks and pillows. They all stare at him in varying states of shock, like this isn’t his house that they showed up to.

“Um…hello aviators,” Iceman clears his throat, “Can I help you all?”

“Hi sir,” the brunette, which Iceman recognizes as Phoenix, pushes her way to the front of the group, “May we come inside?”

“Sure,” Iceman shrugs, opening the door wider so all of them can file in.

The group moves to the kitchen, setting their snacks on the marble countertop. It wasn't uncommon for Iceman to wake up and see a pilot or RIO in his kitchen or to come home for something and find one of them asleep on his couch. Truthfully, he enjoyed the company.

“I’m sorry to say Maverick isn’t here,” Iceman tells them.

“Oh we know, sir, ” Hangman says, elbowing Bradley in the ribs, “He told us earlier today.”

“We’re not here for him,” Rooster says, wincing when the words don’t come out the way he expected, “I mean - it would be nice if he were here, but we’re here for you. Did you get the text I sent?”

“I had my phone off,” Iceman sighs, reaching over the couch to find his phone.

It was the first time he had done that in months, maybe since becoming COMPACFLT. It seemed like at every hour of the day, someone needed his clearance for something. Even when he was on a “break” (he really didn’t have those), he always had Maverick in his texts, sending him a romantic message or a hey so i kinda crashed another plane message.

There was no in between with him.

Nevertheless, Maverick was out with Merlin, and knowing the two, they wouldn’t be back for a good four hours. If something was seriously wrong, there would probably be police cars, knowing what the two of them could get up to. Thus, Iceman decided to turn his phone off and enjoy his evening alone, getting invested in his book.

He turns the power button on, and right in the middle of his lockscreen is a message. Clicking it, he sees it’s the exact message his son had sent him.

Bradley

hey pops…

is it okay if we come over in like…five minutes?

“we” might be twelve aviators

cool, i’m taking that as a yes!

“Really?” Iceman deadpans, holding the screen up so Bradley can see.

“Blame Fanboy, he’s the one who had the idea!” Bradley exclaims, pointing at the black-haired RIO.

“Did Maverick put you up to this?” Iceman asks fondly, tone softening at the mention of his husband.

“No, actually, we just wanted to watch a movie with you!” Payback exclaims through a mouthful of popcorn.

“Oh,” Iceman is taken aback.

He had grown to love the group as much as Maverick, though usually only interacted with them when Maverick was around. The fact that they had decided to seek him out brought a smile to his face.

“In that case, how about we all head to the living room,” Iceman gestures, drawing an excited whoop from the rest of them.

Iceman sits himself on the edge of the sofa, where he was reading before. Rooster settles next to him, and Hangman on the other side of him. Iceman smirks at the two of them, making a note to tell his husband about them later. Bob and Phoenix cram into one of the love seats while Fritz occupies the other. The rest of them spread their blankets on the floor, getting comfortable.

He notices the kids have been shooting him strange looks throughout the evening. It must be that their COMPACFLT is currently on the sofa, in USNA sweatpants and a ratty band tee that’s Maverick. It took weeks for them to stop calling him sir and still some of them look like they want to salute.

On the flip side, he remembers their faces when they found out that Maverick was his husband. He thought that Omaha might have gone into shock, the way he was clutching his pearls. The fact that Rooster was his son also sent them reeling.

“What are we watching?” Halo asks from her blanket fort on the carpet.

“Hm…” Iceman mentally goes through his favorite movies.

Surveying the aviators’ faces, he can tell that it’s been a tough day for them. He was going to suggest Dead Poets Society, but that would not be a good idea given the current climate. He remembered when he showed Braley the movie, the ten year old boy had cried for a week.

“How about…” Iceman settles on one that he and Maverick have enjoyed, "Mission Impossible?”

“Yes!” Bradley hisses, “Is it just because you like the main actor?”

“Shut up,” Iceman says, infuriatingly fond. 

Iceman smiles, glad that he is able to share this moment with his son. He thanked every deity that he and Maverick were alive and in his life.

The other daggers murmur their agreement and so Iceman presses play on the movie. It’s pretty funny to watch it with this group of kids, between Yale’s sarcastic commentary and Fanboy’s endless stream of knowledge.

Eventually he feels his eyes start to droop. He always does this, falling asleep during a movie. He used to think of it as a vice, but now he welcomes it, surrounded by the people he loves. Once he can hold out no longer, he closes his eyes, letting sleep claim him.

He wakes an unknown time later, to soft fingers carding through his hair. He opens his eyes to see his husband’s radiant face smiling at him.

“Good evening, baby,” he greets, “Did you fall asleep?”

Iceman hums in agreement, pulling Maverick to the couch with him. His husband is still in his bomber jacket, but Iceman doesn’t care, breathing in the scent of Maverick.

“By the way, I sent the photo of you and the kids to the flyboy group chat.”

“You what?”

Chapter Text

Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw thought he had seen all forms of fury from his time in the Navy.

Hell hath no fury like a thirteen-year-old Amelia Benjamin, he thinks belatedly.

“What do you mean you have no gifts for your family?” she screams at him from the passenger seat.

Why did he agree to take Amelia shopping with him for the day?

“Keep your voice down,” he hisses, looking around the busy mall parking lot.

She gives him a look, “Brad-Brad, we’re in a parking lot filled with hundreds of people.”

He sighs, knowing she’s right. Bradley never liked shopping in general, but especially not at Christmastime. He wasn’t old enough to remember shopping with his mother, so most of his present shopping memories were from his dads. Luckily, he never usually went through the stress because he had Iceman as a dad.

Firstly, the man celebrated hanukkah, which meant that most gifts were exchanged over those eight nights. Secondly, the man was ultra prepared, buying gifts months in advance.

Then, there was Maverick. The one year that Iceman was deployed ended up with Maverick rushing around at ten pm on Christmas night looking for gifts.

Safe to say Maverick was never put in charge of Christmas present shopping again.

His sisters managed to inherit Iceman's organization skills. Bradley was ninety-nine percent sure that Callie and Natasha had the family’s gifts picked out.

“So…you want to tell me why we’re shopping for gifts two days before Christmas?” she says, hopping out of the Bronco.

“I went on that vacation with Jake to France at the beginning of the month,” Bradley explains to his cousin, “Then I had a class to teach, Dad ran us through some hops and…” Bradley trails off, walking toward the mall.

They both know what’s filling in the gap.

Now it’s December 23rd.

The mall is insane, just as Bradley expected. People rush everywhere, arms filled to the brim with paper shopping bags. A couple is arguing by the clothing store, babies are crying, and kids are running around. It's almost enough to make Bradley turn around again.

“Let’s begin, who’s on your list?” Amelia says.

Bradley fishes a piece of paper from his back pocket, “Pops, Dad, Callie, Natasha, Callie’s girlfriend, the rest of the Daggers, Uncle Wolf and Wood, Uncle Sli, Uncle Merlin, Uncle Sundown and Chipper, and Aunt Sarah.”

“Bradlet, that’s like twenty people! Do we have to buy gifts for all of them?” she exclaims, staring at the paper like it’s personally offended her.

Bradley admits, it is a lot.

“I already have a few. For Pops, I got him a scarf from Lyon. I got Dad a model of the Concorde from the airport. Then, I got Uncle Wood and Wolf a bottle of wine which is enough. And then for Uncle Merlin, I got him a book on linguistics from Shakespeare and Company,” he rattles off, glad that had gone that far.

“That’s a start,” she considers it, but won’t let him have the satisfaction, “But we still have a bunch of people to shop for.”

“I don't know what to get them!” he throws his hands up.

It sounded selfish, but it was true. Bradley could remember everything his family and friends ever said, for better or for worse. When it came to material goods, however, he was clueless.

“Don’t worry, I’ll help you, cousin of mine,” Amelia lays a hand on Bradley’s knit sweater.

“Sure,” Bradley narrows his eyes at her, but lets the younger woman drag him away.

He starts at one end of the mall at the bookstore, grabbing a political thriller for his Pops and a couple of Greek mythology books for Callie. Then, he pops into the hardware store, to grab some materials he knew his father needed for his plane. While Bradley was doing that, he sent Amelia with a detailed grocery list to the store in order to grab various chocolates for his uncles.

After about an hour, they reconvene in the food court. Bradley refuses to let Amelia pay for anything. After all, she was the one making sure he didn’t make a complete fool of himself on Christmas Day.

“I don’t know what to get for the Daggers,” he laments over a plate of sushi.

“What do you mean you don’t know what to get?” she eyes him over her milkshake.

“I know what they like but…what to get?” he groans.

“Give me the name of one of them and I’ll bet I can come up with something."

“Fanboy?” he asks.

She thinks for a moment, “Let’s go to the comic store, I think they have a Star Wars comic set for Fanboy. While we’re there, we should get Fritz a few 80s movie posters, maybe like the Breakfast Club or Dead Poets Society?”

“How do you know all this?” he asks in wonder.

“Easy, I notice stuff. Fanboy comes over to tutor me in biology every monday, and he has an assortment of Luke Skywalker pins on his backpack. Every time Fritz is with you at the bar and suggests a movie, he picks one from that era.”

Bradley marvels at his cousin’s insightfulness.

They split up again, this time Amelia gives him a list of what she thinks will be perfect for each of his “siblings” as she put it. Three hours later, the pair are walking to the car, Amelia tired out and Bradley short two hundred dollars.

When they hop in the Bronco, Amelia turns to him with a quizzical expression.

“Wait a minute…we didn’t get your boyfriend anything?” the teen croons, blinking up at him innocently.

“Shut up,” he feels his cheeks heat up, “I already got him something.”

She looks at him curiously. He feels his heart beating out of his chest, and takes a deep breath to steady himself.

“You can’t tell anyone,” he swears, pulling something out of his back pocket, “I’ve only told my dads and sisters.”

“Man cracked under no pressure,” she mutters, but her eyes go wide when she sees what his gift is.

Bradley opens the box to reveal a platinum ring with an emerald set in the center. Inscribed on the inside is the phrase wherever you go, i’ll follow. He had spent hours agonizing with Natasha in the jewelry shop, until his eyes found that one.

“No way!” she squeals, leaning over the console to give him a hug, “Can I be your best woman?”

He chuckles, “In your dreams, little bird.”

Chapter Text

It’s a quiet day on the ranch on Christmas, Tom thinks, sipping his coffee slowly.

Usually there’s a cacophony of sounds: animals braying, plows being run, and the farmhands yelling out to each other. Now it’s blissfully quiet, as if nature decided to observe the holiday.

Tom’s always liked his grandfather’s ranch, ever since he first came out here when he was a young boy. Nestled in the remote mountains of Colorado, the ranch spanned six hundred acres, with a quaint one-story house in the center. The Kazansky family weren’t traditional farmers, instead raising horses 

Out here, he can simply be Tom. Not the ice-cold, no mistakes pilot he had to act like 24/7 back on the Navy base. He’s just the grandchild who dutifully visits the elder generation around the holidays, helping out with the horses and keeping them company. His grandparents didn’t care what he was or who he liked, they might have been the only ones in his family to do that.

“Tomcat?” Iceman’s grandfather sticks his head out on the back porch breaking the serene stillness.

“Yes, Dedushka?” he asks.

“There’s someone here to see you, some short boy with a leather jacket,” he says, shaking his head in confusion.

Damn it, Pete.

“Iceman! Ice!” a voice yells from the hallway.

Tom counts down from three before a familiar mess of brown hair comes tumbling into the quiet. Maverick’s eyes are wide, his bomber jacket askew on his lanky frame.

“I-I didn’t know where you went! I asked everyone on base: Slider, Wolfman, Sundown - but no one could find you! Eventually I went digging around and I found-” Maverick starts to ramble, but Tom cuts him off with a finger to his lips.

“Pete, please,” he gets up, shrugging on his overcoat, “This is my grandfather, Dedushka, this is Peter, my wingman.” 

“A pleasure, Tommy’s told me music about you,” his grandfather gives Pete a firm handshake.

The three men stand in silence for a few beats, staring at the mountains rising in the distance with the morning fog obscuring the tips.

“Pete, why don’t I take you riding?” he suggests, placing his coffee on the side table.

“That sounds like a fine idea, I’ll leave you boys to it,” his grandfather winks, disappearing into the old wooden house.

Maverick looks like he has a million questions, “Ice-”

“Please, call me Tom,” he tells him, walking down the stairs toward the stables.

“Okay, Tom,” the older man shivers at the way Pete says his name, “Care to explain why you’re at a ranch in the middle of nowhere without telling anyone?”

“I’ll explain when we’re out there,” Tom marches ahead, “Tell me, have you ever ridden a horse?”

“No, why?”

Tom stops dead in his tracks, “That’s going to make things difficult.”

“Well excuse me for not having a lavish upbringing,” he snarks, but Tom decides to let the aggression go, after all it’s Christmas.

He keeps walking over the gravel road until he reaches the stables. Pushing open the wooden doors, he walks down the row until he lands on his favorite horse.

Seahawk.

She was a sturdy paint horse, all brown except for a splattering of white patches down her neck. Tom seemed to be her favorite handler, as she was his favorite horse. Tom leads the mare gently out of the stables, grabbing a saddle from the workbench.

“Without those cowboy boots on I think you’re pretty fit to ride,” Tom nods at Pete’s boots, before glancing at his own, “Wouldn’t you know it, I have a matching pair.”

At last when everything’s ready, Tom hops up on Seahawk with ease. He leans down to where Pete is staring at him in awe, offering him a hand.

“Are you coming on Seahawk or what?” he asks, a smile gracing his features.

“You named your horse after a plane?” Pete responds, accepting the help.

Pete swings onto the back of the horse, sitting so his body is directly lined up behind the older pilot’s.

“You better hold on tight,” Tom turns around, smirking.

“Why-” Pete’s question is cut off by Tom flicking the reins, sending Seahawk into a steady gallop.

Pete winds his arms around Tom’s waist over his overcoat as the wind rushes by them. It’s a chilly morning, but they’ll warm up in no time. Tom settles into autopilot, guiding Seahawk toward a path leading up into the mountains.

“This is my grandparents’ ranch,” Tom starts to explain over the rushing in his ears, “They immigrated from Russia in the nineteen thirties. My grandfather was a horse breeder and that transferred over.”

Pete hums in his ear, sending shivers down his spine, “That doesn't explain why you disappeared up here.” 

Tom pauses, searching for the right words, ‘I don’t exactly like people knowing about this. Hell, I haven’t even told Slider. How’d you manage to find me?”

“After enough pestering, I got your sister’s phone number from Slider. She led me right here.”

Jesus, Sarah.

“I thought you were staying with Carole and Bradley for the winter holidays?” Tom asks, slowing Seahawk to a gallop and causing Pete to dig further into his back.

“They’re in Texas.”

“What about the flyboys?”

“Tom, I thought you were smarter than this!’ Pete explains, shoving his chin on top of Tom’s left shoulder, “I wanted to spend Christmas with you.”

Oh?

“You mean…” Tom tilts his head, until those lovely sea green eyes meet his.

“Yeah,” Pete whispers, pressing their lips together.

Once they finally stop about ten minutes later, Tom decides it’s for the best that they head back. He feels like he’s going to float right off the horse because Pete “Maverick” Mitchell just kissed him.

“You boys have fun?” Tom’s grandmother greets them from her seat on the recliner once they enter the house.

“Yeah,” Tom smiles, grinning at Pete beside him over their linked hands.

“It’s a pity there’s only one bedroom,” the older woman clicks her tongue knowingly, “But I think you’ll manage."

Chapter Text

“Jesus Ice, you’re still working?”

Iceman looks up from the pile of papers on his desk, vision going slightly blurry at the change of scenery. He blinks a few times, trying to adjust to the darkness in the other corners of the room. Sitting on the couch, rubbing sleep out of his eyes, is his darling husband, Maverick.

“Yeah, I mean I zoned out for a bit,” Iceman admits, stretching his hands above his chair.

“Babe it’s...” Maverick squints at the clock hanging on the wall, “A quarter till midnight and you’ve been at it since dawn.”

Iceman sighs, knowing Maverick is right. The work of the COMPACFLT was exhausting, but never usually to this extent. He hadn’t worked for a full twenty-four hours since he was in flight school. If anything, he just wanted to lie down with his husband and sleep forever, like he had been doing that morning.

Until a standoff between a US carrier and a submarine left with casualties that were still rising.

Which is where Iceman currently is, staring down an official report from two hours ago, detailing the attack. He was due in Washington DC the next day, so in hindsight this wasn’t the greatest idea.

“You can go home, darling,” Iceman says, scrubbing a hand over his disheveled grey hair.

“No way, the bed’s too cold without you,” Maverick hums trying to get comfortable.

Iceman watches him, wincing as Maverick lets out a hiss of pain. It had only been two weeks since he had gotten out of the hospital. His husband was still sore, given the way he was moving. The couch Iceman had tucked in the corner of his office was not doing the younger man any favors.

“Mav, I can ask Bradley to pick you up, he;s still awake,” Iceman glances at his phone, where his son had been texting him half an hour ago about Hangman this and Hangman that.

Iceman could only take so much at a time.

“No, no, I’m fine, Maverick whines, sitting up once he figures that sleeping again is a losing battle.

“Okay then,” Iceman adjusts his glasses, “I’m not sure how long I’m going to be here.”

As if on cue, his phone rings. Iceman gives a regretful look to Maverick, picking up the receiver, “Admiral Kazansky speaking.”

“Hello Admiral, just confirming the plan for tomorrow morning at 0900 hours…”

Iceman gets lost in the call for another hour, finalizing details about his emergency trip to convene with the Secretary of Defense and President. As the call is winding down, he looks up at the clock and realizes that his flight’s in nine hours.

Fun.

“Alright, thank you for your help, goodbye,” Iceman hangs up the phone, letting out a low groan.

“Maverick, I swear I’m going to…Maverick?” Iceman starts to mutter, looking around for his husband.

His husband is nowhere in sight, the only clue to his whereabouts being his office door slightly ajar. He curses under his breath, jumping out of his seat, and ignoring the pops his knees make.

Iceman grabs his phone, pressing the call button in an effort to find his wayward husband. It rings once…twice…thrice… before Iceman hears it across the room. It would appear Maverick left his phone.

Again.

Iceman collapses into his chair, exhausted. He’s placated only by the fact that because of Maverick’s injuries, he probably wouldn’t have gone far. Then again, he’s Maverick. Iceman stares down at the reports in front of him, dooming himself for another hour of work.

He only has to wait another hour before the telltale creak of the office door  alerts him of his husband’s presence.

“Where were you?” he asks earnestly, not looking up from the documents he was signing.

“I went home,” Maverick says nonchalantly, causing Iceman’s head to jerk up.

“You what?!” he exclaims, “Maverick you could have gotten hurt, you know the doctor told you not to drive.”

“Sure,” Maverick scoffs, rolling his eyes, “The doctor also told me not to do that after the dakstar and i flew a suicide mission and succeded. Whose word are we taking here?”

“Maverick, please,” Iceman is not above begging at this point, “If someone tell you to do something it’s for your own-”

He is interrupted from his spiel by Maverick shoving something in his mouth. Upon the taste, it’s a chocolate chip cookie. One of Slider’s. Iceman looks up at his husband, who is perched on his desk and looking like the cat that got the canary.

“Where’d you get these?” he asks between bites.

“Some leftovers from the tin Slider dropped off after I got out of hospital,” he explains, pulling something else out, “Here, I got you some coffee as well. Caffeinated, you look like you need it.”

Iceman accepts the thermos Maverick has offered him gratefully, taking a big swig. Already he feels energized as opposed to the slugginess that had been brought on by his all nighter.

“Did I ever tell you that you’re the best husband in the world?” he smirks, taking a bite of another cookie.

“Maybe once or twice,” Maverick smiles and pretends to consider it, “It wouldn’t hurt to hear it again.”

“You are the best husband in the world and I love you infinitely,” Iceman presses a kiss to the corner of Maverick’s mouth.

“Yeah, yeah, now go save the world,” Maverick blushes, retaking his seat on the couch.

He watches his husband struggle to readjust himself on the brown couch again before an idea pops into his head. Iceman smiles just thinking about it.

“Scoot over,” Iceman demands, getting up from his desk chair.

Maverick obeys, giving Iceman enough room to sit next to him on the old sofa. Maverick lays his head on Iceman’s lap, forcing the older man to place his classified paperwork on the armrest.

“Good night,” the younger man mumbles.

“Goodnight, my love,” Iceman runs a hand over Maverick’s hair, who is fast asleep.

Maybe the paperwork could wait.

Chapter Text

It’s a cold night, but Tom “Iceman” Kazansky doesn’t feel it.

He’s not sure he feels anything right now. He’s numb. His body feels like dead weight dragging him down. All he can do is stare up at the night sky and will his tears not to fall, but they always do. He doesn't want to get up from his spot on the back porch, even though he knows he’ll freeze out here.

He doesn’t want to do anything.

“It’s a pretty cold night to be out,” a voice says from the gate.

Iceman (if he can even be called that, there’s nothing ice-cold about him) recognizes the voice and wants to retreat further in on himself. He knows he’s not being robbed, but he almost wishes he was.

Something to get him moving.

“Meh,” Tom says, voice cracking, “It’s average.”

The face of Ron “Slider” Kerner comes into view, illuminated only by the moonlight. His brown hair is unkept, most likely from a night at the O Club.

“I was coming to get you, but you weren’t in the hangar,” the RIO begins to ramble, but stops short once he sees the position his pilot is in, “Jesus, what happened to you?”

Tom knows he must look pitiful right now, eyes red, hair a mess, lying on the wooden boards of his deck with a glass of something strong next to him. He can’t bring himself to care.

“The Admiral,” he chokes out, “He died.”

Slider’s eyes go wide. They both know they’re not just talking about any Admiral. No, this one has a distinct role in Tom’s life, which has been to make his life a living heel from the moment he entered this world.

His father.

“When?” Slider asks quietly, taking a seat on one of the mismatched deck chairs Maverick bought when they moved in together.

“My mother told me this morning,” Iceman laughs bitterly, not moving, “So it could have been days, you know her. She also told me to go to hell while I’m at it, so that’s nice.”

“Jesus, Tommy,” Ron swears, shaking his head, “But that means he won’t be able to bother you anymore, right?”

“He’s come from beyond the grave,” Iceman moans, pointing to a letter next to him.

Ron picks it up, skimming over the contents. Tom watches with watery eyes as the older man’s eyes go impossibly wide and filled with rage.

“What - he can’t say these things to you, Tommy!” Slider exclaims angrily, slamming the letter down, “‘You’re not my son’ and ‘you’re weak’ - who does this guy think he is?”

“He said worse to my face,” Iceman says bluntly, “Besides, he’s dead, what more can I do?”

“Are you okay?” Ron levels his pilot with a look.

Tom doesn’t respond for a couple moments. He wants to get up and flash his trademark grin, saying that of course, why wouldn’t I be? Right now he can’t find the energy.

“Actually don’t answer that,” Ron shakes his head, “How long have you been out here?”

“Since I got home from work,” Tom mutters, waiting for what’s to come.

“Okay Tommy,” Ron sighs, “Let’s get you inside.”

Maybe with his brother by his side, everything would be fine.

Chapter Text

“Ice, Ice, baby, where are we?” Maverick groans, throwing his arm over head dramatically.

In hindsight, Iceman thinks his husband has never looked more beautiful. Of course, he had been thinking that for thirty years, but this time it was true. The afternoon sunlight was hitting Maverick at the right angle, illuminating his hair and highlighting his emerald eyes beneath his sunglasses.

“First of all, don’t call me that,” Iceman’s lips twitch up at his husband’s antics, "Secondly, we’re almost there.”

“You said that two hours ago!” Maverick pouts, looking at his husband in shock through his ever-present aviators.

Iceman sighs tiredly, sue him for trying to do something nice for his impatient husband.

“It’s a straight two hour drive there,” Iceman placates, “It’s taken us five hours because I decided to make a day of it.”

The couple had indeed, made a day of it. They left their house down in La Jolla around mid-morning, driving on I-5 until they stumbled upon a local diner for lunch. Maverick had seemed to be familiar with the hostess, and when Iceman asked the reason he got a mumbled reply about the Darkstar.

In this case, Iceman felt it was better not to know.

After that, Iceman had dragged his husband on a hike in the surrounding mountains. Maverick had gone for a dip in the stream, but Iceman was perfectly content to watch him from a distance, nice and dry.

That was until Maverick came over to him with a devious grin and shook the water off like a wet dog.

Now, one change of clothes and a makeout session later, they were back in the car. The couple had been driving for a half hour along the dusty desert roads, the only scenery being the cacti and occasional vulture.

It would have been the perfect date for their five year anniversary (of being married, they were coming up on thirty for being together), but Maverick deserved something more. After years of uncertainty and at last being able to celebrate their love, Ice had come up with the perfect idea.

“Are we there yet?” Maverick whines, grabbing Iceman’s hand.

Iceman complies, taking one hand off the steering wheel to intertwine with his husband’s. Usually he would be talking about road safety, but the couple hasn’t spotted a car for miles. All they see is remote desert surrounding them on all sides.

“Actually we are,” Iceman smiles, pulling the Subaru into a grey road, although it wasn’t really a road.

Stretched out in front of them is a runway, with faint yellow lines marking the cracked concrete stretch. At the end of the runway is an abandoned hanger. Iceman had been up here a couple times, making sure that it wasn’t a murderers den. Once he was sure of that, it was time to set his plan in motion.

Being high up in the Navy did have its perks.

“Ice, what is this?” Maverick seems more awake now.

Iceman winces. He knew what it would look like to Maverick, a run-down Navy hanger in the middle of nowhere. 

“I know you’ve been listening to Dateline, but surely you haven’t got any ideas,” Maverick babbles nervously.

Ice’s anxiety spikes. He had been planning this surprise for months, completing hours of paperwork and making sure that everything went off without a hitch. What if it was all for nothing?

“My love, chill,” he presses a finger to his lips and stops the car, “You’ll see what it is in a moment.”

Maverick has never taken surprises well, so he hops anxiously out of the car. Iceman follows, leading the way to the hangar. Ice wraps his parachute jacket tighter around his frame, the mid-January breeze sharp. His boots crunch over the melted snow settling over the area. Ice hopes that it doesn’t rust the place further, he already had to make enough repairs as is.

When they get to the door, Iceman takes a deep breath. Maverick is bursting with excitement, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Happy anniversary my love,” Iceman smiles, sliding open the door to reveal what Maverick has dreamed of.

Maverick gasps softly, eyes widening like he can’t believe it’s all real. Parked in front of him, is a vintage P-51, the exact model Maverick had been obsessing over for decades. Iceman had convinced Slider to acquire it off some aviation geek and the two of them had barely managed to fly it into the Mojave Desert. 

He still wasn’t sure how he was alive after those harrowing forty minutes in the air. The old aircraft wouldn’t survive another flight without major renovations, that’s for sure. To anyone else, it may look like a piece of junk. To Maverick, it was a challenge, something to conquer.

“Ice…” Maverick whispers breathily, running his hands over the sleek silver sides, “I love it! But where will we store it?”

Ice looks around the hanger. He and Bradley had spent all day cleaning out the dust and random mechanical parts littering the space, until all that remained was an empty space.

Seeing as Maverick isn’t following his gaze, Iceman throws a pair of keys to Maverick. The younger man catches them with ease, joy grinning on his face.

“It’s an old World War Two hanger. The Navy was going to demolish it and they were more than happy for me to take it off their hands,” Iceman explains, “It’s all yours, baby. Figure you could store your motorcycles and all the mechanic stuff here.”

Iceman doesn't get too far because Maverick rushes up to him and kisses him square on the lips. The sudden burst of affection shocks him, but he leans into the kiss and rests his arms around Maverick’s neck.

“You are the best husband ever,” the brunette pilot laughs when they break apart.

“Only for you,” Iceman winks, chest warming.

It’s true. Tom “Iceman” Kazansky would do anything for this infuriating man he so happened to call his husband.

Chapter Text

To everyone else, Tom “Iceman” Kazansky was something of a mystery.

Typically, the blond-haired pilot liked to keep it that way. The less people knew about him personally, the less they could use against him. He had already suffered enough in his childhood, why should he bring more upon himself now?

Thus, the aviator adopted the ice-cold person that came with his callsign. He flew by the book, catching others’s mistakes but never allowing himself to make any. Anything that he did was done for a specific purpose, to better himself or the Navy. His instructors loved and his peers hated him but Ice didn’t notice. He was focused on one thing and one thing only: the top.

Until a certain brunette pilot weaseled his way into Iceman’s life, flipping it upside down forever.

Suddenly, Ice found himself chasing the thrill that was Pete “Maverick” Mitchell. He lived for the sporadic chaos that was how the younger aviator lived his life, treating each moment like it was the last.

Which leads Iceman to this moment, walking into their house. The blond-haired pilot had an extremely stressful day at work and truthfully was not looking forward to continuing to unpack boxes. Ice opens the door and shuts it behind him, toeing off his shoes.

They had finally bought a house. After years of living in separate dorms, medocera base housing, and carrier assignments; they finally had a place to call their own.

“Pete, I’m home!” he shouts, walking deeper into the house.

There’s music coming from the corner of the house, and off-key singing accompanying it. The sharp, chemical oder of paint wafts toward him, over the scent of drywall and sawdust that had settled into the house. Ice notes the windows have been opened all around the house, so at least Maverick listened to him on some things.

It’s in the room adjacent to the living room where Iceman finds Maverick. It was the room they had been arguing over what to turn it into for weeks. Eventually, Maverick hadproposed to turn it into a study and a place to store his “endless supply of books”.

Ice spots his boyfriend standing on the bottom rung of the bookshelf, balancing on it in order to paint a spot near the ceiling. There’s no ladder or any other professional materials. Half of the room is already covered in a baby blue paint job. Not a dark blue or a muted bluish white.

Baby blue.

“What are you doing?” Ice asks, narrowing his eyes.

Maverick jumps at his voice, nearly toppling off the bookshelf. Thankfully, he catches himself and steps down, leaving Iceman’s nerves in the sky.

“Oh, Ice!” Maverick grins, setting down his paintbrush.

The younger pilot all but launches himself at Ice, standing on his tip toes and wrapping his arms around the older man’s neck. Ice picks him up so his feet are dusting the ground. There’s paint everywhere on his body - in his hair, smudged against his cheeks, and even coating the front of his old university shirt.

“What are you doing, Maverick?” he repeats, settling the younger man down.

“Well, I was home from work today and I saw that lis you left on the counter,” Maverick explains, “I figured I’d knock off one of the tasks.”

Iceman feels warmth burst through his chest at the thought that Maverick had done something so sweet for him. Ever since he and Maverick had bought the house a month ago, it had been an endless cycle of buying materials, renovating the rooms, and finally moving in. Ice had started a to-do list with a couple tasks but now it was up to twenty or more.

This had been one of the last things on the list. The room was an ugly shade of beige below the hideous flowlery wallpaper. He had no idea what color would even pair well with the situation of the room.

Ice sighs, lips twitching, “So, why’d you pick this color?”

“You don’t like, Iceman?” Maverick places emphasis on the first part of his callsign.

The blonde pilot has to admit, the room does look nice. The baby blue walls pair perfectly with the sunlight streaming through the grand windows lining the right side of the room. It’s just…not what he would have gone for.

“You hate it,” Maverick’s grin falters.

“I…” Ice pauses, trying to find the words.

“I gust thought since this is our first place together, we could make it ours, you know?” Maverick rambles, lowering his roller slowly, “I wanted something that was ours.”

“Ours?” Ice repeats, expression softening just a fraction.

Maverick rubs the back of his head sheepishly. “I also thought the color was nice. Sky blue, aviation, all that. The house had been beige for the last twenty five years, it derived a little bit of joy.”

Ice walks further into the room, drop cloth crinkling beneath his feet. He places a hand to the wall, feeling the paint. It’s still tacky, the work of a quick paint job. There isn’t any tape placed above the baseboards, so the blue meets the white in an uneven clash of color.

“It’s very…blue.”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” Maverick laughs nervously.

Ice looks at his boyfriend again and something shifts. Maybe the room is ridiculous, but it’s warm and bright. The exact opposite of how he lived his life for the first twenty years of his life.

Ice looks around once more before going into the corner of the room and picking up a spare paintbrush.

“What are you doing?” Maverick asks.

“The trim’s uneven,” Ice responds, “If we’re doing this, then we need to do it well.”

Maverick’s grin goes soft, “Aw, I knew you’d cave in, ya big softie.”

Ice rolls his eyes playfully, “Sure, sure. Now get to work.”

Maverick bumps Iceman’s hip playfully as they get to work, painting the last wall together. For once, Iceman didn’t care about control and precision. He made his boyfriend happy and that was all that mattered.