Chapter Text
Admiral Tom “Iceman” Kazansky hummed quietly to himself as he shuffled through the reports on his desk.
Mav was coming home.
Ice had known who he had married, and he’d accepted that Mav wasn’t the sort of person to be tied down to one place, not when there were so many adventures to be had. Mav came home on breaks and holidays and leave, and they called and texted and video chatted when he was gone. It worked in its own way.
But Ice couldn’t deny he was looking forward to waking up beside his husband every day for the next month at least.
That is, if Mav was still talking to him after he was briefed on the mission.
Ice grimaced and hid the file labelled Bradley Bradshaw under a pile of budget reports.
It wasn’t his fault that Mav was the best of the best (besides himself of course), and it certainly wasn’t his fault that Rooster had been tapped for this mission. And, who knew. Maybe this whole mess would finally get his husband and their wayward kid talking again.
Ice allowed himself a glimpse at the small photo frame on his desk. Tucked between a much larger one of his sister Sarah and her two kids, the picture was discreet, easily overlooked. For his eyes only.
In it, Mav is grinning as wide as Ice had ever seen, his nose red with sunburn and his pants wet to the knee from the water swirling around his legs. On his shoulders, caught mid-laugh, is Bradley, age 8, covered in sand, a sprinkle of freckles stark against his skin.
Its one of his favorite pictures, taken the day before Carole’s diagnosis. The day before everything had changed.
A sharp rap at the door broke his concentration.
He sighed. “Come in.”
“Uh, Admiral Kazansky, sir?” The young officer was sweating bullets in a way no one had around him since his first week.
“Yes?” Ice attempted to look nonthreatening, rearranging his mouth into a smile.
The kid cleared his throat nervously, “Admiral Cain called? About the Captain Mitchell transfer?”
Oh boy. “What about it?”
“Uh,” he shuffled, “uh, well, sir…”
“Spit it out, son.” Ice snapped, a little less patiently than he meant to.
The officer squeaked, “CaptainMitchellcrashedtheplanehewastestingandhescurrentlyMIA.”
Iceman felt the chill he was named for creeping down his spine. “What did you say?”
“Admiral Cain said to tell you they are currently trying to locate Captain Mitchell. If they find him, they will send him your way.”
If. Ice swallowed, dismissing the boy with a wave of his hand. As soon as the door closed, Ice dropped his head into his hands and took several shaky breaths.
“Goddammit, Maverick.” He whispered to the silent office. “Come home, sweetheart. Please, please come home.”
When he has a better hold of himself, Ice sits up and wakes his computer, using his clearance to open the files of the Darkstar project.
The new stuff is barely an hour old, some of it still being uploaded and sorted by the system, but he’s not looking for that sort of data.
He clicks through until he finds the transcript of the last test flight, skims it, and feels the bottom fall out of his stomach.
Mach 10.2. System overload. Lost contact. Explosion. Fireball seen for miles. Pilot MIA.
“God, Mav.”
He clicks through more files.
There’s a part of him that swells with pride, knowing that Mav, his Maverick, had been the fastest man alive not two hours ago, soaring through the sky where he’d always felt most at home. Ice had always known, however much he tried to ignore it, that he would probably outlive his husband. Ice’s health had always been more fragile, a huge part of the reason he had taken promotion after promotion instead of staying in the sky. But Mav, like his name suggested, was a risk taker. A boundary pusher. The sort of man that would go Mach 10.2 on a test that was scheduled to ease up to Mach 9.
Ice frowned.
Why had Mav gone over like that? Risk taking was very much his game, but pure recklessness? That wasn’t. Even his craziest stunts always had a motive.
Ice scrolled back to the top of the transcript, reading slower. Hondo was worried about Admiral Cain’s arrival, telling Mav they could still call off the test, that Mav ‘knew what would happen to him’ if they didn’t.
And Mav, replying back, “I know what happens to everyone else if I don’t.”
He digs deeper, finally finds the flag on a buried file.
Project Darkstar to be dismantled, citing failure to reach desired goal of Mach 10. Admiral Cain signing.
Ice stared at the screen. 126 people. Between the scientists, ground crew, control… 126 jobs.
The reason.
It was cold comfort, perhaps, but it was comfort. If Mav was dead, he’d died doing what he thought was right. He’d died protecting 126 people.
Still, dead or alive, Ice was going to wring Admiral Cain’s neck.
He needed Mav. The Navy needed Mav. Who else was going to teach this impossible mission, get these kids home? Who could teach Bradley…
Oh god.
Bradley.
Ice had watched the fallout of the decision Mav had made ten years ago, watched two of the people he loved most dearly be separated by a gulf that only ever seemed to widen. With Mav, he’d been forced to watch Bradley – Rooster now – grow up from a distance.
Grow into the man and pilot all three of his father figures had made him, despite his mother’s wishes.
Rooster could pretend all he liked, but Ice knew hate could never exist in so strong a form without it being born from love. The kid would be devasted by this loss. Mav had been as good as a father to him since the day Goose had died, and no amount of bitterness between them could fully destroy the love that had once been there.
And, without Mav to teach this mission, to convince these kids that the impossible was possible, it was a distinct possibility that Ice would lose Bradley as well in just a few short weeks.
“God, Mav,” And this time Ice couldn’t quite stop the tears as he pressed a hand to his face, “why’d you have to go and mess everything up, sweetheart?”
He was trying, trying so hard to hold onto hope, to hold on to the possibility that Mav had managed to eject, to land safely, to be uninjured enough to get to rescue. That the famous Maverick luck had won the day again.
But his brain kept showing him the words, stark black against the dull white background.
Mach 10.2. System overload. Lost contact. Explosion. Fireball seen for miles. Pilot MIA.
His phone rang.
Ice gulped a few deep breaths, trying to get his voice and hands steady enough to take the call.
“Hello?”
“Admiral Kazansky?”
“Speaking. Who is this?”
“Sir, my name is Hondo. I work with Maverick. I’m calling to let you know we found him, sir. Maverick is on his way back to the base as we speak, and appears to be uninjured. I thought you would want to know.” The tone of the last suggests Mav had told Hondo who Ice really was to him, a fact they didn’t tend to spread around the Navy except to those they truly trusted.
“I…” Ice’s voice leaves him. He swallows hard. “Thank you, Hondo.”
“No sir, thank you. It was an absolute honor to work with him, sir. I’m sorry to have to give him back, quite honestly.”
Ice huffed a laugh, fondness bubbling up in his chest.
Mav.
“I appreciate you calling me.”
Hondo kindly didn’t comment on the ever-growing huskiness of his voice. “Of course, sir. Goodbye, Admiral.”
Ice hung up the phone and dissolved into tears for the second time, this time ones of utter relief.
Mav was coming home.