Chapter Text
It’s mid-December, and the city streets are slick with frost as Maverick lugs his overstuffed duffel the 3 blocks from the subway station to the address he’s spent the last few months scoring into his memory. With every scribbled iteration on the backs of postcards and corners of envelopes, it wasn’t long before it was irremovable.
New York is a stranger to him—everything so bright and alive, even as winter begins to set in. The atmosphere of the place is so overwhelming that despite his exhilaration, Maverick is forced to pull the hood of his jacket up over his ears and try his best not to stare at the lights as he keeps his focus on his destination.
He barely notices as he passes huge skyscrapers, his eyes behind half-frozen eyelashes too purposefully focused on every crack in the sidewalk. He walks in silence for another block until he realises he’s reached the building, and dares to look up.
The vertigo that hits him is like nothing he’s felt before. He’d known somewhere in the back of his mind about this place, fifth avenue—seen it in travel brochures and glamorous tv shows. Somehow each time he had written it down, he hadn’t quite put the images together in his mind.
Every building along the avenue is towering, all shining glass and sparkling lights. Maverick is dazzled for a long moment, a deer in headlights. He’s been to cities before, but nothing could have prepared him for this. It’s breathtaking, mesmerising.
He steels himself, returning his gaze to the ground and steadying his shaking limbs. The three steps up to the door are a personal Everest—his initial excitement at the prospect of this visit giving way to a spiral- had this been a good idea? Will he even be welcome?
It’s stupid, of course. He knows it is. There had been no lack of clarity in the letters he’d received. If he was ever in town—he knew where to go. It had been a light suggestion, an unlikelihood at first. Maverick had had no intention of ending up in Manhattan, now or ever. But as fate (and the Navy) would have it, this was where he found himself.
Clearing his throat weakly, trying not to think about how fast his heart is pounding against his ribcage, he dials the intercom to the apartment number and waits, blowing hot breath into his palms and dancing on his heels in an effort to suppress the shivers that run through him.
There’s a ringing and then a click—the intercom being picked up. He breathes a sigh of relief, having not called ahead to check if the man on the other end was even home. He’d wanted it to be a surprise, after all, albeit a poorly conceived one.
A familiar voice on the other end crackles through the speaker. “Who is it?”
“Delivery” Maverick replies, doing his best to lower and disguise his voice, and also not to laugh.
Apparently his reason is accepted, because almost immediately and without further questions the speaker cuts out and there’s a loud buzz as the door clicks open, and Maverick lets himself inside.
He takes the stairs, needing time to collect himself before he reaches the door. It doesn’t take long for him to regret that decision, reaching the 6th floor and realising he still has 12 to go. The shoulder strap of his duffel digs in, but he’s determined to press on. He flies jets for a living, for Christ's sake. He will not let himself be defeated by a staircase.
After a brief pause to catch his breath once he reaches the 18th floor, he continues down the corridor ahead until he reaches the door, pausing again, thinking on his last chance to go back on this decision.
He knocks before he can talk himself out of it—he’d always been one to take advantage of his impulsivity, it can, after all, be useful at times. There’s a few seconds of the most deafening silence Maverick thinks he’s ever not heard, and then the sound of footsteps approaching the door, and the lock being undone. No backing out now.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
Maverick can’t even try to hold back the grin on his face as the door pulls back and there, clad in a button down shirt and uniform trousers, clearly recently returned from work, is Iceman.
It’s been three years since they last met face to face, and though Maverick cherished every letter they’d exchanged in that time, nothing really compared to the real thing. There was something about Ice, maybe the spark in his crystal-blue eyes, or the subtle smirk he put on whenever was waiting his turn to make a debate-winning retort, but there was something electric about the man. Just being around him was a high Maverick had never found anywhere else, though flying came close to it.
Ice looks exhausted, his spiked up hair half-flattened by wind and snow, but his eyes light up as he takes in the scene before him.
“Maverick? What the hell are you doing here, man, aren’t you supposed to be in the middle of the Atlantic right now?”
Maverick’s grin shines in full force. “Technically speaking, that’s classified. And also technically speaking, I have a full day of freedom tomorrow. Ship’s docked not far from here, and I was hoping I could maybe… stay with you?”
The other man is taken aback slightly, but clearly more in shock than disappointment. Maverick doesn’t blame the man, it’s not every day you see someone after three years apart, much less your wingman. Ice takes a second to gather himself before responding,
“Of course, Mav. You know you’re always welcome here. Shit, get in here, you must be freezing. I’ve just put the heater on, sorry, I actually only just got in.”
“Chill out, Iceman,” Ice scowls at Maverick’s choice of wording- though there’s a quiet fondness behind it that does not go unnoticed by Mav— “I’m alright. You did literally just agree to let me freeload here, I’m not about to complain.”
Ice smiles and beckons Maverick inside what must be the living room. The first thing that strikes Maverick about the place is the windows. They’re nearly floor to ceiling, and the view outside is striking. A ways away, a thousand tiny lights shine in windows and reflections. Before that, though, is a vast expanse of dark green, split by paths and waterways. From the ground, walking past it, Maverick hadn’t really processed the scale, but now he sees Central Park in its full glory.
It’s breathtaking, and he finds himself lost in the view until Ice offers to take his bag. “You can take the bed—place is supposed to have two bedrooms but I ended up turning the second one into an office.”
This is when the second thing strikes Maverick. The walls in the living room are stacked with boxes, and the room itself seems to be missing some furniture. “I should take the couch, it’s your bed. I’m alright, I promise.”
“Nonsense, Mav. You’re a guest, I want you to be comfortable. Besides, I like the view out here.” Ice starts walking down the hall with Maverick’s navy-issue duffel bag, and it seems the discussion is over. Knowing better than to attempt to convince Iceman out of a decision he’s already made, Maverick follows, hanging up his snow-soaked jacket on the coatrack as he passes by.
Maverick leans on the doorway as Ice deposits the bag at the foot of the bed and does the rounds of the room, gathering his own belongings (though there are few, Maverick notices) in his hands and taking them back out into the living room. The small collection of a glasses case, a notebook, and some paperwork makes its way onto a side table next to the couch, one of very few actual pieces of furniture in the space. The two men then settle on the couch—they have a lot of catching up to do.
“Ice, when you wrote to me saying you bought a place a few months ago, I kinda figured you’d have actually moved into it by now.”
“I know, it’s a mess. I’ve just been so busy since getting promoted, and this role- I’ve honestly spent half that time overseas and the other half working here in the city, so I usually just crash as soon as I’m in the door. Haven’t had chance to properly unpack yet—not that I really have much to unpack. Most of the boxes are books, and a few things I still had around from my parent’s place.”
Maverick nods—they’re used to moving around, not keeping many belongings. It makes sense that Ice hasn’t readjusted to having a stable home base, having spent so long split between assignment housing and cramped dorm rooms. “How’s the job treating you then?”
Ice shrugs. “I love what I do. I’m good at it, and the people I’ve been working with are incredible. I don’t get to fly as much as I’d like, but you know how it is with promotions in our line of work. The more responsibility, the further they take you from the action.”
“It’s a good thing I’ll never let them promote me behind a desk. I’ll be in the air as long as I humanly can.”
Ice laughs gently, “I’d take that bet.”
“You, though.” Maverick points animatedly at his wingman, “Mr Commander Iceman, you are gonna go further than all of us. I’ll just have to get enough hours up there for the both of us.”
“They’ll have to hold me back from joining you up there. I’d hate to retire without knowing which one of us is the better pilot, once and for all.”
“Well, it seems we have an agreement. You can stay on the ground and be the youngest admiral the navy’s ever seen, and whenever you need to, whenever you give the order, you’ll be right back on my wing again. I guess for now you’ll just have to live vicariously through me and my tales of valour.”
Ice rolls his eyes fondly. “Of which I’m sure you have plenty you never mentioned in your letters.”
“Oh, you have no idea—”
They stay this way for a long time, recounting so many things they’ve missed and forgotten to tell the other about. It’s comfortable, familiar. Three years apart hasn’t changed a thing between them, same old Maverick and Iceman.
Eventually Maverick yawns loudly and Ice takes the cue to shoo him off to bed, making sure he’s settled before heading back to the couch.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
Maverick’s sleep is mercifully dreamless, and it’s a long time until he wakes, stretching and giving himself time to adjust. It’s been a hot minute since he’s slept in a real bed, and God, did he miss it. He’s used to bunks, used to handling whatever discomforts the navy saddles him with, but it’s always nice to catch a little proper respite when he can.
He drags himself from the bed at what his watch tells him is a little before 7am.
Carefully, so as not to disturb Ice, he opens the bedroom door and steps out into the hall. A muted blue light filters down the hall, coming from the windows in the main area. Maverick follows it, and finds Ice already sat up, taking slow sips from a mug as the smell of fresh coffee fills the space. Ice turns as he hears Maverick enter, and speaks softly, “I made coffee—mugs are in the cabinet above the pot.”
Maverick shuffles into the kitchen, a small area adjoining the living room, a half-wall separating the two rooms. He grabs a mug from the cabinet and pours himself a generous amount of coffee, then heads to where Ice has already shuffled over on the couch to let him sit.
The two men stay quiet, watching as the hue of the city shifts with the sunrise.
After a while, Ice clears his throat, “I called off my meetings today. Let me show you the city?”
“You? Called off meetings?”
“They can wait. This is more important.” Ice’s true words go unsaid. You’re more important.
Maverick smiles. “Okay. Lead on, Iceman. Where to first?”
“First, breakfast.”
“I can get behind that idea.”
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
Once they’re both wrapped up warm and have everything they need to stay that way, Ice grabs his camera from by the door and they head out into the city. Ice leads them to a spot he knows a few blocks away and the pair make their orders.
The cafe is cramped, but in a way that makes it feel comfortable. Maverick immediately understands why Ice likes it here, with its framed pictures of the city and muted green walls. The street outside is bustling, but from inside you wouldn’t even notice it.
They find a table tucked in a quiet corner and talk over wildly differing orders, Maverick going for a black coffee and a breakfast burrito, and Ice for a mocha and french toast.
“You know, I wouldn’t have taken you for a sweet tooth, Ice.” Maverick reasons out loud as they eat. “I don’t think I’ve even seen you eat something sweet before.”
“Mav, you’ve only seen me eat at Navy canteens before.” Ice laughs lightly, “There’s not exactly much choice of delicacies there.”
Maverick concedes Ice’s point. “I guess I’m just used to it. Doesn’t help that I’m not exactly an incredible chef when I’m on leave.”
“I’m used to it too—but I’ll admit, when I’m on leave and especially since I’ve had my own place, I have a tendency to treat myself. Making up for all the canteen meals, probably.”
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
After their breakfast, the two pilots head out into the city. There’s a biting chill on the wind, the kind that blows right through you, no matter how many layers you pile on. They’re undeterred, and find themselves wandering the streets, occasionally stopping to glance in shop windows or up at tall buildings, or for Ice to take a photo of whatever catches his eye.
They talk all the while, catching up on anything and everything, and as Ice launches into a vivid summary of a book he’d read—some non-fiction anthology about oceanography. Maverick can’t help but gaze at him as he talks. Ice, underneath all the sharpened professionalism and brave faces, is something to behold.
Though they’ve communicated almost constantly these last three years since their last station together, through frequent letters and less frequent phone calls, it’s another thing entirely to be here in person.
It’s the first time Maverick has truly seen Ice outside of work, and it’s the most incredible feeling. Like anything is possible. Like the whole world around them doesn’t matter, because here they are, together.
Trailing through frozen streets, they eventually wind up in a quiet spot overlooking the East River. It’s been a few hours since breakfast, and they’re both near dead on their feet. The cold is beginning to get to Maverick, though Ice doesn’t seem too bothered. His light coat and thick scarf keep him warm, though even then he’s unnaturally impervious to the cold. Figures, given the name.
Maverick sports his signature jacket. It’s done him well in winters in Virginia with Carole and Bradley, but winter in New York is another story.
“How do you do that?”
“Do what?” Ice quirks his head to a slight angle.
“You’re not cold, right?”
“Not really. I run cold, always have. Besides, I spent a lot of winters here growing up.”
“You have family out here?”
“A few cousins, some old friends. My mom was born here, my dad moved here when he was young. My parents left for California not long before I was born, but we’d come back for holidays and reunions.”
“Must be nice to be back here.”
“Yeah, it is.” Ice stares out over the water, thinking. “You know, I never thought of this place as my home. It was home, in a way, because I spent so much time here. But it was always more like someone else’s home, my Bubbie, or my Aunts and Uncles. Home, but not my home. Does that make sense?”
“I get it. I guess that’s what Carole and Goose’s place was always like for me. Still is.” He pauses. It’s been five years since Goose died, but it’ll never be something the pair bring up in casual conversation. “I’ve always felt like I belonged there, but never like it was my place.” He doesn’t mention that he’s never really had a place, but Ice knows. “It’s always been theirs.”
“That’s how I always felt about the city. But living here is different—home is still California, but I think New York is aswell now. I don’t know if I’ll stay here forever, but it’s where I see myself for now. It’s a good feeling.”
Maverick nods and then shivers, unable to mask it. Without a word, Ice begins to remove his scarf, offering it to the other man.
“It’s fine, you keep it.”
“You’re cold, Mav. Take the damn scarf.”
“It’s your scarf! I don’t want you to be cold either.”
“I won’t be. And I also won’t lose my wingman to hypothermia anytime soon if I have any say in the matter. Take the scarf, Mitchell. That’s an order.”
Maverick laughs, but yields. “Should’ve known the promotion would get to your head.” He jests as Ice wraps the scarf around him.
Rolling his eyes playfully, Ice stands, starting to walk off. “Wait here—I’ll be right back.”
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
Hands safely tucked away in his pockets and Ice’s scarf around him, Maverick waits. The river flows, carrying debris out into the North Atlantic. It’s beautiful, in its own way, pollution and all.
Maverick stands and leans over the railing. The sound of the water from this close almost drowns out the city, and he doesn’t notice Ice’s return until his wingman is right beside him.
He’s carrying two drinks in a cup holder and a bag of something that smells amazing. Maverick hadn’t even realised how hungry he’d been, though he reasons it must be past midday by now.
Ice reaches into the bag and passes Mav a sandwich, still warm through the thick paper it’s wrapped in.
They watch the water go past together as they eat, and it’s the best meal Maverick can remember. He thinks about asking how Ice knew what to get him, but decides against it. It’s just something they do now, even after so long apart.
Ice knows him better than almost anyone in the world, and it scares him—but it’s a good kind of fear, more like anticipation. The kind of fear you feel before diving into a cold lake. The kind Pete had felt a decade ago, right before the first time he’d flown.
When they’ve both finished, they stay watching the river for a while longer. Maverick gets lost in the ripples swirling below them until a click sounds next to him. He turns sharply and sees Ice holding up his camera. “Getting my good side, Kazansky?”
“Not sure you have a bad side, Mitchell.” Ice sounds almost nervous, but passes it off coolly. He’s still looking at Maverick through his viewfinder.
“You’re too kind, Iceman. And correct, of course.” He flashes his signature grin at his wingman.
“So humble. It’s truly inspiring.”
Maverick grumbles something under his breath and Ice just smiles back at him, simple and sweet. “Come on, I have something I want to show you.”
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
It’s nearly dusk when they reach their destination, the fleeting winter day fading into night in the early afternoon. The park is beautiful, lit by streetlamps and the glowing backdrop of the city.
A layer of snow from the night before lingers on the grass and trees, and water droplets are forming the beginnings of icicles on railings. Everything feels so still, despite the bustle of people and the city surrounding them on all sides.
Ice grabs Mav’s arm in excitement as he spots what he was looking for. Maverick’s eyes light up too when he realises where Ice has brought them. It’s a large ice rink, full of people stumbling around on skates and holding onto each other for balance.
“You ever skated before?” Ice asks as they wait in the queue.
“Once. Goose dragged me to an indoor rink back in Pensacola, when we were stuck there for the winter. Said we had to have a ‘real christmas’ because he was sick and tired of how hot it was all the time out there. I think he was really just missing Carole.” Maverick stares at the ground. “Cheered him up watching me fall on my ass, though.”
Ice chuckles. “I used to come here every year with my parents, and then eventually with Sarah.”
“She an old flame of yours?” This question warrants a laugh from Ice.
“Yeah, I guess you could call it that. We were together for a while, but mostly just because our parents knew each other, so it was logical for both of us. We were always happier as friends—and after I left the Academy and got deployed anywhere and everywhere, that’s what we went back to.”
“She still lives out here then?”
“She’s in Baltimore—doing her surgical residency. I’ll introduce you guys if you’re ever in town at the same time, you’d get along like a house on fire. Though, I still regret introducing her to Slider- those two combining forces against me was one of the few times my foresight truly failed me.” The way he says it makes it clear he’s joking, and he has a fond glimmer in his eyes.
By this point they’ve reached the entrance, and after acquiring skates, they step out onto the ice together.
Mav stumbles a few times, but manages to keep himself from falling, staying close to the railing as they make their way around.
Ice, on the other hand, skates with practiced grace. The way he moves is elegant, like a dancer. Maverick is so transfixed that he fails to notice they’re reaching a corner, slamming directly into the railing in front of him.
He’s barely had time to stumble backwards before Ice has grabbed his hand, steadying them and stopping Maverick from falling. “Steady—here, I’ll show you how.”
And so Ice does, explaining how to keep your balance, showing him the right way to move to control his speed and direction. Maverick is still gripping onto Ice’s hand for dear life, but no one around them seems to care. It’d be dangerous for them anywhere else, but here, they’re just two faces in a crowd. No scrutiny, no danger. It’s a feeling of freedom Maverick hasn’t felt since joining the Navy.
He’d known he was queer long before he enlisted. It was always there, always part of his life. The Navy had made it something to hide, so he had hidden it. He hated it, but knew it was the only way to keep flying, to go where he wanted to go.
And Ice is his friend, someone he trusts, someone he cares about. Anywhere else, and he’d be putting both their careers in danger just by the simple act of holding his hand. That isn’t a risk he’d ever be willing to take—but it isn’t a risk here, and it’s like learning to breathe all over again.
Maverick has never asked, and never told. He wonders sometimes how many in their line of work are like him. He’s met a few, but knows there are still more. He wonders sometimes if it’ll ever be different for them.
He’s thought about telling Ice. He knows deep down that Ice would never turn him away because of who he is, who he loves. But he’s grown so accustomed to skirting around it, it just never felt like the right time. And Ice doesn’t deserve to have his reputation marred if it was ever discovered he helped keep Mav’s secret. He doesn’t deserve to be dragged into it.
They’re speeding up now, and it makes Maverick uneasy for a moment, still unsteady on his skates. But it turns out that’s what it takes to give him confidence—and he knows Ice knew as much. The cold air buffets his face as they weave in and out of other skaters, and he can’t help the wide smile that adorns his face, noticing the same expression on Ice’s face as he looks over at him.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
When they’re both bone-tired and freezing through their gloves, they decide to head back to Ice’s place. There’s a quiet sadness over both of them as they walk, knowing Maverick ships out again the next morning.
“One day, remind me to take you to the Empire State. I’ll show you the city from up there.”
“That a promise, Iceman?”
“Yeah, Maverick. That’s a promise.”
Ice makes them dinner when they get back, a simple pasta dish that’s somehow better than any Mav has ever tasted. Maverick packs his bag ready for the morning. His cab out of the city will be early tomorrow, and being late back to the ship isn’t an option.
Once he’s packed, the pair lounge on Ice’s couch.
They’re exhausted from the day but not quite ready to part. It’s this way that they fall asleep, curled up next to each as the moonlight covers the living room in a pale glow.
They wake early to the sky lightening outside and say their goodbyes on the steps up to the building. There’s an awful feeling in Mav’s chest as he watches the cab pull in, turning round once more to drag Ice into a farewell hug. It takes Maverick back to the day on the carrier, salt air in his lungs and adrenaline coursing through every inch of him. The day they’d lain down their rivalry, choosing to make something better. It’s a decision Maverick will never regret, not for a second.
And as he climbs into his cab and it pulls away, he can’t help looking back, seeing Ice waving him off from the step. He can’t help hoping it won’t be so long before they see each other again.