Archive of Our Own ^beta

He took laboured steps, uncharacteristically slow and unsure, as he wandered his way through the same harrowing route. The same double doors, the same gloomy corridors, passing more and more men and women bleeding, coughing, and bound to their beds. He couldn’t look a single other person in the eye, he kept his own tearful green gaze forward. He rounded a corner, too familiar, and he stopped. His world stopped.

His eyes traced the room; the solitary figure laying helpless, still, submerged with invasive monitors and tubes that kept bleeping. The sound tore through him and he flinched, mouth twisting into a moue as he took a careful seat beside the bed.

His eyes roamed all over the pristine white sheets, the hands that lay across them, the tents and the grooves. The sheets clung to a muscular figure that lay limp and lifeless. Maverick took hold of one icy hand, his touch worryingly soft and calculated. His hand was trembling, as was his bottom lip. He fought with determination to not let himself fall apart. That wasn’t what he needed to hear. If the man lying in front of Maverick could hear him at all.

Maverick had been at the same bedside for weeks. He missed those hazel eyes, the firm and steady gaze that turned soft and inviting every time they had traced Maverick’s own young and once promising tanned form. He hadn’t seen those eyes in years but still, the precise colour had faded from his memory. The possibilities had blurred in his mind and he settled for pale. Pale, as they were frozen in ’86.

Maybe he hadn’t seen him since that fateful day on the aircraft carrier; he hadn’t seen that predatory grin turn friendly, those long and inviting fingers hadn’t traced his sides in over thirty-four years. He hadn’t locked onto those striking eyes. But, the thought of never seeing them open again caused his own eyes to water uncontrollably.

He flushed bright red high up across his cheeks. He choked out a sob and tried his best to stop himself, watching with intrigue as a single tear rolled off his cheek and splattered onto the cold hand that he refused to let go of. Maverick clutched tighter and tighter, his tears forming without restraint. The only sounds in the sombre room were his own pitiful sobs and the harsh screams of all of the monitors.

He felt faint, thoughts whizzing about his head. All the possibilities. What could and couldn’t happen. It had been months and still, he was yet to see a smile caress such an icy façade.

Maverick couldn’t bring himself to stare at that face, his own tearful green eyes opening and closing as his breaths quickened. He wrapped both coloured, clammy hands around a single, pale one and bought it towards his mouth. Slow and steady, he uncovered a left arm, dusted in blonde hair, and he laid a single kiss atop of a single knuckle.

Maverick wouldn’t think to let go.

He sobbed and sobbed, tears streaming wildly and he couldn’t bring himself to let the hand go to even wipe his face. His tears shook him so badly that he barely registered the shift, the creak in the bed, the sudden warmth in the room. The melting of the ice. The monitors blared. He panicked, jumping up from his seat, as the hand fell.

He couldn’t say a damn thing.

“Mmm, Ma.. Mav.”

He froze, eyes pivoting comically all over the figure defrosting before him.

“Ma.. Mav-erick.” The sudden harsh flick, and he was hooked. His mouth hung open, forming nothing.

“Maverick.”

Something within him snapped. He lurched forward then stopped himself from crying himself horse, shaking in a failing grasp. 

“Mav..” The voice was weak, strained, disrupted by a sudden cough. Maverick winced at the sound.

He perched himself on the side of the bed and cursed outwardly. Then inwardly again at finally having found himself a voice.

“Ice.” He gasped his way through, a single syllable. The tears threatened to stain his cheeks again. “Ice, I..”

“..‘m awake. Mav, Mav. It’s.. me.”

Maverick could only mouth the word ‘Ice.’ Over and over, his hands trembling, his body shaking.

“Maverick..”

“Ice—man.. how’e you feeling?” His eyes widened at the stupid question.

“Still not dead.. What ‘bout you?” The voice ground out, small. Growing with intensity.

“That doesn’t matter.. Ice, I..”

He froze, being shushed by what seemed way too much of a wheeze for such a week, thawing man to make. Maverick winced again.

“Mav.. Mav. I don’t, I know I don’t..”

“Ice, I know. But I can’t let-”

“-Don’t. Just,” He cut himself off, coughing. It was dry, the sound haunted Maverick, piercing deep within his soul. “C’mere.”

He watched as Iceman tried to raise his arms. He pouted, that was the only way he could voice his frustration. Maverick’s heart clenched and he hastily wiped his cheeks before again launching himself at Iceman. His hands clung to him, his breathing irrational as he fought to not fall apart on Iceman’s quacking shoulder. His hands were incredibly fragile; his clutch weak. So Maverick leant further into the embrace, his own hands quivered as he guided Iceman’s still dexterous ones around his muscular back. They stayed in the embrace for what felt like hours, only the sounds of Maverick’s choked off sobs and sniffs filled the silence.

The embrace was precious. Maverick didn’t want to tear himself away. But reluctantly, he helped Iceman fall back down into his pillow. His eyes were huge, black and dilated with a small glint in them. The very prospect of it caused Maverick to form a very small, barely noticeable, smile.

“Ice, I.. I’m just so glad you’re awake.” He stuttered, eyes firm on Iceman’s own. 

Iceman tried, swore when he couldn’t and insisted on trying again. He cautiously rose up to sit and Maverick had a hand on his back. Iceman turned slowly and leant forward, a single finger tracing the left side of Maverick’s suddenly heated cheek. He relaxed into it with a small hum that didn’t escape Iceman’s notice. In response, he ran his whole hand through mussed brunette locks, disheveled and hopeless, and with all his might clutched at Maverick’s tear stained face.

A single tear fell and Iceman, ever the suave one, brushed it away with such a tender and powerful touch. He leant in impossibly closer, beautifully parted lips hovered just inches from Maverick who, in turn, stopped breathing for a moment. Perhaps it would’ve lasted an eternity but Iceman changed course, leaning so that his lips brushed Maverick’s outer ear. He shivered at the whispered words, almost hoarse, that set a fire alight deep within himself.

“Mav.. you can hold this against me for the rest of your life.” He sniffed, angled his head upwards and took in a deep yet shaky breath, “But I.. I can’t. I don’t have that chance-”

“-Ice, what are you saying? Don’t even..” He stumbled over his words, without even trying to hide.

Iceman shushed him, a nimble finger on his lips. Maverick shivered at the sudden contact.

“Mav.. just, don’t talk.”

Iceman brushed his plush lips up against his ear, a tender trail of small kisses coated across the side of his face. He paused for a moment, perfectly inviting lips hovered then, Iceman regained his poise. He pressed himself into Maverick, mouths closed, and kissed him. Deep and insistent. They both relaxed into it, as lips parted and breaths intermingled. A clumsy hand tugged at blonde hair, up and down his back, sending shivers up each knuckle of Iceman’s spine.

Although Iceman was hesitant he disengaged, immediately resting his forehead against Maverick’s, as he tried to regain his breath. It wasn’t anything close to the ice that Maverick thought his lips would be. The coldness; the chill. Iceman was far from it, in fact, running hotter than Maverick could have ever imagined.

His words were barely audible but they couldn’t be missed. “I’ve waited thirty-four years to do that.”

Maverick’s green eyes widened, his brow furrowed.

“Thirty-four years for.. You.”

He couldn’t bring himself to respond so, Maverick just sat stock still, slumped, and he clung to every passing heartbeat that Iceman could muster for him. 

“Mitchell, I never.. ever stopped..” A pause, as Iceman hastily wiped the tears pricking at his tired eyes, “Loving.. you.”

He reached over, his touch warm and insistent, laying a hand out across Maverick’s. He lay silent, as Iceman found his voice.

“Please, please.. go. Mav, leave. Let me-”

Maverick swore, his grip tightening on Iceman, he couldn’t and he wouldn’t ever-

“Let me go.”

The sounds of both men falling apart, tore through the other, leaving Maverick a shivering mess at the very notion of Iceman fighting for his life and his dying  words.

“Mav, I.. you know I don’t..” A coughing fit overcame him again, Maverick cringed at the sounds, “Have.. I don’t have much time.” He rushed through the final few words, as though he was pained to admit it. Pained to believe that this was it: His end. They had gotten him good and dead this time and Maverick wouldn’t dare to leave him like this.

“Just go.”

Iceman disengaged, eyes full of tears. He didn’t even try to wipe at them, he just let them fall.

“Mitchell, say goodbye to me.”

Sounds were being formed, nothing was coherent.

“Mav.. please.”

“Ice, how can I-”

“-Pete.”

Maverick broke. The whispered ‘Pete’, the way Iceman’s voice seemed to waver as it rolled off of his tongue. A single syllable that he couldn’t even murmur. His tear stained face spoke volumes of what he could and couldn’t say but his breath was running thin. It was then that Maverick was reminded of the monitors, the IV’s. He couldn’t move. Iceman wouldn’t be leaving this bed. He couldn’t fight to do so anymore and who was Maverick to try and stop him now.

“I love you, Pete. I’ll never.. ever stop loving you.”

At that, Maverick carefully locked their lips, for a final time. The kiss of a lifetime. Iceman’s lifetime. Thirty-four years he had waited. And all of the wasted time was now rushing up to smack Maverick in the face. It hit him as though he had been run down with his Tomcat that Ice. Ice didn’t have much longer. He couldn’t keep going.

Maverick rose to his feet. 

He extended his arm and when he clasped their fingers together, he lingered there. Iceman tried to tug his hand closer and he helped him, leaning back over him as he pushed Iceman back into his pillow. His knuckles were caressed one by one, with smooth and sensuous lips. Maverick kissed him again, slow and steady. Iceman’s kiss of a lifetime. From the love of his life; the unrequited love of his life.

They parted and Maverick headed for the door, steps small and unsure.

“Wingmen till the end, right?” He heaved a small but tearful chuckle as Iceman rolled his eyes.

“So long.. Captain Mitchell.” He saluted, playfully, bound too his bed.

“I’ll never forget you, Admiral Kazansky.” Maverick forced that same smile of a young, reckless pilot that the Iceman ached for.

At the door he turned a final time, eyes roaming all over the bed and Iceman just nodded. Maverick was hooked as he witnessed another hot tear melt him, and Maverick pivoted on one heel. He departed. 

Maverick pulled rank and ensured that he would give his wingman the best send off that he could. A once unstable hand caressed the coffin, reading the grooves and crevices as though they were written in braille. The corners were gold, gleaming, the same gold that would always remind him of the ring, the pen, owned and prided by his greatest competition. His one-upper, his literal top. His TOPGUN, the rightful winner.

Maverick delved into the pocket of his dress uniform for the golden encrusted wings. He screwed his eyes shut and folded both hands around them, bringing them close, clutching them too his heart. His medals clinked, his heart raced and he fought to not fall apart. Maverick placed the wings atop of the pristine cream coffin. He again reached into his pocket and brandished a shiny, immaculate pair of near forty year old dog tags. He shut his eyes and clutched at them tight, these he refused to let go.

“Talk to me, Ice.” He whispered, as a tear burned his cheek.

He shook his head, took a deep breath and began to back away from the coffin. Iceman was in a better place: body laid to rest, soul to rise into the heavens. With Goose. He’d be watching over Maverick and all of his idiocy with scrutinising eyes, with absurdity, admiration and love. The love that Maverick only wished he had recognised sooner.

Tom Kazansky would never be forgotten but Maverick knew, he would never forgive himself if he ever let him go.