Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The graduation day of the class of ‘86 had arrived. 

It had been five weeks. 

Five weeks full of hope, resignation, victory and defeat, learning, struggle, perseverance, disagreements, collaborations, giving up and starting over, and one tragedy…

All these guys had arrived here with the innermost desire to prove themselves. Each wanted to show that he was the best of the best. But points… Well, they were just points. How these men would perform in real life, what kind of pilots and, most of all, what kind of people they would become had nothing to do with points. Some of them had learned this in the past few weeks, but a few still had a lot to learn. Anyway, Viper hoped that, even if not to the same extent, all had become a little bit better thanks to the training. But only the future could confirm that for sure.

None of the twelve men dressed in snow-white uniforms could know what fate had in store for them. They were eating, drinking, and talking unconcernedly now that the ceremony was over.

Even with all this Viper couldn't deny the feeling of pride that warmed his heart like the spring sunshine. He was looking proudly at the boys, “his sons,” because he saw them as his children in a certain sense. Of course, he didn't think of all of them with equal affection. He tried to be impartial, but if he wanted to be honest with himself, he had to admit that he remained practically indifferent to some, while others stood quite close to his heart.

And of all of them, he regarded Maverick as if he were his child the most.

He was relieved when he spotted that familiar crown of dark hair in the crowd. His gaze is disconcertingly similar to his father’s, he thought, while he was watching the younger Mitchell cut through the group. Maybe that was why he felt so close to the kid; he often terribly missed his late good friend, whom he could get back a little through Maverick.

Pete “Maverick” Mitchell: Although he has to learn a lot about teamwork, at the same time he is willing to do whatever it takes to help others selflessly. He is exactly like his father. He has the same fire blazing deep in his soul, and he is as brilliant a pilot as he was. He is often hotheaded and stubborn, but also persistent, daring, and all instinct. His unique solutions and unpredictability, in the best sense of the word, might save lives up there. It’s a pity he couldn’t save Goose, but I hope this terrible slap will eventually bring something positive out of the boy. He is here now, still standing, and didn’t give up flying.

Viper thought this proudly; it was the truth, and he didn’t expect anything less from Duke Mitchell’s son, who had just reached the pair who were holding the trophy. 

Tom “Iceman” Kazansky: In a lot of things he is the absolute opposite of Maverick: by the book, calm, meticulous. Of course, he is only human, and contrary to popular belief, he can also make mistakes. Ever since Hop 31, I can see the remorse in his eyes when he looks at Maverick. But he didn’t get his call sign without reason. It’s not only in the air where he can show cold indifference while doing his job outstandingly, as if the circumstances and the events did not affect him at any level.

Meanwhile, the two rivals were shaking hands. Viper let his gaze linger on them for a moment. 

Hmm…fire and ice… Although none of them are aware of it, these two kids could perfectly complement each other up there, if they could put aside their rivalry and antipathy towards one another.

Viper knew if that had been the case from the first day, Goose could still be here. Naturally, this didn’t mean he blamed either pilot, but he felt both still had something to learn about cooperation. 

He suddenly remembered his two sons, who were about as old as the two pilots. Up to this day, they could always find something to argue about, yet when needed, they would stick together and go through fire and water for each other.

Maybe one day Maverick and Iceman will also realise that they are the two leaves of the same branch. 

After their handshake, Mitchell stepped away, and Kerner, hugging Kazansky’s shoulders again with his right arm, drew his pilot closer to whisper something in his ear.

Ron “Slider” Kerner: A little bit more muscle and a little bit tougher appearance, but he holds the same devotion and loyalty towards his pilot that Goose had. 

The corner of Viper’s mouth turned upwards into a small smile as he watched the two men.

They are a good pair, Kerner and Kazansky, and they took the trophy deservedly, he stated to himself before his gaze slipped to the next pilot-RIO duo.

Rick “Hollywood” Neven and Leonard “Wolfman” Wolfe: Another excellent pair, two real team players, and in that area they far surpass everyone else here. Even the best could learn a lot from them. They are…

“Mike!” Jester’s voice interrupted his contemplation as the man stepped towards him with a serious expression on his face. Viper felt his tension and immediately knew that something had happened…

“Orders arrived,” Jester said, holding up a few white envelopes and giving him the one with his name on it. Viper quickly took it from him, opened it, and while he was reading it, the smile slowly disappeared from his face.

Has the time come so quickly...? Viper wondered but asked another question out loud, half-guessing the answer. “Who are the orders for?”

“Ice, Slider, Wood, Wolf, and Maverick…” Jester said without looking at the envelopes. He had obviously already checked them. 

Hearing the same names he had previously been thinking about, Viper felt as if he had called this mission to life with his mere thoughts. A mission, which, if successful, would be an enormous opportunity for the boys to learn to work together… But if they fail… No, he didn’t want to think about that now. Going through Goose’s death had already been more than enough.

“Let’s go, don’t waste time!”

For the second time within a few minutes, Jester’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. Gesturing with the envelopes, he indicated that they should give them to their addressees. So both men started to walk with determined steps toward their celebrating students, knowing very well that they would soon spoil the mood.

“Gentlemen!” Hearing Viper’s voice made everyone fall silent immediately. And even as he tried to soften the edge of the situation with a little bit of humour, he still felt the tension growing inside him with every sentence. He was sure the boys would feel the same but tenfold. “I hate to break up the party before it really gets out of hand, but there is work to be done. Some of you have to depart immediately. We have a crisis situation.” 

“Iceman, Slider. Hollywood, Wolfman. Maverick.” 

Jester gave the envelopes to them and they started to read the letters immediately. Meanwhile, Viper’s gaze was constantly on Maverick’s face, trying to figure out what he felt, and he saw surprise and some uncertainty. This mission could decide the pilot’s future, whether he would be able to continue flying. The fact that he appeared today was only the first step, a kind of declaration of intent. But whether he could shake the burden of the recent events off his shoulders and move on, only such a risky situation as this would be able to decide.

I’m going to support you whichever way you go… But damn it!… You were born to fly…

And before he could think through what he was doing, he had already said out loud what was deep in his heart, with a reassuring smile towards the pilot.

“Maverick, you’ll get your RIO when you get to the ship. And if you don’t, give me a call! I’ll fly with you.”

Even though the words came out of his mouth so suddenly, he meant what he said. It wasn’t just an empty, consoling promise. For a moment, Duke Mitchell’s face flashed in his memories as if he were asking him to take care of his son. And Mike Metcalf nodded to his friend in his thoughts, promising to do everything in his power to protect Pete. He felt he owed his friend at least that much. And he could see in Maverick's eyes how grateful the pilot was for his support.

The five men soon disappeared from the celebrating crowd since a COD aircraft was to leave Miramar within the hour and transport them directly to the USS Enterprise stationed in the Indian Ocean. The rescue operation had to be launched within 24 hours.

That night Viper couldn’t fall asleep very easily. Deep in his thoughts, he was staring at the ceiling, on which the dull lights filtering in from outside painted strange patterns. His mind was constantly on the mission, and he counted the time to himself.

They must be there by now, and then the briefing will start soon. It will assign whose task will be what, which pairs have to take off in the first wave, who will be the spares, and within a few hours it will begin…

He looked at the odds, considered the dangers, whether they would have to engage in a dogfight. Then he began to think about the formation in which the pilot-RIO pairs would launch on the mission. 

Iceman and Slider will most certainly be in the front line. Will they risk sending up Maverick alongside them?

If the two pilots could cooperate, as he had contemplated earlier, victory would be almost certain in the case of a fight. On the other hand, he had to admit that sending up that duo would involve quite a lot of risk too.

What if they are unable to work together even in a real situation? Or if Maverick freezes in the middle of a dogfight? As painful as it is to say, ever since Goose’s death he hasn't flown nearly as well as before… He just hasn’t been himself up there. But his abilities are still there, and if those were to emerge again, they could be crucial in an encounter…

He took a deep breath and slowly blew it out, shaking his head with a bit of resignation.

It will more likely be a safety game, and Hollywood and Wolfman will fly at Iceman’s wing. He continued his speculation.

Just before he finally fell asleep, he remembered his promise to Maverick. Will they be able to give him a RIO? Or will I be the one to fly with him in the end? Will I be able to support Duke’s son, not just with words but with actions too?

This question was his last coherent thought before sleep finally claimed him to itself.

When a ringing woke him up in the very early hours of the morning, Mike Metcalf’s first thought was that he had to go, that he would be the one to fly with Maverick. He felt a strange mixture of excitement and anxiety while approaching the telephone. And by the time he reached the receiver, he had pretty much thought through what he needed and how much time it would take him to be ready for departure. He was sure he had to leave as soon as possible, as the mission couldn’t be delayed for long.

So he picked up the receiver quickly and spoke into it with a determined voice.

“Commander Mike Metcalf speaking!”

When the call was over, Viper held the receiver next to his ears for at least another two minutes, before he finally lowered it very slowly with a slightly shaking hand. Then he tried to calm his wildly beating heart with long, deep breaths. But his attempt to collect himself was in vain…

He was right. The call was in fact from the USS Enterprise, but not because they needed his assistance as a RIO and wanted him to depart immediately. No, they had called to inform him that the five men who left Miramar yesterday to fly the rescue mission had never arrived on the carrier…

Chapter Text

Bone deep fatigue…

Dreams heavy as lead…

When waking from a deep sleep you feel even more tired, as if you haven’t slept a single minute.

My head is splitting…

Pounding…

Sharp and dull at the same time…

When it hurts so much that all you want to do is run headfirst into a wall with a loud scream.

I’m thirsty…

Burning throat…

Dry mouth…

Parched lips…

When your tongue feels too big in your mouth and it seems impossible even to swallow.

I can barely open my eyes…

Darkness…

Strange darkness…

Everything's so blurry…

When it’s an effort to even keep your eyelids open. And when you finally can, you stare into the darkness, which is never completely dark. After a little while, as the eyes start to get used to the lack of light, more and more outlines become visible. The environment slowly takes shape.

But not here…

Not this time…

Brown…

Heavy blinking…

Vision doesn’t get any clearer…

Everything is the same brown…

Where am I…?

Tangled thoughts, unnameable feelings, uncertain sensations, strange impressions, and incomprehensible pictures swirled, chasing each other in Tom Kazansky’s body and mind. As if he were halfway between dreaming and waking, he was able to perceive his environment, but he was unable to put the different stimuli in their right places. There was only one sensation that grew stronger and stronger with every passing second, the feeling that something was very wrong…

Everything was the same brown…

But why?

In the confused belief that he somehow pulled his blanket over his head, he wanted to pull it off, but doubt ran through his foggy mind because his blanket wasn’t brown…

He tried to lift his right hand to get rid of that brown thing somehow, but his arm simply didn’t move. Instead pain split into his head with renewed strength as he turned it around to take a look at his hands. His temple was throbbing so much that he started to feel dizzy. But there was one thing that irritated him far more than his headache: the brown something that stayed stubbornly in his field of vision.

He tried to lift his hands again, both this time, but that attempt also proved unsuccessful. He wasn’t able to move either hand, and the pain in his temples became even sharper because of the effort.

But his thoughts also came together, as if the pain somehow helped to clear his mind. Suddenly he started to sense a lot more clearly both his surroundings and himself. And while before he had been slowly realizing everything step by step as if he were stumbling in pitch black, now he was blinded, suddenly and unexpectedly, by all the bitter and terrifying realizations that hit him at the same time.

All at once he felt and understood that he was sitting on a chair; that his upper body was leaning back in an uncomfortable way as his wrists were tightly tied to it, holding his arms behind the backrest; that his ankles were fastened just as tightly to the legs of the chair; that some kind of cloth material was stuffed into his mouth which was then covered in tape, so that he couldn’t push it out with his tongue; that he had some kind of bag on his head, and that's why he could see only brown.

The sudden realization knocked all air out of his lungs as if something had hit him with full force: someone had kidnapped him and held him captive.

And as soon as he told himself this, the panic that had been lurking around him up to that point suddenly gripped him. He felt his heart beating more and more violently, the blood roaring louder and louder in his ears, and he was covered in cold sweat.

As a bird of prey locked in a cage furiously and desperately flapping its wings trying to break free, he fought with the same rage mixed with fear against his invisible restraints. But no matter how hard he struggled and how he put all his strength into it, his bindings held him stubbornly in place. 

Just then, an involuntary, embittered moan escaped from his throat, which immediately filled him with shame. He stopped fighting.

No!

He disciplined himself strictly. No matter who held him captive, nobody could see him pathetic, weak, and terrified. He couldn’t let that happen in any circumstances.

Even if it doesn’t matter anymore? Even if I’m gonna die here? Asked a disingenuous voice in his head, which was fed by the worst and most dangerous feeling gripping his heart so far: hopelessness.

These unwanted, desperate thoughts burst out of him as if he were his own enemy, making  him start the fight against his own feelings all over again.

And this was a kind of fight he had never experienced before. 

He tried to overcome his fears once more, but it was so hard to keep calm in such circumstances. The awareness that in this state he was completely at the mercy of whoever did this, and his captors could do whatever they wanted with him, made him feel sick, and panic started to squeeze his chest again, shortening his breaths.

But just before desperation could completely claim him, he somehow managed to master his body. He swallowed back the bile collecting in his throat and with all his will power he forced himself to breathe slower. As impossible as it seemed he knew he had to collect himself and calm down. After all, he didn’t get his call sign by mere chance for fuck’s sake.

So that he could distract his mind from his bitter thoughts born of fear, he tried to stay on the ground of reality and began to count the facts he knew for sure. First of all, he attempted to recall what could have happened, how he could have gotten into this situation. He started to search through his last memories which were a little hazy from his previous unconsciousness and the still pounding headache.

Waiting with Slider and Maverick standing near the Greyhound…

The silence among us heavy, unpleasant…

Wood and Wolf arrive…

The pilot of the COD smiles at us with strange, crooked teeth…

We board the aircraft together and it takes off…

The tension is palpable but Wolf tries to ease it with a stupid joke…

Even Maverick forces a smile. He hasn’t really smiled since that day…

Wood's right leg is constantly twitching, damn annoying… 

Slider can't take it anymore and roasts Wood, which makes everyone laugh again, a little more naturally this time... 

I notice that Maverick is watching me and I return his gaze…

Isn't his presence too much of a risk to the mission?

Wolfman yawns enormously, which creates another joke… 

Maverick also looks tired, occasionally rubbing his eyes… 

But it’s Slider who ends up falling asleep, quietly snoring…

It really is difficult to keep your eyes open when everyone around you is sleepy…

Everyone around you is sleepy…

Everyone is sleepy…

Everyone…

Everyone?! The sudden question pulled him back from his memories in a hurry. 

Why haven’t I thought of the others until now? Ice immediately scolded himself for his selfishness, then a host of further questions came to his mind. Was it possible that they were there next to him in the same situation? Were all five of them held captive? What if one of the others was injured? Or all of them except for him? 

As he managed to slowly silence his thoughts by steeling every nerve, he tried to pay more attention to his surroundings.

He started to hear the sounds around him, but without his sight and with that bag over his head it was rather difficult to place them. 

Was that some kind of movement near…?

Maybe steps…

How many of my captors…or our captors…are there?

And what was that noise?

He could hear snippets of conversation, but the words were incomprehensible.

And finally, after a long time, there was a moan…

And immediately a muffled cry in response to that. 

The others are also here…

Ron…?!

The thought that his RIO was probably there with him was comforting and terrifying at the same time. As was the idea that he might have to share his fate with anyone from their team. No matter how much he wanted to not feel alone, or how much he wanted to cling on the presence of a friend, he would never have wanted any of his friends or acquaintances to end up in such a situation, to experience the same paralyzing terror that he was still trying with all his might to suppress within himself.

He could hear the sounds of a conversation again, and he thought that the voices belonged to at least three different men. But it made Ice even more frustrated because even though he could hear them, he was unable to understand a single sentence of what they were talking about. It was just a jumble of voices… Plus the laughs… But at least from their laughing he could sense that they were having fun at their expense.

Who they might be?

And why did they do this to us?

What do they want from us?

The same questions and the pictures of the same last memories flashed through his mind over and over again, while he was anxiously waiting for what would happen…

For something to finally happen at all…

But nothing happened… 

Uncertainty…

It was one of a few feelings Iceman knew could weaken him. He had learned even as a child that he could only reach his goals and be successful if he was able to believe in himself and his abilities. If he didn’t let the circumstances disturb him, but concentrated on calmly analyzing his surroundings, he could use every small observed detail to make his own way. And since he was unable to do anything half-heartedly or without one-hundred-percent dedication, and because he knew exactly how much invested energy and self-discipline was behind everything he ever achieved, he learned to be confident.

All of this worked perfectly until details appeared in his environment that he tried to place, analyze, or understand in vain. Details so unusual, strange, different, or unpredictable that he couldn't maintain the icy mask he had honed to perfection over the years. Details that simply made him feel insecure. And he couldn’t really cope with the feeling. A dreadful and shocking example of this was Hop 31.

As soon as they had arrived in Miramar, Maverick became the unknowable factor, his brash confidence shaking Iceman's own. And Ice’s hesitancy cost the life of a friend. This gave the blond pilot even more reason to hate and fear the feeling. 

Being forced into a situation where uncertainty was the most significant element made him utterly uneasy.

But after what seemed like hours, he realized that this might be exactly what their captors were aiming for right now. To keep them waiting, deprived from their freedom, their sight, their voice, in absolute uncertainty, was probably part of some cruel tactic. Being aware of this made him feel that he could comprehend something of their invisible enemies, helping him to remain stoic. He could mentally prepare himself to be kept in this position for a long time. He was also sure, or at least he tried to reassure himself, that if they wanted to kill them, they would have done it already. They probably “just” wanted to break them, and make them more willing and easier to handle. For now.

And not all of them took this nerve-wracking game well. 

From time to time Ice could hear muffled groans from the others, or what was presumably a series of curses, and once one of them seemed to lose his composure completely. Desperate, almost frantic shouts filled the space, getting only laughter as a response.

What kind of sick game is this? What the hell do they want from us?

No matter how stoic a soul he was, that couldn’t stop him from asking himself these questions at least a thousand times by now.

More time passed before they were finally addressed by an eerily cool voice mixed with false politeness. 

“Gentlemen, I apologize for the somewhat unpleasant treatment, but believe me, everything was for your own good," began the faceless man, and Ice felt that whoever he was he already hated him from the bottom of his heart. 

“It would have been so unfortunate, if we had had to shoot any of you in the head due to too much resistance. Better to avoid such a thing…" He paused, letting the tension rise in the silence…

"Until it becomes necessary," he added, an unequivocal threat.

“Oh, but how impolite I am, I did not even introduce myself…” He paused for effect again…

“And I will not. It is better that you not get used to expecting any kind of humane behavior from me. You are not here to make friends, but because we have a little task for you. This is what we are going to talk about now.”

To this, one of the captives uttered a muffled swear that definitely sounded like "Fuck you!" After all, it would be rather difficult for them to communicate in this state.

“Oh yes, I am awfully sorry I forgot about that tiny little detail!”

Fuck you! Ice also cursed, silently. That was really the best answer anyone could give. You forgot, yeah, sure. You’re just playing with us, you cowardly piece of shit. 

“For now I will be the one talking and you will be the ones listening. But so that our conversation will not be quite so one-sided, I think it is time to look each other in the eye.”

Steps could be heard. Just before they reached Ice, he managed to put on his best Iceman face. Then someone grabbed the bag and pulled it off his head, and suddenly even the dim light of the cellar room they were in seemed to be blinding. After blinking his vision clear Ice immediately checked on his teammates to make sure nobody was injured. 

Slider was the first one he started looking for, and while his gaze scanned their surroundings in search of his best friend he quickly assessed their situation. All five of them were bound in the same way, sitting on chairs set up in a semicircle, their two hands and two legs individually attached to the back posts and legs of the chairs with duct tape.

His RIO was sitting on his right, and since the first thing he did was check on his pilot, their eyes quickly locked. Although Slider’s face was flushed with anger, otherwise he seemed uninjured, and he confirmed that with a nod towards Ice.

On Ice’s left Hollywood looked as if he was in shock, but Wolfman was in an even worse state than Wood. He was as white as a sheet and pearls of sweat were glinting on his forehead, making his hair stick to his skin. As far as Ice could see there were no signs of any injuries on him, so he assumed it was the circumstances that had had such an effect on the RIO.

Unfortunately, they were unable to help each other. Thus, Ice's gaze finally moved on to Maverick. 

The short pilot was the furthest from him both physically (since he was tied to the last chair) and in their soul (because they were so different), but he couldn’t say that he didn’t care about the man at all. Pete Mitchell was a member of their little team, and now they had become companions in this fate as well. Maverick was clearly also trying to keep his cool, examining their surroundings and the others with a neutral expression. Then in the next moment he looked him directly in the eye.

And to his own surprise, for the first time since Ice had woken up in this cursed place, wherever it was, he felt some relief and hope. Because, when their eyes met, the man looking back at him finally wasn’t the lost, broken one who had only been a ghost, a pale imitation of himself in the last two weeks. Instead, thanks to a miracle or perhaps some inner instinct, in the green eyes Iceman could see the sparkle of the same brash confidence that earlier would have made him uncertain, but now definitely reassured him.

Because even if didn't understand him, he knew this Maverick, the Maverick with whom he had so many verbal encounters, who proudly told him to his face that he was dangerous indeed, who swept aside all of Ice’s concerns and warnings with a cocky smile. And Ice felt that if they were somehow to get out of here, they would need exactly this Maverick. Because this was the Maverick who wouldn’t back down or surrender, confrontational, firmly standing his ground in any situation, who wouldn’t give up, and in whom, despite all their previous hostility, Ice could now see a possible ally.

And as he finally looked up to the man, the hitherto faceless threat who was standing in front of them, that confirmed in him the belief that this time they had to cooperate, or they had no chance. There was no room for rivalry here, because they were not fighting for points or a trophy, but for their lives.

The uniformed man towering over them could have been described as average-looking, if there hadn't been something unfathomably creepy about his demeanour. He was a bit taller than Slider, with broad shoulders, side swept hair, and pale blue eyes with a strange light that watched them keenly. He, too, was assessing what kind of people they might be. Then the two pairs of blue eyes locked onto each other…

The man, seeing that Ice didn’t flinch, kept his gaze expressionless, until he slowly pulled the corner of his mouth into an inhuman smile that sent a sudden chill running along the blond pilot’s spine. Because in that moment it became all too clear to him what was the blood-freezing aura and that weird light in the man’s eyes…

Cruelty.

“A few hours ago, you gentlemen left Miramar to take part in the rescue operation of the disabled Naval oceanographic vessel named Layton that had strayed into enemy territory. Your role would have been to provide air support since there were MIGs in the area…

"Maybe it is needless to say, but those MIGs were ours.” 

The man tossed the information toward them emotionlessly.

“You are the best of the Navy, the best of your nation, the pilots and RIOs of Top Gun… Yes, we know a lot about you. How? That is a little secret I cannot share with you, I am afraid. 

"Anyway, we thought it would be better to have such men on our own side rather than on the side of our enemy…”

What? How the hell does he think that? Does he want us to fight against our own? 

Asking himself these questions, Ice started to have a very bad feeling about this. He focused all his attention on the man’s words.

“So the situation is as follows. You would have had a crucial role in the rescue operation, but you have not arrived at the USS Enterprise. That, presumably, means they will have to reassess their strategy. That gives us a little time to prepare before they send up your compatriots–hopefully some of your closest friends.”

Ice felt his blood start to boil in anger, and the man hadn't even finished outlining his cruel plan.

 “You are going to go up there as well, in our MIGs, to initiate an attack on them. And you are going to follow all my orders without hesitation! How do I know you will obey? Because we have both one seater and two seater planes, so it will not be necessary to send all five of you up at the same time. For the duration of each mission, one of you will always be left behind to be my guest in the control tower. I primarily expect Lieutenants Kerner and Wolfe to fill this role, but any of you could do as well. 

"And if one of you forgets his place and what we expect of him up there, then, unfortunately, those headshots I previously mentioned will have to happen.”

Ice saw that even Slider paled at the statement, and Wolfman’s face took on an undefinable shade between gray and green, as if he could get sick at any moment. In contrast, Ice felt like shouting, strangling that fucking bastard with his own hands for threatening his best friend and all his other team members. But he kept the mask of indifference and composure firmly in place.

“When you are not on missions, similar rules will apply," continued the man. “For the sake of safety one of you will always be separated from the others under our guard. Be good boys; I count on your willing cooperation and kind services even after the Layton mission.

"And speaking of cooperation, there are a few more things I should clarify. Disobedience, disrespect of my authority or questioning me, as well as back talk are all things I cannot tolerate. It also makes me… nervous… if someone talks when I do not ask. If you follow these rules and my orders blindly we will get along well. But anyone who does not do so will face the consequences. Believe me, I have methods to break even the toughest men.” At this sentence he looked meaningfully at Maverick and Iceman. Then he continued almost cheerfully, “The first of you to enjoy our hospitality will be Lieutenant Neven.” He announced this in a solemn tone, as if it would be a special reward for Hollywood.

“Boys, please show him the way!” He gestured to two of his three men who had been watching from the background. Ice hadn't really observed them before, but now everything became a little clearer: one of them was none other than the COD's pilot with the crooked teeth. ‘Crooked Teeth’ knew they all recognized him, so he stepped in front of Wood with a wink while he took out a gun and pointed it straight to the pilot’s forehead. Wood's eyes widened, but otherwise he stared motionless down the barrel of the gun as if he was afraid even to breathe. Meanwhile another man, whose most conspicuous external feature was some tattooed writing that ran from his wrist up his forearm and disappeared under his rolled sleeves, cut the tape that held Hollywood tightly in the chair. Then he was forced out of the room.

The leader’s pale blue eyes followed his two men, then turned back towards his captives as soon as the door closed again.

“Gentlemen, you will stay here until further notice. If you have any questions, you can ask them now!” 

Then he nodded to the third, broad guy, who, beginning with Maverick, stepped to them one by one to roughly tear the duct tape off their mouths and pull the rags out from between their teeth. 

“Where the hell are we?” Maverick asked angrily as soon as he was able to speak. 

“Language, Lieutenant!” the leader rebuked as though the pilot were an insolent child. “Rough talk often makes me do rough things… Bear that in mind! Anyway, all I can say about this place is that it is not on any map. Other questions?” he said expectantly, but instead of asking further, Maverick’s gaze, as well as all the others’, leapt to Wolfman, who started gagging around the cloth when the broad man pulled it from his mouth. Then he leaned forward as far as he could but still threw up all over his own flight suit.

To the other captives’ astonishment, the big man broke into a harsh laugh. Ignoring the boiling looks that followed him, he was still laughing when he stepped in front of Ice, who, as soon as the rag was out of his mouth, spat at the man in response to his taunting laugh.

The air froze for one moment, then in the next the man hissed, “You little bastard!” and slapped Ice in the face with the back of his hand with such force that the pilot’s ear started ringing and he could feel the metallic taste of blood on his cracked lip.

“That is great! I see Lieutenant Kazansky is interested in our methods of discipline," said the leader, and although he had previously declared that he didn't like being disobeyed, his voice sounded strangely pleased instead of angry. That didn’t calm the pilot at all.

“I am more than happy to give you a little demonstration now that we have a volunteer. 

Go, call the others!” he said to the grinning ‘Big Palm’, whose eyes shone with a desire for revenge.

“Bring everything we need! The ‘clean-method’ would be a perfect choice to show our impolite guest his place.” He added, and whatever this ‘clean-method’ meant it made the big guy even happier as he left the room with a sadistic grin. 

Then the leader started to slowly walk towards Iceman with an almost lustful smile on his face. The pilot felt his heart beating in his throat. The man moved behind him and suddenly grabbed his hair, yanking back his head so that he could look him in the eye.

Ice wanted to spit in his face as well, but even gulping was almost impossible from this position. He tried to maintain his cool toughness, but he heard the man’s next words and fear froze the blood in his veins again. 

“Well, Lieutenant… You are going to be so much fun to work with. You know what? Just for your sake I have changed my mind. I will introduce myself properly. My real name, of course, I still do not intend to reveal…but you know, I was a pilot too. I had a call sign, once, just like you…

"Iceman…

"Mmmmm… 

"An eloquent call sign, betraying so much about its owner. A cold, level-headed, pertinacious person, I would wager… but as we all know very well, ice is not unbreakable…

"Do not have the slightest doubt about it: I can find a method to shatter you into a million tiny shards. Because neither was it by chance that I got my call sign, which is just as eloquent as yours. They called me…

"Nightmare.”

Chapter Text

Fuck, Kazansky, why the hell did you have to do that? That was Mav’s first reaction when Iceman spat at the huge man in front of him. But he knew exactly why the other pilot had done it. Moreover, he admitted to himself that if it had been his face the guy was laughing in, at the expense of Wolf, he would have reacted in exactly the same way. But he couldn’t shake off his bad feeling about what was going to happen now.

The threats of the man–Nightmare as he called himself–didn't bode well, but what was even more horrifying was the cruel glint in his eyes…

Mav was worried.

After Hop 31, Pete Mitchell hadn't believed that there could be a worse. That any bad thing could come close to what happened then. That he could still get any really unpleasant surprises…

He realized in no time how very wrong he was when he woke up tied to a chair and for long hours had absolutely no idea who did this to him, why, and what would happen. He had never been more scared in his life than when their plane was spinning uncontrollably towards the ocean. But the terror he was now feeling since his awakening wasn’t much less powerful. Yet this was a desperate, helpless, infuriating, paralyzing fear, not pure panic fueled by the certainty of impending death. No, this had uncertainty as its main element.

It even occurred to Mav for a moment that this was all some sick joke. But he knew that no matter how much some of his teammates disliked him, none of them would do something like this, especially not now.

In their own way all of them had been very tactful in the last two weeks, even those from whom he had expected it the least. So he turned back to his main questions: Who did this? Why? And what would happen? 

The hours before he finally got answers were long and trying, and there were moments when he felt he couldn't bear the wait. Although seemingly nothing happened for a long time, Mav was fighting a fierce inner battle with himself all along to keep his composure. Meanwhile, he also realized that, again, he wasn't alone. On that fateful Hop Goose was with him, and now probably the other four men with whom he had left Miramar. 

Being aware of this somehow helped him not to lose his head, because he felt that he had to be strong for the sake of the others. He couldn’t let what happened during Hop 31 repeat itself in any way… He couldn’t let more people get hurt or die because of him… He couldn’t get anyone into trouble with irresponsibility, his bad decisions, his inability to control his emotions… He couldn’t let his heart rule him instead of his mind ever again… His heart, which used to be overflowing with the desire to prove himself, adventurousness, self-assurance, and some vanity too, now wanted to desperately get away from the fear that gripped it so tightly he thought it would shatter. 

But it didn’t. He steeled himself and decided to show what he was made of. Thus when the time arrived that the bags were finally removed from their heads and he could see the others, the empowering thought that he would not let them down still echoed in his mind.

And as he looked at Hollywood and Wolfman, he felt those two could really use his support. He could even imagine helping Slider somehow, as his gaze slipped to the red-faced RIO. But then his eyes finally landed on the fourth face.

Iceman…

Well, if there was someone who certainly didn’t need his help, it was him. And Mav was sure the blond pilot wouldn’t accept it even if he needed it. The guy sat there as if he were almost bored, with a perfectly emotionless, unflappable face. True to his call sign, he really gave the impression of an ice sculpture.

And he was watching him…

As he held the other man’s gaze and they looked into each other’s eyes for a while, however strange it was, Mav started to feel a kind of calmness. Because it was evident from Iceman’s look that he didn’t want to give in easily, and he would stand his ground and fly in the face of their captors if he had to.

And didn't Mav set himself exactly the same goal not long ago?

For a moment the questions ran through his mind: What would it be like to really play on the same team as Kazansky? Would it be possible at all? Or would neither of us actually be capable of it? After all, they had already flown at each other's wings, but that had ended in tragedy. And Mav honestly didn’t know if he could cooperate with his rival in any way after what had happened.  But as things stood, it seemed they would have no other choice than to try to work together somehow.

As he was observing the gray-blue eyes, Mav realized that no matter how much they were at odds, or how difficult it was for both of them to work as a team, he would rather have Iceman on his team against the unknown enemy…

Against the unknown enemy who was just about to punish Iceman now. Mav found himself worrying about the blond pilot.

“What are you doing with him? What is the ‘clean method?’” he asked uneasily.

Nightmare seemed surprised for a moment at his speaking, but then his face quickly changed to a satisfied smile.

“Oh, I had thought there would not be any more questions. Never mind! I do not wish to share that information. It would, so to speak, kill the joke. Although you may already have a guess…” he nodded towards the door through which his men had just reentered.

Iceman couldn’t have seen what all the others saw, what made Mav’s anxiety grow tenfold. The two men who had led Hollywood out earlier returned with a massive bucket of water which they placed in the middle of the room. Behind them entered ‘The Slapper’ with a roll of duct tape in his hands and a triumphant grin spread across his face.

“Question time is over! Speaking is not permitted from now on!” declared Nightmare, who was still holding Iceman’s head by his hair. Then he turned to his men, saying only:

“He is yours. But do not overdo it!”

Mav saw Iceman’s jaw tighten. Sensing the three men approaching him, he tried to pull his head out of Nightmare's grasp, only to be pulled back even harder in response. He held him until his men reached them. They stepped behind him, ‘Strange Teeth’ to his left and ‘Tattoo’ to his right, and they cut the tape from his wrists then held his arms tight so that ‘The Slapper’ could tie them together behind the pilot’s back. Then the two men roughly yanked Iceman into a standing position, while the third one started to free his legs so that they could drag him over to the bucket.

Nightmare’s three men did their jobs with brutal efficiency and routine, and Mav didn't want to think about how many people had suffered for them to gain such expertise. But despite all their experience apparently none of them expected that as soon as his legs were free, Iceman, pulling his right leg out of the hands of ‘The Slapper’ who was leaning over, would knee the man on the chin.

Even Maverick was surprised by the very non-‘by the book’ movement. But he knew that the blond pilot had gone too far against the big man, who staggered back, rubbing his aching jaw and straightening angrily up to his full height of six-foot-four.

“You’re gonna die for this, you filthy little brat!” he hissed, then started forward, but Nightmare stopped him with a single wave of his hand before he could reach the pilot.

“I override my previous statement. He is yours, and no need to be gentle… Until we achieve the desired effect…”

The three men nodded to that gleefully, then grabbed Iceman hard and started to drag him towards the bucket. Kazansky, remaining his stoic self, didn't waste energy on shouting and swearing, but silently put all his strength into physical resistance. He tried everything to free himself from the steel grips holding him. He tried to gain a firm foothold, to pull and twist himself out of their fingers, but with his hands tied behind his back he had no chance against the three burly men.

When they reached the bucket, they made him kneel in front of it. No matter how hard the blond pilot wanted to stay cool, tough, and unaffected, in that moment Mav could see the raw panic in his eyes. It ran across his face like a shadow just before ‘The Slapper’ grabbing his hair again, and pushed his head under the water. 

Slider, who still had tape over his mouth, desperately tried to shout at the men to let his pilot go, to leave him alone. Wolfman watched the events with a white face, almost in a state of shock.

And Mav…

He felt he could have killed with his eyes as he caught Nightmare’s gaze, while the man’s creepy smile suggested that Maverick might take his turn too. The pilot felt that he hated this man, hated him from the bottom of his heart.

And his hatred, if possible, increased even more together with his shock when, after a few seconds, he realized that he was still waiting for the three men to pull Iceman out of the water.

Pull him out! Damn it, when will you pull him out…? Jesus… They’re crazy… They’re gonna kill him…

Slider must have thought the same as he suddenly started shouting and protesting even more frantically, and Mav was stunned to see that tears were falling from the RIO’s eyes in his helpless rage and dread. 

And maybe this was the first time he had faced the fact that the friendship between Iceman and Slider was deeper than he assumed. It wasn’t a simple pilot-RIO working relationship, as his hadn't been with Goose. Maybe this was also the first time he was grateful that Goose wasn’t with them anymore, because at least he was saved from this. Mav didn’t know how Goose would have borne it if it had been him under the water, nor he if they had done it to Goose. That they did it to Iceman was already more than bad enough.

Maverick’s hatred towards their captors, as well as his fear for the life of the blond pilot, grew more and more as he saw that Iceman’s body began to give up struggling. He seemed to be weaker and weaker with every passing second, while the three men were still holding him there under the water. And although Mav was aware he could be punished for it too, he couldn't take it anymore.

“Let him go! You fucking bastards. He’ll drown! Leave him alone!” He shouted, desperation clear in his voice. But his words seemed to fall on deaf ears.

The next half minute stretched out like an eternity before Iceman finally went completely limp. As if they were only waiting for this as a cue, they lifted the unconscious pilot out of the water, and then carelessly threw him on the ground.

“Oops, you guys might have gone a little overboard!” Nightmare said with satisfaction disguised as a rebuke, then grabbed the bucket of water and poured its entire contents on the man lying on the ground. Iceman didn't even flinch.

Slider screamed and Mav felt as if he were the one doused with that bucket of water.

“Never mind, we still have two pilots left,” Nightmare added with an indifferent look. Then he stepped to Maverick.

“Lieutenant Mitchell, as I indicated earlier, I do not really tolerate any kind of speech without my permission. Therefore, now I will be forced to punish you as well.” He said this as if he were terribly sorry that he had to do it, but by now everyone could see how much he enjoyed hurting others. 

“But what should be your punishment?” Nightmare wondered aloud. Looking around with overplayed pondering, his eyes fell on the piece of rag on the floor that had been silencing Iceman before. Then he looked at the seemingly lifeless blond pilot, then at Maverick, and a cruel smile appeared on his lips as he came to a decision. Suddenly a knife appeared in his hands and he rested its tip against Mav’s chest.

“I know you two are rivals. Regardless, I do not think you want the death of one more person on your soul...” 

Mav had no idea what the man could have in mind, and was even more confused when he took the knife from his chest and, stepping behind him, sliced the tape off his left hand, leaving a cut on his wrist.

“Especially not such a worthless, humiliating death…” Nightmare continued while he picked up the rag from the floor and approached Iceman.

“…like drowning in his own vomit…”

As soon as he realised what the man’s intention was, Maverick began to try to free his other hand without any further hesitation. But that task was far from easy with his numb left hand, which in addition had started to bleed from the cut.

Meanwhile he had half an eye on Nightmare, so he saw as the man got down on one knee next to Iceman and pushed the piece of rag back into the unconscious pilot’s mouth. Then ‘The Slapper’, who stepped to them without asking, ensured that the rag would remain in place with a strip of duct tape.

After that both men stood up to leave, but before doing so Nightmare turned back to his captives.

“We are going to return soon. In the meantime…” He stopped and nodded to ‘The Slapper’, who looked down at Iceman with contempt clear on his face, and with one well-aimed movement he kicked the gagged pilot hard on the stomach. The blond man’s body writhed in pain, and he started dry heaving. But Mav knew that only seconds remained before he would start actually upheaving the water he must have swallowed.

“…Have fun!” Nightmare finished sending around his derisive grin on the stunned company before leaving the room with his men.

“Fucking animals!” Mav's anger burst out of him as soon as the door was closed. He frantically tugged at the duct tape with his left hand as he tried to pull his right hand out from under it, but it was wrapped too tightly. 

This won’t work! Shit! Damn it!

After a few more tugs, he gave up and began to try other tactics, searching for the end of the tape with his numb, bloody fingers. 

Just hold on, Kazansky!

He looked up for a moment to the blond, whose gagging seemed to have subsided. He wanted to get to him as soon as possible so that he could free him before he started to regurgitate the water. Nightmare was painfully right in that; he couldn’t bear the burden of another person dying because of him. He was seized with terror at the thought of having to watch Iceman’s death throes while he had the chance to save him.

Where the hell is the edge?

“Damn it!” He swore loudly this time. His fingers were slippery with blood and trembling with anxiousness, which made his task even more difficult. But finally he managed to find the end of the duct tape, and he was about to scrape it up, when Wolfman, suddenly finding his voice, shouted.

“Come on, Mav! Hurry up! He’s moving again!”

And as Mav looked up he too saw that Iceman slowly turned his head to the side with a soft moan. As if he were just waking up from a good sleep. But in fact they were all in a nightmare, Nightmare’s nightmare.

For a single long moment nothing happened, everything seemed to freeze, unmoving…

Then without a warning the blond pilot’s  whole body convulsed again, this time with the first wave of vomit.

“Come on, Mav! Hurry up!” Wolfman urged again, but he couldn’t free himself as fast as he wanted to. 

A long, muffled, but clearly discernible “No!” from Slider accompanied Iceman’s second, more violent convulsion. Then some horrible choking-coughing sound began to come from the blond pilot, while water started to leak from his nostrils.

“Jesus! Oh shit!” Mav could finally begin to peel off the tape and he tore and rolled it as fast as he could. 

While Iceman’s body convulsed for the third time… 

Come on! Damn it!

And for the fourth… 

I’ll be too late! I’ll be too late!

Then the blond fell silent and completely limp…

No more time left. 

As soon as both his hands became free, Mav, being led by one last desperate thought, swung forward, dragging the chair his legs were still tied to with him. Crawling on the floor, drawing the chair after him, he could finally reach Iceman.

As he tore the duct tape off his lips and pulled the rag out, water came out of his mouth instantly. Mav pulled Iceman's body into his lap as best he could to make it easier for him to cough up the water, but the blond pilot remained motionless.

“Come on, Ice! Come on!” Mav shook him. And as he held the other man, hugging him from behind…

As he gripped his dripping wet flight suit…

As his drenched hair touched his face…

And water was under them…

Water was around them…

Water…

Water…

Water everywhere…

And a motionless body in his hands…

“Oh my God…” Maverick groaned, and he could no longer see Iceman’s pale white face but only Goose’s with his bloodied forehead… 

The puddle they were lying in, all of a sudden started to churn just like the ocean…

Again he felt the salty taste of seawater and his own tears on his lips…

And again he was holding his best friend’s lifeless body in his arms…

Oh my God… Goose….

With his trembling hands he grasped Iceman’s wet flight suit even more tightly, and pulled the man closer to his chest, while his breathing became more and more rapid.

“Mav! Mav, what’s happening? Is he breathing?” Wolfman’s voice seemed to come from somewhere beyond a wall, and Mav almost laughed at the naivety of the question.

Is he breathing? How could he be? 

He’s dead…

I killed him… 

It was all my fault…

He gasped even faster and louder, hugging the blond pilot even harder.

“Mav! Is he breathing?” He heard the question again, this time not so distantly. But he still didn’t understand why the voice kept asking him that. After all, it should know that he was dead…

It was all my fault…

I took him from his family…

I took his life…

I took from him the chance to take another breath ever again…

His thoughts swirled guiltily as his own loud panting filled his ears.

His heart would never ever beat again…

He shut his eyes to keep back his tears and, while holding Iceman’s body in a tight embrace, he put his palm over the blond pilot’s heart.

And in that moment, all at once, he realized that life was still pulsing in him… His heart was beating… Which meant…

“Breathe!” Mav heard himself forcefully command the unconscious pilot.

He could perceive Slider’s frantic cries merging into one another with Wolfman’s continuous speech about what Maverick should do.

“Hit him on the back! Hit him on the back! Or try the Heimlich maneuver if that doesn’t work! Just do something!”

Their voices became sharp and close, as if he broke the surface from underwater, and they helped Mav return to reality. His confusion disappeared in an instant, he was completely aware of his surroundings again and he could remember with crystal clarity what had happened, and that the man he was holding in his arms was not Nick Bradshaw but…

Tom Kazansky.

“Come on, man! Goddammit!” Mav hit Iceman on his back, but nothing happened.

“Breathe, Kazansky! Come on!” He hit him again, harder, and finally the blond’s body convulsed once more, but this time the water could freely flow out of his airways as he started coughing and vomiting.

“That’s it! Cough it all up!” Mav said with tremendous relief. He felt that he too could breathe properly again, and as he glanced up he saw the tension leaving Slider’s muscles.  But the tears were still sitting on the lashes of his closed eyes, glinting in the dim light of the room.

“I’m gonna free you soon.” Mav nodded to the RIO. “Just wait for him to calm down a bit first.” Him and me… he added in thought, still holding the other pilot, who slumped slightly after he threw up everything together with the water. But even after that he broke into fits of coughing, and he was shivering with cold. Somewhat awkwardly, Mav was rubbing Iceman’s back soothingly throughout all of this.

This sudden intimacy between the two of them was rather strange, even if it was born out of necessity and only Mav was conscious of it, but he felt that he too needed the closeness now. He tried to calm himself by concentrating on the other pilot’s breathing he could feel through his palm. Because, all of a sudden, he became very much aware of the fact that he was almost too late, and that if he had been frozen for a bit longer, then…

“That was a close call...” Wolfman said accompanied by a long sigh, half reflecting Mav’s thoughts. Then Mav saw a shadow run across the RIO’s face, and he was sure that the other man was thinking of Hollywood. The pilot was still in the hands of those barbaric animals who were clearly capable of anything, especially if someone flew in their face. 

“Wood will be fine, Wolf,” Mav quietly answered his friend’s unasked question, trying to reassure him. “He’s not as arrogant and insolent as our Iceman here.”

Our Iceman? Mav repeated his own words to himself in surprise, as he had no idea where the unexpected affection came from that had sneaked into his voice without his consent. Maybe having the man’s life in his hands broke through the invisible barrier between them? Or at least the first barrier out of many, since that surely didn't make us friends overnight, he thought hurriedly. 

Anyway, even that could only be said from Mav’s side. He knew that only he felt this slight shift in their relationship, for Iceman was completely unaware of everything that had happened to him and around him in the past few minutes.

Maybe it’s for the best that he doesn’t know… 

He looked down again at the pilot in his arms whose coughing was slowly subsiding as his breathing finally smoothed out to a steady, albeit somewhat fast, pace, but he was also shaking more and more violently from the cold.

“Kazansky? You with us?” Mav couldn’t decide if the pilot was still unconscious or just keeping his eyes tightly closed. Instead of an answer, however, he only heard a trembling intake of breath.

“I’m gonna leave you here for a moment. I have to free the others,” Mav continued in the hope that something from his words would reach the man. Then he carefully laid him on his side, for lack of a better option, at least so that his face wouldn’t be where the floor was wettest. He didn't have much of a chance though, as they were still in the middle of a large puddle, and in order for them to move away Mav had to free his legs. The process was a bit slow, but after a few minutes he was finally able to kick that bloody chair away from him. Then he freed the completely drenched pilot's arms that were still tied behind his back much faster, and, pulling him somewhat away from the water, he placed him in the recovery position. 

Then he quickly stepped to Slider, who, as soon as he was able to speak again, immediately addressed his words to Maverick.

“Mav–thank you! If you didn’t… couldn’t… I don’t…. Just… Oh God, Mav, thank you!” 

The short pilot, who was already behind the chair trying to pull the duct tape off Slider's arms, in response put his hand on the RIO's shoulder and squeezed gently. 

“Now just focus on your pilot!” he said, not really knowing how to react to the gratitude. He was rarely on the receiving end of such a thing.

They freed Slider’s legs together and the RIO rushed to Iceman's side as soon as possible.

 Your place is there. You should have been by his side a long time ago, Mav thought. Tearing his gaze away from the duo, he walked behind Wolfman. He suddenly felt like an outsider who had intruded, against both of their wills and out of necessity, behind the invisible walls surrounding Iceman. He knew very well that his place was outside of those walls. But for some unknown reason he felt a bitter taste in his mouth…

By the time Wolfman was free, Slider had already peeled the soaked clothes from the upper body of his pilot and he was about to take off his own shirt. Then the three of them lifted up the shivering man and carried him to the nearest wall, where Slider sat down against the wall and pulled Iceman into his lap to warm him with his own body heat.

“Hey, little bro, I’m here now. You’ll be okay. Everything will be fine.” Slider murmured the words of encouragement into his pilot's ear, though the second part somehow lacked sincere conviction. And, as if he felt that the others also sensed this, he asked after a deep sigh:

“What the hell is gonna happen to us now?”

“We have to get out of here,” Mav said in a determined voice, and Wolf stood up to look around the room they were locked in. He first tried to open the massive door through which their captors left the room, but as expected it didn’t move an inch, not even when he pushed it with his shoulder then angrily kicked it.

They were in some kind of cellar, that was for sure, which was completely empty except for the chairs they had been tied to. In front of its two small windows iron bars blocked the only possible escape route. Also, there was another door, but it was a dead end, because behind it, apart from a dirty toilet, a shower and a sink, there was only a half-broken mirror hanging on the wall. But since he was already there, Wolfman tried to clean his flight suit, then grabbed some toilet paper to clean up the floor too. He also handed some to Mav.

“Hold it on your wrist to stop the bleeding,” he said quietly as he patted the pilot’s shoulder.

Mav looked up at him, a little taken aback by the care but grateful for it nonetheless.

“Thanks,” he said with a smile, then turned his gaze back to Slider and Iceman. Seeing the pair of gray-blue eyes watching him, he almost fell backwards in surprise.

“Ice-man! How do you feel? Are you okay?”

The pair of eyes looked around slowly as if the pilot was trying to find focus, then after an uncertain nod he started coughing again. Then his coughing turned into rapid gasping for air.

“Hey, Tom! Slow down! Easy!” Slider murmured. Mav and Wolf just kept quiet, as if afraid they would be overstepping their authority if they spoke now. Seeing the fear in Iceman's eyes, witnessing his complete defenselessness, was already like spying on a secret–or at least that was how Mav felt. So he looked instead at Slider, who was trying to calm his confused pilot with a worried face.

“You can breathe, just try it a little slower! Try to follow my breathing! In… out…”

But watching Slider also seemed too personal, as if he were a stranger in an intimate family scene. Because the way the RIO talked to Iceman was exactly like a loving older brother comforting his little brother who had woken up from a bad dream.

“That’s it Tom! You’re doing great! In… out… In… and out… You’re safe!   I’m here–I’ve got you.”

In the end, Mav preferred to wait with his eyes lowered. And he didn’t look up from the deep examination of his wet pant legs until Iceman finally spoke.

“What… what happened?” He asked in an uncertain, hoarse voice, and for a moment or two they all just stared at each other in silence, waiting for one of them to finally say something. Slider was the one who broke the silence at last with uncharacteristic fervor that left Mav open-mouthed, especially after his previous gentle tone.

“What happened? You almost drowned, that’s what happened!” The tension that had been building up for the past half an hour broke out of Ron Kerner. “Why the hell did you have to spit at that tank of a man? What the hell were you thinking? You arrogant prick! If it wasn’t for Mav then you would be d…” He choked on the last word. He tried to continue with another sentence, but it ended the exact same way. “For a moment I thought you already were…” He buried his face in Iceman’s neck and started crying. “Don’t you dare do this to me ever again! Do you hear me, Tom Kazansky? Promise me you’ll never do that to me again!” 

The RIO sniffed into his pilot’s shoulder. Looking at Iceman for a moment Maverick thought for a moment that he was rolling his eyes at that; but then he realized that he was looking upwards, blinking, probably holding back his own tears.

“I promise…” whispered Iceman, and he rested his head on top of Slider's. Then he looked at Maverick.

“Thank you,” he told him quietly. 

Mav just nodded. He didn’t trust in his voice to speak. Seeing the true depth of the friendship between Kazansky and Kerner had had an unexpected effect on him. He had learned more of their bond in the last hour than during the whole Top Gun program. 

For some reason, he had always assumed that the two men were just buddies, that they were only in a loose collegial relationship and even that was one-sided. He saw many times how Slider carelessly hugged Iceman’s shoulder, but the pilot always seemed passive, neither reciprocating nor showing the slightest appreciation for the gesture. So Mav had supposed he just tolerated the taller man, since without a RIO he wasn’t able to fly. He had believed that Iceman was too arrogant and Slider too superficial for them to form a real, strong attachment.

So it was astonishing for Maverick to witness the obvious signs of mutual brotherly love and affection between the two men.

At the same time, he was deeply shaken by what he saw and heard, because the two men were reminding him, willingly or unwillingly, that he had lost all of this. He had lost his best friend, his confidant, the only person he could ever really trust; the person with whom he could laugh, who knew him better than anyone else, who was as close to him as a real brother; for whom he would have been willing to go to the ends of the earth…

As he watched Kazansky and Kerner he felt a gaping emptiness in his soul. And suddenly he realized what that bitter taste was he had sensed previously. No matter how much he wanted to suppress the emotion, he had to admit that he was jealous.

Yes, he felt jealousy over the friendship of the two men, and endless pain, since he could never get Goose back.

And maybe he would never have another friend like that ever again. Maybe no one would be able to fill that achingly cavernous hole in his heart again. Maybe it will never go away…

He was jolted out of his bitter thoughts by a noise coming from the door. The locks opened from the outside and the three men re-entered with their leader.

“Oh, what a touching scene!” Nightmare said, surveying the pilot-RIO duo from head to toe.

As usual, Iceman tried to remain calm and put on an impassive face, but Mav could see the knuckles of his fisted hands turning white and his whole body trembling with tension. And, if possible, Slider hugged Iceman's chest even tighter, sending the message that they can only hurt his friend again through his body.

“Lieutenant Mitchell, you did not disappoint me this time!” The man nodded towards Mav. “I am glad to see that, thanks to you, Lieutenant Kazansky has survived the adjustment. I would have regretted prematurely giving up the special entertainment opportunity that I believe lies in his person.” He turned back to Iceman, scrutinizing the pilot. Then he continued his speech addressing him. 

“Of course I have to trust that you have learned your lesson… But to be honest, I do not mind if not, because then I will have the chance to display even more methods of discipline on you… Or on anyone else who did not learn from the example of the Lieutenant.” The threat was directed toward all of them this time.

“But now I do not want to waste any more time. I have decided that you should start preparing immediately… to repel the Layton rescue.”

Chapter Text

“…Come on, Ice! Come on…!” 

Ice felt as if his body was floating, while the searing pain pulled him into the depths. Every part of him was on fire, and the water engulfing him, instead of extinguishing the flames, only fueled them. It would have been so nice to just float weightlessly on top of the water... to let the waves gently embrace him and take him in… to let go of everything… to sink slowly and silently… to be free from pain forever…

But the fiery fingers of agony squeezed his throat too tightly, arms of flame seeming to want to crush his chest... Instead of being softly rocked by the waves, he was pulled wildly down, swallowed and burned by the water... It wanted to burn him from the inside…

“…Breathe…!”

As if he heard voices… As if someone were above the water… But he couldn’t hear the words. The waves of fire roared and rumbled too loudly, drowning out almost all other sounds, however, Ice was sure that someone was talking to him… And he wished he understood what he was saying… For some reason, he felt that it might be something important, some big, fate-changing secret, something that might help him escape from the captivity of the water. He craved to comprehend the words, but he tried desperately to hold on to the fragments of sound in vain as they slipped through his fingers and he was pulled down again by the deep…

 “…Come on, man! Goddammit…!”

No matter how hard he was fighting against it, the fiery waves were hurling his body as if he were a rag doll tossing and turning helplessly on the water… His arms had no strength in them… He felt too weak… Sometimes it seemed that he was finally swimming on the surface, only to be dragged down again by the torment of the bottomless depths…

Maybe he should try to take a breath when he was above water…? But he wasn’t sure if he would be able to find his way to the surface again, if he had enough strength left in him to do so. It was so far away… Too far… The voices of hope were getting further and further again...

“…Breathe, Kazansky! Come on…!”

And somehow he made it… Although he was afraid that the burning pain would swallow him again, he was above it now. He didn’t know how, but he was able to fight his way through the wall of water… Maybe he managed to catch the voices after all? Because he heard them, he heard them again, even a little more clearly than before. And he finally seemed to understand them. The voices reminded him that he wanted to take a breath when he reached the surface…

And how that first gasp of air hurt…

It was excruciatingly painful as it extinguished the fire by sweeping the flames away in waves…

“…That’s it! Cough it all up!”

But at the same time, it was so sweet that he couldn't get enough of it…

He began to wildly gasp for it… He drank it, he ate it, he didn’t even know what his body was doing anymore and in the end he was so carried away by the feeling that he became dizzy and began to fall towards the darkness again…

But this fall was no longer terrifying, on the contrary, it was like falling into a deep sleep between soft pillows...

Tom Kazansky woke up for the second time in a few hours with no understanding of where he was, or what was going on around him. Everything was blurry and confused. He heard voices sometimes from nearby, sometimes from far away, but all the voices were familiar… From time to time he felt himself being moved, turned, dragged, or lifted. And when he was finally able to open his eyes, all he saw was someone standing in front of him. He was sure he should know who he was. But no matter how hard he tried to make out the figure's features, everything was like looking through the lenses of strong glasses with perfect eyes.

“Ice-man! How do you feel? Are you okay?”

Ice heard the question and nodded uncertainly, mostly because he thought that was the answer expected of him. But was he really okay? No, he wasn’t. Actually, he felt beyond terrible, although it was still a blur to him what could have happened. He still felt the burning sensation in his chest, his throat, all along his esophagus, even in his face…

A deep cough ripped painfully from his lungs, and as he felt someone wrap his arms around him from behind it unconsciously brought out the same dread he felt when he was held down and made to kneel in front of the bucket... All of a sudden every moment flashed before him again. He remembered the water… And his last fully aware and sharp memory was when he felt he couldn’t hold his breath any longer…

Air…

As if the air wasn’t enough again… He needed more… Much more…

Except he hadn't recovered enough to realize yet that he couldn’t get as much air as he needed exactly because he became more and more desperate for it, turning his breaths into hasty and shallow gulps.

“Hey, Tom! Slow down! Easy!”

The voice spoke right next to his ear and it was reassuringly familiar.

Ron…!

“You can breathe, just try it a little slower! Try to follow my breathing! In… out…”

With all his might he tried to cling to his best friend’s words. The thought that Slider was somewhere near had a calming effect on him. As a blind man relies on his guide dog, he relied on the voice, trusting that it would lead him somewhere safe.

“That’s it Tom! You’re doing great! In… out… In… And out… You’re safe! I’m here–I’ve got you!”

And when he realized that Slider was not only close but the one holding him, the tension in his muscles slowly began to ease. He let himself relax into the embrace, feeling the protection of the man’s strong arms. Eventually, as he got more control over his breathing, shapes and faces slowly began to emerge around him, and his head cleared.

The first person he saw, to his surprise, was Pete Mitchell, sitting right in front of him with his head hanging low. Next to Mitchell Wolfman was watching Ice with worry on his face. Behind him, Slider rested his forehead against his pilot’s freckled shoulder in relief.

They all were free from their restraints, and they were alone in the dim cellar room.

Where are Nightmare and his men? How did we get free? For how long was I knocked out? Why am I so cold? Numerous questions ran through his mind all at once, but he only asked one of them out loud, the most obvious one.

“What… what happened?”

His voice was so weak and raspy that he could barely recognise it. Yet, his speech elicited a somehow similar reaction as his words usually did. Suddenly the silence became so thick it could have been cut, his companions traded glances, but none of them seemed to dare to reply. And with each silent moment that passed, Ice grew more and more insecure about whether he really wanted to hear the answer.

 That’s when he sensed Slider’s body tense up behind him, and from that he already knew his RIO was about to release the emotions accumulated inside him. But since he was rarely on the receiving end of Slider’s temper, he wasn't fully prepared for what came next.

“What happened? You almost drowned, that’s what happened! Why the hell did you have to spit at that tank of a man? What the hell were you thinking? You arrogant prick! If it wasn’t for Mav, then you would be d…” 

Oh…

“For a moment I thought you already were…” Slider’s voice broke, and Ice felt as he pulled him even closer and started to quietly sob into his shoulder.

In addition to his physical pain, Ice now began to feel extremely ashamed. It only took a single moment of losing control, of giving in to the white-hot anger he felt, to lead to this… 

How could he be so stupid? How could he do that to his best friend? 

It had only been two weeks since they lost Goose, and even in his current unstable state Ice could recall the conversation between him and Slider that night with crystal clarity. 

The accident shook both of them to the core. They were silently sitting in the small living room of their shared apartment, deep in their own thoughts. It was Slider who spoke up first after a long time. 

“You know, I keep thinking that it could have happened to us as well… God… I just don’t know what I would do if I lost you. And I never want to know… It just can't happen because I don't think I would survive…”

And here they were, and even if it was unintentional Ice knew that Slider had been through hell because of him in the last God knows how many minutes or hours.

“Don’t you dare do this to me ever again!” Slider told him in a tearful voice. “Do you hear me, Tom Kazansky? Promise me you’ll never do that to me again!”

Ice’s heart, which was already remorseful, sank even further hearing the brokenness in his RIO’s voice. He felt the prickling sensation of gathering tears behind his eyelids, and looking upwards he quickly tried to blink them away before they rolled down his face, sealing his shame with silvery streaks. He only dared to answer when he was sure that he had managed to avoid further humiliating himself in front of the others.

“I promise…” he whispered, leaning his head on top of Slider’s. Then he closed his eyes for a moment to collect himself a bit more before he looked at Maverick.

Even if he couldn’t remember what had happened, Slider’s sentence still echoed in his soul: if it wasn’t for Mav then you would be…

Dead.

This was the word his RIO hadn't been able to say out loud. Ice understood it anyway. It was hard to imagine what could have happened, and how it could have been that the short pilot saved him. It embarrassed him, especially since it meant he owed Mitchell, and he didn’t even know exactly why. However, be that as it may, Ice knew what his obligation was, and what was expected of him.

“Thank you!” He offered his words quietly to the other pilot, who just nodded, but with such a strange expression on his face that made Iceman immediately question his decision of showing any kind of gratitude. He didn’t understand what the look could mean, but it mostly reminded him of someone biting into a lemon. As if instead of thanking him, Ice scolded him or slapped him outright.

What the hell could have happened? What did Mitchell have to do to keep me alive? 

Ice was intently watching the man with a frown, but try as he might he couldn't read his eyes. He could only speculate, which in turn led to a cruel conviction starting to grow in his heart, and like a weed it suppressed all the flowers around it that were about to bloom. 

He must despise me. 

He recognized the emotion on Maverick’s face, or at least he thought so, and even if he didn’t admit it to himself, deep down it hurt to see that expression. It held in front of him a kind of distorted mirror, reminding him of the biggest mistake he ever made. He killed Goose. He took the other pilot’s best friend away from him. What had happened on Hop 31 was entirely his fault, because he should have been better, flown flawlessly, perfectly. But he failed and there was no way he could make things right. So he could completely understand Mitchell’s disdain. He knew he deserved it, but it still hurt…

Suddenly he could visualize their previous situation very clearly. He saw Maverick struggling with whether to save him or not. He saw the hesitation in his eyes. It wasn’t about hatred, or revenge. It was about being worth it or not…

And from Maverick’s current expression it was obvious he wasn’t. 

He must feel that he did not make the right decision, that he should have left me to my fate, whatever that fate might have been...

His bitter thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the opening door and soon Nightmare stood in front of them with his escort of cruelly grinning men. They eyed them like hungry cats cornering mice, while after a few more veiled and less veiled threats the leader gave them specific orders.

“Lieutenants Mitchell and Kazansky are going to stay here! Lieutenants Wolfe and Kerner, if I may ask you to please come with me, because you have a little task waiting for you. Oh, and Lieutenant Kerner, if you would be so kind and take back your flight suit…”

Slider gently squeezed Ice's shoulder as he stood up from behind him, while Wolf gathered his fellow RIO’s T-shirt from the floor and handed it to him. Slider took it but when he wanted to pass it on his pilot Nightmare stopped him. 

“Nice gesture, but absolutely unnecessary, as I am sure Lieutenant Kazansky will do just fine without it. So kindly put it on yourself!”

Whatever Slider thought, he didn’t let it show on his face.

“I would also like to remind everyone present that Lieutenant Neven is still enjoying our hospitality in another room. Thus I suggest you come willingly, in order to avoid any further…inconvenience,” the man added, watching Slider’s every movement. Then, stepping aside and pointing towards the door, he added with his usual feigned politeness, “After you, gentlemen!”

Before obeying the men’s command Slider looked down at his pilot once more with a concerned face, mouthing, "You promised!" In response he tried to smile at his RIO encouragingly and answered with a small nod acknowledging that he would keep his word. However, inside he was also torn apart by worry. He followed Slider’s receding form with his gaze until the door was shut behind them.

So he was left alone with Maverick, whose face now reflected the same inner anxiety that Ice felt. They didn’t know where and why the two RIOs had been taken, but knowing that they were with those bastards filled the blond pilot with helpless rage.

He stared at the door for a while, as if he could open it by sheer willpower. But it remained stubbornly closed. It occurred to him that he might try to open it with his bare hands, but he immediately dismissed the idea. The others must have already tried, and seeing the thoroughness of their captors so far, he was sure that they would not make such a basic mistake. Thus he bowed his head in resignation, and it was only when he noticed that his bare arms were covered with goosebumps that he realized how cold he was. Without the warmth of Slider’s body behind him, he was shivering violently.

He didn’t really understand how, but his flight suit was completely soaked and therefore useless. It would have been pointless to put it back on. So, for lack of a better option, he pulled his knees to his chest and tried to hug them as tightly as possible with his arms. And even if his chills were not significantly alleviated by this body position, it helped him mentally to keep himself together, because in fact he wasn’t too far from falling apart.

But he refused to think about that right now, and luckily his body supported him in this, because suddenly he was overwhelmed with such a bone-deep exhaustion that he was unable to fight it. After all, he has fought enough. He had struggled to stay alive even in those minutes he was unable to recall. And this battle consumed all the strength of his body and soul…

He rested his head on his knees and closed his eyes… 

Just for a moment… he thought.

…but that single moment was enough to make him fall asleep.

He had no idea how long he might have slept. It could have been either five minutes or five hours, but he didn't feel the least bit rested when he was awakened by a fit of coughing. From somewhere deep in his chest, the stimulus ripped up painfully, almost plowing through his already irritated throat. Although he didn’t want to, that burning sensation immediately brought back all the bad memories and thoughts he had attempted to push away earlier.

He didn’t want to recall the panic that gripped him when he was made to kneel in front of the bucket; he didn’t want to feel the insecurity that arose in him towards himself as a result of what had happened; he tried to dismiss Maverick’s contemptuous look from his memories.

He was desperate to not think about his feelings. 

But all of this only worked for a few moments until the other pilot spoke up, asking him the exact question that made all of this impossible for Ice. 

“How do you feel?”

“Fine,” Ice barked automatically, and he hoped Mitchell would be satisfied with that, no matter how false the answer rang even in his own ears. But what else could he have said? Anything else or anything more would have revealed just what a miserable state he was really in. And he had absolutely no desire to show any kind of weakness, especially after playing the fucking ‘damsel in distress’ in front of everyone. He was so angry with himself right now…

Maverick watched him intently for a few minutes with what surprisingly seemed to be worry in his eyes. Then unexpectedly his expression changed, and seemed to brighten somehow. There was the same childish, complicit light in his eyes that Ice had seen up close when he had talked to Pete Mitchell for the first time in his life. 

“Okay, then I’m gonna start it!” Maverick said finally, his tone challenging. "I don't think I've ever been as angry as I am right now. I’m so angry at this whole damn situation. I'm angry they wanna force us to do things I would never do. And I’m angry that we’re completely powerless against this psychopath and his minions!” He said this in one breath, looking towards the door. Then he suddenly turned back to Ice. 

“It’s your turn,” he added. 

Ice stared at the other pilot for a while, completely confused, the gears in his brain clicking wildly.

Are you serious, Mitchell? What the hell is this? Some kind of ‘exchanging feelings’ game? Cause that’s what it is about, right? For your honestly confessed feeling I have to give one of mine… That’s the rule, isn’t it? But why? 

Ice was sure there must be some ulterior motive behind the idea of playing whatever this game was. But he couldn't figure out what it could be.

Watching Maverick, he saw no trace of that earlier bitter look, but he couldn't believe that underlying emotion had just disappeared without a trace. He knew he was the source of the disdain the other man felt, but this game idea didn't fit that picture, and neither did the concern he had seen in Mitchell's eyes just moments ago.

Ice wanted to know the answers. He wanted to know where they stood with each other now, because it frustrated him to no end that he was unable to tell.

He could only tell his side of the story, and he knew that some of his feelings towards the other pilot had changed over the past two weeks even if he didn’t want to put any labels on them such as care or sympathy. After the accident, he had quickly realized that their rivalry no longer mattered to him; the urge to show who was the best was simply gone. Instead he felt deep pity and suffocating remorse whenever he looked at Maverick, and a strange helplessness knowing that he took something from the man he would never be able to give back. It only made the situation worse when Mitchell became aloof and turned in on himself. And during their only interaction, when Ice tried to apologize to him, he didn't even bother looking at him, and…

The blond pilot suddenly felt like he had found a missing piece of the puzzle. How did he not realize before? Maverick must have wished him to hell even then, and that’s why he didn’t look at him. 

But then why didn’t he let me die here? Why did he save my life?

Ice asked himself this but since he could get no closer to figuring out the other man’s motivations, he made a decision. 

Okay, let’s play, he thought in the hope that he might get some answers through the game. I just have to name a single emotion. That’s all.

But what should he say? Mitchell said he was angry…

He took a deep breath, but before he could speak Maverick intervened.

“And you can’t repeat the same thing!” he pointed out quickly, as if reading the blond man's mind. Then after a short pause he added, “But if you want to you can agree with the other person.” 

And since he must have seen Ice’s incredulous expression he continued with a hint of a grin, “for an extra point…”

“An extra point…?” It was starting to sound like teasing, something made up by Mitchell solely to make fun of him. “Is this an actual game, or did you just come up with it?” he asked suspiciously. Then again, with as many games as I've played, it might well actually exist, he thought bitterly. He remembered playing cards for the first time at age 17 thanks to Slider, who taught him some card games after they became roommates. In the Kazansky house, from the time that little Tom started school, all kinds of games were considered a useless pastime.

“I invented neither the game nor the rules.” Maverick seemed lost in his thoughts for a moment, or maybe his memories, and Ice saw again a shadow of that bitter expression on his face. Then suddenly he gave a real grin. “But it’s flattering that you find me so creative.”

Silently, Ice gave Maverick credit for the presence of mind that he was displaying. That even in such an impossible situation he could bring out his ‘cocky bastard’ persona. While Ice, ever since he woke up here, had been constantly struggling to keep his ice-cold mask together. This near-death experience had shaken him to his core. The arrogant, confident pilot–‘ice cold, no mistakes’–had always meant safety for him. Without it he felt defenseless and vulnerable, and he didn’t want to be. He hated to have that sense of security taken from him. 

Of course, he had a hard time admitting all this even to himself, and since he considered it shameful and embarrassing, telling Mitchell was completely out of the question. But then what should he say?

“I’m angry, too,” he started at last, speaking slowly and precisely. “And… I feel hatred.” He was trying to follow the rules yet reveal as little of his true feelings as possible. ‘Hatred’ seemed a safe and passable emotion to admit. Of course, he expected Maverick to object, so when the pilot opened his mouth to speak Ice cut in again. “I know what you're gonna say, but the two are not the same. Similar, but not the same. My answer is valid.” 

Why am I taking this stupid game seriously anyway? he thought. 

“Mmm… Okay… yeah, I feel hate too.” Maverick admitted. “And now I’m gonna say something that IS different for real.” The pilot’s verbal poke toward Ice actually made him feel a little better; he and Maverick seemed to be slowly getting back to the old, familiar, give-and-take dialogue that was natural for them, or at least for Ice.

“Mine WAS different. Anger and hatred are not the same thing. It's a question of scale.” 

“Okay, okay, sure. Anyway…” Maverick began, then paused. “…I’m worried.”

“Is that all?” Ice asked after a few moments of silence. He had expected the other man to explain why he felt that way instead of just throwing it out there. Like I did, but that's beside the point.

“You didn't give an explanation.” Mitchell shrugged.

“Okay,” accepted Ice, but he managed to say that one word a tone burning from resentment.

“What’s your problem with ‘worry,’ Kazansky?” Maverick objected.

“Nothing,” Ice replied in the same tone. But seeing Mitchell’s questioning look he clarified, “It's just… the way YOU said it sounded a bit... uncaring. Like this is just a fucking party and you’re worried whether there's enough beer.” He was aware that a bit of desperation filtered through his words, but he hoped the other pilot didn’t notice it.

“Yeah? And at what level are YOU worried?” Maverick asked in a slightly sharper voice, eyebrows raised.

“I didn’t say I was worried too!” Ice snapped, instinctively defending himself. 

“Right. Of course…” Maverick let it go again with a strange expression on his face, and there was a frustrated silence between them for a few minutes. 

Ice still couldn’t figure out what the aim of this game was, unless it was to become even more annoyed by being so unable to read Maverick’s face. 

Until now, he had thought he could read other people's emotions well. He knew exactly what every expression on Slider's face meant. But Slider was his best friend (his only friends as a matter of fact), while he and Maverick were definitely far from having a friendly relationship. They were rivals from the very first moment, and they never had anything in common. There was only tension between them. The accident had changed a lot of things, sure, but it didn’t change Ice’s dislike and distrust towards the other pilot.

But now here we are, dependent on each other, and perhaps it would be advisable to establish a better relationship, because without cooperation I don't think we can get out of here…

Tearing himself out of his thoughts, Ice looked back at Maverick and felt that maybe it was time to be a bit more generous.

“I’m worried too,” he said quietly at last. Then he continued after a deep intake of breath. “I’m worried about what’s happening to the others and what’s gonna happen to us. I’m worried that they’ll want us to fight our own people soon. I’m worried, ‘cause I have no idea how we can escape from here. And where the hell is this ‘here’ anyway?” He ended his speech somewhat abruptly with a question because he was out of breath and the more he talked, the more his lungs and throat burned.

“Are you afraid?” Maverick asked unexpectedly.

“No!” He denied it right away, perhaps a little too quickly. “I didn’t say that. I said I’m worried. I haven't brought up another emotion yet,” he finished as diplomatically as possible without lying. After all, he can't just admit that he’s afraid, can he? What would Maverick think of him if he revealed that he felt fear all around him, as though it were keeping an eye on him from some hidden corner? Or if he confessed how terrified he was today when he thought he was going to drown? 

And as a reminder of what had happened, another coughing fit shook his body violently. He barely perceptibly tried to pull his knees even closer to him, still clinging to the idea that this way he could hold himself together. It hurt to cough. 

When he had calmed down and felt safe to speak again, all he said was a whispered, “Sorry.”

And while he was fighting his own shame with his head hanging low, Maverick, watching him, quietly began to speak.

“I was afraid… 

“I was afraid I wouldn't get to you in time. Those bastards left you to die and literally put your life in my hands. In my left hand to be exact. And it was all up to me… only me, and… to be honest, I’m not sure it was you I was actually trying to save, but me. I couldn't bear to see someone else die because of me...”

By the time Maverick stopped talking, Ice was looking into his green irises with wide eyes, and in that moment he could clearly read the emotions he saw in them: sincerity, remorse, and sadness. He was shocked to hear the pilot speak so openly about his feelings, though he wasn't quite sure how to feel about what Maverick had said about his rescue, confirming what he himself suspected. At least I know now where we stand with each other, he thought. 

However, what he didn’t understand was how Maverick could still blame himself too if he, Goose’s real murderer, was sitting right in front of him.

Following Maverick's last sentence, the pangs of conscience and self-blame that he had been struggling with since Hop 31 intensified again.

The day after the accident, there in the locker room, when he had tried to apologize to Maverick, he froze. It was difficult for him to talk about all his deeper feelings, and maybe the fact that the other pilot didn't even look at him had somehow silenced Ice, because it gave him the idea that no matter what he wanted to say, Maverick didn’t want to hear it.

The memory has been unpleasant for him ever since. He could recall with embarrassing accuracy how he stood there staring at Maverick’s back and instead of what he really wanted to say, what he should have said regardless of the pilot’s reaction, what he should have said because it would have been the right thing to say, only empty, meaningless words had left his lips.

Come on, Kazansky! Pull yourself together and say it now! This is your opportunity!

Ice steeled himself and, after carefully taking another deep breath, he jumped in.

“Goose didn’t die because of you, Maverick.” 

Mitchell immediately started to nod, as if he had heard that sentence at least a thousand times by now and knew how the blond pilot was going to continue. “I know, I know… it was an accident…”

But he didn’t know how Ice wanted to continue, and in the fear that he would be a coward and freeze again the blond pilot quickly interrupted. “No, that’s not what I wanted to say… I… Goose died because of me… and you know it, too. The whole accident was my fault. I was the one who didn’t take the shot. I was the one who hesitated far too long. I was the one who quit the formation at the wrong angle. And it was my plane's jetwash and I’m… I’m sorry, Mitchell! I’m so sorry…”

At the end of the last sentence his voice cracked, just barely, as he finally said the words he had wanted to say for a long time.

“So thank you even more for saving my life, even though I didn’t deserve it. Even though you h-hate me,” he added hastily before all his strength and determination could leave him. 

And Maverick just stared at him, again with unreadable emotions in his eyes.

“You…” the pilot began after a long moment of unpleasant silence that made Ice feel like he was waiting for a verdict. But he couldn’t know what Maverick was going to say, because the door began to click open once again.

Chapter Text

There was silence in the cellar. Heavy, tense silence. Like when a pool of water is as smooth as a mirror, motionless, but the clouds gathering in the distance and the rumbling heard from afar warn you of how fragile the tranquillity is.  

And how fragile we ourselves are… thought Mav, as he watched Iceman sleeping next to him…

The blond man had fallen asleep about an hour ago, leaning his head on his knees clutched tightly to his chest, a position that could not be considered comfortable even with the most charitable interpretation.

Mav had tried to follow Iceman’s example as he knew his body to be completely exhausted, but sleep wouldn’t come. In the silence that surrounded them his thoughts were too loud.

It was only now that he had really begun to realise what they were getting into. They were on the edge of a knife, and if one of them made a wrong move (as Kazansky had), it could even cost him his life. 

But damn it, can't we do anything? We can’t just…give in!

They had nothing to use to fight against their captors. They had no way out of here. And there was no guarantee that they would survive…

Fleeing the crippling feeling of helplessness, Mav had begun pacing up and down. He first entered the little bathroom, where he took a better look at the cut on his wrist. It wasn’t deep and it wasn’t bleeding anymore so he just washed his hands and continued walking. He also looked around the room, as Wolfman had done before, in an attempt to divert and engage his thoughts, but they kept turning to the dangerous path of despair.

The powerlessness sometimes choked him like panic, sometimes drove him to a mad desire to rage, but Mav tried with all his might not to yield to either direction. 

Finally, a quiet whimper from the sleeping blond pilot curled up next to the wall helped jolt him out of these well-worn thoughts into new ones. It seemed advisable to move closer to him, because who knew how someone who was almost drowned would wake up after such trauma? 

That’s how he ended up sitting next to Iceman, watching him and thinking about the fragility of human life.

A false move, a hasty act, a bad decision, or just being in the wrong place at the wrong time…and then it would be over…

Since losing Goose, that thought had often haunted him. Even though as a small child he had been forced to experience the weight of loss and grief, when he became a pilot following his dreams and his father’s footsteps he started to feel unstoppable and invincible. Maybe those feelings were natural and involuntarily in anyone who becomes capable of rising above the clouds. But the higher you fly, the further you fall…

Mav had literally fallen heavily, from thousands of feet of height, and while his body remained more or less intact, his soul had shattered into a million pieces. You could never fully recover from such an injury. You could glue yourself back together, but the cracks would still be visible forever. A scar would remain forever over a big enough wound, and the wound that the death of his best friend tore on his soul was, for the moment, still gaping. 

If only things had gone a little differently that day, if Iceman hadn’t hesitated, if Mav hadn’t been impatient, if they had flown just a few feet further from the other jet, if the seats had ejected a few moments later or the canopy had blown a few more inches away, then Goose could still have been with him. Such an interplay of small things, for the fatal accident that had already happened...

Their current situation was completely different in one important factor: intentionality. An accident was an accident, even if he knew all too well that responsibility could still weigh heavily regardless. But when people consciously and intentionally hurt others, it is called cruelty, and if they even take another person's life, it is called murder.

Mav was watching Iceman’s face. The man was turned towards him, breathing softly with slightly parted lips. His breaths sometimes shuddered, just like the pilot himself. His hair, still half wet, hung over his forehead, revealing a side of the man that Mav had never thought could exist: the face that was always level-headed, conceited, calculating and cool, now was unguarded, vulnerable and innocent. He sat so close to him, that if he had wanted, he could have smoothed that blond lock of hair which stubbornly lay crooked from all the others.

My God, how young he is… Mav thought, because his usual hairstyle always made Iceman look older somehow. And they almost killed him…

A sudden chill ran down Mav's spine, and although he tried not to recall what had happened, the images were burned so sharply into his brain that they flashed in front of him involuntarily and unbidden. He felt his blood starting to boil in his wrath. In the moment he had had no time to be angry, and perhaps that's why the anger now flared up in him with such force.

Iceman, or rather the coughing fit that erupted from his chest, chose exactly that moment to shake the pilot awake. Mav was waiting, ready to jump in if he needed to help, although he had no idea how he would handle it if the blond man had another minor panic attack like the one before. What should I do? He probably doesn’t even want my help. The uncertainty grew inside him. But in the end it didn’t matter, because Iceman woke up with a clear mind, or so it seemed to Mav. At the same time, the blond pilot’s painful expression, how tightly his hands were clutching his knees, and the fact that his whole body was straining into the coughs did not escape his attention. Mav waited for Iceman’s coughing to subside before he asked the simplest, friendliest, most obvious and most innocent question he could think of:

“How do you feel?”

However, no matter how simple, friendly and innocent Mav thought his question was, he immediately saw that Iceman was not at all happy with this approach. What’s more, he seemed to be downright angry about it, throwing back a terse “fine.”

Mav could barely stop himself from snorting in disbelief. “Fine”… sure Kazansky… real believable…

After all, he had asked the question precisely because Iceman's expression testified to the exact opposite of his claim. Mav again studied the other man from head to toe, wondering whether he should point out the things that clearly refuted Iceman's statement. In the end he decided to leave it alone. If he got such a reaction to that simple question, he would probably receive an even colder response if he started calling him to account.

And what right did he have, anyway, to judge the man for how he dealt with trauma? Wasn’t he the one who had almost lit into Sundown on the tarmac for not understanding why he didn’t take that shot? Compared to his aggression there, Iceman’s slightly annoyed reaction didn’t seem like such a big deal. Anger, denial–these were all just coping mechanisms. There's no point in taking them to heart.

But there would be a point in talking about them, said a voice eerily similar to Goose’s in Mav’s mind.

For his best friend the primary solution to any problem was to talk about it. Goose had thought one should always say what bothers, hurts, or saddens him, because that way the soul could be relieved.

Mav would give anything, after the accident, if he could have so eased his own soul, if he could have shared the pain and guilt that plagued him with someone. But his someone, the only person with whom Mav had ever been able to share his true feelings, was Goose himself. Goose, who knew the right answers to every situation, who could always find the best solutions and the best words, or at least who could make him laugh anytime, who even knew how to make the world's grumpiest four-years-old smile…

The fond memory that suddenly came to his mind almost made him smile as well.

Tears welled up in Bradley's eyes, the corner of his mouth curled down almost comically before he turned and disappeared into his parents' room. Mav looked at Goose a little intimidated. It was a rare moment when the family harmony was disturbed by something. Though it was quite understandable that his best friend didn’t allow Bradley to eat chocolate for breakfast. 

“Where’s he going?” he asked.

“Probably hiding in the wardrobe, in Carole’s clothes,” replied the RIO, rolling his eyes with an affectionate smile. “I’ll give him five minutes,” he added with a wink. When that five minutes had passed he started after his son. Mav followed him, keeping a couple steps behind, and curiously watched as Goose lowered himself into a sitting position in front of the wardrobe and knocked on its door.

“Anybody in there?”

There was no answer.

“Anybody home?” asked Goose again, but the little boy still remained stubbornly silent.

“What a pity…” he continued with a loud sigh. “I wanted to try out a new game…”

Some rustling sounded from the wardrobe, but still no words.

“Mav, wanna try it? More people can play,” Goose invited Mav, still speaking loudly, and Mav, always up for a prank, sat opposite his RIO. He was also driven by curiosity as to how the offended boy’s dad would succeed in convincing him to emerge from the wardrobe and reconcile.

“Sure! I’m in! What do I have to do?” he asked eagerly, talking as loud as Goose so that Bradley could hear every word.

“The name of the game is…” started Goose, and from his expression it was obvious that he had come up with the game at that exact moment. “Emotion Fair.”

“Emotion Fair?” Mav repeated the name with a questioning tone.

“Yep. And the rules are quite simple…”

Mav almost laughed out loud seeing Goose’s frown as he desperately tried to create those “quite simple” rules. In order to buy some time for his friend, Mav took on his most enthusiastic voice and began to goad him.

“Come on, tell me! Please tell me? I want to play sooo much. And I'm sooo curious.”

“You said you’re curious?” Goose asked back and it seemed like a light bulb suddenly lit up in his brain.

“Yes, I’m curious,” Mav confirmed what he had just said, while he noticed that the wardrobe door had opened a crack. Goose also saw it and, smiling in acknowledgment, he energetically began to explain.

“You know what? You’ve already started the game! At the Emotion Fair, everyone sells their own feelings, and can buy others’. For instance, you can now sell your curiosity, and I say that I would like to buy it. I can buy it by giving you an emotion in return.”

“But can you only say what you really feel?” asked Mav.

“Yep. But you can’t say the same feeling as the other person!” Goose added with mock seriousness. “Sooo, for your curiosity I offer… my… enthusiasm! I’m very enthusiastic because I can play the best game in the world with you!”

“Can I play, too?” Bradley asked in his high little voice, poking his straw blond head out of the wardrobe.

“Of course you can!” his dad reassured him, now with real enthusiasm and relief. “What would you say if I offer you happiness? I’m happy because playing with my son is the best possible thing I can imagine.” 

“Do I have to explain why I feel what I feel?” the boy asked cleverly.

“Well… you don’t have to, but if you do you get an extra point,” his dad replied.

“What’s an extra point good for?”

“Hmm…” Goose looked at Mav for help, but before he could lend a hand, the RIO suddenly found the answer. “You can collect them on a very special golden card!” said Goose triumphantly. 

Inspired by AmEx, Mav laughed to himself.

“Can I get extra points for other things?” asked the little boy eagerly, regardless of the fact that said golden card did not even exist.

“Of course you can! Well… let me see…yes, you can also get one if you say whether you’re feeling the same emotion as the other person offered. So if I say I’m happy, and you also say whether or not you’re happy, you get the extra point. Wanna try it?”

“Yes! Hmm… I’m a little not happy, because I wanted chocolate. And… I’m hungry, because I couldn’t eat chocolate.”

“Brad, you’re gonna get three extra points for that. And you know what? Maybe a tiny piece of chocolate wouldn’t hurt anyone,” Goose winked to his son.

“Hurray!!!” Bradley jumped up in joy and ran back to the kitchen immediately, while Goose whispered to Mav, “Just don’t mention it to Carole, cause extra points or not, she’s gonna kick my ass…”

As Mav remembered this an idea occurred to him all of a sudden, and before he could change his mind, he acted on it. 

"Okay, then I’m gonna start it! I don't think I've ever been as angry as I am right now. I’m so angry at this whole damn situation. I'm angry they wanna force us to do things I would never do. And I’m angry that we’re completely powerless against this psychopath and his minions!” And with that last sentence, he looked up at Iceman, who was staring at him as if he had suddenly grown another head. In his eyes was confusion, disbelief, suspicion, uncertainty, and something else that Mav was unable to place but seemed to cast a dark shadow over the man’s entire face. Regardless, to Mav's great surprise, the blond pilot finally responded, getting into his game–Goose's game. First he gave rather moderate, diplomatic answers. Mav tried to tease him in vain; the blond was ready to reciprocate all kinds of verbal prodding.

Deep down, Mav was happy they could slide back into their previous, familiar roles. He decided that, despite all his worries, perhaps Kazansky was not so affected as he had thought. That filled him with relief, because he wasn’t sure what he would have done with an Iceman who was shattered into pieces. It probably would have made him desperate, for as far as he could see the only possible key to escaping their situation lay in each other’s hands. They would have to join forces and forge a plan in which everyone was equally involved. But if any of them broke down, everyone's chances of escape would be reduced, and after what had happened it was Iceman who had the biggest chance of a meltdown.

However, the guy seemed like a rock in a storm.

Mav was actually impressed by this presence of mind, that Iceman could bring out his "ice-cold" self even in such a situation. He himself was the type who couldn't sit still for too long, and now he was even more restless. He would have preferred, as his call sign indicated, to rush headfirst to the door, to kick it until it opened and they could somehow get out of here. In contrast, Iceman, who literally just slipped out of the grip of death, was able to be completely collected and stoic.

Nevertheless, Mav couldn't believe that he wasn't even worried, no matter how much the blond pilot tried to deny the feeling at first.

And in the end Kazansky admitted to it. Moreover, even though Mav hadn’t explained his own feeling, because it would have sounded strange to confess that, among other things, he was actually worried about Iceman, Iceman still clarified why he felt that way. Mav gave an extra point to the man in his head. And he started to believe that there might be a chance to push the limits a bit further. He couldn’t stop himself from asking:

“Are you afraid?”

Mav was afraid. As unmanly as it might have been to admit such a thing, he didn't want to lie to himself. And for some reason, he thought it might be easier to bear the feeling if he knew he wasn't alone with it. Later, Mav didn’t know what he could have hoped for, since Kazansky was reluctant to admit even worry. There was no chance the great Iceman would confess it, if he by chance was also struggling with fear. Albeit he seemed to give that “no” as his answer a little too quickly…

Before Mav could make any snappy comments about it, though, the blond pilot started coughing again. It must have been painful for him because Mav noticed that Iceman’s whole body tensed up and he hugged his knees a little tighter.

Damn it, Kazansky, it’s bad to even listen to that, and you say you’re fine… 

The denial and obstinacy of the man began to really irritate Mav. But even his frustration wasn’t able to suppress his worry.

He paused for a moment to consider this. Why do I care about Iceman at all? he asked himself. Why do I still worry about him? Is it really just about our chance of escape, or is it about something else? Something more personal?

Ever since he had gotten to know Tom Kazansky, he disliked him. He was annoyed by his conceited style, always ready with a snappy retort to the man’s every comment about him. But their relationship wasn’t more than that. Apart from their rivalry, he was completely indifferent to the blond pilot. He had never wanted to learn more about who he really was. 

Then Hop 31 happened, and Mav pretty much had no further contact with anyone. The clashes with Iceman vanished without a trace. Kazansky, like everyone else, probably avoided his company too, unsure how to deal with his grief, except for that one occasion in the locker room when he had tried to pay his condolences. By then, Mav had gotten through quite a few such stuttered speeches; they all felt like a bunch of empty words, because nobody could understand what he was going through. Not only did he lose his best friend, but it was all his fault. He hated it when people trivialised his responsibility under the title of consolation, because he neither wanted nor was able to absolve himself from this sin. 

When Iceman had addressed him there in the locker room, the only thing on Mav’s mind was: please, don’t tell me it was an accident! He didn’t want to turn around just to see another pitying face devoid of true understanding. 

And that’s how their relationship remained before waking up in this godforsaken place. So where does my worry come from? Mav’s only logical explanation was that it was due to his responsibility. He couldn't help but feel responsible for Tom Kazansky's fate after having the blond man's life in his hands. He was the one who saved him, who held him in his arms and tried to calm him until Slider was freed, and he just couldn’t shake the feeling that the other man’s physical and mental well-being still depended on him. So he watched him struggle to cough with a kind of helplessness.

When the coughing slowly subsided and Iceman quietly apologised as if he was ashamed, Mav could sense again that same defencelessness and vulnerability he had seen earlier on the sleeping pilot’s face. And Mav felt ashamed, too, as watching the man a sudden realisation unexpectedly hit him.

I was afraid… Not of losing him, though. Of being responsible for another death… his death… 

He had known all along that he didn’t save Kazansky for what the pilot meant to him, personally, because they weren’t even friends. But this was the first time he admitted that he did it primarily for himself.

Almost anyone could have been in the man’s place, since it wasn’t Iceman's person that really mattered. Of course he wanted to save him, but he wanted to save his own soul even more, because the only thing that really mattered was that no one else should die because of him. Nightmare's words rang in his ears again: “I do not think you want the death of one more person on your soul…” And he realised only now how painfully true these words were.

That was selfish of me, he scolded himself. He also owed an apology to Iceman, he knew, and he would say it now.

“I was afraid…” he began, first staring at the ground, searching for the appropriate words to express his feelings. Then gathering himself he lifted his gaze and looking straight into Iceman’s eyes he continued.

“I was afraid I wouldn't get to you in time. Those bastards left you to die and literally put your life in my hands. In my left hand to be exact. And it was all up to me… only me, and… to be honest, I’m not sure it was you I was actually trying to save, but me. I couldn't bear to see someone else die because of me...”

Mav saw the astonishment first, then a range of completely different emotions pass over the other man’s face before he responded.

“Goose didn’t die because of you, Maverick,” Iceman began, and his sentence hit Mav as if the blond pilot had slapped him in the face. His mind immediately flashed back to the condolences in the locker room. Just like then, he didn't feel ready now for Iceman to be the one who started making him excuses. He almost wanted Kazansky to lecture him in his usual style, pointing out that he had indeed told him that Mav was dangerous, rather than comfort him with such platitudes.

“I know, I know… it was an accident…” but I see it differently, so please don’t try to convince me of something you know nothing about, Mav would have finished, if Kazansky hadn’t interrupted him.

“No, that’s not what I wanted to say… I… Goose died because of me… and you know it, too. The whole accident was my fault. I was the one who didn’t take the shot. I was the one who hesitated far too long. I was the one who quit the formation at the wrong angle. And it was my plane's jetwash and I’m… I’m sorry, Mitchell! I’m so sorry…”

If Iceman’s earlier sentence was a slap in the face, this confession was a bomb dropped directly on Mav by the blond pilot.

“So thank you even more for saving my life, even though I didn’t deserve it. Even though you h-hate me.”

And the bomb exploded in his face. 

What? Mav didn’t even know what to think. He was shocked, completely, utterly stunned by what he had just heard. No words came into his mind, but a torrent of feelings flooded him.  But before he could react in any meaningful way the door opened again.

“Gentlemen! I am happy to announce that Lieutenants Kerner and Wolfe have partially finished their tasks for today. Now we have put them at ease for the time being so that they can process… Well, what is waiting to be processed…” There was an implied threat to Nightmare’s words, his sentences deliberately structured to make them unsure of the condition of their companions. Nevertheless, after Iceman's punishment, neither of them dared to ask him what he meant in this case, for example, by “what is waiting to be processed.” Did they hurt them?

“Now it is your turn,” the man continued. “Please, follow me!”

Mav looked at Iceman, who measured up Nightmare with a dispassionate face. Then they both got on their feet. The sudden movement made the blond pilot stagger back, but by luck the wall was right behind him and he leaned on it to gather himself. This took only a few seconds, which their captors fortunately did not seem to notice. Mav almost reached out his hands to catch him, stilling only at the very last moment. He was grateful that he didn’t give away Kazansky in that way. He didn’t want to accidentally make a target of either of them.

By the time he reached the door, the blond pilot had pulled the wet flight suit back on, then straightened his back and walked out the door past Nightmare with such dignity that even the man raised his eyebrows in ironic appreciation, only to pull his mouth into a cruel grin the very next moment. Mav could sense that whatever was on the man's mind, it certainly didn't mean anything good, and he was afraid that they would learn what it was sooner rather than later.

They stepped out into a corridor, where besides their leader five men were waiting for them. Strange Teeth with his gun in his hand stood next to Nightmare, while Tattoo and a previously unseen man with red hair stepped to Mav. Toward Iceman went Slapper and another new face who seemed even more sullen than any of the others. Mav tried to take a quick glance down the hall, but before he could get a better look at the place they were ordered to stand facing the wall. Then again they could hear the crackling of the duct tape as their hands were fastened together behind their back. Even from the few feet distance they were standing, Mav could sense Iceman’s body completely tense up at that noise, and stealing a glance at the man he saw he went almost white before their captors put bags on their heads again.

When they had successfully cut off all possible means of escape, they were led or rather jostled toward somewhere–a place where who knows what would be done to them, or they would be forced to do.

Soon they stopped, and after the bag was pulled off his head Mav could do nothing for a few moments but blink, since there was much more light here than in the dim cellar. The first thing he could see was a huge black metal frame. He immediately took in the fact that they were in a hangar where six MiGs were waiting.

After slowly looking around, his glance returned to the people standing next to him. That was when he noticed that Iceman had still had the bag on his head. Mav blinked uneasily from one man to the other, but neither moved towards Kazansky. They were just waiting.

What the hell are you waiting for? What do you want to do with him again? he asked their captors silently, worried.

And a few moments later he realised that this must be the tactic of uncertainty again, similar to when they had previously had to endure hours deprived of all their senses. Maybe that’s what Nightmare’s cruel smile forebode when Kazansky passed him, showing himself as unaffected and proud as he could. The man must have been annoyed by the blond pilot’s unflappable attitude. 

Now he kept his evil eyes expectantly on Kazansky who stood tense but unreactive. After another few minutes Nightmare’s plan seemed to backfire because Nightmare started to be the one frustrated by the ineffective waiting. He impatiently nodded to his two men standing next to the pilot, and Slapper suddenly kicked Iceman’s legs out from under him. 

Mav made an involuntary step towards him as he fell forward, but Sullen grabbed Iceman’s arm and pulled him back to the same kneeling position he had been forced into earlier, just before their captors pushed his head under the water. 

Nightmare’s eyes almost shone with satisfaction and a wide malicious grin spread across his face as they all could hear the increasingly rapid and loud gasping for air from under the bag…

Panic… Mav realised helplessly. 

Kazansky had managed to convince him (and maybe even himself) to think that he was hardly affected by what had happened to him, but Mav could tell now that wasn’t the truth.

Come on Kazansky, pull yourself together! There’s no water here, don’t let them fool you! Mav encouraged Iceman silently. There was no other way to help him. Or was there…?

Iceman was still gasping for air, unable to see as all the men started to grin along with Nightmare. Except for the Sullen, on whose face the only thing that changed was his mouth no longer curved down but flattened into a thin straight line. Watching them Mav began to have a very bad feeling. Besides the grinning they all had expectancy in their eyes. 

They don’t want to break him, they just want to humiliate him… With that realisation an idea came to Mav’s mind. He was well aware of the fact that with it he would surely bring trouble on his own head, but he didn’t care. He just had to stop these bastards.

“What’s wrong with you people?” He spoke up, almost shouting so that his voice would definitely reach Kazansky. “How do you think we can fly these MiGs without any experience? And since we’re here, in a COMPLETELY EMPTY hangar,” he deliberately emphasised the words to let Iceman know that there is no danger, no bucket of water waiting for him, “you could at least let us familiarise ourselves with them. You could at least let us look inside the cockpit. Because I don't think you would want us to destroy your planes right off with our first attempts at flying them! We’re all capable, but not miracle-workers! I mean, I like a challenge and everyone thinks I’m reckless, but that seems a wild idea even to me.”

He knew he was ranting now, but he wanted to gain as much time for Kazansky as he could. He kept trying to speak clearly and loudly, in the hope that his voice could pull the man out of his panic, or at least distract Nightmare from him. 

“So if you expect us to fly these things for you, you should…”

“ENOUGH!” Nightmare shouted at him. The distraction part of Mav’s plan certainly seemed to have worked. The man’s gaze was fixed directly on him, the grin gone, his eyes alight with murderous fire. “Lieutenant Mitchell… I think it would be advisable to clarify certain things once again. First of all, no one gave you permission to speak. If you cannot keep your mouth shut on your own, we will ensure it…

“Secondly… NEVER, and I repeat, NEVER question my decisions and orders! I know very well what I am doing and why I am doing it. So do not dare to instruct me, make any kind of suggestion, or even ask me anything! Am I clear?

“And thirdly… You ruined my game! I am extremely angry about this!” The man’s voice remained eerily calm but tension vibrated around him as if he could explode at any moment. His earlier statement that he would become “nervous” at unsolicited speech didn't seem excessive at all at that moment. “Unfortunately, we do not have time right now for you to get what you deserve for this,” the man continued. “But I can assure you, I will not forget to pay off this debt at the end of the day. I do not like to owe anyone for too long, and as the proverb says: never put off until tomorrow what you can do today.”

With this threat Nightmare finished his speech. Mav felt his heart pounding in his throat, and he tried very hard not to think about what kind of punishment he would receive for this. Instead he turned his attention back to Iceman, and he saw it in relief that his interruption had had the desired effect. Kazansky had managed to regain his composure. His chest rose and fell evenly, and by the time Nightmare stepped to him to angrily tear the bag off his head, the ice cold gaze was hard in his pale face.

What's more, the grey-blue eyes shone even more intensely with emotions that promised nothing good to the leader of their captors: ire? vengeance? determination? Mav couldn’t tell what it was exactly, but he was sure of one thing: it was reassuring for him to see Iceman’s blazing gaze, and the resoluteness that he would fight with all his strength and hold on as long as possible.

The two pairs of blue eyes stared at each other. Neither of them wanted to look away, neither of them wanted to back down. In the end, it was Iceman who was forced to give up the silent duel as another coughing fit shook his whole body again, involuntarily giving pleasure to Nightmare, who watched the blond pilot’s struggle for air with satisfaction.

“All right, gentleman!” The man spoke up after his captive had stopped coughing. “You have a lot of work to do. Lieutenant Neven is going to join us very soon.” He looked towards a door opening from the left side of the hangar where two men led a third. As soon as they reached them they pulled the bag off of Hollywood’s head, who first looked around in alarm but calmed down somewhat when he saw the other two pilots. 

“Welcome, Lieutenant, to our humble company!” Nightmare cheerfully greeted Wood, then he began to explain to them what their task would be. “You are going to spend the rest of the day with our technician, so that you could gain the most thorough and best possible knowledge about our MiGs. I highly recommend you pay attention to his every word, because at the end of the day you will go on your first flight.” He stated this with an emphasis that made it clear it was already a settled fact, even though Mav felt the time was hardly enough to get to know a type of jet they had never flown before, even if they had already learned about the technical parameters of MiGs at some level.

“Gentlemen! I wish you all a useful and pleasant time!” With this Nightmare closed the briefing, then he turned around and left them. As he passed by Mav he said to him quietly and menacingly: “Lieutenant Mitchell! See you later…”

Learning everything and even more about the MIGs was extraordinarily long and exhausting, even with the fact that the technician turned out to be an extremely good teacher. Mav couldn't understand what such a man was doing among these bastards. During the day, besides paying attention to everything he heard and was shown, he also tried to assess the place and their situation as much as he could. It turned out to their relief that during those few hours Mav had spent with Iceman in the cellar, Slider and Wolfman were learning with that same technician and then one of Nightmare’s RIOs. It was good to know that they were both well; they could even see them sometimes appear next to the two-seaters at the far end of the hangar. 

And towards the end of the day, the moment really came when they had to take off in the MiGs.

Up there, flying in the endless blue sky, their whole situation seemed so surreal, from the moment Mav had woken up to the present, sitting in a goddamn MIG, with which they would be expected to attack their own compatriots soon. Although, if they were lucky, maybe, just maybe, they'd be able to get away from here before that happened. So far they didn’t have any chance to talk about a possible escape plan, but Mav was sure that all five of them were thinking about their options.

How easy it would be to just fly away, and leave all this behind! The thought came to Mav’s mind for a second, as he realised that with the one-seater plane he was flying, practically nothing separated him from freedom. If he wanted to, he could leave this whole miserable situation behind right now, saving himself. But what kind of freedom would it be, that could only be gained at the cost of the lives of his companions?

He knew very well that he would never be able to leave them to their fate. It didn’t matter that the burden was somewhat less on him, since he was not responsible for any of the RIOs and pilots as much as they were for each other. No one would ever be able to blackmail him with his RIO. But what kind of person would he be if he let the others down?

He remembered Iceman lecturing him in front of everyone, after he left Wood and Wolf alone during their Hop. “You may not like the guys flying with you, they may not like you, but whose side are you on?” Iceman’s words echoed in his soul now. Even if he didn’t feel the same kind of friendship or attachment to any of them as he had to his own RIO, or to Cougar and Merlin, he couldn’t turn his back on them. Like it or not, they were a team now, which also meant that they were responsible for each other. That he was responsible for them. And this sense of responsibility was taking on a more and more definite form in relation to none other than Iceman.

Mav shook his head disbelievingly... 

After they had left the cellar room, he had no time to think about their conversation, even if it had shocked him completely. Especially what Iceman had said at the very end. He had never thought that his dislike for the blond pilot could change. This change had not come easily at all, almost costing Kazansky his life. And, if he wanted to be honest with himself, he still couldn’t say that he liked the blond pilot. But he never hated him, no matter what he believed. After what they had been through, he didn’t even understand why Iceman was so convinced he did, when his hostility was actually beginning to soften. His tender moments with Slider after Mav saved him, then the few hours the two of them had spent together, and especially Iceman’s confession regarding Goose’s death, all allowed him to conclude that deeper and more human feelings could be hidden under the surface of the cool, calculating arrogance…

But even if he was wrong, Kazansky was still right in what he had said back in Miramar. It really didn’t matter who he liked and who he didn’t, because his place was still there, beside the others. He wouldn’t leave them, because he had learned his lesson for the rest of his life that day–the eternal rule that Jester told him just a few minutes before Iceman's words:

“You never, never leave your wingman!”

And up there in the MiG’s cockpit, within arm's reach of freedom, he vowed that it would be so…

Chapter Text

At the end of the day, they really had to go up in the air with the MiGs, no matter how unprepared they felt themselves, not only in terms of their knowledge but also in their physical and mental condition. Regardless, their first flights went surprisingly smoothly. The five of them started with the two-seater planes in pairs with Nightmare’s RIOs and pilots, then the three pilots took off with the one-seaters as well.

Ice had always associated flying with the feeling of freedom, but now, for the first time in his life, he felt that he was locked in the cockpit. His hands felt tied even up here, the same way they were tied on the ground where Nightmare and his men could yank them around like puppets at their will.

Although earlier he had insisted that anger and hate were different emotions, now he felt he couldn’t separate them. Both were raging in his soul together with every shade of wrath, creating a mixture so intense he almost scared even himself. 

He had been angry many times in his life, but never like this.

It drove him, the only thing making him capable of somehow getting through the day at all–this hatred that was burning in every particle of his being.

He hated Nightmare.

He felt as if he could tear the man apart with his bare hands, this man who wanted to break them not only physically but emotionally too; who wanted to take away from him the pride, dignity, and self-esteem Ice had acquired through many years of hard work; who wanted to use them as simple tools for a cruel plan…

But what he hated most was that, over the course of a few hours, Nightmare had repeatedly managed to bring out of him the feeling that had always been the most unpleasant to him: the feeling of shame.

Like so many times before, his father's words echoed in his thoughts...

Tom had always been diligent even as an elementary school student. He completed his school and homework tasks precisely, he paid attention during lessons and actively participated, and he was always the first to answer his teachers’ questions. Doing these things was a subconscious inner urge for him, because that way he could get the kind of attention from other adults in his life that he only dreamed of getting from his father one day. Because of his diligence, almost all of his teachers loved him, but almost all the students hated him.

He was ten, when one day on his way home from school three of his classmates surrounded him in a small side street. There was no way it could have been called a fair fight; during his grade school years Tom was the shortest boy in his class. It wasn't until high school that he got tall, and then it happened almost overnight. 

The two boys who pinned him against the wall were at least a head taller than him, and while they held him down the third boy spilled his bag and tore up all his books and notebooks. Tom begged them to stop in vain; they just laughed at “the little eager beaver” then pushed him to the ground and ran away.

When he finally got home, the little boy clung to his mother without saying a word, and his tears began to fall. His chest tightened with shame, humiliation, and the fear of what the teachers and his father would say. But his father only glanced up for a moment from behind his newspaper, then returned to reading the pages with a grimace.

His mom led him into the kitchen where Tom told her what had happened. She was always understanding, and she was the only one he knew he could turn to anytime, who would hug him, comfort him, and be his refuge whatever happened. He thought this should be enough; but sometimes he desperately wanted his father to be his pillar too. He wished that he would be there for him, listen to him, support him; that he could tell him everything; that he could call him dad. And maybe this was the day when he realised that would never happen. At least not until he could prove to his father that he was worth something.

Later, while he was sitting in the middle of his room trying to repair his books with scotch tape, he heard his parents talking in the living room and he noticed his own name. Driven by curiosity, he got up and quietly sneaked over there, hiding behind the door. From his hiding place, he could hear every word clearly, but later he wished he hadn’t heard anything at all…

“Our son was bullied, they ruined his school books, and YOU just shrug your shoulders?” his mom asked.

“He’s a boy. He should have defended himself,” his father replied in a bored voice.   

“There were three of them! Three against one, and you know very well how small Tom is,” she responded, pleading, but his father only snorted in irritation at this explanation.

“Don’t you care at all? He’s your son! I can’t believe…you really don’t care about him? Don’t feel anything at all for him?” His mom asked, begging her husband to respond, to react like a loving father would.

“I do,” his father spoke in an impatient, annoyed tone. "I feel something. One thing–shame. I’m ashamed to have a son like him. To have a son at all. Maybe… maybe if he could act like a real man… if he could prove that he’s worth something…” He stopped, considering, then shook his head with another disparaging snort. “But he’s just a pitiful, weak, whiny kid, who hides behind his mother's skirt and weeps there instead of standing up for himself and defending himself… Such a shame…”

Shame…

The feeling he hated from the bottom of his heart, and now he felt it again. Even though he had managed to avoid it for a very long time, he could still easily recognise its familiar grip on his chest. He was ashamed that, after being saved by Maverick, he was so dependent on the other pilot and the rest of their group. He was ashamed that someone had to save him at all, that for the first time in many years he was once again unable to defend himself. He was ashamed that after what had happened he couldn’t keep up the appearance of invincibility, and instead let everyone see him as weak. Because that’s sure as hell what the others thought of him. Surely they saw in him the same whiny, hide-behind-the-skirts-of-his-mother kid that his father had seen.

God, how pathetic I must have been…

And in the hangar…

He felt bile rising in his throat at the memory. His fingers involuntarily clutched the control stick with more force and his jaw tightened as he tried to keep his body and emotions under control.

Stop it! he commanded himself strictly. After all, this is exactly what Nightmare wanted to achieve, to turn his anger inward, make the feeling of shame eat away at him. I won’t let that happen, he vowed. No one could turn him into the little boy trembling over his taped-up school books ever again. 

That experience had taught him a lot. 

It had taught him to stand up for himself and fight, and if he had to, fight dirty.

It had taught him not to be eagerly pedant, but silently clever, and silent cleverly. The incident, strangely, had made him more aware of his own capabilities. He had realised that his achievements spoke for themselves and he didn’t need to prove his talent by always answering questions in class.

Anyway, he hadn’t wanted to prove himself anymore to anyone other than himself (and thus, indirectly, his father). 

He had also learned not to expect help from others. Even if his mom was still always there for him until her untimely death, Tom had stopped discussing his problems with her, resulting in a kind of distance between them. It wasn’t that he didn’t love her or trust her unwaveringly, but he wanted to show his father that he was capable of solving everything on his own. So he had slowly gotten used to being able to rely only on himself. 

Although that principle of his, that had made him so cold and indifferent towards people, had later wavered in the face of Ron Kerner, who became his best friend. But besides his RIO, Ice had never let anyone else close to him. From Ron alone would he accept any gestures of help or comfort without doubt, question, or protest. 

Slider always helped him in everything, even if he never asked him to. That’s how their whole brotherhood began. In some ways, history repeated itself, but this time Ron was there.

And now Maverick had done the same… 

The fact that he needed the help of his former rival twice in the course of a few hours didn’t make him feel good at all. How exactly he had saved him the first time, Ice still didn’t know, but he was uncomfortably aware that the second time the other pilot had pulled him back from the edge of utter panic with his words.

The idiot… He shouldn’t have intervened, he knew there would be consequences, he snorted to himself in frustration. But for some reason he still did it… He took that risk…

Ice knew he owed Maverick a debt of gratitude for all of this, but he didn’t really know what to do about it. Except for Ron, he hadn’t felt thankful or indebted toward anyone since childhood.

And he absolutely did not understand how the other pilot's actions fit into the image of Maverick he had in his head, a Maverick who hated and despised him. His weird game of honesty had already contradicted what Ice thought he knew. At the same time Ice was sure he hadn’t just imagined the bitter look with which the shorter pilot had reacted to his thanks.

His disturbing thoughts were interrupted by another coughing fit. 

Damn it, when will that finally go away? Ice asked himself in annoyance. The burning sensation he had felt for a while had now disappeared, but the lingering cough bothered him, because it felt strange, somehow. As if something had stuck to his lungs that he was unable to cough up. It occurred to him that the whole thing might be psychological, a kind of phantom pain while in fact everything was all right with him physically. After all, obviously he could not have expected such an experience to have no effect on him mentally. Either way, the only thing he could do was to grit his teeth and endure, even if it hurt.

It will go away with time…

Darkness had fallen by the time the debrief after their last flight was over and they were led back from the hangar to the building with the same precautions as before. This time Ice attempted to memorise as many things about their route as he could. Though he was almost dizzy with exhaustion, he forced himself to concentrate, every fibre of his mind observing even the smallest details. He clung to these to keep from panicking again as the bag on his head pushed him into uncertainty once more.

Thus, even if he was temporarily deprived of his sight, counting the steps to himself he managed to estimate how far they were from the hangar, and how they got to the cellar room: up three steps, through a door, then along a corridor for about fifty yards, then stairs again, this time fifteen steps down, and after descending turn right for another twenty yards.

He realised his mistake only when they cut the duct tape holding his wrists together behind his back, pulled the bag off his head, and pushed him through the door.

Because it wasn’t the door of the room where he had almost drowned, but of an entirely different one. And he was standing alone in the middle of it. 

The others were taken elsewhere, which meant that he would now be the hostage. Not as though they all weren’t hostages; but now at least he would be the one to suffer Nightmare’s wrath if any of them angered him. The others are safe for now. The thought filled him with relief.

He knew from Slider’s outburst that it was only by a hair’s breadth that his punishment hadn’t had a fatal outcome. Still he felt he would rather bear any kind of suffering if he could keep the others safe with it.

Not because he felt himself so brave or great-hearted, but simply because it was the right thing to do.

He knew that Wood had an extended family with several siblings, nieces, and nephews. And he had a very good connection with his parents, which Ice knew from a phone call he had overheard. He couldn't help but feel a bit jealous hearing how light-heartedly and happily they had talked together.

As for Wolfman’s family, the only thing he knew was that the RIO had a little sister he adored, and who adored him right back. Wolf always carried a photo of the blue-eyed, blond little girl beaming as she hugged her smiling brother’s neck.

Maverick had Goose's orphaned family, whom Ice was sure the pilot wanted to take care of. And it was also an open secret that there was more than a teacher-student relationship between Maverick and their civilian instructor, Charlie. 

And Slider… Well, Slider had a fiancée, and anyway, he was his best friend, his brother… He could never let him down or deliberately put him in any danger.

And finally here he was. He, whose only close, living relative was his father. A father who wouldn’t be willing to acknowledge his son even if he were the President of the United States. 

That was one of the most bitter realisations for Ice in the recent past. Somewhere deep down he had always known it as the truth, but he had refused to believe it. Instead he had clung to those maybes his father had mentioned with all his might. He had put his studies, work, and career before anything else, in order to be successful and perfect in everything he did. He secretly hoped that if he was able to do so, then he could become a “real man” who was "worth something," and whose fate–maybe–would finally interest his father. However, he eventually had to face the fact that his father didn’t care what he did, because he didn’t care about him, he didn’t want to deal with him, he had never wanted to. He didn’t want to have a son at all. 

“Shame…” his father repeated to his mom, who took a few startled steps back before stopping to stand in front of her husband. She spoke quietly, as if she sensed their little boy was hearing the whole conversation and didn't want him to find out how his father really felt about him.

But Tom still heard every word.

“How could you say such a thing? He’s our son… Even if it’s hard for you to love him, as his father it’s your obligation to accept and support him in everything.”

“Don’t you dare blame me for this! Don’t you dare hold me accountable to obligations as a father!” Tom flinched at the sudden outburst of anger. “You know very well that I never wanted to be a father, never wanted children. We talked about this before everything, and you accepted it. You married me knowing it! We both knew I’m just not cut out for it. The fact that this…. accident happened was never part of our plans. So don’t expect me to pretend to be happy, or to love the brat who intruded on our life as the unfortunate result of a stupid mistake.”

His whole life he remained this to his father: an accident, the unfortunate result of a stupid mistake, an intruder.

No matter how hard he had tried to ignore those words, tried to bury them somewhere deep among those memories he condemned to oblivion, they were burnt into his ten-year-old soul. He denied it, fought against it, tried to overwrite it with his diligence and achievements, because he simply couldn’t understand how a father could feel that way, or rather couldn’t feel anything for his kid at all. But in the end he had had to accept the painful truth: his father didn’t lie when he said that Tom meant nothing to him, and he would never be able to change that.

It had taken him a long time to realise that. Not enough time had passed since that recent realisation for him to adapt his own life to it.

That’s why his life was only that: his career and one true friend.

And compared to Slider’s life or the personal relationships of the others, what did his career matter? What did his life matter? 

In fact, nothing.

Since he was ten, he had been struggling to become a person of value, and now

here he was, finally aware that everything he had previously considered most important was actually worthless.

That he himself was worthless.

Because what really determines the value of a man?

The depth and strength of the relationships and friendships that surround him.

I guess that makes me the most expandable of the five of us, doesn't it? he asked himself bitterly. 

A sudden chill ran through his whole body. Whether it was because of the hardness of this realisation or because of his flight suit that still stuck to him, damp and uncomfortable, he didn’t know. He rather clung to the latter thought, so that he could shake off the former. He concentrated on his physical sensations while any further and deeper examination of his mental state he put off for now.

He assumed that the reason for his coughing was that he had caught cold from his wet clothes.

His temples throbbed painfully from the amount of information that their captors had tried to force into them, trying to make them as capable of pilots with the MiGs as they were with their F-14s. Although, Nightmare hadn’t hesitated to let them know that if things didn’t work the way he planned, if they failed, he would still win, because with their deaths they would still be diminishing America’s numbers of excellent pilots and RIOs.

He was also weakened by hunger. During the few short breaks they had been allowed, they were given nothing but a little bread and water. 

But above all he was exhausted.

He leaned his back against the wall and blinking widely, trying to keep himself awake in the thickening dark. However, he didn't even have the strength to keep his eyes open anymore. His thoughts were becoming more and more jumbled and difficult to follow, as he slowly slid lower and lower down the wall…

He woke up to find himself lying on the ground with no idea how many hours he had spent like that. His body had demanded sleep regardless of the circumstances. Only a little faint light was seeping through the small window; otherwise everything was still dark. So he tiredly closed his eyes again and continued to lie motionless, trying to muster the strength to stand or at least sit up.

When he finally moved he felt he really had needed the past few minutes to collect himself, because every part of him ached. His neck, shoulders, and back were all stiff and sour as if he had done nothing but lift weights and run miles with no end for an entire day. And on top of everything else he felt a bothersome tightness in his chest.

More and more light filtered in from the high, barred window, slowly giving outlines to the two chairs in the room, and to the other door, which here also opened into a small bathroom.

The idea of a hot shower seemed extremely appealing at that moment, especially since he was still shivering from the slightly damp flight suit and maybe from something else too…

But it was no surprise that only cold water flowed from the shower head. In the end, he decided to step under it anyway, to see if it would clear his head.

The first minutes were terrible, not just because of the icy drops that bit into his skin but because he felt… strange.

It took him a few minutes to realise what caused the feeling: his heart was pounding as if he were running with all his might.

Oh shit… get yourself together, man! You can’t panic from a simple shower! He scolded himself in disbelief. It’s just water for fuck’s sake! And with that he took a quick breath and, before he could change his mind, put his head under the cold spray. 

One second…

Two…

He felt a shiver run down his spine.

Three..

His heartbeat picked up to an even faster pace. 

Four…

Five…

He gasped, pulled his head away from the water, then hurriedly finished showering, grabbing his clothes and exiting the bathroom before slamming the door behind himself.

Only when he was about to put on his flight suit did he notice the stains on it. As the material began to dry, the rust brown stood out more and more from the sage green. Most of the stains were on the back, but a few of them were visible on the arms, and now that he looked more closely, he saw that they were also on the chest, right around his heart.

Frowning, he wondered what it could be, although he suspected the answer. He reached back with his left arm and slowly ran his palm along both sides of his spine, but he felt no sign of injury.

Slider was the one sitting behind him when he regained consciousness. He was the one who hugged him from behind so that he could warm him with his own body heat. Did they do something with Ron while he was unconscious? Could he have been injured in any way? If so, he should have noticed it, since Ron was his best friend. What the hell could have happened? 

Again with a wildly beating heart he tried to recall whether he saw any signs of a possible injury on Slider. But even in his memories of the afternoon, when they could be closer to each other during training, they were separated by yards. 

Damnit! He swore in frustration, and decided to find out as soon as he could if Ron was indeed well and unharmed. And although he was still unsure if he really wanted to hear what happened after his ‘immersion,’ he knew he had to learn the truth about that as well. 

About two hours later Ice was led back to the room where his companions were. After pulling the bag off his head, Nightmare's men roughly shoved him through the door again, this time not even bothering to remove the duct tape from his wrists.

With two long strides Slider was beside him, and gently cupping Ice’s face with his palms he quickly checked on the pilot.

“You look tired,” he said with a concerned face.

“Probably ‘cause I missed my morning coffee,” he quipped, trying to distract his friend’s attention from himself with sarcasm. He felt that the others, especially Ron, were already too worried about him.

“What about you? Are you okay?” Ice asked back, returning Slider's penetrating gaze.

“Yeah.” The RIO nodded.

“You sure?” Ice tried to push the question a bit more, while tearing his gaze from Slider’s and taking a step back to see his friend better, searching for possible injuries. But Slider followed his steps, and cupping his face with his palms again he directed the blue eyes back to his brown ones.

“I’m sure,” he stated firmly. 

This time Ice believed him. Not because he didn’t see any signs of injury on the man, but because he knew Ron would never lie to him. Then the RIO shook his head with a knowing, loving smile and hugged his pilot.

“Oh shit, sorry!” he apologised as he realised that Ice didn’t hug him back because his hands were still tied. Jumping behind him, Ron started to free him without any further delay. While he was working Ice looked around, but his gaze searched for his other companions in vain, because apart from Hollywood, with whom he exchanged nods, there was no one else in the room.

“Where’s Wolfe and Mitchell?” he asked, his voice undeniably worried.

“Wolfman was taken just before they brought you back. And Mav was also gone for a few hours yesterday. First we thought he was with you, but later he told us that he was taken to a different room.” 

“What’d they do to him?” Ice tried to sound calm and matter-of-fact, but this time shame and guilt were mixing with concern in his voice.

“Nothing,” Slider replied with a questioning look. “They just left him there for a bit and then brought him back. He had no idea what that was about. Seems pointless, right?” he asked, carefully examining his pilot’s face.

“Yeah,” Ice agreed, frowning. 

“They don't seem like the kind of guys who do things for no reason…” Slider continued pensively, now watching Ice's every reaction with outright suspicion, while Ice cursed himself for being so unable to control his emotions this morning. His own suspicions were starting to overcome all his other feelings. 

Ron was right, Nightmare and his men did everything on purpose, even if that purpose was nothing more than sheer cruelty. Thus it was also absolutely beyond doubt that Nightmare hadn’t just forgotten about the punishment he had promised Mav. 

Something had to have happened in that room…

“Are you sure Mitchell was okay?” he asked again, because he didn’t want to believe what his cold reason started to whisper to him…

“He looked tired, and shaken by the whole situation as much as any of us, but other than that he seemed okay,” Slider told him.

“And where is he now?” Ice asked almost demandingly, now feeling his heart harden again towards Maverick.

“In the shower,” the RIO replied. “Why? What’s wrong?” His face was all concern and puzzlement.

But Ice didn’t want to give a proper answer to his friend’s question. On one hand, he knew the thoughts swirling through his head were just an assumption, and so wrong for him to think after Mitchell had saved his life. On the other hand, it was just too logical to ignore in good faith. 

Nightmare promised a punishment that Maverick miraculously avoided. How could that have been possible? The pilot must have offered something in exchange for saving his hide…

In a word? Treason.

Ice was familiar with the rumours circling around in the Navy about Maverick’s father. Many people said that the Mitchell name was a bad omen. And even if because of his own father he had never wanted to judge anyone by their ancestors, this situation was screaming for him to do so. He had always been cautious around Maverick. He had heard how the pilot left Cougar alone and in trouble to have some fun with the MiGs, and he saw how dangerously he flew. 

But he also saved your life, and saved you from that panic attack, he reminded himself. Do you really think that he would be able to betray us…?

“Tom?!” Slider was still looking at him concernedly, hoping to get an explanation for his pilot’s strange behaviour.

“Nothing…it’s just…”

“You’re up, Sli, I’m done,” a voice suddenly interrupted him as Pete Mitchell opened the door of the bathroom only to find himself face to face with Ice. The brunette seemed surprised to see him here, his expression oddly softening and hardening at the same time. There was something in his gaze that made Ice uncomfortable, as if they were back in the O club again, taking each other’s measure with caution and mistrust.

“Can I leave you here for ten minutes?” His RIO’s question brought him back from his musing. The tall man was looking at him, clearly wrestling with himself whether he could go to take a shower or if he needed to stay with his pilot.

“Of course,” Ice told him with an easy smile, patting his shoulder. “Go ahead, I’ll be fine,” he promised, so Slider headed towards the bathroom.

“Your T-shirt’s in the window, should be dry by now,” he added, turning back from the door for a moment before disappearing behind it.

Ice stepped to the window and quickly put on the shirt. The blue fabric was indeed dry and warm from the sun. It made him instantly feel a bit better. Then he sat down next to the wall, opposite Hollywood. 

As much as it was possible in these circumstances, he wanted to be alone so that he could sort out his troubled thoughts about Mitchell, whose gaze he deliberately avoided. He had no idea what to think of him, how to deal with him knowing that he might be a traitor. 

But that was a serious accusation to throw at the man. Before saying anything to anyone he had to find evidence for or against it.

He seemed to be the only one to suspect it, so the responsibility was on him to find out the truth, and he seemed to get a chance to do so when Mitchell suddenly stepped in front of him.

“Can I join you?” he asked Ice, motioning to the empty space next to him.

Ice nodded and then they were sitting side by side, in silence, both looking at the floor for a few moments until Maverick spoke again.

“You know, you surprised me, Kazansky… with what you said to me earlier.”

Ice just listened to him attentively, waiting for what Maverick wanted to say, trying to figure out the man’s intentions. 

“And I just wanted you to know, I don’t blame you, even if you feel that it was your fault…

I flew too close to you, I was too impatient to wait for your shot. It wasn't your fault.”

Ice hadn’t expected Mitchell to talk about the accident again. It surprised him and left him even more confused than before. 

Should I feel better now? If he doesn’t blame me why did he look at me as if I was dirt on the bottom of his shoe?

He must hate him for other reasons, then, since he had even confirmed that he wasn’t worth saving. But then why did he now try to find excuses for him? Was it just a tactic? Was Mitchell just trying to put Ice’s suspicions to rest and gain his trust? He was unable to find the answers but now felt sure that something had happened yesterday evening between Maverick and Nightmare. He decided to be diplomatic.

“You surprised me too,” he started. “I didn’t expect forgiveness. I appreciate the intention, but I think I will carry the guilt for the rest of my life,” he admitted. “But I see I’m not alone in doing so,” he added quietly, because no matter what his suspicions were about Pete Mitchell, in one thing he was now absolutely certain: the other pilot would never forgive himself for the loss of his best friend.

Silence settled between them again.

“So, can we continue then?” Maverick asked suddenly and Ice had no idea what he was talking about. Mitchell must have seen it in his face.

“The game? I told you I was surprised, you told me you were too, but you haven’t given me another emotion yet,” the pilot explained, causing even greater astonishment to Ice than with any other of his words. 

Shit, that fucking game. Ice felt annoyance and anger rising rapidly inside him alongside a dully throbbing headache. He really wanted to be diplomatic but it seemed he had his own limits after all. How could he pretend that everything was fine while he was worried that the one who wants to play this stupid game with him could stab him in the back anytime? How could he trust Mitchell? And even if Mitchell was really on their side, how could Ice talk about his feelings with him anyway? How could he admit how utterly miserable he felt? He didn’t want to talk about his anger, his fears, his shame, the burning pain in his lungs, and his serious realisations of the night before. Those painful thoughts kept coming back, weighing on his heart, and he had absolutely no desire to reveal them to anyone, least of all Maverick.

He had been on edge ever since they woke up here, and until now he had more or less kept his cool, but this whole situation had taken its toll on him. He lashed out. 

“Fine…” he started in a bitterly cold voice. “You want to hear a new emotion? I’ll give you one: I’m fucking fed up with your stupid game. I’ve already said what I wanted to say to you, and you have no claim on anything else I’m feeling. So leave me alone!” 

Maverick was taken aback by this sudden outburst of frigid anger.

“You happy now?” Ice poked him one last time.

“No, just utterly disappointed,” replied Maverick, biting out the words, face flushed.

“Come on, Mitchell, don't be such a child!” Ice scolded him.

Maverick stared at him for a long moment, as if Ice had slapped him in the face. Then he slowly stood up and stared down at Ice with flinty eyes.

“You know what, Kazansky? You were right. Sometimes I really do hate you. Screw you!” With that he turned his back on him and moved to a third corner of the room, indicating that, for his part, the conversation was over.

Nice going, Kazansky! Congratulations! What if Mitchell just wanted to be nice without any hidden motives? Would it have been so hard to talk about your feelings? To let someone else besides Ron a bit closer to you?

He knew very well that the answer to both his last questions was ‘yes’. Because these things never really went well for him. If Ron hadn’t been so loyal, persistent, and patient he wouldn’t have even one real friend. He would never have opened up to anyone on his own. And now here was Pete Mitchell, who seemed to be contradicting himself in some things, but for whatever reason had brought up this emotion-talking game again. Maybe people with average social skills would have seen this as a friendly approach and responded accordingly. But Tom Kazansky had never had average social skills.

Or do you seriously think that Maverick could be a traitor? Ice asked himself. He saved your life! He saved you from a panic attack! He listed the facts again as he watched the man quietly fume to himself.

And that was the moment when his gaze found the now healing cut on the other pilot’s wrist.

Damn it! Ice stared at the wound and then to the rust-brown stain on his flight suit exactly above his heart.

Damn it.

Chapter Text

While Mav was standing under the cold shower, he was replaying in his head the conversations that he had had last evening, first with Nightmare and then with Slider. Although he tried to concentrate on the latter, it was too difficult to forget about the former…

His back and chest were burning with pain and all his muscles were stiff and spastic. Because Nightmare had kept his promise…

As soon as the debrief was over after their first flights, Nightmare’s men were waiting for them and led them away with bags on their heads again.

When they stopped Mav expected the bag to be removed from his head and that he would see his companions soon; but he immediately knew that wasn’t going to happen when he felt rough hands grabbing his arms and a raspy voice warning him to not try to fight or he would be shot. Then they cut the duct tape off his wrists, but instead of letting him go they held him securely and pulled his flight suit down off his upper body. The bag was removed just after that, but only so they could pull off his T-shirt as well. Then he was pushed face forward to a wall, where his wrists were quickly tied to a pipe on both sides.

Being forced to face the wall meant he couldn’t see much of the room, but he knew it was not the one he had been in before; it had no such pipes. He craned his neck to see if he was the only one here from their group and found himself face to face with Nightmare’s cruelly satisfied smile.

“I do not want anyone to think me unreliable. I have promised you, Lieutenant Mitchell, that I am going to pay off my debt today, and I always keep my word,” the man said, as though Mav didn’t know why he was in the current situation. “You spoke up without my permission, ruining our fun. It was such an unfortunate decision on your part—you should know, in these tense times, how important it is to be able to laugh a little…” His self-pity was almost theatrical. 

Of course, it’s such great fun to laugh at and humiliate others, Mav seethed inwardly, while his anxiety also grew because he guessed that the man wanted "fun" again, and he would be the subject this time. 

He wasn’t wrong.

“You are an extraordinarily talented pilot, Lieutenant, that is why I hope that our cooperation will be long term and fruitful. But this dream can come true only if you learn certain rules,” Nightmare continued. “But you do not have to worry. We are here to help you deepen the knowledge you need, so that you can feel in your bones how much better it is to obey than to oppose…”

The pain came suddenly and was as sharp as lightning. While Mav was listening to Nightmare he hadn’t noticed the belt in Tattoo’s hand, the buckle of which dug into his skin as the leather ploughed down his back. He cried out from the unexpected hit, but quickly recovered himself and set his teeth so that he could avoid making any further involuntary noises. 

“I appreciate your intention to remain silent this time,” Nightmare said, noticing the tiny movement of Mav’s jaw. “But believe me, if I had wanted you to be silent we would have already made it so. You would deserve it for your previous intervention. However, for once I would like to teach you with other methods.”

Tattoo hit him again with the belt as if emphasising the words of their leader, who then continued his tirade.

“The lesson I would like you to learn and recite is the following: I am sorry for speaking without permission, it will never happen again.”

A memory flashed through Mav’s mind, his vow to Goose: That was stupid, I know better than that. That will never happen again. A vow that had been in vain, as he made a mistake once more. A fatal mistake. No matter how right his decision had seemed in the moment, it had turned out to be wrong and cost him his best friend’s life. 

And now lives may depend on my decision again…

Another sharp bite of the belt buckle snapped him out of his thoughts, which it seemed Nightmare had guessed.

“I see that you have self-sacrificing tendencies, Lieutenant, but in certain situations it is a shame to put others before yourself. Let us take your choice this afternoon as an example!

“You might think that it was a noble act to speak up for Lieutenant Kazansky. What magnanimity to defend your rival! But in the opposite situation would Lieutenant Kazansky have also spoken on your behalf?” 

Of course he would, Mav wanted to say with absolute certainty, but he wavered. How could he be sure? He didn’t really know Iceman.

I would like to believe that, he modified in his mind. That, at least, was true. 

The belt snapped again. It tore an open wound on his back.

“I am sorry for speaking without permission, it will never happen again. Just say those words and we end this immediately.” When Mav still remained silent they hit him once more, and Nightmare continued his previous monologue with a ‘you wanted it’-kind of glance at the pilot.

“I am one hundred percent certain that Lieutenant Kazansky would never step up for you. Iceman is cold-livered and selfish. He is only interested in his own goals. He would run over anyone for them if necessary.” 

He’s only saying that to undermine any possible alliance between us, Mav told himself, trying hard to believe it. And he continued his silent protest against his captors, for which he was rewarded with another hit.

“Then, say, Lieutenant Kerner! It is only his pilot that matters to him. He will definitely thank you now that you saved him, but there is no altruism in his gratitude… You will matter to him only as long as it furthers his interests.” 

I don’t believe him. I can’t. Not a single word of his is true.

“Do you not have anything to say, Lieutenant?”

Mav didn’t reply, just kept gritting his teeth because he knew what would come next. The pain increased with every new strike, but he still denied everything he heard. He wouldn’t let them break him.

“Lieutenants Neven and Wolfe would also never make a sacrifice for you were it not also in their own defence. Do you know why…? Because they are jealous of your capabilities. They could never be as good as you are, because some abilities cannot be learned. They know it, and they resent you for being born their superior.”

Another lie. Nightmare knows nothing of them!

“The truth is that among your so-called teammates you do not, in fact, have any friends,” the man said with an evil glint in his eyes. And Mav had to agree, because it was true. Painfully true. And as he started to think about it harder, he decided that this fact hurt more than any of the belt wounds on his back. It was pointless to try to find a way around Nightmare’s words. He hadn’t tried to make closer friendships with anyone during the program because he had Goose. Then he lost him and now he was alone. 

For a moment he felt a strange rightness, as if Nightmare had passed deserved judgement. He deserved to be this alone. It was his fault that his best friend had gone and none of his companions truly stood beside him. 

But no matter how much he deserved it, it was still like a dagger in his heart, because he had never been this desolate in his life, and he hated it. He knew he desperately needed someone to rely on, someone with whom he could share both his ups and downs, who could help him through his grief.

“They do not like you…” Nightmare continued with another sentence that, reluctantly, Mav had to agree with. Sometimes he had felt exactly that way back in Miramar. The very same words of Iceman that he had recalled earlier that day returned to him again, but this time they sounded different: “You may not like the guys flying with you, they may not like you.” Change the emphasis, and the statement apparently meant that he was unwelcome in the company of the others. 

The idea hurt, but he still refused to believe it. However, with his exhausted mind, aching body, and his soul still numb with grief his determination started to crack…

“You do not have anyone to trust…” 

One more hit, one more crack…

“You do not matter to them, Lieutenant.”

The belt snapped on his back again…

“They do not care about you.”

Again…

“They only use you as long as it furthers their interests.”

And again…

With each physical and verbal hit it became harder and harder to stay still and silent. The cracks and words slowly merged together in his mind, making the image he had created of his companions begin to fall apart against his will. 

“In light of everything, you might re-evaluate whether it was really worth it to speak up in the hangar. And is it worth it now to endure this pain and suffer because of Lieutenant Kazansky? Because of a man who would never do the same for you?

“You risked your life for him, put yourself in danger for him, but I can assure you that you will never even get a thank you for your sacrifices.”

The buckle broke skin on his shoulder blade.

“Tell me, Lieutenant! Was he worth this? Or do you regret it now?”

What does it matter? Mav asked himself angrily. After all, it didn’t matter whether he liked Kazansky or not, whether he was happy to help him or not, whether he received his thanks in return. And it didn’t matter what the others thought of him and whether they would ever make a similar sacrifice on his behalf. 

Because whatever the case, in that situation the only right decision had been to speak up. It wasn’t a question of sympathy, but a question of morality. If he could go back in time to the moment when he heard how Iceman was gasping for air, while around him their captors were waiting only to rip the bag off the blond pilot’s head in the middle of his panic attack, making fun of him, humiliating him… If he could be in that hangar again and decide again whether to intervene, knowing exactly what his punishment would be, he would still make the same decision.

The leather belt bit into his skin with its metal tooth once more, sending sparking pain through Mav’s whole body.

It was on the tip of his tongue to say the words Nightmare wanted to hear from him so eagerly. It would be so easy to do that, to end his torture. But he knew that to do so would mean submitting to Nightmare and his men, accepting their power over himself and the others. In a certain way, it would mean betrayal of his companions. And he knew that even if he was wrong about them, he could never ever do such a thing. Even if they weren’t real friends he could never betray them. So he remained silent.

“Well, if that is the way you want it to be...” Nightmare told him after an uncountable number of hits. “However, do not imagine for a second that this will make you a hero in their eyes! You will see that your sacrifice was absolutely unnecessary and pointless. Sooner than you think…” And he ordered his men to turn Mav around and gave him ten more hits in that position. 

It was only after this interlude that he was led back to the room with the others. When they arrived they pulled the bag off of his head and with his hands still taped forced him into the room. Though Slider was the one who quickly stepped to him, his attention was not on Mav but on what was behind the pilot. Or rather who wasn’t. 

“Ice?” The RIO asked, worried, making Mav turn around, but there was nobody behind him. To Slider’s apparent disappointment they could only see the closing door. Then Mav looked around in the room and, blinking a few times, he said it out loud what had just become obvious to him as well: 

“I thought he was here with you, but I guess he’s the hostage for tonight.”

“Yeah, seems so…” Slider hummed in resigned agreement. “But he didn't give them a reason to punish him again, did he?” The RIO asked nervously, while he stepped behind Mav to free him of his bonds.

“No. No, he didn’t…” I did, but you don’t have to know about that, he added just to himself. He didn’t feel it was his place to reveal that Iceman had a panic attack and why. He didn’t want to put the blond pilot in an uncomfortable situation. And he also didn’t want to tell the others about his punishment, especially all the doubts Nightmare had tried to plant in his heart. “He didn’t say or do anything,” he added.

“Thank God!” Slider breathed a sigh of relief and Mav saw that some of the tension left the tall man’s shoulders. “He can’t usually keep his mouth shut if he doesn’t like something,” the RIO explained. “But you’ve already experienced that.”

“Yeah.” Mav nodded as he recalled some of his verbal clashes with Kazansky. It all seemed so far away now.

“Why weren't you brought back here right away like we were?” Hollywood, who was sitting against the opposite wall, interrupted them.

“Hhm… I don’t know… I thought I was the hostage.” Mav attempted to give a believable explanation to the question without lying outright. “They took me to another room first, but then after a bit they brought me here.”

“Didn’t they tell you why? Didn’t they tell you anything?” Wood inquired in surprise.

“Well, they aren’t really talkative, are they?” The other pilot shook his head, grinning a bit at the sarcastic words.

Would he even care about what really happened? The voice of uncertainty that Nightmare had kept trying to beat into him with a leather belt suddenly spoke up in Mav. Or any of them? He looked at the two RIOs as well. 

The others, unwittingly strengthening his uncertainty, didn’t pursue the topic further. Wood turned back to Wolf to continue whatever conversation they had before Mav entered, and Slider was watching them while he absent-mindedly crumpled the duct tape he had removed from Mav’s wrists in his palm.

Mav shook his head in an attempt to clear it from the unwanted thoughts. Then with an exhausted sigh he fell to the ground near the door and immediately almost cried out in pain as his wound-covered back hit the wall behind him. He learned in an instant that he had to be more careful in how he moved, more cautious, if he didn’t want to reveal his painful secret to the others. He closed his eyes, waiting for the throbbing to subside.

He stayed like that for at least five minutes. When he opened his eyes he saw in surprise that Slider was still standing in the same spot but now was watching him. When their eyes met the RIO threw the duct tape that he had shaped into a ball into the corner and took a deep breath to ask, “Can I sit next to you?”

“Of course,” Mav replied and with honest curiosity he waited to learn what the RIO wanted from him.

“How’s your wrist?” Slider nodded towards the still red cut on his hand.

“The bleeding stopped a long time ago and it doesn’t hurt much, just stings a bit,” he replied, examining the wound. He was sure that the man hadn't actually sat next to him to inquire about his well-being, and he was right.

“Look, Mav,” Slider started finally. “I know we’ve never really been friends. And you were rivals with Ice practically from the first moment…” he swallowed loudly before continuing,  “and despite everything, you saved his life...”

Then, say, Lieutenant Kerner! It is only his pilot that matters to him. Mav heard Nightmare’s voice again in his head. 

“I can’t really find the words to say how grateful I am to you. For Tom’s life… and for being there for me, too! Thank you, Mav.”

He will definitely thank you now that you saved him, but there is no altruism in his gratitude… Mav looked deep into the warm brown eyes of the RIO. Could his words be nothing else but dishonest, empty phrases? That wasn’t what he saw. If he had to choose who to believe, Nightmare or Slider, then of course he would choose the man in front of him. 

However, he didn't want to fall into the same trap that he had fallen into so many times in his childhood. When he blindly trusted those who took responsibility for him, only to find out how undeserving they were of that trust. After he entered the foster care system the path of little Pete Mitchell had been full of disappointments and bitter experiences, all of which taught the little boy not to believe in the reliability of anyone so easily. Thus for a while it had become his firm conviction that he could only rely on himself—until he met Carol and Nick Bradshaw. 

The two of them had proven to him that there were still people to whom he could entrust even his life. Mav guarded the friendship of Nick and Carol like a secret treasure, the true value of which only he could know.

That's why losing Goose felt like losing a part of his soul.

And Mav was afraid to put his trust in anyone else's hands, even if their current state screamed at him to do so. It should have been the obvious decision to rely on those who shared the same fate as him. It should have been so easy to say that he could count on them. But Nightmare’s words echoed in his mind again:

“The truth is that among your so-called teammates you do not, in fact, have any friends… You do not matter to them… They do not care about you...”

“Oh…well…” He finally started to reply to Slider’s thanks. He wasn’t sure how, though, as he still felt he didn’t deserve such gratitude for his actions. In that situation it had been such an automatic thing to help Iceman, even if he didn’t like him… Or rather… He hadn’t liked him before, but after spending a few hours together he didn't really know how to feel about him anymore. He has just begun to form a somewhat more positive image of Kazansky, but that image was still very fragile. The doubts suggested by Nightmare, even if Mav defied them, still unsettled him and cautioned him. 

“Any of you would have done the same…” he finished his sentence, then after a heartbeat-long pause he added, “maybe even for me…” And he immediately scolded himself for deliberately taking the conversation in that direction. But deep down he longed for some sort of confirmation from the others that he mattered to them. He longed for them to refute everything that Nightmare had been trying so hard to force into his mind. 

But he should have known his luck better than that.

“No, Mav, you don’t need to be modest about it!” Slider pushed him on the shoulder a bit with a smile.

“Ugh,” Mav groaned involuntarily, wincing at the spark of pain he felt at the touch.

“Oh, sorry, forgot you’re even tinier than Tom,” the RIO apologised jokingly, then on a more serious note he added, ”You’re a great guy and a good friend. I’m sorry that none of us knew or wanted to see that before!” He was again smiling at him and his words gave Mav a surprisingly warm, homey feeling. So he was aware that it was unfair to be disappointed that Slider, not knowing about his internal struggles, hadn’t given him the answer he hoped for. Still, he felt a kind of bitterness.

You will matter to him only as long as it furthers his interests… 

You do not matter to them… 

They do not care about you.

The mock-polite, honeyed voice invaded his mind again, making Mav suddenly angry towards Nightmare and himself.

Damn it! It was just a dirty, mean tactic, he told himself with conviction. It annoyed him that he couldn't get the unwanted ideas out of his head. Because even if it would come back to burn him later, in this situation he still had to believe that his companions were better people than their captor wanted him to think.

His head began to ache from the many tangled thoughts and his limbs almost trembled from the still burning pain and exhaustion. He suddenly felt like he wanted nothing more than to find a position as comfortable as possible for his aching back and chest, and sleep. So, apologising to Slider, he curled up next to the wall with guarded movements and closed his eyes.

“Just one more thing, Mav…” the RIO whispered to him after a few minutes of silence. He hummed in response.

“Just... I don’t know if Ice told you anything… Or if he did, how well he expressed himself…” Slider scratched his head, somewhat troubled. “You know, even though he has a much bigger vocabulary than I do, he’s still the one it can be hard to talk to… Especially about his own feelings. But I’m pretty sure he’s really grateful,” the tall man stated. “I know the guy often acts like an arrogant twat, but believe me he’s actually a very good kid…”

How Mav reacted to those words, he couldn’t remember, as Slider’s voice lulled him to sleep. But later he could recall everything the RIO had told him, and even now it was on his mind.

How strange life is… he wondered under the shower, barely perceiving how cold the water was, as it soothed his skin that still felt like Nightmare wrote his words on it with fire.

…that these are the people I have to share this situation with…

When he woke up in the morning, he had made up his mind not to let the seeds of doubt that Nightmare had planted in his soul grow. He would decide who he could trust and who he couldn’t, and he wouldn’t allow anyone else's opinion to influence him. Only his own experiences, what he could see and hear of the others, would be authoritative for him.

And what had those experiences been so far?

With Wood and Wolf, he had always gotten along well. Although the pair had clearly resented Mav for a few days after the pilot left them alone to pursue Viper. Apart from that incident and the coolness that followed it, their relationship was characterised by good-natured conversations and jokes, but no closer friendship had developed with them. 

For that matter, neither had it with any others from the program.

Mav and Goose had always been something like outsiders among the Top Gun students, as if the two of them were in a separate little bubble. But while Goose had known everyone somewhat thanks to his years at the Academy, Mav could only draw conclusions from the few interactions he'd had with them in the past weeks.

Did he feel any envy from Wood and Wolf during that time? The truth was that he couldn’t tell, as he had never thought about that before Nightmare’s words. He had never thought that anyone could be jealous of him. Why would they be? After all, he was Duke Mitchell’s kid. His name usually caused contempt rather than any other emotion. Though Top Gun had been different in that respect. There he had never felt that anyone had a negative opinion about him because of his name. His attitude, though…that had been a different matter. 

With that he quickly jumped to the other pair: Slider and Iceman. He had a much more intense relationship with them from their first meeting, but that relationship was also much more difficult to define. Rivalry was one of its main elements. The comments, criticisms, and remarks made to each other were harsher and cut deeper, but they were not evil, and they had never crossed the line into true hostility. 

And since they had been here, Mav had begun to get to know completely new sides of both men. Therefore, no matter what Nightmare tried to ram into him, the pilot now firmly warded off the unwanted  beliefs. 

He had never seen or felt envy from Wood or Wolf. He didn't believe that Slider had been a hypocrite in their conversation last night. And how Iceman had finally given him even a fleeting moment of insight into his feelings about Goose's death touched Mav deeply. That wasn’t a man who would dispassionately run over anyone to reach his own goals. That was a man carrying guilt, even as he did. Until that moment, he had been convinced he was completely alone because no one could understand what he was feeling, yet now it turned out that Iceman partly felt exactly the same.

Maybe we should continue that conversation, he mused. The thought even occurred to him for a moment that such a conversation, in which he could finally feel understood, might help him process his own grief. But then he pushed the idea away, because he couldn't imagine Kazansky baring his soul like that, and sharing his burdens. It was ridiculous. Especially if Nightmare was right after all…

But he isn’t right, dammit! Don’t let him mess around with your head! he told himself severely. Then, as if he wanted to clear his mind physically, he put his head fully under the cold water for one last time. 

After that he turned off the tap and, while he was dressing with slow, measured movements, his thoughts turned back to the blond pilot, who was separated from them for the whole night. Suddenly he felt a different, new kind of guilt. His mind had been so full of Nightmare’s shit that he’d had no time to really think about how Iceman might be feeling right now. After all, he’d ended up having a panic attack, which made it clear that the man wasn’t coping with his near-death experience as well as he wanted to show.

Maybe I'm not the only one who would benefit from continuing that conversation…

These thoughts were in his mind when he finally stepped out of the small shower room and found himself facing the blond pilot. He hadn’t even realised how worried he really was for the man until that moment, until he felt relief flow through his whole body upon seeing him. On the other hand, he also hadn’t realised how much Nightmare’s words made him uncertain about him. Oddly enough, he saw something similar in Iceman’s gaze. As their eyes met, he saw a strange mixture of emotions. It was as if the tension had left his shoulders and facial muscles, but only to move into his glacial blue irises, radiating mistrust towards him.

I guess this isn't the best time… Mav drew the conclusion. 

But then, after Slider went to take a shower and Iceman sat down by the wall alone, he recognised that maybe there wouldn't be a better time later. He was in no position to choose their circumstances, and anyway it bothered him that he couldn't see clearly in this situation, couldn’t make up his mind regarding his companions. It frustrated him terribly that against his will he had become this disturbed by Nightmare’s stupid accusations, and he wanted to finally make his own judgments about their character.

So, before he could change his mind, he ended up sitting next to Iceman, whom he intended to tell nothing about the pain and wounds he was now bearing. He felt it would almost be bragging if he let the pilot know about the suffering he had endured for him. 

No, now he wanted to continue their previous conversation, and to do so he had to focus solely on that and collect his inner strength. 

Mav could count on one hand how many people he talked to about Goose, but as strange as it was even to him, Iceman had become one of those few. Although that didn’t make it any easier to talk about the loss of his best friend. The question of who was responsible for the accident was a particularly sensitive point for Mav, and probably always would be, no matter what anyone might say. So now that he was about to bring it up again, he felt his throat tighten, but he suppressed the feeling and jumped in. 

“You know, you surprised me, Kazansky… with what you said to me earlier.”

Iceman was just listening silently, and Mav was unable to read what was in his mind. However, that strange sense of mistrust still seemed to surround the man. But after all, on what basis could he ask Kazansky about it, if he himself was thinking about whether or not he could trust him and the others?

So Mav continued what he’d started, because he definitely wanted to tell the other pilot that he didn't think he was at fault for what had happened to Goose. Up until the moment when Iceman said it was all because of him and expressed his sincere regret for it, the only person Mav had considered responsible for his best friend’s death was himself. It would never have occurred to him to blame Kazansky, to accuse him, to scold him.

“You surprised me too,” Iceman finally spoke up. “I didn’t expect forgiveness. I appreciate the intention, but I think I will carry the guilt for the rest of my life,” he declared, and Mav was absolutely sure that the words he was hearing were true and sincere. He hadn’t doubted that even the day before. At the same time, he was sure that no matter how honest the blond pilot's confession was, it would not change anything for Mav. 

I can never get Goose back… and I am the only one who is responsible for that… he concluded guiltily.

“But I see I’m not alone in doing so,” Iceman added in a surprisingly soft voice, making Mav feel as if the piercing blue eyes could see straight through him…

The feeling was unexpected, astonishing, but it also filled him with a strange mixture of relief and trust. 

Goose's "Emotion Fair" game from the previous day came into his mind, in which Iceman had surprisingly ended up being a partner. He saw the possibility of opening up to each other again, a real chance to connect over something out of which they might build a better relationship. 

He thought that, by providing a guiding framework, the game might help them to keep the emotional depth of their conversation. There were so many things Mav was desperately in need to share with someone.

Fuck Nightmare and his opinion about Kazansky! he decided suddenly.

“So, can we continue then?” He asked the blond man with a spark of the kind of confidence he used to have before Hop 31. He felt that he could prove right now how wrong their captor’s accusations were, freeing himself from those haunting words. “The game?” he continued, seeing Iceman’s confused look. “I told you I was surprised, you told me you were too, but you haven’t given me another emotion yet.” He was almost enthusiastic, but the other man’s answer cooled him down in an instant.

“Fine…” Kazansky started in a voice that had no trace of the softness from a few moments before. “You want to hear a new emotion? I’ll give you one: I’m fucking fed up with your stupid game. I’ve already said what I wanted to say to you, and you have no claim on anything else I’m feeling. So leave me alone!” 

True to his call sign, Iceman’s words were like sharp snow driven on a bitter wind.

“You happy now?” He asked him mercilessly, and Mav could do nothing for a few moments but stare at him in disbelief. How could he be so wrong? Where did he misplace his common sense, thinking he could have a better relationship with this selfish bastard? 

“No, just utterly disappointed,” he replied finally, trying to contain his sudden anger.

“Come on, Mitchell, don't be such a child!” The blond man threw it at him condescendingly.

You risked your life for him, put yourself in danger for him, but I can assure you that you will never even get a thank you for your sacrifices. Nightmare’s previously suppressed words now almost burst into his mind and this time he didn’t make any attempt to fight against them. They rang more true than ever.

You will see that your sacrifice was absolutely unnecessary and pointless. Sooner than you think…

With Nightmare’s voice still in his ear he slowly stood up and, turning to Iceman, he spat the words at him:

“You know what, Kazansky? You were right. Sometimes I really do hate you. Screw you!” 

Then he turned around and left the blond man alone. He felt that he couldn’t and didn’t want to spend another second in his company.

Screw you! he repeated in himself.

And screw Nightmare!

And screw this whole fucking situation we’re in! he cursed, seething with rage.

While he crossed the room his eyes met Wood’s, who couldn’t have avoided overhearing the second, louder half of their “conversation”. The pilot gave a faint shrug of his shoulders, indicating that he didn't understand Iceman either, to which Mav gestured in resignation. He sat down, leaning against the opposite wall a little too heavily and immediately feeling the consequences. 

Shit! It’s this ungrateful asshole’s fault, too, he cursed inwardly at the blond man and the sacrifice he had made for him.

For a while he just stared at the ground, deliberately, because he had no desire to look at Kazansky's arrogant face. He tried to come to terms with what had just happened, but he really couldn't. He felt himself misled, because he had really started to believe that Iceman was more than what he seemed, their conversations giving him hope that something better might be developing between them. Hell, he had even felt that the intention to get along better was mutual.

How could I be so wrong? He asked again and, as if in answer, he heard Nightmare’s voice once more:

Iceman is cold-livered and selfish. He is only interested in his own goals. He would run over anyone for them if necessary.

Screw him! he repeated his previous curse, this time addressing it to both blond men. 

Then he tried to turn his thoughts elsewhere in vain, as he was too angry to drop the subject so soon. They kept circling back to Kazansky. 

He just couldn’t believe how he could be such an idiot to try to approach the Iceman in a friendly manner. He could only attribute it to the sense of responsibility that he had started to feel towards the pilot after rescuing him, an unwanted burden on his neck. After all, that was what had made him initiate a deeper conversation with the man. But he regretted it all now. He had enough trouble without Tom Kazansky.

If that's how he wants it, so be it! I was just wasting my time on him instead of thinking about how the hell we are going to get out of here… he fumed, when Slider reappeared from the bathroom.

“I swear, you guys, if I had stayed under that water for one more minute, I would have frozen,” the RIO said, emphasizing his words with a spectacular mock-shiver. “Though I feel like it's not much warmer in here," he remarked as he looked around at the company, immediately taking in the frosty atmosphere. 

Wood discreetly nodded towards both Maverick and Iceman, indicating to the RIO that they were responsible for the mood. Slider sat next to his pilot with a tired sigh.

Mav watched him as he gently elbowed the blond man in the side and whispered something softly in his ear, to which he shook his head with a small smile.

Then Slider took another look at his pilot and a disgruntled-worried expression appeared on his face.

What could he see in him? Mav wondered, and still unable to let it go, he found himself studying Tom Kazansky's features against his own will, trying to read them.

As he examined the other pilot closer, the first thing that came to mind was that he looked undeniably miserable: between his closed eyes, there were two deep lines revealing concern, and his face seemed a tad too pale while the dark circles under his eyes appeared to be becoming permanent. 

But maybe we all look similar. I didn’t really bother to look at myself in that broken mirror. He wanted to shake off the bad feeling that somehow settled in his heart while he watched Iceman. He turned towards Slider and then Hollywood to check their faces too, but his theory collapsed quickly. They were also tired and pale, but not in such an unhealthy way as Kazansky seemed to be. Then on top of everything, the man started coughing. 

Is he still coughing? Shouldn't he be over that by now? Mav pondered.

At the coughing fit Slider, as Mav noticed he often had done, wrapped one of his long arms around his pilot's shoulders, and Iceman smiled faintly again, leaned his head on the other man's shoulder. But meanwhile those two troubled lines between his eyes deepened even more…

Damnit! Why the fuck do I even care about him? Arrogant twat!

With that, Mav tried to finally put an end to his thoughts, but of course his own remark reminded him immediately of Slider’s words the other night: “I know the guy often acts like an arrogant twat, but believe me he’s actually a very good kid…”

Mav snorted in disbelief.

A very good kid, sure… I'll believe it when I see it…

Chapter Text

Slider’s mere presence was enough to calm him down a bit. His long arm hugging Ice’s shoulders gave the pilot a feeling of constancy and familiarity in this place where there were so many changing and unknown factors. The RIO held him as he had to fight down another coughing fit, and he was grateful for the warmth like a blanket that came from being pulled into the man’s side. His own flight suit was slowly drying, but he still felt that he himself could not warm up. He felt as if his bones were still frozen from his morning shower.

Or was it because of the frosty atmosphere, which Slider had noticed immediately? He wasn’t sure, but the look with which Maverick was measuring him definitely didn’t help the case. He was aware that this time he totally deserved the sour, scornful glare of the other pilot, and the fact that he realised it was Mitchell’s blood on his clothes didn't fill him with good feelings either.

However, that didn't truly answer the question, or definitively tip the scale one way or the other: trustworthy or a filthy liar? Saviour or traitor? 

How can I decide? Ice asked himself, frustrated with the whole situation. 

If Mitchell’s approach was motivated by nothing but pure intentions, some kind of responsibility, or mere friendliness, then Ice had been a real jerk to him.

On the other hand, if he just wanted to gain his trust so that he could supply Nightmare with information about him and the others, then there was no excuse for that. 

He wanted to believe in the other man's innocence so badly, although he didn't realise why he felt that and it never occurred to him to identify his emotion as sympathy. 

What he knew was that he could not allow his judgement to be clouded by intuition or personal preferences, and he was absolutely, one hundred percent sure that Mitchell was hiding something from them…

“Guys, sorry for interrupting this fantastic mood, but this really isn’t the right time to fight each other! You can go back to your fucking rivalry as soon as we’re out of here. But right now don’t you think that we should work together on how to get the hell out of here before they force us to do something none of us want to do?” Hollywood asked, clearly fed up with their feud.

“I’m in!” Slider was quick to agree and Ice knew that they were right. They had already wasted too much time. Yet, they could not begin anything without being sure they could trust each other, sure there was no one among them who would later give them away to their captors.

“Maybe we should start by collecting what we know so far about our captors and this place,” his RIO suggested meanwhile.

“And we should also agree to tell everything we discuss to whoever the “hostage” is later,” Wood pointed out, clearly not wanting Wolfman to miss it if they managed to figure anything out. All of them nodded in agreement.

“And the “hostage” also has to tell if something happened with him, while he was separated,” Ice added in a measured voice, while his eyes found Maverick’s. The pilot firmly withstood his gaze, and then by throwing the question back to him he got out of Ice's verbal radar lock:

“Did something happen to you, Iceman?” 

“No,” Ice replied coolly. “They pushed me into a room and left me there without a word. I was alone the whole time, and then they brought me back here in the morning, again without a single word,” he finished, then immediately made another attempt to target Mitchell.

“What about you Maverick? Did something happen to you?” he asked, but the other pilot "escaped" from answering again, this time thanks to Nightmare's men, who appeared to drag them to the hangar where the leader was already waiting for them.

“Good morning, gentlemen!” Nightmare started with his usual artificial politeness. “I hope you all are well rested from the fatigue of the previous day…” He looked meaningfully at Maverick, but it was only Ice who caught the expression that perhaps gave him insight into what could have happened between the two men. The thought was even more sickening and suffocating as he saw Nightmare’s satisfied grin. Maybe that's why he started coughing again…

The man stopped talking and waited grandiosely for Ice to finish, as if he wanted to strengthen the appearance of his politeness, which was obviously unnecessary in front of his prisoners. They all knew by now that it was only an act. 

“Well, before Lieutenant Kazansky interrupted me,” he continued, giving Ice a reproachful look, as if it was the greatest rudeness to cough, “I wanted to say that a rather exciting task awaits you today. Since your first flights yesterday went smoothly enough, I would like you to go a little bit further this time…I would like you to pay your respect to the Layton…” He revealed his plan, or rather the first half of his plan, because “the best” was yet to come:

“It would give you an excellent opportunity to test the weapons system of our MiGs in practice,” he told them almost solemnly, then looking around he acknowledged the shocked faces of his prisoners with satisfaction.

“Ah, and I almost forgot,” he added, theatrically touching his temple, “though you would do better to never forget it—Lieutenant Wolfe will be my personal guest during this short mission. He is going to follow the events right next to me, so if you do not obey my orders and do what I expect from you up there, he will be punished for it… the first one punished for it…” The man closed the debrief with this threat then turned around and left them to his guards. 

A pilot and a RIO soon arrived to tell them more details and assign planes and teams. They went up with four MiGs: Maverick in a two seater with Nightmare’s RIO, Slider in another two seater with Nightmare’s pilot, and Wood and him with two one-seaters.

As soon as they left the tarmac that bastard let them know over the radio that he would hear their every word. Thus it was impossible for them to communicate with each other unnoticed, which made the cockpit feel like they were sitting in glass cages. It didn’t make flying with the still mostly unknown MiGs any easier. 

And although they were quickly done with their morning mission, it wasn’t without serious revulsion, because they had to fire warning shots around and toward the unarmed ship. They probably caused damage only to the Layton’s metal hull, but they couldn’t know for sure that they hadn't hurt anyone from the innocent crew, who were not to blame for their malfunctioning ship drifting across the border. It was absolutely just a show of force from Nightmare’s part as he wanted to let the crew know that their fate was in his hands. While at the Layton, no one could know that their "attackers" were actually being held in their enemy’s grip too.

The only positive thing in the mission was that they didn’t meet any F-14s up there. The rescue operation, of which they themselves would have been the protagonists, has not started yet. Although with their attack against the disabled ship today they surely accelerated events. Of course, it takes time for them to replan the operation, to bring in new aviators from Miramar, and perhaps to start looking for them in the meantime. However, Ice guessed that even in the best case, they won't have more than one more day till the inescapable, which it was still, somehow, their duty to avoid.

They couldn’t just sit and wait for someone to find them and free them. They should try to get out of here, figure something out, before they were forced into a dogfight against their own. 

The problem was that he had no usable idea so far. He was only sure that he himself would do anything in order for them to be able to escape, that he would resist with all his strength whatever they had to face.

But I’m just one from the five of us… 

Do the others think the same? he wondered, and in that moment he realised that there was no time to cautiously explore who he could trust and who he couldn’t. Because he felt they only had one chance to escape, and if they screwed it up, if one of them betrayed them, then the game was over…

Their morning mission was then followed again by a whole day of learning and practising, naturally with all the usual precautions. Their hands were tied behind their backs the whole time when they weren't flying or eating (tasteless porridge this time) or going to the restroom (only one person at a time accompanied by guards). But at least Wolfman could join them after they returned from the Layton, so they could see that he was okay, that their captors didn't do anything to him while they were up there. 

It was pitch-dark by the time they were led back to the basement again, completely exhausted. Ice’s head was buzzing with massive amounts of data, analysis, tactical briefings, technical parameters, and practical information. The dully throbbing headache he had started feeling in the morning had now turned into such a sharp pain that he thought his head would soon split in two.

He and Wood were the first to be pushed into their room. Then five minutes later to Ice’s relief Slider arrived too. Hollywood nervously watched the door, and he acknowledged with a little disappointment when the fourth person who was led back was Maverick. From his expression it was obvious even to the short pilot that Wood expected to see his own RIO. 

“I’m sorry, Wood! I don't know why they took him again,” Mitchell told him apologetically. “I thought it was my turn, too,” he added.

“Do you crave their company so much?” Before Ice had time to realise what he was actually doing, the question slipped out of his mouth. Doubt, uncertainty, helplessness, and to some extent anger burst out of him as he addressed his words to Maverick. But he didn’t mind it. There was no time for playing games. He was the only one who knew Mitchell had lied, he was the only one who could find out the truth…

Lives may depend on me, he thought, determined now and hardening his heart. It didn't matter how sorry he was for what happened to Goose, or how grateful he was to the other pilot, who was now looking at him with confusion on his face, because he couldn't let his gratitude, pity, or any other of his personal feelings get in the way of the truth any longer.

“Maybe you have something to discuss with them?” He asked, clarifying his previous hint a little.

“Now what’s your problem, Kazansky? Still me? Is it that I'm dangerous or that I'm childish? What’s it you don't like this time?” Maverick didn’t back down but returned the attack with his own questions. It was obvious that he was still angry because their conversation in the morning had turned into an argument.

“My problem is that I don’t trust you,” Ice admitted openly. “Don’t you wanna tell us what really happened to you yesterday in that room, after they took you away?” He asked him point-blank, not bothering about being subtle anymore. Hearing his question, Slider and Hollywood looked bewildered, while Pete Mitchell stared back with an unflinching face.

“Nothing,” he replied with just a millisecond of hesitation. Ice noticed.

“Nothing…” he echoed in disbelief. “We both know that’s bullshit! What are you hiding?” 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Wood stared at the both of them questioningly.

“Are you really hiding something, Mav?” asked Slider at the same time as the pilot.

“Nothing,” Mitchell repeated. “Because what happened has no significance at all.” He stared Ice down.

“I knew it!” Ice exclaimed and looked around somehow victoriously.

“You know nothing, Kazansky!” Maverick also raised his voice a bit.

“Is that so? Then enlighten me!” He called the man out, who remained silent this time.

“Just tell me, Mitchell. Didn't you want to talk to Nightmare and his men either? Or are you just honouring us with your silence?” 

At that, Slider and Wood stepped back with dumbstruck expressions on their faces, while Maverick still stood at the same place, now vibrating with suppressed anger.

“What are you implying?” The pilot asked with such a stiffly cold voice that Ice stopped and almost considered retreating for a moment. However, it was too little, too late—he was already too deep in the argument, his mouth acting faster than his mind.

“I’m implying that maybe the apple didn’t fall far from the tree!” he answered impulsively, but as soon as his words were out of his mouth he felt and knew that he had gone too far this time. The expression on Maverick’s face was a clear indication of that. It was a mixture of shock, disbelief, wrath, and such contempt that in a blink of an eye Ice wanted to disappear underground in shame. That previously seen “bitten into a lemon” bitter visage of the pilot was nothing compared to this.

“You’re right, Iceman, I’m just like my father,” Mitchell began. “And you know what? I proudly accept it,” he said with his head held high, unflinchingly keeping eye contact with Ice. “I’m just like him,” he repeated as if for emphasis. “It's just that none of you have even the faintest idea what that means…” he paused and for some reason started to unzip his flight suit.

“Traitor…” he continued, and his voice was clear evidence of his deep hatred for the word which Ice hadn't dared address him as openly. “That's what you meant, right?” He slipped out of the sleeves of the khaki garment. “But none of you know the truth. My father never betrayed anyone.” He grabbed the hem of his white T-shirt, on which Ice noticed small rust-brown stains, eerily similar to the ones on his own flight suit, too late. “He chose to die for his comrades instead, because he was a self-sacrificing idiot.” Maverick finished the sentence pointedly then pulled off the T-shirt in one movement.

“Shit,” hissed Slider.

“Oh, Mav!” exclaimed Hollywood, stepping to him to examine his wounds closer. “I’m sorry—I didn't mean—”

“Never mind, Wood,” Mitchell told the pilot with a little bit of a milder voice. 

Then he turned his stern gaze back at Ice, who felt shame rob him of speech. All the words he had wanted to say before and that he felt he should say now died in his throat. He stared at Maverick's wounds, the angry red stripes, in absolute shock. All of a sudden he started to feel nauseous. He knew very well that those marks, even if against his will and only indirectly, were caused by him, and on top of that, what he had just done…

“Those fucking bastards…” Slider mumbled a curse, still stunned by the sight of Nightmare’s latest cruelty.

“How did you get these?” Wood asked in a similar tone as the RIO. “Why did they hit you with… a…”

“A belt,” Mitchell helped out the other pilot, and that was the moment when Ice felt he couldn’t take it anymore. He turned around and disappeared into the small bathroom.

He couldn’t hear and also didn’t want to hear what Mitchell replied to Wood’s questions. Whether he revealed to the others that he got those wounds by wanting to save the one who had just practically stabbed him in the back. 

He wanted to save me…

Shame and remorse weighed on him with such force that he could no longer bear it. He fell to his knees next to the dirty toilet and threw up into it.

What a fucking idiot I am… and now everyone knows it for sure…

He gripped the toilet bowl with one trembling hand and wrapped his other hand around his chest as the gagging soon turned into a strong coughing fit, while he was really waiting for the ground to open up and finally swallow him…

But instead, only the door opened and closed slowly behind him. Then familiar, strong fingers lightly squeezed his shoulder: Ron.

“Are you okay?” The RIO asked as soon as his coughing subsided.

“Never better…” Ice replied sarcastically as a violent tremor ran through his body. 

“Yeah, I see,” Slider chuckled. “Are you done?” He nodded towards the toilet.

“Maybe… Yeah, I think so…” Ice said uncertainly, while he tried to wipe away his involuntarily shed tears without being noticed.

“Come on, then!” His best friend gently pulled him away from the toilet and flushed it. He followed with watchful eyes as Ice rinsed his mouth and washed his face, then seated his pilot next to him.

“What’s with this cough?” Slider asked with brows furrowed.

“Probably just a cold because of the wet clothes.” Ice shrugged. 

His RIO didn't comment on this, just scrutinised him with a sceptical look before finally speaking again:

“And what was that with Mav out there?” He nodded towards the door. “How did you know that something happened to him? That he was hiding something?” 

“Didn’t he tell you why he got the punishment?” Ice asked back in disbelief.

“He told us that he was punished because he spoke up without permission,” Slider replied, but seeing his pilot’s face he quickly drew the correct conclusion: “But that’s not what actually happened, right?” 

“Yes…and no,” he answered, and guilt gnawed at his heart once more as he recalled what had happened in the hangar. “It is true that he spoke up without permission…” he confirmed, then looking into his RIO’s eyes he took a deep breath. “But he did it because of me,” he confessed finally.

“What do you mean?” Slider asked, confused, and Ice knew that there was no way now for him to avoid revealing how weak and pathetic he was and, on top of that, how much of an ungrateful jerk he had been just a few minutes ago.

“Yesterday… khm… after you and Wolfman were taken, we were left here with Mitchell,” he began, stopping occasionally to clear his throat. “A few hours passed, when they came for us too… They tied our hands behind the back and put those fucking bags on our heads… and they told us not a single word about where they were gonna take us…. khm… Then we suddenly stopped God knows where, and for a few minutes nothing happened… T-that fucking bag was still in my head, and I had no idea where we are… or what was near me… khm… and…” he swallowed hard to gather himself. “And then they kicked my legs under me… I felt like I was falling into nothing, then they grabbed my arms and pulled me into a kneeling position… just like… before… khm… before…” Ron squeezed his shoulder and nodded to sign that he understood, and Ice was so grateful that he didn’t have to say it out loud.

“And what happened in the end?” the RIO asked after a few moments of silence, his face tight as he tried to remain calm.

“They did nothing… nothing, and I… I panicked, Ron…” he admitted quietly, with his head hanging low, staring at the floor as his cheeks burned with shame.

“Hey, you know that doesn't make me think you're weak, right?” Slider tried to reassure him, putting aside his own anger to focus on his pilot, his brother that had been the object of Nightmare’s cruelty again. “You’re one of the strongest people I know. And the fact that you sometimes show that you're only human doesn't change that. On the contrary… it just makes me respect you even more,” he told Ice.

“Well, there isn't much for you to respect right now…” he sighed, then after another deep breath he returned to his too fresh memories. “They must have taken the bag off Mitchell’s head, because when he somehow felt or noticed that I had a… a problem, he started to covertly describe what he saw around us and where we were. He talked loud and thanks to his words I realised that it was all just a trick to break me, humiliate me, or whatever was that bastard's intention.” He reluctantly lifted his glance to Ron again in the hope that he could read from his RIO’s face how much he would judge him.

“So that’s why Mav got the punishment?” Slider asked without any judgmental undertones.

“Yeah,” he confirmed. “He knew very well that he would be punished for it if he spoke, but for some reason he did it anyway..."

“Not for the first time,” Slider remarked.

“What do you mean?” Ice looked at his best friend in confusion. “How? When?” he asked, but he had a feeling that he already knew the answer, which was confirmed by Slider's worried look and silence.

“Please, Ron, I want to know exactly what happened. I have to know it! Please tell me everything I can't remember!” 

The RIO was at first reluctant to comply with the request, but eventually he began to tell him about those terrifying minutes as he listened intently to every word…

“…in the end Mav and Wolf helped me take you over to the wall, so I could warm you up a bit, cause you were shivering back then too…” Slider commented as he slowly came to the end of the account, casting worried glances at him. Ice hadn't even noticed until then that listening to what happened, partially reliving it in his mind, he had begun to tremble.

“Shit! Sorry!” He cursed and apologised at the same time. He was ashamed that recalling the trauma of the previous day had such a visible, strong effect on him. 

As if reading his mind his friend hugged his shoulders with one hand and looked him in the eye.

“You know, it would be really strange if what happened didn't affect you at all… It was a close shave, Tommy. You almost died…” Slider’s voice faltered a little at the word, but he said it this time, then continued firmly, “I admit, I'd be more scared if I didn't see you struggling to process things. You already repress every emotion that you think is a weakness because of your father...”

“If we want to get out of here, there really is no room for any feelings except determination and courage,” he declared.

“And trust…” added the RIO, who even if he didn’t agree with everything his pilot said knew very well how Tom Kazansky worked.

“And trust,” Ice agreed, tasting the word. 

Then after a longer silence he spoke up again. “I had to know if I could trust Mitchell,” he said, trying to justify his previous actions.

“And the only way to find that out was to call Mav a traitor?” Slider asked with some disapproval, and Ice realised from his tone that Pete Mitchell had somehow found his way into Ron Kerner’s heart. Though he wasn’t sure how to feel about the sudden realisation, or about Maverick for that matter.

“I just don’t know what to think about him,” he admitted. “One moment he looks at me as though he hates and despises me, and the next it's as if he really cares about me and is worried about me. I really don't know what to do with this. Especially since he saved my life and helped me regardless of what’s gonna happen to him…” he explained. “When he told you he was taken but they did nothing with him I knew he was hiding something. I heard when Nightmare promised him punishment, and I’ve experienced first-hand that the man brutally makes good on his threats. I guess I jumped to conclusions, but I saw no other reason for Mitchell to lie…”

“Yeah, I guess you really jumped to conclusions.” 

Silence settled between them again.

“It’s just hard for me, Ron… I… I’m an exceptionally good pilot, confident and level-headed when operating machinery… but when it’s about humans and emotions… it’s just really not my department,” Ice acknowledged.

“Listen, I know you’re distrustful and difficult to approach because of your childhood, and it doesn't matter to me anymore,” Slider told him, “and, I confess that sometimes it flatters my ego that I’m better than you in this area,” the tall man jokingly knocked his shoulders gently, then he carried on more seriously. “But you know, it can be learned. You just have to dare to be more open; not assume the worst about everyone; and be honest!” Slider advised with an understanding smile. 

The conversation paused again as both of them were lost in their own thoughts. 

This time Ice's cough and then his voice broke the silence.

“You trust Mitchell…” he said, and his sentence was more a statement than a question.

“He saved the life of my emotionally illiterate little bro… How the heck could I not trust him?” chuckled the RIO, ruffling Ice’s hair.

“Get lost, Ron!” He slapped his friend's hand away, also smiling.

“What’s the matter now? Your immaculate Iceman image is already done in!” Slider said jokingly, but in the next moment he froze as he realised what he had just said. Although he was only thinking about the hairstyle, he could immediately see on Ice's face that his pilot had also heard a deeper meaning in the sentence.

“I’m sorry, Tom! I didn’t mean it that way!” Slider apologised immediately. 

Though Ice knew very well that Ron had just wanted to tease him, it still hit him in the heart, because he also knew that his RIO’s statement was true even on this different interpretation. 

On second thought, he could see now that his Iceman mask has been cracking ever since he hesitated during Hop 31 and Goose paid for it with his life. And since they had been brought here, he had constantly felt that although he was still clinging to the mask with tooth and nail and trying with all his might to keep it in place, his companions could catch glimpses of his true face underneath.

And unfortunately not just them. His captors, too, could see that Ice was, in Nightmare’s words, not unbreakable, that he was just a person, vulnerable and weak in certain things…

Somehow in his thoughts he always came back to strength and weakness, to the little boy scotch-taping his books together and the man wanting to make his father proud. As much as he wanted to separate the two, ultimately he had to realise that both were himself…

Maybe it was high time not to deny his former self, not to run away from it, not to nullify it, but to face it and accept it. Because without little Tom, Iceman could never have been born.

Maybe Ron is right… I just have to dare to be more open…

“Never mind!” he finally told Slider. “After all, it might not be such a big deal that it’s done in,” he said, although he knew he would have to repeat it to himself several times before he could really believe it.

In any case, Slider rewarded the willingness with a warm smile and pulled his pilot back into a one-armed hug.

It was an awkward moment for him when, returning to the room, he stopped in front of Maverick, who was talking to Hollywood, to mumble some sort of apology. For a moment it even came to his mind to offer him his hand to shake as a sign of peace, but he quickly dismissed the idea. Even though he was wrong about one thing, there were still too many questions and uncertainties in him regarding the other pilot. Cowardice or not, it still made him feel like he couldn't trust him, even though Ron expected him to.

“I’m sorry, Mitchell,” he apologised finally in the simplest way, without any further explanation.

“Forget it, Kazansky,” Maverick replied tiredly, based on which Ice wasn't sure if he didn't hate him even more intensely now.

Hollywood was much more optimistic than him, clearly perceiving their little interaction as reconciliation.

“I know it’s not easy for you guys, but if we don’t try to cooperate and trust each other, we're never gonna get out of here,” he said.

“Absolutely agreed,” nodded Slider. “Let's put aside our differences and start thinking together!” he exclaimed, and with that Slider and Wood took on the leaders’ role in the conversation. Ice was grateful for that as he didn’t feel collected enough for such a task. Although he paid attention to and memorised every single word he heard, still he found himself cautiously glancing at Maverick from time to time. 

Soon he noticed that Mitchell was doing the same, carefully measuring him…

Actually, what the hell is my problem with him? Ice asked himself. After all, the man had saved his life and his remaining dignity, and on the basis of what Ron had told him he hadn’t hesitated for a moment. He’d simply overcome all his resentments and accepted all the consequences and possible punishments. He did it for him…

No, he said point-blank that he didn't do it for me, that he didn't really want to save me, he was just saving himself… he corrected his previous thought as he recalled Maverick’s words the way he remembered them.

And he also said that he hates me… he added and then modified his previous question accordingly:

But why does it bother me so much what he thinks of me? Why do I even care? 

As he asked himself, he felt that he might guess the answer, and it sounded too ridiculous. But also true…

“This whole facility is too small to be an official base,” Maverick was explaining meanwhile. “We all saw it from above. One big building in the middle of nowhere, with a much smaller staff than usual.” 

“What are you implying here, Mav?” asked Hollywood.

“That in my opinion this place is not even approved by its own government. It must be a separatist group, that’s why Nightmare has so much power. He doesn’t have superiors or anyone who could hold him accountable for anything, so he can practically do whatever he wants with us.”

“With that I can actually agree,” Ice spoke up and Slider gave him a tiny nod to let him know how pleased he was that he shared Maverick’s opinion.

“Based on the number of vehicles parked near the building, he may have…twenty, twenty-five people in total... Hardly enough to maintain such a facility,” Ice pondered.

“That’s still odds of three or four to one. Though I guess we’d really only have to deal with the guards,” Slider remarked.

“Do we know exactly how many there are?” asked Wood.

“Well, let’s see!” Maverick started to count them. “There’s Strange Teeth, Tattoo, Redhead, Sullen, and of course your best buddy, Slapper,” the pilot nodded to Ice.

“Oh yeah, he’s my favourite,” Ice added, deadpan. “I was calling him Big Palm, and the sullen one Happiness.”

“Wow, guys, you really are creative,” Slider told them appreciatively. “I just call them the Dickheads.”

“And there are the Twins too, you shouldn’t forget about them!” Hollywood completed the list.

“Twins?” The RIO asked him with a bit of surprise. “Do you mean the two guys who always stood further away, next to the wall, motionless during the briefings?”

“Yeah, exactly. I think they might be guards too, but I’m not a hundred percent sure,” Wood replied.

“Then if we count them too, there are seven guards, or at least that's how many we know of,” Ice summarized.

“And all but one of them are the size of a tank,” Slider said in an annoyed voice. He wasn’t really used to feeling short next to anyone.

“Welcome to my world!” Maverick remarked, to which he huffed a laugh. 

“Sorry, Mav, I forgot that it must be even worse for you as a hobbit among trolls,” the RIO lifted his hand to pat the pilot on the shoulder, but Maverick was quicker, jerking away but only slightly.

“Careful,” he cautioned the RIO whose face showed sudden recognition and he redirected the movement into a small, friendly punch to the pilot’s thigh, which made everyone smile. Except for Ice. 

He watched this whole interaction with conflicted emotions. Earlier he hadn't been sure how to feel about the change in his RIO’s attitude towards Maverick. However, although he knew how stupid it was, he felt a kind of jealousy that Mitchell had Ron’s attention and affection, which up to this time had only been his. Or was he jealous of his RIO for being able to finally get along well with the pilot?

Whatever the case, the fact that Ron trusted Maverick made him question his own mistrust towards him. 

What if he was wrong all along? What if he was just misinterpreting Mitchell’s expressions in the same way he had convinced himself of the man’s treachery? What if…

“Strange Teeth is the only one we know for sure carries a gun, and Nightmare’s got that knife. But let's assume the others all have some sort of weapon, they are guards.” Maverick steered the conversation back to the escape, snapping Ice out of his newfound questions.

“Well, if all of them have guns then we don’t have much chance,” Wood remarked dejectedly.

“Our best chance to escape would be up there, but since the guy always keeps one of us hostage...” Slider sighed.

“Yeah, that’s not an option,” Wood agreed.

“We should somehow get Crooked Teeth’s gun, cause that’s the only weapon we know for sure exists and where it is,” Ice suggested, but in fact he had no idea how they could carry out the idea, and what they would do after that. 

The others clearly had similar thoughts. 

“These guys are very cautious and thorough. Apart from a few exceptions, our hands are almost always tied behind us. How could we get the gun?” asked Slider.

“We should use those few exceptions then, sometime when all five of us are in one place,” Maverick replied.

“We’re together only during the briefings,” Ice said.

“What if we were to somehow wait for them here when they exchange the day’s hostage in the morning?” Slider came up with a new idea. “We could stand along the wall and wait for them to come in, and when they do we could ambush them. Maybe we’d get lucky by using the power of surprise.” 

“That might work!” Wood exclaimed. “The four here, if they manage to neutralise the guards coming in, could find the fifth, then we’d escape with the MIGs,” he finished excitedly.

“Well, putting it that way it sounds simple enough, but in reality…” Maverick began.

“There’s a lot of unknown factors and the whole thing could fail at any point," Ice finished Mitchell’s sentence. He nodded in agreement.

“Well, if either of you have a better idea, out with it! But for now this seems to be the best we’ve got…

“Of course, we could also wait for an opportunity to get the gun, but there may never be a good chance. And I, personally, would rather try this plan than wait around to see what will happen to us," Slider stated.

“If we agree to this, I still think that first…” Ice began, but a coughing fit stronger than all the previous ones made him choke on his words. 

Since the morning, he had felt that even if he still coughed often, at least the coughs were now milder. However, this one was painful again, as if a knife had been thrust into his chest.

When it finally subsided and he looked up to three pairs of eyes stared back at him. Or, more correctly, just two, as Slider’s eyes were fixed on his other hand clutching his flight suit at his chest.

In a desperate attempt to avoid the questions that would have surely followed the violent fit, he quickly continued the sentence he had been forced to abandon halfway through.

“…that first we should examine their habits during the hostage exchange. How many people come; whether it's the same ones every time; do they immediately enter the room and just look around inside, or do they look inside first and only then enter?” Then he started to ramble, as he felt he hadn't talked long enough for the others to forget about this latest evidence of his current physical state. 

“It could be a fortunate thing that Nightmare seems to be addicted to his habits, or at least that there are a lot of things he makes his men consistently do the same way all the time. It makes him a bit more predictable. 

“I know that time is running out because they could launch the Layton rescue at any moment and if we don't act then there will be dire consequences. But I’m afraid we have only one chance, and if we fail, those consequences could be fatal too…

“That’s why I would recommend preparing a little more thoroughly. Unless, of course, we have an unexpected opportunity to get that gun,” he finished his monologue somewhat out of breath, but hopeful that the distraction had worked.

“How much time should we wait till the operation?” asked Wood.

Bingo, Ice acknowledged to himself in relief, though Slider was still watching him with slightly narrowed eyes.

“How long do we expect to be here anyway?” Wood continued.

“It’s the second day since we woke up here, but we don’t know how much time we spent unconscious. I guess we haven’t been here for more than three days. They intended to start the rescue operation within twenty-four hours, so it could start practically at any moment. Especially after our little mission today,” Maverick replied.

“Look! I understand your concern, Ice, but I think that under the circumstances we have no choice but to fly this mission blind,” Wood told him.

“Then let's do our best and hope for luck,” he answered, finally agreeing to the plan.

Chapter Text

The Tomcat was spinning unstoppably, the altitude decreasing rapidly. Mav knew they had no chance now to save the plane, they had to save their own lives before they crashed into the ocean.

“Eject, eject, eject!” he screamed in fear and desperation, then a thought flashed through his mind and just before the two seats burst out of the cockpit he shouted:

“Watch the canopy!”

He was still up in the air hanging from his chute, but he already knew that his warning was in vain to save his best friend, his brother. From afar, he saw his body dangling lifelessly from his parachute fall into the ocean.

“No, no, no! This can’t happen!” He started to scream but his voice choked as he fought against tears while he swam to reach him. And when he could finally get to him he pulled his body close to him, hugged him and started to rock him in the water.

“Don’t do this to me, Ice! Please!” He tasted again the all too familiar saltiness of sea water mixed with his own tears. “You can’t leave me here like this!” He started sobbing while he kept pleading with Ice. But the man could not hear him anymore. “Please wake up! You have to wake up, Tom! Please! Wake up! Wake up!”

“Wake up!” Someone gently shook his shoulder and Mav’s eyes opened up in alarm.  His dream still hung before his eyes and he didn't know where he was. The pounding of his heart in his ears and his gasping breaths filled his mind, and he barely heard the voice that addressed him again:

“Breathe, Mitchell! It was just a dream,” the voice told him. As Mav's eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room, cut through only by the faint light of a lamp outside, he realised that the person who was kneeling on the ground beside him, one hand still holding his shoulder to help him to sit up, was none other than Iceman.

Mav blinked a few more at the man in astonishment, both because just a few moments ago he had held him lifeless, and because after the previous day he was the last person in their group from whom he expected any kind of help or consolation.

“Did I shout in my sleep?” he asked reluctantly. Since Goose had died he had often dreamed of the accident; more than once he had woken up in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat or with a tear-soaked face, but until now there had never been a witness, no one to see or hear him, no one to know about his night's agony. This was also the first time the dream itself had been different. Until now, he had always relived events almost exactly as they had happened, always ending up holding Goose's lifeless body. Why did it change? Why did he see Iceman instead of Goose, while the feelings, first the fear then the heartbreaking sorrow of losing his best friend, remained the same? Did it mean something? Or did the accident and the physical and mental trials of the past three days just blur in his brain?

“No, just mumbling… it seemed desperate, and you were breathing too fast… I thought it must have been a nightm… bad dream.” The blond pilot explained, correcting his wording at the end.

“What did I say?” Did I call out for you even in real life? 

“I only understood a few words… no, no, please, that kind of thing. The rest of it was…khm…incomprehensible,” replied Iceman. Mav felt a bit of relief. Half a day ago the man was calling him a traitor. He didn't need to know that Mav had dreamed about him and what was in that dream. It was enough that he knew it, since he himself was confused by the matter. Even though it was just a dream, the fear of losing the blond pilot and the pain he felt holding his dead friend still seemed all too real.

“I’m sorry for waking you up!” he apologised to Iceman, who as a response squeezed his shoulder. The gesture was so careful that despite his many bruises it didn’t hurt at all. 

“I was already awake,” he said, then abruptly pulled his hand back, as if suddenly unsure, afraid that Mav would take this level of intimacy the wrong way. Mav only realised how much the palm on his shoulder was helping him feel grounded when it disappeared. Unconsciously looking for some new support, he leaned against the wall, while Kazansky, staying beside him, sat down with his arms wrapped around his knees.

“You an early riser?” Why were you awake? Mav asked, just to distract his mind from the images he saw in his dream. The fact that he could watch the blond man speak and hear his voice instead of seeing only his overly motionless, deathly pale face had a subconscious calming effect on him.

“I am, but not this early,” the pilot replied, glancing out of the window where the faint light before sunrise glowed dimly, and a tremor seemed to run through his silhouette. 

What he might be thinking? It would be nice if I could just ask, Mav pondered, and he didn’t even notice that in his thoughts the dead Iceman from his dream was slowly being replaced with the man sitting in front of him, and the many questions, riddles and doubts surrounding him.

How long did it take Slider to break through that damn thick ice armour of his? Must have been years… he thought, while he mentally tipped his hat to the RIO for his persistence. Anyway, he felt that he was starting to like the tall guy more and more, and it seemed mutual. Mav also had a feeling that Slider wanted his pilot to be on good terms with him, too. That seemed to be the entirely understandable desire of a man who simply wanted the people close to him to be friends. 

So whatever Nightmare had tried to make him believe about Ron Kerner, Mav was now sure that it was just squalid manipulation. And if that was a lie, why would anything else Nightmare said be true? Including his statements about Kazansky…

What are you thinking? The question was on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn't say it. He was still too hesitant, unsure of how his interest would be received. His recent altercations with the blond pilot had left a deeper mark on him than he had thought…

After they had agreed on the escape plan and everybody had gone to sleep, despite his fatigue no dreams came to Mav’s eyes for a while. His mind had been too full of the events of the day and the loudest of all was Iceman’s voice when he indirectly called him a traitor. At first he had simply fumed over it, but eventually he had tried to imagine himself in Iceman’s place, tried to figure out what could have made the man believe that he betrayed them. And it made some kind of sense: from Iceman’s point of view, who knew Mav would be punished that day, betrayal was almost an obvious reading of his made-up story that he was taken somewhere but came back unharmed. His accusation still hurt, though, because he felt that after saving the man’s life and helping him out in the hangar the blond pilot should have trusted him enough to know that he wouldn't be capable of such a thing. 

Why does he always assume the worst of me? What else could I do to make him see that he can trust me? Why do I even want him to realise that? Why do I even care?

Questions…he had hundreds of them in his mind unanswered. However, he quickly reminded himself that before he had finally fallen asleep he had vowed to himself that he wouldn't make the mistake of trying to talk to Kazansky about personal things ever again.

But his dream about losing the man, and especially losing him as a best friend, must have disturbed his recently found peace of mind. Maybe that’s why he now hesitated whether to ask that question in spite of the promise he made to himself. 

Or could there be another reason? Something that went far beyond that dream-caused confusion? Something that he hadn’t realised earlier or simply refused to name or accept? Something that made him be torn again about Iceman’s personality?

I’m a naive idiot, but damn it…

“What are you thinking about?” He finally asked, giving the blond one last chance because he just couldn’t let go of his belief that the pilot was more than what he showed himself to be most of the time. Deep down he hoped he could prove Slider’s words to be true. The words that now rang in his ears again: “He’s actually a very good kid…”

And in that very moment the truth he hadn't been able to put into words hit him like a ton of bricks. However ridiculous it might sound, through a strange play of fate, he had become attached to him. He had become attached to the Iceman…

He had called it responsibility, he had called it worry, but until now it had never occurred to him to call it attachment, to identify their strange dynamic as something that he regarded as the incipient stage of a friendship. Or at least with Nick Bradshaw their friendship had started with similar steps…

But I also trusted Goose, and he never called me a traitor, he reminded himself coolly. His broken soul could cling to any small ray of hope, but his mind had to understand that some people were just not worthy of his care and attention.

In spite of his own warning, though, he still waited with bated breath for the blond pilot’s reaction.

Iceman just stared at him speechlessly for a few seconds, his eyes glistening in the light of the lamp outside, which filtered through the window casting a pale colour on the man’s face.

“I don’t even know what to choose…” he finally began a bit hesitantly. His voice sounded somehow heavier and more tired, yet it made Mav sigh in relief to himself that at least he hadn't dismissed the question outright.

“I'm afraid… that we're not prepared enough to carry out Ron's plan,” Kazansky admitted honestly. “He’s right, we can’t wait any longer, but…” He took a deep breath before going on. “Damn, I don't know what’ll happen to us, Mitchell… What if the plan fails? How would Nightmare punish that, when we both know the cruelties he’s capable of even for much smaller offences? And what if, in the end, we have to go up there and decide between lives? We both know what it's like to be unable to let go of self-blame…” Iceman trailed off.

The silence that settled between them again almost hurt Mav’s ears and before he realised what he was doing the words were already out of his mouth.

“You know, you were right… I was hiding something,” he admitted. Even with the physical distance between them he felt the man become completely tense in an instant.

“Nightmare tried to make me doubt you…” he continued. “I didn’t say a single word!” he added quickly. “But Nightmare just kept saying that I couldn't trust you, any of you…” He let the words hang in the heavy silence, broken suddenly by Iceman’s coughing. He did his best to smother it, burying his face in the crook of his elbow and his drawn-up knees so as not to waken the others. Mav watched these almost practised movements with his brows furrowed. He was sure this wasn’t his first coughing fit that night.

Maybe it wasn't just his worries keeping him awake, he thought but didn’t comment. 

“Then we share mistrust as well as guilt,” Iceman said when he was able to speak again. Then he looked up and after a few moments he added: “I’m sorry…for what I said about you and your father. It was mean of me. I had no right to judge you, and my judgement was all wrong anyway.”

This apology had more sincerity in it than the earlier one. Mav could accept it with better feelings. It also made him express his own regret.

“I’m sorry for not telling you what happened, but I was ashamed that Nightmare was able to get into my head so much. He really disturbed my thoughts, you know, because in some things he was actually right.”

“What things?” Iceman asked, his voice was a mixture of uncertainty and dismay.

“He said that among all of you, I don’t have a single friend…” Mav paused, concentrating on Kazansky’s reaction, who remained silent for a while as if weighing each word individually. He even lifted his right hand up, gesturing as though attempting to physically grab what he heard, then he dropped his arm back to his side before finally speaking:

“It takes two to make a friendship...”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean? That it’s my fault I have no friends?” Anger flared up in him suddenly. Iceman’s sentence was obviously criticism–as if Mav was to blame for people turning their backs on him because of his family name, not even giving him a chance as soon as they learned he was Duke Mitchell’s son. “That my only friend d…” he started to continue, outraged, but Iceman spoke too.

“Why do you hate me?” he asked quietly.

The question made Mav stop in an instant as his anger disappeared, giving way to shock. Did he hear that right?

“What?”

“I asked, why do you hate me?” the blond pilot repeated, then seeing that Mav only stared at him speechless, he began to explain. “First I thought you hated me because you blamed me for losing Goose,” he said, to which Mav instinctively started to shake his head. “But I know now that you blame only yourself for that.” Iceman coughed for a moment before speaking again.

“I just don’t understand you, Mitchell…I know I’ve never been your favourite person. I know we didn’t get along from the very beginning, but there’s more to it than that. Your hatred has got to be about something else, maybe something deeper… but I can’t figure out what…”

“But I nev…” Mav started to interrupt Kazansky. What he had just said was all wrong. Ha had never hated him. He had no idea at all why the man was so convinced of it. But he wasn't even halfway through his sentence when Iceman spoke over him insistently.

“No! Don’t say it’s not true, because I see the way you look at me sometimes. I see the contempt in your eyes.”

Mav was stunned. He shook his head again. For a moment he almost laughed the accusation so absurd, but there was something in the other pilot’s eyes that kept him silent. He might be wrong, but it seemed to him as if everything Kazansky was talking about really hurt him.

“When did you think I looked at you with contempt?” Mav asked finally, hoping he could finally make some progress in resolving this tension and confusion between them.

“When I said thanks to you for saving my life. Y–you didn’t say a single word back, just looked at me with that bitter, scornful face, as if maybe you were disgusted by the whole situation, having to save me against your own will…” he replied. 

Mav, fighting with his bewilderment, tried to dig up the not-very-old memory of what Iceman was talking about. But too much had happened too quickly during those emotionally heightened and completely unstable few hours for him to be able to recall such a detail at once. The most overwhelming emotions of those brutal minutes were the helpless rage, the raw panic, and the tremendous relief. But why he would have looked at Iceman in a way the man interpreted as disdain or outright disgust, he just couldn't remember nor imagine. Scornful, bitter expression? Bitterness that looked like disgust? As a reply to his gratitude? Why would I have reacted like that? What was going through my mind? he wondered with growing frustration. He wanted so badly to give an explanation to Kazansky, who, in the absence of one, grew visibly more and more disappointed, resigned, and angry with every passing minute.

“You know what? Forget it!” the man finally threw at him after waiting for an answer in vain for too long. “If you want to hate me then hate me! Fine! You can keep your reasons to yourself if you want to hide ‘em that much. But just do me a favour, okay? Stop acting like you're worried about me or care about me! I really don’t get why you saved me at all… khm… if you thought I wasn’t worth it? And then why did you help me out… khm… in the hangar…? Khm.. I don’t need you to pretend…” Another coughing fit stopped him mid-sentence. But he didn't have to say more, because even if Mav hadn’t asked any questions, he had gotten answers. He still had no idea what reaction Kazansky misinterpreted so much, but the blond pilot's conviction and confusion about Mav’s feelings finally explained why he had reacted with hostility to certain things.

Maybe that's why he rejected the game so rudely the second time? Mav wondered and now he regretted unintentionally giving an answer that could only have further strengthened Iceman in his mistake. But maybe it’s not too late to make things right. They couldn't waste any more time antagonising each other, especially based on a simple misunderstanding. And if he were wrong, and there was something else behind Kazansky's enmity, that could now be revealed too.

So, when the man's coughing subsided again, Mav made the decisive move to reveal his cards.

“Just listen for a moment! I’m really trying to recall that moment, remember what exactly was in my head that I made a bitter expression. But unfortunately I don't, not yet anyway.” 

Iceman huffed in disbelief, taking his statement as no more than an excuse. 

“No! Hear me out! ‘Cause there’s one thing I’m absolutely, one hundred percent sure of: I have never hated you. I know I said the opposite yesterday morning, and I’m sorry for that, but I was so mad… Your none-too-kind rejection of my… my attempt to ease the tension really hurt. I just wanted us to be on better terms, but you almost bit my head off for that… And I just… I don’t know… wanted to retort with something that could hurt you too. And you put those words into my mouth earlier, so I instinctively used them. But I never meant it, not for a single moment. I really am sorry.” 

He stared at Iceman, watching his reaction intently: how the two lines between his brows furrowed; how he looked up, considering, as Mav’s words registered; how his lips opened to speak, then he changed his mind and remained silent, until finally he changed his mind again and decided to reply. 

“Then I’m…I’m sorry too… for being such a jerk with you… and I also said some things I’m not proud of… just…” he cleared his throat and looked upwards again for a second. Then he changed tracks. “What about the other things? What about contempt or disgust?”

“I'm not… I’ve never felt that way towards you. Antipathy and irritation I admit, and sometimes even anger, but, I mean, I think that was just par for the course with our rivalry.” Iceman nodded cautiously in agreement. “But disdain or disgust? Never. I swear it to you,” Mav added decisively. Then, recalling Kazansky’s previous statements and questions he continued, “and I also never thought you weren't worth saving.”

“Then why did you say the opposite of that? That you didn’t want to do it? That you regretted it?” The blond demanded, and Mav could hear the hurt in his voice now. But this time he remembered what the man was referring to.

“That I regretted it…? My god, man! I really don’t know where these thoughts of yours come from.” Mav had never before noticed that Tom Kazansky might have some issues with his self-esteem. Who would have thought?

“But you said…” the man began but this time Mav was the one who interrupted.

“I know what I said and you completely misunderstood me! Maybe I didn’t say it in the best way, but I just wanted to apologise for my own selfishness. Of course I DID want to save you, and I haven't regretted it for a single moment! But afterward I realised that my desire to prevent another death I would be responsible for was an even stronger motivator in the actual moment, and I felt bad about that…” Mav hesitated then added: “My opinion probably doesn't matter much to you, but I certainly don't think you’re worthless.”

“Thanks!” The blond pilot replied, obviously thunderstruck by the words. Mav waited for more of a response, but when none was forthcoming he began to speak again, now absolutely determined to clear things up between them once and for all, at least from his part.

“I DID want to save you,” he repeated. “And I DID want to help you in the hangar. You almost died and those bastards tried to make fun of that. They wanted to make you panic just to rip the bag off your head in the middle of it and laugh at you. I couldn’t just stand there and watch as they humiliated you.”

“Was it really worth it to speak up in the hangar because of a man who would never do the same for you?” Nightmare’s words intruded into his mind unexpectedly; they immediately and unintentionally determined the tenor of his next sentence. 

“What would you have done in my place?” he continued even while cursing Nightmare and the manipulative thoughts he had managed to plant in his mind. On the other hand, he couldn’t help but pray Iceman would say those words he craved to hear. Those words that would prove to him that he mattered.

Say it! Please just say it! 

Iceman just nodded, however, still somewhat absentmindedly processing all he had heard, and ignored Mav’s question as if it were rhetorical. 

Instead of answering, after a few minutes of silence Kazansky asked further questions of his own. “And what about your worry and care? Did I misunderstand those too?” 

Mav was unable to decide whether the question carried sarcasm, scepticism, uncertainty, or concern. “Would you believe me if I say no?” he turned the question back to the blond with an unintentionally similar doubtful-hopeful tone. “Do you believe anything I've told you?” 

But Tom Kazansky was silent again, this time staring intently at Mav as though he could see through him. Then, just as Mav was about to give up on finally getting a clear answer, he suddenly moved, extending his right hand towards Mav for a handshake.

The message of the gesture would have been simple and clear to anyone: I believe what you told me, I believe you.

But for Mav it meant even more than that: cooperation, camaraderie, belonging to the same team… 

Maybe even the beginnings of friendship?

Maverick surprised himself with the thought; this was the second time that morning he thought of Kazansky as a possible friend. The two occasions couldn’t be mere coincidence, right? Not to mention his dream, which had already suggested the same even before Mav realised his attachment to the blond man.

In spite of that he found himself hesitating, because he felt something was still missing for him to be able to wholeheartedly accept all of what the hand in front of him offered.

“Does this mean you trust me?” he asked, returning the blond’s penetrating gaze. 

Iceman considered his answer thoroughly. “This means I'm trying to trust you,” he replied finally, but Mav still remained motionless. He had to ask one more question before he could decide: 

“And can I trust you?”

Iceman took his time again with his reply.

“I admit that so far I haven't really given you a reason to,” he started slowly, and Mav couldn’t argue with that statement. “I made a mistake… Based on partial information and bad impressions, I drew wrong conclusions, made hasty judgments... You really probably shouldn't trust me after that!”

Although it was still just words, Mav could feel a heartwarming certainty settle in his soul as the man concluded speaking that made all his doubts evaporate. 

After all, with those few sentences Iceman had apologised to him again for his previous accusations and demands and admitted that his opinion about Mav had been wrong all along.

So with a slow, conscious movement he took the hand Kazansky extended to him.

Because of his call sign he had subconsciously expected shaking his hand to be like clutching an icicle, but the blond man’s palm was surprisingly warm…

As they gripped each other’s hand, Mav scrutinised his face; instead of taunting or arrogance, he saw only a shy half-smile and sincerity in his eyes.

And at that moment, as if on cue, they noticed the sound of approaching footsteps from beyond the door…

Both of them instantly knew that their chance of escape was screwed, because they wouldn’t be able to wake up the other two men in time; but as if someone had sounded an alarm they quickly jumped up to try the impossible anyway.

They had expected the arrival of their captors much later.

After all, even the sun hasn't risen, damn it, cursed Mav inwardly, while shaking Hollywood’s shoulders.

“Wood! Wood! Wake up!” he hissed urgently.

“Mav? What…? Is s’mthing wr…?” The pilot started to slur some questions, but Mav interrupted him.

“They’re coming! Get up!”

However, before Wood could realise who was coming, and before Slider could wake up at all, the door opened and Nightmare himself entered together with his five-person entourage. The fact that he came for them personally suggested the worst case scenario on top of their wasted opportunity, and the man immediately confirmed their dread.

“Good morning, gentlemen!” he greeted them happily. “I have some amazing news for you–you could very soon meet your compatriots…! What a wonderful day, do you not think?” He cast his satisfied gaze across their shocked faces. “We detected the movement of enemy planes on the radar, which means that soon you will finally be able to try out what you have learned in the past few days,” he explained, grinning like the madman he was. “You must be ready for take-off without any further delay, but before anyone goes anywhere, I would like to ask you, Lieutenant Kerner, to wipe the dreams out of your eyes and come here to join us!”

Slider looked around, startled, then suddenly his face showed disappointment mixed with anger as he realised they had missed their chance and, on top of that, he was to be the hostage for the day, watching helplessly.

His pilot expressed his empathy and tried to encourage him by squeezing his shoulder before the RIO stood up. Then he moved toward the door followed closely by Strange Teeth’s gun barrel, his hands were tied behind his back and the bag put over his head, and Sullen, or Happiness as Iceman called him, and Tattoo led him away.

“Excellent! Now it is your turn.” Nightmare looked around at those who remained there. “Stand by the wall at least four steps away from each other with your backs to us!” They had no choice but to obey. Wood stayed in the left corner of the room, Mav took the center position, and Iceman got on the right side.

Just before the bags were put over their heads, too, Mav noticed that Kazansky was watching him out of the corner of his eye. Cautiously returning Iceman's gaze, he gave him a barely perceptible nod before everything turned brown…

He wanted to assure the blond pilot that he was ready to start over, to give them a chance of reestablishing their relationship on the basis of mutual trust, but there was no time for that. He could only hope that Kazansky understood his message, that even the small nod was enough to let him know that he, too, was trying to trust him. Because, although he hadn't admitted it to himself yet, overwhelming all their disagreements and beyond his strange sense of responsibility towards the man, he was actually beginning to respect Tom Kazansky more and more, and maybe even like him…

Chapter Text

It wasn’t his first coughing fit during the night, but this one had managed to completely wake him up. No matter how exhausted he was and how much he wanted to go back to sleep, he just couldn’t. So he sat up and pulled his knees to his chest, both because the position made him cough less and, if he had to cough anyway, he could muffle the sounds rather than disturb the others’ sleep and reveal Ice’s condition.

Because he no longer could deny that, on top of their miserable situation, he had become ill. 

At any rate, it was just a little cough, even if it was rather more painful than usual. Ice doubted it was at all serious. For that reason, he tried to avoid it becoming obvious to his companions so they didn't start to worry about him unnecessarily. Of course, it was also true that Ice was terribly annoyed that this was another point in which he had proven to be weak. It was not even a day ago that he had realised he had to accept his own weaknesses, but that didn’t mean that he was ready to fully embrace them. His first, visceral reaction was still denial.

He looked around. It would have been pitch-dark in the room if it hadn't been for the lamp outside, its weak light filtering through the window and casting a faint glow on his companions lying at the base of the wall. Ron was softly snoring right next to him, Wood lay further to their left, while Maverick was opposite them, sleeping somewhat uneasily, turning and mumbling from time to time.

As Ice was watching the pilot everything Ron told him about how Mitchell had saved him came back to him in vivid images. Now that he knew what exactly had happened, he could see it so clearly.

I was lying here, while Maverick was fighting for my life, he thought, looking towards the center of the room, imagining the short pilot holding him in his arms, begging him to breathe…

A sudden chill ran along his spine and shook him.

Damn it, he scolded himself, when he recalled that he had reciprocated all of this with preaching, accusations, and mistrust. And the more times he ran through the events of the past few days in his head, remembering the conversations with Maverick and imagining those moments that he only knew from Slider's narration, the more miserable he felt. As if Goose’s death hadn’t been enough of a slap in the face, he too had to lay into Mitchell when the man truly deserved nothing but genuine gratitude from him. 

And he could try to explain himself and justify his actions by the doubts that had plagued him, or how afraid he had been and still was now, or that since what had happened to him he had been constantly clinging to straws so that he didn’t fall down completely…

He could say anything; but the truth was that, just like when they first met, he had been a supercilious asshole who acted like he was infallible.

I have no excuses, Ice admitted, while he muffled more coughs, burying his face in his arms. He knew he owed Maverick a real apology, and in fact much more. 

I owe him my life… he told himself and the clear intention to pay off his debt started to grow in him. Before he had been aware that he had reason to be grateful to Mitchell, but only now did he come to the point where his gratitude did not spring just from a sense of duty, but honestly, straight from the heart.

He glanced out of the window again, where their freedom lay within their reach. It was still dark, must have been a little after midnight or maybe a bit later, but they still had a few hours before the sun rose and Nightmare’s men come for them. They still had a few hours before, having no better chance, they would try to escape according to Ron's plan. But just as the light of that lamp outside obscured the stars scattered in the sky, what would happen to them if they managed to get out the door remained invisible.

Although he had a very bad feeling about the whole plan, he knew he had to gather himself to fight and run for his life. 

And it wouldn't hurt if I believed it could work, he reminded himself so that he could try to put aside his fears and doubts.

The silence surrounding him was suddenly broken by a restless moan. Maverick tossed in his sleep.

What could he be dreaming about? Ice wondered. Maybe about Hop 31, which often haunted Ice’s dreams too? Or about the traumas they had gone through in the last few days? Or about something completely different?

He didn't know the answer, but he sensed that the other pilot was tossing and turning more and more restlessly and desperately. Not thinking about what he was doing, he carefully crept up to Maverick's side, ready to just be there for the other pilot and help him any way he could, returning at least some of Mitchell’s selflessness and making amends for his own mistakes against him.

Meanwhile Mitchell seemed to calm down, and Ice almost started to question his place near the pilot when he suddenly spoke:

“No, no, no! This can’t happen!” He turned his head from left to right and back again. Ice raised his hand towards him in order to gently shake the man out of his clearly bad dream, however his movement froze mid-air as Maverick, after another pause, began to speak again in a pleading, almost sobbing voice:

“Don’t do this to me, Ice! Please!”

“Sorry! What?” Ice asked in confusion, and for a moment he really thought Maverick had woken up.

“You can’t leave me here like this!” The pilot almost cried. 

“I don’t… I just… I’m gonna stay beside you if that’s what you want,” Ice promised Mitchell while he tried to make eye contact with him, but in the faint light he couldn’t see his face well enough.

”Please wake up!” Maverick started to beg again and that was when Ice realised that the pilot was still sleeping and probably dreaming of him. 

“You have to wake up, Tom! Please! Wake up!” Maverick continued and the more desperate and broken his voice sounded the more certain Ice became in his guess what the dream could be about…

He didn’t hesitate for a second more. His hand, that was still halfway in the air, quickly finished the movement it had begun, and gently shaking the sleeping pilot’s shoulder he tried to wake Maverick up with the same words that he had mumbled.

“Wake up!” they both said at almost the same time.

Ice knew that just a few weeks after Goose's death, and in this screwed-up place, Maverick had no need to relive the loss of his best friend, even if only in his dreams. Though he didn’t stop to think about what it could mean that the best friend in the other pilot’s dream was not Goose but him. 

His thoughts turned in another direction as, hearing Mitchell’s anguished begging and panic-shortened breaths, he started to comprehend the real depth and nature of Nightmare’s cruelty. How utterly evil it was to put the burden of responsibility for the loss or saving of another life in the hands of a person who had experienced such trauma and blamed himself for it all. How hard it must have been for the man that it was him on whom Ice’s fate depended.

“Wake up!” he said again, and after another gentle shake of his shoulder Maverick opened his eyes and looked around, disoriented, still gasping for air.

“Breathe, Mitchell! It was just a dream,” he tried to guide him in his best calming voice. Although he didn’t have too much experience in how to do this right. Even if he was the leader in his pilot-RIO duo with Slider, it was usually him who needed the other man’s reassurance and encouragement. But at least he could recall some of Ron’s words and movements. Thus he left his hand on Maverick’s shoulder and helped him into a sitting position.

The lamp cast more light on Mitchell’s face as he sat up, and Ice could see his astonishment as he realised who was kneeling by his side.

“Did I shout in my sleep?” Maverick asked, and every little movement he made was screaming with how afraid he was of an affirmative answer. Or rather how afraid he was that Ice might know the dream was about him. Therefore, Ice felt it better to fudge his responses to all questions that would lead that direction. 

And it was also true that he himself had to examine how he felt about Mitchell’s dream. The fact that the short pilot talked to him as if was his best friend whom he couldn’t lose deeply and honestly shocked Ice. Of course he knew it was just a dream, where circumstances and emotions could appear that had absolutely nothing to do with reality. Still, hearing Maverick’s pain for him undeniably had an effect on him…

“No, just mumbling… it seemed desperate, and you were breathing too fast… I thought it must have been a nightm… bad dream.” Ice decided on revealing only part of the truth, but he wasn’t surprised at all that Maverick wanted to be completely sure of how much he knew.

“What did I say?” The pilot asked worriedly, looking for clarification.

“I only understood a few words… no, no, please, that kind of thing. The rest of it was… khm… incomprehensible,” he replied, hiding again what he had really heard, which seemed to quiet down Mitchell’s concerns. Although that didn’t mean Ice could sit back in relief, as Maverick started to ask about why Ice was awake–probably to change the subject from his own problems. Moreover, when he somehow managed to find an acceptable answer that didn’t reveal his deteriorating health, the other pilot continued his inquiry, asking him what was on his mind…

While earlier Ice would have immediately sought the hidden intention behind the question, or would have regarded it too annoying or too personal, now none of these reactions came to his mind. Maybe his fatigue, maybe this illness coming at the worst time, maybe his earlier thoughts about Maverick, or the fact that the other pilot had talked to him as his best friend in his sleep imperceptibly made him somehow less guarded and more open towards the man. Thus, the question for him was not whether to answer, but what. What could he share with Mitchell? What did he dare to share with him? 

He didn’t want to burden anyone with his physical condition, least of all Maverick, who had his own injuries (caused by him) to take care of. Also there might be a better time to express his gratitude towards the man than after waking him up from a nightmare. So he ended up talking about his fears and doubts about their plan, because he felt those thoughts were the most urgent to communicate.  They only had a few hours left until the door would open and they would have to act. Ice didn't feel the least bit prepared for what they wanted to do. The fact that whatever happened they were actually "playing" with each other's lives and the lives of their compatriots, and what would happen if they failed, hovered over his head like a sword. 

Although sharing these thoughts with Maverick didn't change their situation at all his mind seemed to lighten a little. It surprised him how easily he could open up to the man he once regarded as his rival. 

Maybe Ron was right after all, I just have to dare to be honest, he thought, not knowing that his honesty would make Maverick reciprocate. And what a revelation it was that he admitted to him!

“You know, you were right… I was hiding something,” Mitchell confessed, making Ice feel as though the pilot had pushed him back down the stairs he had been fighting his way up, trying to overcome his own reluctance and distrust. He took a deep breath and didn’t dare to let it out until he heard the continuation of the sentence. But fortunately Maverick, sensing the sudden tension he had caused, with a quick explanation reached out to Ice to prevent his fall.

“Nightmare tried to make me doubt you,” he explained. “I didn’t say a single word. But Nightmare just kept saying that I couldn't trust you, any of you…” Suddenly a bunch of things became clear. It made perfect sense now why he wanted to hide that he was punished by Nightmare, why he tried to deny it and then why he had continued trying to downplay it even once he had been found out.

We have more in common than I ever assumed, Ice marvelled when he realised that, just like him, Mitchell had also been struggling with the issue of trust all along.

But he, unlike me, has never accused anyone of treason or anything else, the voice of guilt and shame spoke up in him. 

He took another deep breath to speak, but as soon as he drew the air into his lungs it provoked him to cough again. He stifled the sounds of it as best as he could by burying his face in his arms, but that was also becoming more and more difficult as his earlier drier coughs were beginning to sound deeper and harsher. 

When it finally stopped, this time after a more cautious, smaller breath, he finally managed to speak.

“Then we share mistrust as well as guilt,” he stated, and then looked up for a moment as if waiting for help from a higher authority so that he could utter his most sincere apology yet. “I’m sorry… for what I said about you and your father. It was mean of me. I had no right to judge you, and my judgement was all wrong anyway,” he apologised and, just like earlier, Maverick immediately reciprocated the gesture, sharing with him his own regret.

“I’m sorry…” he started too, “for not telling you what happened, but I was ashamed that Nightmare was able to get into my head so much. He really disturbed my thoughts, you know, because in some things he was actually right.”

No matter how much Ice could relate to Maverick’s feeling of shame, the second part of his sentence caught him off guard. 

“What things?” he asked, his mind starting to look for possible answers immediately, but Mitchell’s actual reply surprised him once more. 

“He said that among all of you, I don’t have a single friend…” the pilot revealed.

Maybe if you didn’t hate me we could try to be friends, was the thought that came to Ice reflexively. Although it still sounded ridiculous, at least he dared to admit now that the real reason Maverick’s hatred hurt him so much was that the man had somehow become important to him. But how could he express that to him? Just tell him in the simple way he told himself? He lifted his hand up as he decided to do so, but before a single word could leave his mouth, he changed his mind. After all, his newfound openness still had its limits. Anyway, it was so annoying that mouth would run faster than his thoughts when it shouldn’t, while in situations like this he just didn’t dare to say what he really wanted. 

“It takes two to make a friendship...” he finally declared, but he wasn’t satisfied with this version of his thoughts knowing that there was little hope for Mitchell to comprehend the real meaning behind his words. And he was right. That was clear from the other man’s face and even more from his tone.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Maverick asked angrily, thus giving Ice no other choice than to be straightforward and bear the consequences, whatever they might be. He gathered himself for a more direct question. 

“That it’s my fault I have no friends? That my only friend d…” Maverick kept fuming, but Ice interrupted him.

“Why do you hate me?” he asked. Enough of misunderstandings; enough with beating around the bush. 

“What?” Mitchell blurted out in sudden shock, because even though Ice’s voice wasn’t as loud and determined as he wanted it to be, the short pilot heard it well enough to stop mid-sentence and stare at him with wide eyes.

“I asked, why do you hate me?” he repeated and with that finally a real, honest conversation started between them. Their first of such, which was long overdue.

“Do you believe anything I’ve told you?” Maverick asked at the end of a conversation full of revelations, and although Ice’s mind was still uncertain and would have advised him to be careful, his heart had already made its decision. It had decided to believe and trust the man in front of him the moment Mitchell said that he thought Ice was a valuable man. It was something he had only heard from Ron until now, and years ago from his mother. Of course his instructors always praised him and recognized his abilities, but he felt that it was only these two people who had ever really appreciated him as a person. 

And now Maverick’s words gave him the same feeling. 

Deep down in his soul, secretly he always craved for people to see, accept, and like him for who he was, not for his capabilities and results. That’s what a friend did, right? That’s what Ron did. But he had never expected it to come from Pete Mitchell. After all the mistakes Ice had made against him, this man just looked him in the eye and told him: you’re a valuable man… 

So here he was, still with some doubts and fears, but also with a feeling of what was the right thing to do. 

He lifted his hand and slowly held out his palm to the other pilot.

However, it seemed Mitchell had his own fears and doubts.

“Does this mean you trust me?” he asked without accepting Ice’s extended hand.

“This means I’m trying to trust you,” Ice replied, not wanting to deny his uncertainties but expressing the will. Even if his belief of Maverick’s hatred and disdain towards him turned out to be a misinterpretation, he still needed time to be able to fully rely on the man. But he wanted to.

“And can I trust you?” Maverick asked, still hesitant, which was absolutely understandable. This was the time for another apology.

“I admit that so far I haven't really given you a reason to... I made a mistake… Based on partial information and bad impressions, I drew wrong conclusions, made hasty judgments…

You really probably shouldn't trust me after that!” he admitted, hoping that the sincerity, thanks to which they had gotten this far at all, would help a little more and the short pilot would finally accept his hand and the kind of alliance he offered with it that could turn into a friendship with time. 

Maverick looked into his eyes once more, before grabbing his right hand and squeezing it. Ice couldn’t help but smile a bit not just because of the relief he felt in that moment, but because the memory of his first handshake with Ron flashed into his mind.

“Something tells me that you need someone at your corner… You need a friend... Even if you don't admit it to yourself.” Those were his future RIO and best friend’s words back then and this situation with Maverick was incredibly similar to that in its whole atmosphere. He was positive that they were starting on the very same path that he and Ron had that day, but it remained to be seen how far they might go…

This was just the beginning. But his optimism quickly turned into dread as Nightmare and his men appeared much earlier than they had expected, announcing that they would soon have to take off, ready to fight against their own. And as if that wasn’t enough, they took Ron as their hostage for the duration of the mission. They took the only person on whom he could rely completely, both in the air and in his personal life. Or maybe not the only one? His eyes caught the form of Maverick standing next to him by the wall and stayed there. The pilot had accepted his handshake: it had to mean that the intention to be open and trust in each other was mutual, right? 

In that moment Maverick noticed his eyes on him, and as if he were answering Ice’s unasked question he nodded before the bags deprived them of their vision again.

With the first light of the sun they were up in the air, flying high above the ocean. The mission they had dreaded for days had started and they had no chance now to avoid what was sure to come in a few minutes. 

Ice was so nervous that he felt cold and sweaty at the same time, especially his palm on the control stick.

We were fucking idiots, he scolded himself and his companions as he realised that even if they had talked through their escape plan, none of them had thought to come up with an emergency scenario in case it somehow failed. And now here they were flying without any prearranged tactics.

What’s gonna happen now? Who of ours will be up here flying against us? The questions were almost screaming in his mind. He didn’t want to shoot at anyone sent from the USS Enterprise, but he also didn’t want to put Ron in any danger. He just couldn’t risk his best friend’s life. The tightness he felt in his chest since their take-off only grew stronger at the thought. 

And just as though Nightmare could hear what he was thinking about, his voice filled the cockpit.

“Greetings, gentlemen, once again, this time with Lieutenant Kerner by my side. Please forgive him for his impolite silence, but some precautions were needed so that his presence would be safer for everyone…”

What a fucking joke, Ice snorted thinking about the so-called safety Nightmare could offer to anyone.

“I would also like to remind you that we both will hear and know everything that happens up there. I expect you to remain my loyal soldiers in every situation for the sake of the Lieutenant, and of course also for yourselves…,” the man finished his speech. 

“We’re closing! Be ready!” Nightmare’s pilot warned them. They were flying with four MiGs again. Wolf was behind this pilot, Wood was with one of Nightmare’s RIOs, and Maverick and him were in two one-seaters. 

“Contact. Two boge… two planes twenty right. At twelve miles. Closing,” Wolf said, correcting himself, worry evident in his voice. They all knew that there was no way back now. It began…

“I see them,” Wood exclaimed, and he was right: two tiny dots appeared in the sky, rapidly growing into the shape of two F-14s.

“I’ve got the lead!” Nightmare’s pilot quickly declared and turned his plane towards the newcomers.

When they finally reached them, they initially just circled around each other for a little while. Ice was sure that their compatriots’ orders were not to engage until they witnessed a hostile act, which under Nightmare’s command would surely come. It was like the calm before the storm that broke out as soon as the man called on them to attack.

Nightmare’s pilot quickly sent a missile towards one of the Tomcats, but the plane could luckily avoid it. Then it turned to their direction with the other F-14 to begin a counterattack. 

When they were close enough both planes sent a shower of bullets their way. Even though none of them hit, and Ice was aware that they were sitting in enemy jets, he was still shocked by the fact that their own Tomcats were shooting at them. And how truly they were their own up there was confirmed by Wolfman.

“Oh my God! That’s Chip and Sunny!” the RIO shouted, terrified. Ice had no idea how he could distinguish them from that distance, but he never doubted him for a second and his body also reacted accordingly. He felt a wave of burning fear course through his veins leaving almost dizzying coldness in its wake. 

What do we do now? He asked himself in absolute horror and for the first time in his life his always sharp mind seemed to be paralysed. 

“So you know them… Wonderful!” He heard Nightmare’s cheerful voice through the radio. “It will make everything a lot more fun! Engage!” the man ordered them, and Ice watched in dismay as Maverick turned his plane in their classmates’ direction. 

“I’ve got them!” the pilot soon declared, then fired. Sparkling bullets cut through the sky, but none of them caused any damage to Chipper and Sundown’s Tomcat, flying far past them.

“Damnit!” Maverick cursed immediately. “I still can't get used to the MiG’s different turning,” he explained as the reason for the miss, but Ice could see his intentions now. 

Clever, he admitted as he realised that Mitchell’s tactic was the only way they could win some more time. They just had to make it as believable as they could that they still hadn't fully mastered all the ins and outs of flying the MiGs. Which was true anyway, but they had to make themselves less capable than they truly were.

“No wonder, since we’ve only been flying them for three days!” Ice added in agreement, while he prayed that the Tomcats would retreat and Nightmare wouldn’t see through their act. 

It may work, he thought. It has to work! Now that they were in the middle of it he didn’t dare think about what would happen if they made a mistake. However, his worry about Ron and the others still clenched his chest like a steel fist. He could hardly breathe through it. Regardless, he did what he had to do. Playing along with Maverick and Hollywood all three of them shot carefully alongside the F-14s and every now and then made an annoyed comment about the controllability of the MiGs, just as if they were really angry that they didn't hit anyone, while they tried to avoid being hit by their compatriots too.

They played their roles well. None of them overdid it, although the RIO sitting behind Wood kept scolding the pilot and explaining what he should have done. Nightmare’s pilot was also furious, yelling at them through the radio, while Nightmare himself was unusually, unnervingly quiet. Apart from that their tactic seemed to work as the two Tomcats went totally defensive and the hope that they would retreat soon became more and more real. 

Until Nightmare’s pilot, who knew nothing of their tactic, fired a missile…

The cockpit almost shook, or Ice himself was shaking with panic, when suddenly the left wing of Chipper and Sundown's plane blew off accompanied by fire and smoke and they started to fall.

It was like helplessly watching Maverick and Goose’s jet spinning uncontrollably towards the ocean all over again.

“Chutes!” Wood yelled in the next moment, his shaking voice filled with relief, and Ice felt relief too, but his chest was still so tight with fear and guilt that he started gasping for air. It really was like reliving Hop 31. He couldn’t shake off the suffocating feeling, because they had done this. Even if the whole mission was against their will they had also become complicit, they had contributed to the fact that Chip and Sunny had been shot down by Nightmare's pilot… 

Just like two weeks ago, when against his will he had become responsible for the crash of another plane and the death of a friend…

Even then, two parachutes were descending, but one of them was carrying only a lifeless body, and the other…

Maverick… 

Where’s Maverick?

Pulling himself together, he ignored his own laboured breathing and the corresponding pain and his eyes began to search for Mitchell’s MiG anxiously. He was well aware that what had just happened could have affected the other pilot even more strongly.

In the meantime, the other F-14 fired a desperate but inaccurate series of gun shots at them, and then began to flee.

“Get them! Do not let them escape!” Nightmare’s voice crackled in his ears. His own pilot turned briskly after the plane, and Wood also pretended to take the order seriously, but Ice just couldn’t care about keeping up appearances anymore. He spotted Maverick and started towards him immediately, a little bit surprised that he was flying completely out of the action.

“Mitchell…are you okay?” he asked him as he neared the other MIG.

“Maverick! Do you hear me?” he tried again, ignoring Nightmare’s voice that called them to question what the hell the two of them were doing and order them to return to the base. He ignored Wolfman, too, who asked if they were all right, and Nightmare’s pilot, who after scolding the RIO commanded them to follow him. He also didn’t care about his own aching chest and how breathing became harder with every passing moment. He only focused on the plane next to him and its pilot, who was clearly shaken by the events. Ice could see it in the way he was flying.

“Maverick…! Come on…!” 

But where? he asked himself, feeling conflicted. He wanted to get out of this fucking MiG as soon as possible, because it felt like it was closing in around him. On the other hand, his every fibre was against their returning once more to the place where they were prisoners, where they were tortured, where their lives were in the hands of a megalomaniac mad man, back to the same place where they had gotten the order to attack their own friends…

He could only hope that Chipper and Sunny were fine, that the ejection went smoothly this time, that the rescue helicopter would come soon and the two men would be safe again.

He hated the uncertainty about their fate, watching helplessly as they might die. He was sure that Maverick was thinking the same, but with the memory of losing Goose still so vivid in his heart it might be even harder for him to deal with it.

He might be wrong, but he seemed to have even heard him whisper to his dead friend.

“Mav…?”

“Ice…?” The pilot finally answered him. His voice was a bit hesitant and surprised.

“Yeah… I’m here… beside you,” Ice tried to sound reassuring, even though he had to force every single word out. “I understand, Mav… I feel it too…” he told the pilot empathically, but he thought of how he would have handled the same situation if he had lost Ron and suddenly pushed that thought far away from himself. Ron is waiting for us down there, he reminded himself. They had to go back for him and find a way to get out of there. Even though they couldn’t be sure that their classmates survived the hit and the ejection, they didn't have time to dwell on it. It might sound cruel, but it had already happened. There was nothing to be done except believe in their survival and do everything they could to prevent something similar from happening once more. They couldn’t fight their own again. They just couldn’t allow it…

Apart from Chip and Sunny’s hit they were lucky to get through this mission unscathed. They still had the plan, and there was always a chance for something unexpected to happen that could give them an opportunity to escape. They had to get back, free Ron, and get the hell out of there as soon as possible.

“Come on…! Our duty is… to go back… now!” He panted, feeling completely out of breath, but still he paid attention to deliberately composing his words in a way that wouldn’t raise suspicion with Nightmare. Fortunately, Maverick seemed to understand the real intention behind them, as he finally replied, this time with much more determination.

“You’re right…you have the lead.”

Complying with this request Ice turned his plane in a strange relief, and Mitchell also turned his in harmony with him. 

For a moment, as they flew side by side, he was captivated by the positive feeling of flying together so perfectly. He really missed being up in the air like this, and if the circumstances had been different, he would surely be smiling.

“That’s it…! Come on… wingman! The others… are waiting… for us!”

Although by now squeezing each syllable out of his lungs was an almost superhuman struggle, the word ‘wingman’ just slipped out of his mouth before he could think it over. He didn’t mind. He honestly felt that it wouldn’t be that bad to fly together side by side with Mitchell…

Somehow the thought of a future as Maverick’s wingman gave him the strength to fly back and land the plane. It was just in time as his vision started to blur and for a moment he was seriously afraid he would lose consciousness and crash. Even though he was the one to go after Maverick to help him gather himself, in the end it became him who needed the other pilot’s guidance. But they made it.

Maybe it was due to this newly formed camaraderie, the way they could understand each other through half-words and even through silence… Maybe it was due to the fact that he could take in fresh air again, and the tightness in his chest lessened significantly after they landed… Or maybe it was the thirst for revenge, and the urge to fight for their freedom that gave him the feeling that something would happen, that something had to happen that would cause a turning point in their situation. 

Still, he was rather surprised when, shortly after their landing, he noticed Mav approaching from behind Slapper, gun in hand. 

Chapter Text

They had to eject… The thought repeated in his head to the rhythm of his frantic heartbeats. 

Eject, eject, eject… As if he had been switched into autopilot his body continued to do what it had to, kept the plane under control, while his mind shouted, cursed and wanted to escape and hide somewhere…

They had to eject…

He heard the conversations through the radio, he somewhat understood that the other F-14 had fled and thus the dogfight was over; however, he was unable to really pay attention until he suddenly heard his own name:

“Mitchell…are you okay?” Iceman’s voice asked him, but Mav had no idea what to reply. He wasn’t okay, not in the least. How could he be? He saw the chutes too, but he had also seen Goose’s while his best friend had already been dead. He saw the chutes but he couldn’t be sure of Chip and Sunny’s condition… if everything was okay with the canopy… What if…?

“Maverick…! Do you hear me?” asked Iceman again, then Nightmare’s voice could be heard.

“All right, Gentlemen! I expected much more from you, but you will still have the opportunity to practice and improve,” the man told them. “Return to base! You too, Lieutenants Mitchell and Kazansky! What the hell do you think you are doing there anyway? Come back home immediately!”

Home?? Suddenly, his blood began to boil with anger at that word, a word of such deep and great significance, referring to the place where they were forced to kill their own classmates. For Mav home had never been a certain place. He, who from his early childhood was thrown by fate from one house to another, had never really been able to get attached to places. So he had attached the notion to certain people. In the last few years Goose and Carole, and then after his birth little Bradley, had meant home to him. But it had mainly been Goose, who lost his life as Chipper and Sundown might have just now. And after all that Nightmare had the nerve to call that fucking base “home”…

“Maverick…! Come on…!” Iceman urged him through the comms, and it was only now that he realised that the blond pilot was flying beside him, a shadow to Mav’s black jet. Although he didn’t wear his usual helmet, seeing the man helped his mind to return into his body, to be present again. 

Still, certain questions didn’t stop throbbing inside him to the rhythm of his pulse. 

Could he return to base? What would happen if they did go back there? What should he do now?

Talk to me, Goose, he whispered into the empty air of his cockpit. 

“Mav…?” He heard Iceman’s voice once more, but this time there was something in his tone, the way he called him his nickname, that made Mav feel as if Ice were somehow speaking Goose’s answer…

“Ice…?” he asked back uncertainly.

“Yeah… I’m here… beside you,” he replied and again it felt like it was Goose who talked to him through Iceman, who wanted to let him know that he wasn’t alone. That still there were people around him who cared about him, saw and accepted him for what he really was, who could empathise with him.

“I understand you, Mav… I feel it too…” Ice continued reassuring him of his thoughts as if he had really heard them, or as if Goose were really guiding the pilot somehow in what to say. 

Maybe that’s why I saw Ice in Goose’s place in my dream, the surprising idea came into Mav’s mind, but he neither thought about it nor tried to explain it to himself any further. It was enough for now that the blond man recognised the inner turmoil he felt after seeing their classmates’ ejection and was here to help him and be the voice of reason, covertly reminding him that despite their bad feelings they had to go back to free Slider and find their way out.

“Come on…! Our duty is… to go back… now!” he told him and Mav was finally able to acknowledge what he had heard, then let Kazansky have the lead and follow him back, flying on his wing. 

Actually it was the first time they had flown together side by side without that pointless rivalry driving a wedge between them. It could have been a light-hearted yet important moment of their relationship if it hadn’t been shadowed by Nightmare and his men waiting for them down there. Nevertheless, it was still another indicator that positive changes between them had begun.

“That’s it…! Come on… wingman!” Addressing him that way, Ice confirmed not only Mav’s thoughts but also that he made the right decision this morning, when he had chosen to speak honestly about his feelings, opening up to the blond man and then accepting his handshake and the promise of a fresh and better start.

“The others… are waiting… for us!” Kazansky told him, now audibly out of breath, and Mav knew that he was again referring to what he had already told him covertly: let’s free the others and get the hell out of here!

But in the last few minutes of their way back he started to worry not just about what would happen when they landed, but how they could land at all. First he thought that the shakiness of Ice’s voice and his audible breathlessness was because of fear after what had happened to Chip and Sunny. However, as his gasping became more and more prominent, Mav realised that the trouble was bigger than he assumed. He was sure now that it was more than a little cold, no matter how much the blond pilot tried to hide it. Mav decided that he would hold the man accountable for his condition as soon as they could talk again a bit more privately. It can’t go on like this, he told himself, although he had no idea what they could do with a more serious illness. He had a feeling that it wouldn’t move Nightmare or arouse empathy in him.

Whatever the case, first they had to land safely. During the last few miles he did his best to guide Ice. If Chip and Sunny’s fall was a cruel copy of his and Goose’s accident, then this whole situation with the blond pilot’s laboured breathing reminded him of the way he had escorted Cougar back to the Enterprise through his panic. And luckily they managed to land safely once again.

He was the last one to arrive back. When the cockpit opened he saw that four men were waiting next to Ice’s plane for the pilot, who had just started slowly descending the ladder with measured movements. Seeing Kazansky’s populous welcome committee, he was surprised when, looking down, he saw only Crooked Teeth standing by his MiG. Of course the guy had his gun in hand, but his attention was elsewhere. He was watching what was happening next to the other plane. Such mistakes on their captors’ part had been so far unimaginable; this one now provided the unexpected opportunity they were waiting for. So Mav acted before he could doubt himself: from the top of the ladder he threw himself at the man below him. Crooked Teeth hadn't expected such a thing at all; he didn't even have time to cry out before the pilot's weight sent him sprawling on the ground. His skull hit the concrete with so much force that the contact left him unconscious.

Mav couldn’t believe his luck, but he had no time to consider the probability of that working. With his hands slightly shaking from the adrenaline, he removed the guy's finger from the trigger and took the gun into his own palm.

Okay, calm down! he told himself, accompanied by a deep breath. He looked around. Nobody seemed to notice what he had done. He peeked out from behind the MiG’s body and saw that there were still four people standing near Ice’s plane. Now that he took a better look at them he recognised Ice himself, standing, or rather trying to stand while he struggled with another coughing fit. Facing him (and with his back to Mav) stood Slapper, and next to him Redhead. The fourth person was Wolfman, who already had a bag over his head while the short guard was about to tie his hands behind his back. The fifth man that Mav saw earlier must have been Wolf’s pilot, who had already left the tarmac letting the guards do the dirty work. Wood and his RIO were also nowhere to be seen, but they had landed first, so that wasn’t surprising, just unsettling, because it meant that they had to find and free not just Slider but Hollywood too.

However, first things first, he had to concentrate on his two companions in front of him...

He chose Slapper as his first target, then approached the man quickly while remaining as cautious and silent as possible.

“...faking how sick you are!” He heard the big man’s impatient voice scolding the blond pilot as he got closer. “No one’s gonna feel sorry for you! Stop acting and turn around!” he ordered to Ice, who was still coughing, curling in on himself. He tried to straighten up; however, noticing Mav, he quickly ascertained his intentions and knew he had to keep Slapper’s attention on himself. So instead of standing up he got down on one knee, exaggerating what bad shape he was in.

“I just can’t believe this…” Slapper muttered under his breath. “Get up, you filthy brat!” he growled at Ice and, emphasizing his words, he pulled out another gun. 

Dismay was clear in Ice’s eyes, and Mav also felt a bit taken aback even if he was behind the man. But both of them recovered quickly from their astonishment.

“I don’t get why the boss needs you. You’re all fucking useless!” the man continued his tirade. Ice, standing up now, looked him in the eye with his usual confidence again.

“I guess he needed people with brains,” he told the big guy with an insolent smile, while Mav tapped the man’s shoulder.

Slapper immediately turned around just to meet a fist in his jaw. Mav watched with satisfaction as the big guy staggered back from the force of his blow. However, they didn’t have much time to celebrate because Redhead noticed what was happening and just before Ice could wrest the gun from Slapper’s hand he pushed Wolfman into the blond pilot and started towards Mav with a knife in hand. Ice had to give up the attempt to get the weapon so that he could catch the helplessly falling RIO. He tore the bag off of Wolf’s head just in time for both of them to see Mav pull the trigger.

He had no choice but to shoot Redhead, even though he knew that this would attract everyone's attention and they would no longer have the element of surprise to which Mav owed his success so far. He strictly locked away in some hidden corner of his brain the sense of guilt he felt at shooting another person. It was neither the time nor the place to dwell on such things, and he was trained to kill people after all, though up in the air they were faceless.

The bullet hit the man in his shoulder, inflicting a non-fatal but serious wound and temporarily incapacitating him. Mav quickly kneeled beside him, took the knife out of his hand, and, picking up the duct tape with which he had previously bound Wolf’s wrists, did the same to him. 

It was so hard to be alert of everything around them at once; thus he was grateful that Ice acted immediately when he noticed Slapper starting to rise behind Mav’s back. The blond pilot ran straight into the huge man sending both of them to the ground once more. He tried to get his gun again, but Slapper was strong and, unlike them, he was experienced in fist-fighting. Thus even though Ice could deliver another hit to his face and reach the man’s hand, Slapper elbowed him in the stomach, knocking all the air out of Ice’s lungs. Ice started wheezing painfully, clutching his chest; but before Slapper could do anything more Mav and Wolf took the blond’s place and the two of them put an end to the exchange of blows. They managed to disarm the guard, who looked down two barrels now as both guns were in Mav’s hands.

“Stay down!” he ordered the man, who had no choice but to reluctantly obey.

“Ice, you okay?” Mav asked the other pilot. The man could only nod through another coughing fit.

“What’s the plan, Mav? What do we do now?” Wolfman stepped next to him, a bit shaky as the events caught up with him.

“We improvise,” Mav replied, sounding much more determined and confident than he felt. The truth was, he had no idea what to do next; but from the way the RIO spoke to him it was obvious that he had wordlessly accepted him as the leader and expected him to decide what to do. He immediately obeyed when Mav asked him to hold one of the guns while he tried to free his hands. Ice also seemed reliant on Mav’s ideas, because as soon as he was able to stand up he joined them and offered to take over the task from Mav, giving him some space and time to consider their next move. 

He took a swift look around. Crooked Teeth was still lying where Mav had left him, although he must have regained consciousness as he began to slowly move his limbs. He had to decide fast. Next to his legs Redhead was moaning in pain. 

He would only slow us down, Mav assessed. 

“We leave him here,” he declared, still looking at the guard, then he turned to Slapper and his gaze settled on him. The guy always acted as if he were a kind of right hand man to Nightmare. Mav was sure he was more important than most of the other guards.

Maybe we could use this one as a hostage… 

“He comes with us,” he decided. “Ice, would you please?” He asked Kazansky, nodding towards the guard and, picking up the roll of duct tape that he previously had dropped, he threw it into the blond pilot’s hands.

“It would be my pleasure,” Ice replied and he ordered Slapper to stand up with a hint of malicious joy in his voice. But who could blame him for that? Mav sure didn’t. It was good that the roles had finally been reversed. Although he quickly reminded himself not to count their chickens before they hatched. That thought was supported by the annoying way Slapper started to grin and chuckle while Ice tied his wrists.

“You know you’re all losers…” began the tall guard. “Just keep trying… but you won’t get far...” he remarked sarcastically. Ice silenced him with a strip of duct tape.

“Thanks,” Mav told Kazansky, who even patted Slappers face. There was more than enough pressure on them, they didn’t need to hear the guard’s jibes on top of that.

“We should find Wood and Sli and get out of here!” Wolf urged them. Pushing Slapper with them they started towards the building.

However, they barely took a hundred steps before some figures appeared before them inside the hangar.

“It seems we don't have to look for them anymore,” Ice remarked in a gloomy voice as getting even closer they recognised Happiness and Tattoo dragging along with them two men, Slider and Hollywood with their hands tied behind their backs and bags on their heads. And what was even worse, Nightmare strode behind them with a perfectly neutral face…

“If I guess correctly, these were the only ones missing?” the man asked loudly, nodding towards his two captives, as soon as they were in a hearing distance. 

“Please feel free to come closer for them!” he invited them with an ominously cheerful voice. Expecting a trap they stayed where they were. 

Nightmare began the same kind of annoying chuckling they had heard from Slapper before, and as Mav looked to the guard he could see him grinning too, under the duct tape.

“Now I am more and more curious about your intentions...” Nightmare continued in his usual theatrical style. “Oh, but wait a minute!” He nodded to his two men to pull the bags off their two captives’ heads. “This promises to be interesting—I do not want Lieutenant Kerner or Lieutenant Neven to miss out on anything good,” he explained while Wood and Slider, gaining back their vision, looked around, trying to assess the situation. Mav noticed that after their eyes met, both their friends started to watch something behind them, which made him glance behind too. 

He immediately pointed his gun towards the two men, moving closer to them. It was Crooked Teeth, supporting Redhead, who leaned heavily on him with his hands around the other’s torso. 

“He needs medical attention,” Crooked Teeth shouted. “As soon as possible!” he added when nobody made a move towards them. Mav turned back to see Nightmare’s reaction. He just grinned with an evil light glinting in his pale blue eyes. Then the man addressed his next words straight to him:

“Lieutenant Mitchell, what do you intend to do with my man?” He nodded towards Slapper.

“We offer an exchange,” Mav stated firmly, but no matter how serious and determined his voice was, it seemed that Nightmare still found his words entertaining. 

“If I assume correctly, you want Lieutenants Neven and Kerner in exchange for him…” he said and just for a moment he pretended to be thinking about the offer. Then out of nowhere he also pulled out a gun…

Shit, that’s not good, Mav mumbled a curse, although they could have counted on the leader of the group to provide himself with more protection than a single knife.

Keep calm! he tried to reassure himself. Then he repeated the thought out loud to Wolf, who out of reflex had raised the gun he had and trained it on Nightmare. He felt that a single wrong move would be enough to make all hell break loose. His instincts told him to wait. Nightmare loved to hear his own voice; he doubted that he would just shoot them without preaching at them for a while. However, what happened in the next moment was something that not only he, but perhaps even Nightmare's own men did not expect—except for Slapper, who was still grinning wildly under the duct tape. 

Nightmare almost carelessly turned his gun on his two approaching men and, with an impassive face and steady hand, shot Redhead.

“Oh my God,” Wolf whispered in absolute astonishment, while at the same time Crooked Teeth jumped back in shock and cried out, “Fuck!” 

Without the supporting hand on his torso the red haired guard fell to the ground with a dull thud. For a few moments Crooked Teeth just watched the growing red spot on the chest of his dead comrade with wide eyes, speechless. Then he slowly looked at his own heart, even touching his clothes over it, and he looked up at their leader’s face.

“Medical problem solved,” Nightmare told him, seeing his expression.

“From that distance you could have shot me!” the guard protested in disbelief, but his voice quickly died when Nightmare spoke up again.

“I could still do it,” he threatened. “You would deserve it for letting amateurs disarm you. We will come back to this later, but first go clean up!” he ordered and Crooked Teeth obeyed without any further complaints.

“See?” Nightmare now turned back to Mav and his companions. “That is how much the lives of my own men are worth. So do not lull yourself into the illusion even for a single moment that yours might be more valuable to me,” the man warned them. “I have told you before, I win even if you all die, because with your death the number of my opponents are reduced. But how much better it would be, if you became my loyal friends?” he asked with a creepy smile. His use of the word ‘friend’ like that made Mav’s skin crawl and his blood boil. This was the second time within an hour that this monster dared to degrade such notions that had always been sacrosanct to Mav.

“Be good boys and put the guns down nicely, then we can start working on our…” Nightmare continued, but whatever he had wanted to say was drowned out as suddenly several things happened at the same time.

“Shit! The fucking idiot!” Ice muttered to himself, then suddenly grabbing the gun from Wolf's hand he started running forward.

“Ice! What the…” Mav began to shout at him in his astonished anger. However, he quickly realised what had made the blond pilot act in such an uncharacteristically reckless way. “Oh shit!” Mav finished his sentence as he watched helplessly but ready to use his own weapon again as Slider ran towards them with his hands still tied and Nightmare’s gun at his back. In that moment, that knowing his best friend’s every expression only Ice could have forseen, with an unexpected move Slider rushed into Tattoo, successfully toppling not only him, but also Happiness standing next to Wood. Unfortunately, though, Slider shouted at the pilot to run in vain. Wood barely took a step forward when his ankle was caught by the sullen guard on the ground, and the pilot, unable to put out his hands to cushion the fall, hit his forehead badly on the concrete.

As soon as Ice reached Slider, he pushed his RIO behind himself, scolding him for his unwary move, which was like the pebble that triggers an avalanche. 

Within just a few seconds chaos had erupted—everyone began to move at the same time, like the ants in a disturbed anthill. 

The only person in the middle of the chaos, absolutely undisturbed by everything around him, was Nightmare. He stood still, curiously watching where the events were going as the aura surrounding his whole person revealed that he knew that no matter what his prisoners did, they had no true chance of escaping. However, Mav and the others didn’t want to acknowledge this. Now that they had started, they fought tooth and nail for their freedom even as the fight became more and more unequal.

As if Slider’s break-out was a signal, Nightmare’s two guards, the ones whom Hollywood earlier referred to as the Twins, who until now were just distant shadows lurking at the base of the walls, appeared seemingly out of nowhere. One of them, taking advantage of the fact that everyone’s attention was on the RIO and Nightmare’s gun, stepped behind Slapper and with one swift move cut off his bonds with his knife. The two of them then immediately turned towards Wolf and Slider, before the former could free the latter’s hands. The Twin grabbed Wolfman from behind, squeezing his neck tightly with his upper arm, forcing the radio operator to his knees, while Slapper went for Slider, pinning the man to the ground before he could do anything to stop him.

Mav and Ice turned around as if they were one man. That was when Mav noticed that Crooked Teeth also ran towards them. Because of the closeness between the two RIOs and their attackers Mav didn’t dare to shoot at the Twin or Slapper, but the guy with the weird teeth looked like a clear target, so he let off a second shot. He aimed for the guard, but missed him by a few inches, and the bullet pierced into a wooden crate next to the guy. 

“Fuck!” Crooked Teeth cried out again. “Why is everyone shooting at me today?” he demanded angrily, trying to find cover behind the crate. Then Mav heard another shout from behind him and fired again. It was another miss but this time he missed because someone caught his elbow from behind. He quickly turned his head to meet Tattoo’s ugly face. The man gripped his hand with an iron fist, but Mav wasn’t one to surrender without a fight. He turned his whole body towards the guard and using the momentum of the turning he landed a well-aimed left hook into Tattoo’s right eye. His punch was strong enough that it made the guy let go of his elbow so that he could press his palm over his eye. Mav immediately punished the man for his lack of attention, and kicked him on the knee as hard as he could, making him fall to the ground.

However, as soon as he looked up he saw that this small victory over Tattoo wouldn’t be able to help their escape anymore. 

Happiness towered over Wood’s now sitting form, and even from this distance it was obvious how dazed the pilot was. The meeting between his forehead and the concrete must have been hard indeed.

Slider and Wolfman were standing between Slapper and Twin-one, hands tied behind their backs again, faces showing disappointment and anger. 

And Ice was on the ground with a pained expression, staring at the steel-toed boots belonging to Twin-two with which the guard had stomped on his right hand with all his might, forcing the blond pilot to drop the gun he was still trying to hold on to, not caring that another was pointing directly at his temple.

Shit! Damn it! Mav cursed inwardly, when he realised that he was the only one still standing.

He quickly pointed his gun to the closest person, the twin aiming at Kazansky. But the guard meaningfully shook his head with an evil and satisfied grin. He already knew what Mav didn't want to admit to himself…

While they continued to glare at each other, Tattoo slowly stood up next to him, walked to the Twin and picked up the gun Ice was no longer able to hold. Seeing this even Crooked Teeth crawled out of his impromptu hiding place.

Mav kept his index finger on the trigger. His mind still searched wildly for a rescue idea, for anything he could use against their captors, any way he could free the others and they could still escape. He tried to seem at least resolute, although he was the only one to know how much that finger was actually shaking. 

“I wouldn't do that…” Twin-two told him in a perfectly calm voice of authority, as if he were reprimanding a misbehaving child. And that was it…

Mav looked around once more and he had to accept the bitter truth: there was no step left that would not directly endanger the lives of his companions… They had failed… 

He had failed. 

He had once again let down those who trusted him. 

“Sorry boys,” he told the others, feeling completely devastated, and dropped the gun to the ground. 

Chapter Text

Luck had seemed to be on their side at first. Ice had almost believed that they could succeed, that they could all break free and get out of this cursed place. But the tables had turned too quickly, and from the beginning Nightmare had just stood there with impassive, emotionless composure, as if he had foreseen exactly what would happen. 

He probably really had. Moreover, in retrospect, Ice was sure that if the man had ordered his guards, they could have shot them all dead in an instant. However, Nightmare must have found their struggles entertaining to watch, to let their little riot go so far. In the end his guards wouldn't even need their guns; they could overpower them without using any weapons. The unexpected appearance of the Twins had put an end to their fight for freedom in minutes. 

Under normal circumstances, Ice was able to divide his attention rather well; but from the moment he had noticed the spark of sudden determination in Slider’s eyes, his sole focus had been on protecting his best friend. One glance was enough for him to see through what Ron was planning to do, and for a second he had been sure Nightmare would simply shoot him in the back. The fear of losing him had never been so palpable and it made Ice react immediately, regardless of the possible consequences. He had started to run towards Slider almost before the RIO pushed his way through their captors. As soon as they reached each other Ice had shoved him behind himself, swearing in a mixture of fright and relief.

“What the hell were you thinking, you fucking idiot?!” he shouted at Ron while aiming the gun he had gotten from Wolf straight at Nightmare. Thinking that only the RIOs and tied-up Slapper were behind them, he hadn’t expected any attack from that direction. From the corner of his eye he saw that Mav had arrived next to him with a weapon also pointed towards the leader of their captors and the men next to him. They could both see that Wood was laying on the ground, while Happiness stood up looking satisfied with himself for knocking out the pilot, and Tattoo angrily started after Ron. Ice felt ready to face the guard, but a sudden movement from behind made him turn around only to see in horror that one of the Twins and Slapper (how the hell had he gotten free?) had already captured the two RIOs.

Crooked Teeth also chose that moment to reappear; however, after a heartbeat of hesitation, Mav decided to attack him. 

Ice tried to keep everyone in his field of vision at the same time, and he knew that if Twin-one appeared, Twin-two must be nearby too; but he was still surprised when the tall, muscular guy appeared next to him practically out of nowhere. The twin grabbed Ice's gun-holding hand with his left, while putting his right against Ice's chin and hooking his leg behind the pilot’s, bringing Ice to the ground with one move.

Ice cried out involuntarily as his wrist twisted uncomfortably during the fall, but ignoring the pain he quickly tried to turn the weapon he still held in his hand towards his attacker. However, Twin-two was faster than him. He shot at the guard in vain, the bullet missing its target as the man, with full force, kicked Ice’s already aching hand with his steel-toed boots. The gun flew a few steps away from Ice, who instinctively and desperately threw himself after it. There was no time to think. “If you think, you’re dead,” Maverick had said in one of the debriefs, and his statement, which flashed through Ice’s mind for a split second, couldn’t be more true in this situation. Ice’s full focus was on reaching the gun so that he could shoot again. He extended his right hand and managed to close his fingers on the grip, but he couldn’t turn it towards Twin-two as the guard was faster once more. He stepped on Ice’s wrist, causing him to see stars as a sharp pain ran through his whole hand, although he didn’t drop the gun until the guard, noticing his pain, deliberately put even more weight on Ice's aching limb.

It hurt like hell; however, it was nowhere near the emotional anguish he felt upon realising that the game was over and now they would have to bear the consequences of their failure. Mitchell, who was the last one standing, had no choice but to surrender.

As soon as this happened, Crooked Teeth stepped to Mav and, with an almost grotesque grin, picked up the gun that was originally his and pointed it at the pilot. After that, Slapper left the two RIOs to Twin-one so that he could tie the short pilot’s hands. Then he turned to Ice to roughly pull him off the ground and do the same with him. 

Ice had to bite back a curse as Slapper grabbed his wrists and taped them tightly together. Every tiny movement of his right wrist made him grit his teeth; however, when he tried to carefully move it, he noted in relief that through the pain he was able to twist it around fully.

It must just be bruised, or maybe sprained, he thought. Not that that wasn’t unpleasant, but a break would have been a thousand times worse. 

And what awaits us now is sure to be a thousand times worse too. He worriedly glanced towards Nightmare, who was waiting for them threateningly as his guards pushed them in front of him.

On the faces of his companions, Ice read the same uncertainty mixed with fear that, besides anger and bitter disappointment, was starting to become his dominant feeling with every step that brought them closer to the man.

When they reached Nightmare the guards took a few steps backwards, leaving the five of them even more exposed to the wrath of their leader. However, for long minutes the man didn’t say a single word. He just stared at them with an impassive face. But no matter how deadly cold his eyes were, they still seemed to burn a hole through their soul. 

After a while Wolfman started nervously fidgeting and even Slider let out a longer, shaky breath to ease his tension. Only the three pilots were motionless and seemingly unaffected by Nightmare’s tactic of intimidation, albeit Wood’s lack of reaction was due to the fact that he was still a little dazed from the blow to his head and therefore could not perceive so keenly what was going on around him.

Mav seemed determined to show himself as still as a statue, and Ice was as resolute as the short pilot; however, he soon began to feel the now familiar scraping of a forthcoming coughing fit in his throat. He had no chance to suppress it or even hide it. With his hands tied behind his back he could only bow his head and tried to cough into his shoulder. 

So much for steadfastness, he thought bitterly as against his will his eyes welled up with tears.

Except for a hint of a cruelly satisfied smile crossing his face, Nightmare kept standing motionless. It was quite unsettling, although when the man finally started to pace around them, taking out his knife and seemingly absentmindedly examining its edge, it didn’t get any better. 

“Tell me, what should I do with you now?” he asked in an annoyingly low and calm voice. “I must admit that your little rebellion was rather entertaining. However, I lost a man because of you...”

You forget the small detail that it was you who pulled the trigger. Ice felt an urge to scoff at the accusation. He was sure the guard could have been saved with proper medical care.

Mav must have thought the same; upon hearing Nightmare’s words he huffed under his breath in annoyance. Fortunately for the pilot, Nightmare seemed not to notice the sound.

“…and what bothers me even more,” he continued undisturbed, “is that you were disobedient and defied my will.” He suddenly stopped when he stood right in front of them, and this time he looked at them with clear dourness, discontent, and, most terrifying, hunger in his eyes.

“I simply cannot leave this without consequences,” he stated threateningly. “I presume this is no news to you as you have all seen or experienced what can happen to those who are crazy enough to contradict me… However, it looks like you still need a thorough reminder. And who am I to deny you such a magnificent opportunity to deepen your knowledge?” he asked theatrically. After one of his usual pauses for effect, he began walking again, this time not around but in front of them, acting as though he were deep in thought.

“So, what should I do…? What should I do?” He kept muttering to himself as an obvious prelude to whatever cruel game he wanted them to be part of. It was clear that he already had an idea.

“Lieutenant Mitchell!” Nightmare stopped again and looked straight at Mav. “I would like to ask you to step forward!” he ordered with his usual mock politeness and the pilot had no other choice but to obey.

“Boys, please bring a chair to our guest of honour, the star of the day, who heroically led this little… stunt. 

“To tell you the truth, you have surprised me, Lieutenant. I knew there was great potential in you, but I did not expect you to be such a natural leader. If I had had to guess, I would have voted for Lieutenant Kazansky to fill that role… I am sorry that I underestimated your capabilities,” he apologised without any spark of real regret. “Let me atone by giving you a role that is truly worthy of you.”

As if that were the final word, Crooked Teeth appeared with a chair, which he quickly set down as instructed by their leader. 

“Lieutenant!” Nightmare motioned to Maverick to take a seat, which he did. The odd-toothed guard and Slapper immediately started to re-tie him to the chair in the exact position in which they had first woken up in this godforsaken place.

“There is another reason why I chose this distinguished role for you, Lieutenant,” the man continued, and Ice had a bad feeling about what they were about to hear. “Please, look at your companions and tell me who is missing!”

Another pause for effect, a cruel smile, then he went on.

“I am sure you know the answer. It is Lieutenant Bradshaw whose company we unfortunately cannot enjoy…” Nightmare answered his own question with proud satisfaction while all colour vanished from Mav’s face.

“Is it not a pity? Poor soul… dying so young, leaving a family behind…” In one moment the man recited the words with feigned sadness, but in the next a cruel smile started to play on his lips as he addressed his next questions to Mav.

“Tell me, Lieutenant Mitchell, how does it feel? To lose your best friend? To fly without him? And to live with the knowledge that it was all because of you…?” 

Here it comes, Ice thought while he felt anger start to boil inside him. The real reason why this scumbag started to talk about Goose.

“I was informed that your carelessness and impatience caused the death of your RIO,” Nightmare continued, happily twirling not only the knife in his hand, but also the imaginary knife he was using to cut straight into Maverick’s heart. “Is it true, Lieutenant? Was it really you?” he asked the pilot, waiting with perverse greed for his every reaction. “Did you really cause his death? Or should I ask…did you really kill him yourself?”

The air was frozen, the tension was palpable, and at the centre of it all was Pete Mitchell, turning white in the crossfire of the eyes fixed on him, his trembling hands clenched into fists, staring into nothingness with a painfully glistening gaze...

“Nightmare tried to make me doubt you… kept saying that I couldn't trust you, any of you…” Mav’s words suddenly echoed in Ice’s mind as it became obvious to him that Nightmare wanted to achieve a similar goal using the same method. That he was once more attacking the point where he knew a person was most vulnerable. While he had previously attempted to break Ice through his pride and sense of self and Mitchell through his doubts, now he wanted to hurt the pilot through his guilt. This realisation turned Ice’s boiling anger into red-hot wrath. How depraved did someone have to be to tarnish the memory of a dead man by using it in such a vile way? Moreover, the accusation was completely unfair; however, Ice knew by now that Mitchell would never be able to believe in his own innocence. That’s why Nightmare’s words were exceptionally cruel and, from the man’s posture and expression, he was sure it was only Nightmare’s first blow on Mav’s spirit. 

And in that very moment Ice decided to do everything he could to prevent the next one. 

When the situation had been reversed, and it was he who had needed help, Pete Mitchell had selflessly stepped up for him without a second thought, aware of but not caring about the consequences. Twice.

Now it was Ice’s turn to do the same, to stop Nightmare before he wounded Mav too deeply. 

“You know what, Lieutenant? You do not even have to answer as the facts sp…” Nightmare in fact had started his second attack, when Ice determinedly interrupted him.

“It was an accident!” he stated, loud and clear. “There was no intention behind it! But if you really want to find someone to blame, I'm here!

“I made a mistake and I take full responsibility for it. So you can stop your accusations and leave the memory of Nick Bradshaw alone!” 

His voice cut through the stunned silence, and all eyes turned to him. The guards’ gaze was expectant and malevolent, his companions’ was scared, Slider’s was utterly worried, Nightmare’s was angry and eerily serene at the same time, while Mav’s was… blank… 

It was as if, through his eyes, Ice was looking straight into a gaping emptiness in the pilot’s soul, caused by the loss of Goose. Nightmare seemed to have reached his goal: Mitchell looked as if he had collapsed under the weight of the accusations addressed to him. 

I should have interrupted Nightmare earlier, Ice thought, watching Mav with worry and guilt. But maybe I can still bring Mav back…

“Well, Lieutenant Kazansky, you have made a mistake indeed.” The almost whispered statement brought Ice’s attention back to the leader of their captors in an instant. He was prepared to learn what his punishment would be for speaking up, but the man must have still been too busy crushing Mav. This time, Ice got away with only a threat. “It is true what I was told about you: you like to voice your opinion. However, no one here is interested in it. I have already warned you that speaking without permission really… bothers me... I will not repeat it again. Take this as a final warning!” Nightmare concluded his threat and then turned back to Maverick, continuing exactly where he had stopped. 

But Ice didn’t give up his intention either. If Nightmare attacked Mav once more, he would stand between them again. He would stand between them every time. 

As long as I can, he vowed to himself, knowing that this time his punishment would surely come. Still, he didn’t care and he addressed his words directly to Mav.

“Mav! Whatever he tells you, don’t believe him! It wasn’t your fault!” he shouted, and two more people shouted with him. 

“Stop this immediately!” Nightmare ordered either him or Twin-two, who stood a few steps behind him.

“Tom, no!” Slider started towards him, but Happiness quickly grabbed him and pulled him back by his collar.

Ice didn’t pay attention to either of them. His full focus was on Mav. He desperately wanted the pilot to leave the path of self-blame where Nightmare’s words had pushed him. He kept talking to him, while he had the chance.

“Look at me, Mav!” His firm voice rose above all others. “Every word he says is a lie! Don’t listen thmm…” But his voice was roughly blocked by a large palm, covering his mouth. With his other hand around Ice’s chest the tall twin held him firmly. 

Seeing this, Slider made another attempt to defend his pilot, only for a cold metal blade to press against his neck. He had to stop and watch helplessly as the encounter played out between Ice and Nightmare.

“I warned you.” Nightmare looked at Ice again with satisfaction then turned to Slapper, who had quickly returned to his task of tying Mav’s legs to the chair. “When you are done there, could you give a lesson to the lieutenant on how to keep his mouth shut?” 

“It would be my pleasure,” replied Slapper, echoing Ice’s previous words when their situation was reversed. He even winked at him with an evil grin while he hastened his movements.

“Where was I?” Nightmare asked as his gaze settled on Maverick once more. The pilot seemed oblivious to what was going on around him.

“Oh yes, I was talking about the unfortunate Nick Bradshaw, who was…” This time a sudden scream and a series of curses interrupted the vile monologue—Ice had managed to pull his mouth away from Twin-two's palm, and when he tried to silence him again, he bit down on the guy's finger with all his might.

“Goddamnit! You fucking son of a bitch! Go to hell and rot there!” the man screamed and, forgetting everything for a moment, cradled his bleeding finger, squeezing it to his chest. 

Ice immediately took advantage of his regained freedom of speech. He looked at Mav, who by this time returned his gaze, and with a bit of relief at the eye contact he began to talk to him again.

“Don’t let him break you, Mav!” He told the pilot, whose green irises now carried none of the mischievous light that was so characteristic of him. Unshed tears trembled in them, and the pain of loss. Still, Ice sensed that something of the real Maverick was hiding behind them. And he, seizing his last chance, spoke to that man.

“We need you! Promise me you won't give up!”

Twin-two needed only a few seconds to gather himself, then with his right hand tightly clenched into fist, he grabbed Ice from behind and pressed his forearm against Ice's throat.

“I thought I was clear, Lieutenant Kazansky.” Nightmare walked towards him with measured steps and a bloodthirsty look, pointing his knife forward. He was like a predator approaching its trapped prey.

“Please, don’t hurt him!” Slider begged the man, ignoring the other knife in front of his own throat. “I’m here, punish me instead.” However, Nightmare dismissed the RIO’s words with a wave of his hand and continued his menacing.

“I do not like to say the same thing over and over and over, but it seems you need a more serious lesson to finally understand: I do not tolerate speaking without permission...” He emphasised each word in his last sentence, raising his knife to Ice’s face. “Especially if it spoils my fun…” the man continued and slowly lowered the blade to Ice’s heart, which was frantically pumping blood to roar through his ears.

“You know, if I wanted to, I could silence you for good right now...” He put the tip of the knife to his chest and, pausing a little, pressed the weapon in slightly. “But that would deprive me of the joy that the hours ahead of us will bring me," he finally concluded, hinting not so reassuringly at their expected punishment. Then, with a sudden movement, he pulled open Ice's flight suit and, grabbing his T-shirt, cut off a piece of it, which he crumpled into a ball with one hand and raised it in front of Ice's face. 

“I have such a strong feeling of deja vu…” Nightmare continued theatrically. "What about you?" he asked Slapper, who, finishing with Maverick, stepped over to join them.

“Yeah, I feel it too,” the guard agreed with a broad grin.

“Although I hope he learns his lesson better this time,” Nightmare added, then turned back to Ice. “Will you?” He pressed the make-shift gag even closer to his cheek. “And I also hope this time you will be man enough not to faint.” He poked at Ice’s self-esteem, trying to provoke him to talk, unsuccessfully.

“Say something to this, Lieutenant! Up until now you have voiced your opinions so fervently. Here is the chance to open your mouth.” Ice felt that the pressure on his neck loosened. Still, ignoring Nightmare’s false encouragement, he kept his mouth shut even though he really had a lot to say.

“Come on! Open up!” the man ordered, starting to lose his patience. But Ice didn’t obey. Not only out of defiance, but also out of fear—even though he had lost consciousness last time, from Slider he knew that he had almost choked to death on a similar piece of rag.

But of course, he could have expected that; as before, their captors would always achieve their goals.

“Well… if you want it that way…” Nightmare acknowledged his disobedience then looked at Twin-two with a cruel smile and a nod, giving him free reign to use violence. 

The guard didn’t hesitate for a moment, releasing Ice’s neck just to grab his still painfully throbbing wrist and starting to twist it.

Ice clenched his teeth tightly, determined not to make a sound. He could hear Ron yelling desperately, begging them again not to hurt him, but knowing that he had broken his promise to his RIO, he didn't dare look at him, no matter how much he wanted to. Instead of Slider, his gaze clung to Maverick. He tried to draw strength from looking at the pilot, hoping that his words would be able to help him somehow. He tried to think on the fact that he could finally step up for him, that he could reciprocate some of Mav’s earlier selflessness, although he would have done the same even if he owed nothing to Mitchell. He tried with all his might not to break…

However, his wrist did the exact opposite. It gave in with an audible crack. 

Unbearably sharp pain shot through his hand like an electric shock, his knees buckled, and he couldn't stop himself from crying out involuntarily.

For one hazy moment of agony, he felt relief as his teeth closed around the rag, because the clenching of his jaw helped make the pain a little easier to bear. But it was still like hell. And then came the feelings of shame, humiliation, and wrath, which only multiplied as, due to the pain of his now surely fractured hand, he became unable to fight against their captors any longer.

Twin-two still held his hand unrelentingly while Nightmare grabbing his hair jerked his head back.

“Do you know why it is necessary to beat dogs sometimes?” Leaning closer to him he whispered into Ice’s ear while nodding to Slapper. “Do you know why they need leashes and muzzles?” he asked in his sickeningly honey-glazed voice, then he turned to his man.

“Be thorough!” he ordered Slapper, who instead of using one strip of duct tape started to wrap it around Ice’s head: his mouth, his cheeks, under his ears, all along the back of his neck…

 Once…

“Obedience!”

Twice…

“Discipline!”

Three times…

“Humility”

Four times…

Then with another nod from Nightmare he cut it, while the man continued his cruel monologue.

“The right tools surely teach a dog these things. Because that is the only way it can become loyal to its master above all else.” Still holding Ice’s hair, with his other hand he grabbed his jaw and turned his face towards him. “Now I see, Lieutenant Kazansky, that you need exactly this kind of education, so that you can learn your place… Therefore, I promise to do everything in my power to teach you who is the leader of the pack here! Just watch me!” He finished with another threat, and as if Ice were really just a dog he patted his cheek almost cheerfully before letting go. Then the guard pushed him to the ground and left him there.

As he knelt there, collapsing into himself for a moment, he felt that everyone was still looking at him: some worried, some pitying, but others satisfied and mocking.

Slider tried to take another step forward, but Happiness still held him firmly. No one else moved.

Nightmare started towards Mav, but he stopped in front of Slider and looked hard into his eyes.

“Lieutenant Kerner, you also broke my rules… I see you deeply care about your pilot. You would even have been ready to suffer for him…” He nodded with mocking recognition. “Well… Thank you, Lieutenant, you have just given me a wonderful idea!” He clapped his hands in satisfaction and hurried back to Maverick.

“I apologise for this little interlude! I did not want to make you wait so long, and I am especially sorry that due to the interruption the way I conveyed the facts was not as effective as it could have been,” the man told Mav, overacting the politeness. “So I will cut it short, because we had much more important things ahead of us.  However, I would like to point out one more fact.”

Here we go, Ice thought bitterly. For a moment he had almost believed that Nightmare was going to leave Mitchell alone. But now, watching helplessly, he had to listen to one final attack. 

He looked up at Mav repentantly and was surprised when the pilot’s eyes met his. This time, he was really there; the real Pete Maverick Mitchell was really looking back at him. His gaze was still utterly sad, but it was also full of determination and anger towards their captors. It was clear that Ice’s words had reached him. However, Nightmare’s newest salvo was still hanging in the air…

“In fact, the death of Lieutenant Bradshaw could easily be called an accident,” the man started. “And of course you could also blame the circumstances or other people for what happened; as we saw, some of them would take that responsibility…

“But that would only be fooling yourself, Lieutenant. As we all know, the RIO is the responsibility of his pilot. 

“Obviously, your childish rivalry did not help matters either, your rivalry that was another thing you irresponsibly dragged Lieutenant Bradshaw into. In the end, it all depended on you…If you had behaved more maturely and responsibly, there would not now be a wife without her husband, a small child without his father…” 

Ice felt that he could happily kill this bastard.

“You know very well what it is like, growing up without a father, but you did not stop being reckless… Thanks to you, Lieutenant Mitchell, there is another widow, another orphan in the world, from whom you took away the beloved husband and father…

“So, no matter how much we try to excuse it, you are a murderer… the murderer of your best friend…Congratulations!” Nightmare patted Maverick on the shoulder, who still stared into Ice’s eyes with slightly trembling lips, while a few teardrops silently rolled down his face. Bowing his head, he traced their path as they landed on his flight suit. He was truly a heart-breaking sight and Ice couldn’t stop blaming himself for not being able to protect him, help him in any meaningful way. Because, after all, what had he achieved by interjecting? Just humiliation, and a presumably broken arm. Nice job Kazansky, he scolded himself.

However, in that moment the pilot, though he seemed completely defeated, spoke up in a quiet, firm voice.

“Thank you,” Mav started, still looking down. “I really needed to hear those words.” He lifted up his head and his eyes bore into Ice’s for a second, indicating that the thanks were for him, before his gaze found Nightmare and he cleverly continued as if he were speaking to him all along. “You’ve helped me realize something I’d already suspected: you are a master…” He paused, as Nightmare often did, to enhance the effect, and to take a deep breath. “The master of manipulation, of emotional terrorizing. Of violence hidden behind feigned politeness.” 

Nightmare quickly realised that Mav was not ruined. His tactic had failed. He turned to Slapper, who was already hurrying towards the pilot.

“Unfortunately, I can’t call you an absolute liar—but I can call you an insidious worm!” Maverick was just able to finish the sentence before Slapper hastily plastered his own strip of duct tape over his mouth.

After the incidents with the two pilots, Nightmare tried to look calm. However, Ice could see his frustration. That, and Mav’s lively gaze, could have been a very satisfying sight, if they had not been tied up and awaiting their punishment. 

It didn't matter that they won this fight, when the war was still raging. Nightmare knew it as well.

“All right, gentlemen.” He had quickly gathered himself, returning to his confident, unwavering self. “A few minutes ago, Lieutenant Kerner gave me a wonderful idea. Let me introduce you to the rules,” he said, and his voice started to fill with evil excitement. “As I had originally planned it, Lieutenant Mitchell here,” he stepped to Mav and put his hands on the pilot’s shoulders, “will have a special role, since he is the only one without a RIO.” He suddenly drew his knife and swung it spectacularly in front of Maverick's face. “He will be the guarantee,” he declared loudly. “And now let us follow Lieutenant Kerner’s idea!” 

Nightmare nodded to two of his men, who, stepping behind the RIOs, also pulled out knives, but to everyone's surprise, they did not hurt or threaten them but cut their bonds. Ice watched anxiously; he had a terrible feeling about what this manipulative bastard was calling Ron's idea.

“Now I would like to ask Lieutenants Kerner and Wolfe to step to your pilots.” 

The two RIOs looked at each other suspiciously and worriedly, but they obediently walked to their pilots, and since no one stopped him, Slider, as soon as he reached Ice, knelt down next to him without hesitation and placed one of his hands on his nape, gently directing Ice’s gaze to himself.

“You okay?” he asked in a whisper. Ice could feel the concern radiating from his best friend just from his touch, and looking up he saw that his RIO's every feature was tense and he was giving nervous glances towards Ice’s injured arm.

He nodded, trying to be reassuring; but Ron knew him too well. With a barely perceptible shake of his head, he indicated this, and also his disapproval that Ice had gotten himself into trouble again despite his promise. 

Ice lowered his eyes apologetically, but he still felt that Ron didn’t need to know how he was really feeling. That even the smallest movement of his fingers caused a maddening pain to shoot through his wrist… That not only his arm was injured, but his pride and self-esteem as well... That his coughing fits were starting to be more and more suffocating, and he was terrified of having another one while gagged like this…

With his other hand Ron gently squeezed his shoulder, indicating that he wasn’t angry, just worried about him, then taking care not to touch Ice’s injured arm he carefully helped him up from the ground.

“Amazing indeed.” Nightmare’s voice coldly cut through the moment of care between Ice and Slider. “Thank you for showing us the importance of friendly touch, because from now on that is exactly what we are going to focus on—friendly touch.” The man’s statement in itself caused a bad feeling, but the way he emphasized the last two words made everyone's blood run cold.

Ice and Slider exchanged a deeply worried, almost scared glance with each other.

“Today, Lieutenants Kerner and Wolfe will be the busiest.” Nightmare turned to the two RIOs. “You will be given... rather interesting tasks, but of course I am counting on everyone’s active participation… 

“If it seems to you that your pilots are more severely affected by this punishment… well, that is not accidental...” the man continued, slowly measuring the three pilots. “Because I am not stupid! I know exactly what you could have done up there with our MiGs while the three of you were trying to fool me!” he almost shouted, then threateningly lowered his voice to a hiss. “However, in me you have found your match…”

“Gentlemen,” he continued louder, addressing his words to Slider and Wolf once more. “There is only one rule: namely, that if you disobey, or if you are too reluctant to do the funny little tasks I give you, then Lieutenant Mitchell will bear the consequences…” he walked next to Mav and looked down at him. “Because if I recall correctly, I owe the ridiculous tactics you all used up there to you, Lieutenant,” he told the pilot. 

“And now let the fun begin,” he announced solemnly. “The first task will be a kind of warm up: slap your pilots on the face!”

What??? Ice stared incredulously at Nightmare and then at his companions, whose faces reflected the same shock he felt. 

Nobody moved…

After a minute of silence, Nightmare suddenly took out his knife and first ran it across Maverick's wrist, then, half tearing and half cutting off the pilot's flight suit, he made a cut on his chest as well. Blood began to trickle from both thin lines.

Mav made a hissing noise at the first one, he was so caught off guard; but at the second one he gritted his teeth to keep from making any pained sound that would only add to Nightmare's pleasure.

“One from Lieutenant Kerner, the other from Lieutenant Wolfe," the man declared with a greedy glint in his eye. “Gentlemen, please try it again! Now!” 

This can’t be happening… Ice looked at Slider and he had never seen his best friend so scared and lost before. The RIO almost begged him with his eyes to find a way out of this, but he was as helpless as Ron. 

He tried to indicate with a small nod that Ron should do what he had to do, and with his eyes he suggested that everything would be fine. But he knew it to be false hope. How could everything be okay when they were all in the hands of such a psychopath, who now wanted to break them in every possible way, both physically and mentally?

Nothing will ever be right, ever again… He admitted to himself what he had feared most all along, while maddened anger raged in his heart with a force like never before…

He wasn't worried about himself, because he would be able to endure the pain. Somehow. No, he was worried about the others: about Wood, who had already hit his head badly during the escape attempt; about Mav, because Nightmare was keeping them in check through him, putting an additional burden of guilt on the pilot; and about the two RIOs, especially Ron...

"I could never hurt you, Tommy," Ron Kerner had said to him a few days after they first met; after he had helped Tom in a situation (even if his help was unsolicited, even though Tom later claimed that he could have handled it on his own), which then became the starting point for the development and deepening of the friendship between the two boys.

And now they wanted to force this man, who had made that vow; who despite his sturdy appearance and somewhat unpolished style wouldn't hurt a fly; who was Ice's best friend, his brother in all but blood; force this man to do something that he would never be able or willing to do on his own.

Ice was afraid that if this punishment continued to consist of forcing the RIOs to beat them, it could completely break Slider… Could even destroy their friendship... And that…

No, that simply cannot happen, he rejected the thought, because he didn't want to imagine it...

"Maybe you did not hear me well enough?" Nightmare asked a little more forcefully, pulling Ice back to the cruel present. “Slap your pilots!” He repeated the direction. Still Slider was unable to move. 

To their left, Wolfman, with red face and shaking hands, suddenly gave Hollywood a weak little slap.

“Well done, Lieutenant Wolfe! I see you are starting to get into it!” Nightmare complimented Wolfman, whose face rapidly lost all its previous colour upon hearing the implication that he might be enjoying this. 

“However, I sense some force lacking, therefore…” He made another cut on Mav’s lower arm, then turned to Slider. “Lieutenant Kerner, I am truly disappointed.” He cut Mav on his right cheek as well.

“Gentlemen, unfortunately we cannot go on until you complete your task. And there is so much more waiting for you, it would be a pity to get stuck at the beginning. Please hurry up a bit. One more chance!”

“It’s okay… it will be okay…” Wood whispered to Wolf so quietly that even Ice could barely make out the words. There was a good chance none of their captors heard him.

Wolfman took a deep breath, and with closed eyes and gritted teeth, he slapped Wood with real force. His hand was visibly shaking and his eyes were cast down as he awaited Nightmare's judgment.

Meanwhile, Slider remained motionless, except that he began to stare at his own open palm with a terrified expression on his face.

Damn it, Ron, Ice began to silently plead, you know there's no other choice. Please, just do it! We can’t let that bastard torture Mav…

But Slider didn’t notice or didn’t want to notice his mute pleading. 

“Ron!” Ice made an attempt to call out his name, and even though his voice was muffled by the gag, he managed to make his RIO finally look at him.

Do it, he ordered with a firm glance.

A moment of hesitation…

Then the sudden stinging-burning pain in his face signalled to Ice that the task of their captors had been completed. He immediately checked on Ron, who similarly to Wolf was avoiding his pilot’s searching gaze. The RIO turned his head towards a random empty spot; but Ice still could see the tears caught in his eyelashes.

“Alright, gentlemen, that is right. It will go something like this,” Nightmare told them. “To let you see how soft-hearted I am, I am accepting both of your performances. However, from now on that will not be enough… Pull yourselves together and then you do it again—using your fists this time!”

Both RIOs turned completely pale, and Wolfman also looked like he was going to be sick, while Maverick's eyes flashed with anger and even Wood’s hazy gaze was furious.

In the end Mav got two new cuts: it was only on their second attempt that Wolfman and Slider punched strong enough for Nightmare to approve it.

“You are still reluctant to put all your strength into the tasks,” the man noted. “From now on, I am willing to accept only the maximum. I have been too lenient… Now kick your pilots in the knees!” He gave his next order…

Then the next and the next and the next… 

After a while, it became impossible to follow how many punches or kicks they received. Everything became more and more blurry around Ice, melting into one big mass of pain. Every part of him ached; his injured arm, even though due to some special favour Slider did not have to hurt it, still throbbed maddeningly; every time when he felt relief by biting down on the rag, disgust and shame flooded him immediately; and in the end, his body seemed to fail him even when no one touched him: he was shaking and had such violent coughing fits that he was sure he was going to suffocate.

Even so, he felt that he would bear all this a thousand times more than the crippling inner pain of having to helplessly watch his best friend fall to pieces in front of him.

He was not prepared for this in the least. And the worst part was that it was all because of him. Nightmare was using him as the catalyst for Ron's mental torture. He wanted to smash the close bond between him and his RIO and he had found the best way to make that happen.

Ron was not only crushing Ice's body more and more with every punch and kick, but also crushing both of their hearts…

Ice was no longer able to perceive what was happening around him. He could no longer see the others either. His attention, which he had struggled to maintain for a while, was now focused on only one thing: Ron's distraught, tormented face…

It was unbearable to see but he was unable to look elsewhere, as if with all his remaining strength he tried to cling to Ron…

He couldn’t lose him… 

His only hope was that the darkness would finally swallow him and it would all be over…

Chapter Text

“I was informed that your carelessness and impatience caused the death of your RIO…

“Is it true, Lieutenant? Was it really you? Did you really cause his death? Or should I ask…did you really kill him yourself?”

Mav already knew Nightmare's tactics. He knew that manipulation was an integral part of the man's cruel toolkit.

He also knew, since Nightmare didn't hide it, that he was doing all this because he wanted to break them so that they would become more obedient. And in order to do this, he gladly and expertly mixed lies with truths. 

He knew that he was just taking advantage of his remorse, his guilt, his anger towards himself and his grief, but his words still struck him so hard that he was unable to remove himself from their influence.

Because manipulation or not, Mav actually agreed with the accusations against him. And now he sat there, tied to the chair, stunned.

“It was an accident! There was no intention behind it, but if you really want to find someone to blame, I'm here! I made a mistake and I take full responsibility for it. So you can stop your accusations and leave the memory of Nick Bradshaw alone!” 

He heard all of Iceman's words clearly, but they didn't quite reach him. It was as if a closed door had been placed between them and Mav was searching in vain for the key…

Because the key lay in whether he could at least partially forgive himself, whether he could let go of what had happened, whether he could keep the memory of Goose in his heart without being crushed by guilt.

But how to do it? 

Maybe he would be able to do so, but not in a few hours, and not even in days, weeks, or months; but maybe, maybe in many, many years.

Now, however, he had hardly had as much time as a blink of an eye. If he was stuck in his grief and guilt he wouldn’t be able to help the others. No matter how he was feeling inside, what was consuming him, and how brutally difficult it was at this moment, he had to put it all aside somehow. 

He had to be present.

He wanted to be present.

But it was so terribly difficult to do it. He heard many voices around him, Nightmare, Ice, Slider, but was unable to focus on any of them, even though they became more and more intense with every word.

What should I do?

He wanted to be there for his companions since he was the one who led their riot, who landed them in their current situation. And he wanted to be there for Ice, since the man had called him his wingman up there.

He felt as if that word held some mystical power, as if they had sealed their newly formed alliance with it, which, although at first it had seemed to stand on weak legs, grew stronger by the minute.

Apparently their subconscious minds had realized sooner that the two of them were actually not that different from each other, and in the ways they were, they would complement each other. Like a two-piece puzzle: the pieces are at certain points completely opposite to each other, but that is precisely why they fit together so perfectly and form a whole.

Even though they flew side by side only a few minutes, Mav could whole-heartedly accept being Ice’s wingman, and as one he became responsible for the man even more than before. 

From the rising intensity of the voices he knew Ice had brought trouble on himself by speaking up. And he heard him calling his name. Ice might need him…

So he tried with all his willpower to shut out Nightmare's words, to close his ears to them and only open them to what Ice was saying. However, his conscience seemed to be his enemy as it immediately reminded him: You think you’re responsible for Ice now… well, you were also responsible for Goose and look what happened! Look what you did! Nightmare is right!

“Every word he says is a lie!” He heard Ice’s voice immediately contradicting what his guilt had told him. And he was right. Nightmare had managed to manipulate him before, he couldn’t let that happen again…

Ice told him that morning that he was trying to trust him, and he could see that he was: he called him wingman, he completely relied on him when he needed help in landing, and he accepted his words during their fight for their freedom. He couldn’t fail that growing trust... 

He failed to take care of Goose, but he could try to do it better with Ice…

In that moment he heard an almost animalistic scream that suddenly pulled him back to the present. 

Ice was really in trouble.

Because of the tears that gathered in his eyes (when did they even get there?), at first he could hardly see what was happening in front of him, what was happening to the blond pilot, what was being done to him. But he could find his eyes, and his voice finally reached him, not only in his ears, but also in his mind and heart.

“Don’t let him break you, Mav! We need you! Promise me you won't give up!” Ice shouted at him, defying the immediate danger surrounding him. 

I have to help him! Mav urged himself, but he was still unable to do anything. He tried to speak, but no sound came out of his throat. Maybe his lips didn’t even move. Although his consciousness was awake, his body still seemed to be frozen. It refused to cooperate with his will once more, forcing him to helplessly watch through how Nightmare punished Ice for sticking up for him.

This was not Ice's first punishment that Mav was made to watch literally with his hands tied, and it was not even the cruellest one, but it was the first time the blond pilot had taken the risk and suffering for Mav, completely of his own free will… 

Their relationship has come a long way to get here, and the last few days had been particularly intense with mistrust, disagreements, accusations, misunderstandings, and the shadow of the dislike they had felt for each other before; but yet with deeper and more and more open and honest conversations, connection, and now mutual help and protection also.

Mav was deeply touched by this selflessness towards him, but he had no way to see the positive side of it all, to think about what it meant to him, to them. No, now (as so many times before) there was only a feeling of boundless rage and worry. Rage for being unable to stop Nightmare and his men, for being completely powerless against them, for not being able to help Ice in any meaningful way; and worry, because he did not see exactly what it was that caused Ice such pain that he finally cried out.

Mav looked, alarmed, at the knife Nightmare was now quickly putting away, and then at Ice, who after being manhandled remained crouched on the ground with his head down.

Did that bastard stab him?

His eyes darted here and there in search of blood, and although he didn't see any he still couldn't calm down. He knew something had happened.

In the next moment Nightmare's approaching form covered the blond pilot from his sight, but Ice's words continued to ring in his ears: “Don’t let him break you, Mav! We need you! Promise me you won't give up!”

Like a recording on continuous replay, he heard the request over and over again as he himself began to say it like a mantra:

I won’t break!

They need me!

I won’t give up!

When Nightmare reached him for a few seconds he could see Ice again. He was still in the same position; but then he lifted his head and their eyes could finally really meet. Mav could clearly see him now, could see that Ice’s ever-unwavering resolve was now shadowed by shame, pain, and bitterness. But he could also see how those feelings turned into surprised relief upon realising that Mav returned his gaze.

It couldn’t last for long, though, because Nightmare began to speak again, right in Mav's face, so that he could not be ignored. No matter how hard he fought it, more and more words seeped through the weak defences of his tormented soul. Until finally Ice's words disappeared and only Nightmare's accusations remained:

“…we all know that the RIO is primarily the responsibility of his pilot…”

“…your childish rivalry was another thing you irresponsibly dragged Lieutenant Bradshaw into…”

“…if you had behaved more maturely and soundly, there would not have been a wife without a husband and a small child without his dad…” 

“…you did not stop being reckless…“

“…you took away the beloved husband and father…”

“…you are a murderer… the murderer of your best friend… Congratulations!” 

The man finished, then patting him on the shoulder he stepped away. 

He searched for Ice’s face again in the hope that his gaze would be able to ground him, and he quickly met sorrowful, worried, angry, and somehow guilty blue-grey eyes. However, this time he couldn’t hold eye contact. His darker thoughts once more began to push him into a cruel spiral.

His vision blurred as he felt the nowadays all too familiar stinging sensation that only gathering tears caused.

There were so many of them that some had to run down his face to make room for others.

He bowed his head to follow the falling drops and watched as they were absorbed by the khaki of his flight suit.  A few moments, and they disappeared without a trace…

I have to get Nightmare's words out of my head in exactly the same way, without a trace. Such a vile person has no right to talk about Goose…

“Don’t let him break you, Mav!”

He has no right to talk about love and friendship… He’s just a filthy, manipulative, lying, sadistic and utterly evil scumbag…

“We need you!”

I can’t let Goose’s memory and my guilt paralyse me anymore, when I should be present to help others… I can’t freeze when they need me…

“Promise me you won't give up!”

I have to keep fighting!

I can’t give up!

I won’t give up!

I won’t break!

They need me and I’m here!

And this time he really felt that he could fight his demons. Ice’s words gave him enough strength and determination that he was able to overcome the panic and the crippling feelings that always possessed him whenever he was reminded of the accident. He was somehow able to turn them into an inner power, and Goose’s memory became the fuel that fed it, because he knew his RIO would never let down those who needed protection. 

Mav also has to keep fighting and, as Ice asked him, he couldn’t give up, he couldn’t let Nightmare win, he couldn't let him hurt his friends any more…

“Thank you!” he spoke up, surprising everyone. Although Nightmare seemed to be satisfied over his astonishment. He must have thought the words were meant for him, but Mav lifted his head up to once more search for that other pair of blue eyes, which he immediately found. They were anything but ice cold and emotionless. He looked deep into them to let him know that the gratitude was for him.

“I really needed to hear these words,” he admitted, and with his gaze he also tried to express that he had taken them to heart, that Ice could count on him, they all could count on him now. He wasn’t sure if he succeeded in conveying his message, but he had to look away in order to make Nightmare believe that the words were for him, so that he could at least give a verbal retort to the man.

“They helped me realize something I had already suspected: You are a master… The master of manipulation, emotional terrorizing, and of violence hidden behind feigned politeness. Unfortunately, I can’t call you an absolute liar, but I can call you an insidious worm.”

He couldn’t say more, as he was quickly silenced with a strip of duct tape, but he had said enough to make it clear to Nightmare that he could no longer play his manipulative games on him.

However, he couldn’t celebrate this small victory for long, as Nightmare soon revealed what proved to be his cruellest punishment yet.

…

They knew that if their escape attempt failed, they would face brutal retribution for their disobedience. They all knew too well by now that Nightmare, this sadistic psychopathic animal (because he could hardly be called a human), lived by torturing others, that he was only happy when he could cause pain in some way. And that was exactly what he was doing now: causing tremendous pain to all of them, while his face really did have a cheerful, almost lustful grin as he eagerly watched and waited for the consequences of his increasingly horrible orders. 

Slider and Wolfman quickly realized that it was "better" to complete Nightmare's "tasks" at once than try to delay the inevitable, since each try meant more punches and kicks for Ice and Wood, and more cuts for Mav.

Mav yelled, cursed, and raged inwardly; and to the promises he made to Ice, he added one more: he vowed to himself that he would take revenge on Nightmare for all the anguish he had caused.

It would have been hard to say who was most affected by the punishment.

Ice and Wood had to bear the most physically, while Slider and Wolf suffered mentally, and he himself, as the guarantee, was forced to endure a perfect mixture of both physical and mental pain.

His blood had dyed his T-shirt almost completely red, and the countless cuts covering his body—sometimes deep, sometimes superficial—stung and burned; but the mental burden took a toll on Mav a thousand times worse.

He quickly realised that he was given this "role" not only because he no longer had a RIO, but because Nightmare was able to raise the mountain of his guilt even higher with this.

He already felt that he was primarily responsible for the failure of their escape attempt, that everyone was receiving the punishment because of him. But the fact that they blackmailed and kept the others in check through him only fuelled the fire of his self-blame. That made all the punches, kicks, and other hurts that Ice and Wood received, and all the mental pain the two RIOs suffered, his fault.

Mav was sure that Nightmare knew exactly how he would feel. And maybe the man even knew that Mav was not only hurt by guilt, but also overcome with shame when, after every “task,” all four of his companions watched him with worried eyes, waiting for the verdict of their captor.

He was terribly ashamed that he had doubted them for a single moment. After all, it was only two days ago that he had been wondering, following Nightmare's manipulative words, whether he mattered to the others, whether they would make any sacrifice for him. And now that he saw that these four people, in whom he was afraid to trust, would even go through fire for him, he felt himself completely undeserving of their concern and care. The first half hour was the most difficult from this aspect, because their eyes were still clear then. But then slowly everyone was immersed in their own agony…

Perhaps Hollywood and Wolfman were the "luckiest," if anyone could be called lucky in such circumstances. Sometime at the end of that half hour or so, Wood lost consciousness. He was already in a daze from the head injury he received during the escape attempt, and now several more slaps and punches had been added to it. However, the icing on the cake was when Nightmare ordered the two RIOs to take the faces of their pilots, who had already fallen to the ground, between their hands and smash their heads into the concrete floor.

Wolfman couldn't bear to look Hollywood in the eye; instead he took a deep breath and carried out the “task” with his eyes closed. After that the pilot blinked a few more times, but by the time Nightmare gave his next command, he had passed out.

“What are you waiting for, Lieutenant Wolfe? Maybe you did not hear my next order?” Nightmare asked the RIO. “Kick your pilots in the stomach!” The man repeated his command, while he started towards Wolfman. 

“See? That is it!” He happily nodded towards Ice, who was almost suffocating from coughing, caused by the kick.

“Good job, Lieutenant Kerner!” He complimented Slider, then turned back to Wolf and Wood realised what had happened. He kicked the pilot one more time, probably to make sure he wasn't just faking unconsciousness, and when he didn’t move Nightmare’s grin became even wider and he congratulated the RIO with a pat on his shoulder.

“Lieutenant Wolfe, you have all my appreciation! Thank you very much for your active participation. You are done for today. I hope you had as much fun as I did,” he stated cheerfully, and while Wolfman fell onto his knees beside Wood, sobbing desperately and muttering apologies, he motioned for Crooked Teeth, Tattoo, and Happiness to accompany them back to the basement.

“Maybe you should help Lieutenant Kazansky cope with this nasty cough…” Nightmare noted cheerfully to Slider as he walked past him and stood back next to Mav. “Stomp between his shoulder blades,” he ordered to the astonished RIO. “I am sure it will help… one way or the other…”

Wood and Wolf thus escaped further torture. There were only three of them left, and at least two of them now knew how long Nightmare's cruel game would last: until Ice broke…

And the blond pilot was undeniably looking worse and worse. Even though he first tried to show himself strong and unaffected—Mav suspected that he did it both to reassure Slider and to annoy Nightmare—after another half hour he didn't even have enough strength left to struggle himself to a standing position, as he had done before every other "task.”

He now remained curled in on himself on the ground, and after a while he had completely spontaneous coughing fits regardless of the torture, and more and more he audibly struggled to breathe.

In his gaze, the determination and cool stoicism that were so characteristic of him could still be found; but he seemed to no longer be fully present, or to not fully understand what was happening around him. It was truly heartbreaking to see him still trying to hold on to Ron even in this state, while the RIO was unable to look him in the eyes and his tearstained face showed that he was almost completely out of his mind from being forced to beat his best friend half to death.

Mav felt nauseous as he thought that, while he was growing to respect Ice for his persistence, he was actually rooting for his body to give up the fight. But he was also sick of having to keep watching the agony of the two men.

He was so focused on Ice and Slider that he almost forgot about his own body, which bore the burning marks of at least twenty cuts. He felt utterly sorry for them and became more and more worried about the mental impact this would have on the two of them. Moreover, not only on the two of them, but also on all five of them, and on the relationship and alliance between them. After all, none of them was left unscathed, and although against their will, their injuries were all caused by each other. Nightmare's punishment was a merciless culmination of all his previous manipulative tactics.

Meanwhile, the man calmly observed the events, knowing exactly what enormous damage he was causing under the surface. That seemed to be what really made him alive: leaving pain, destruction and ruin after himself. 

But after a certain point, his interest seemed to have started to wane. Maybe he expected Iceman to break faster and easier. He looked almost bored as he watched the blond pilot's struggle with another coughing fit. However, suddenly an evil, greedy light glinted in his eyes once more. Mav was sure he had a new idea.

“I really appreciate your dogged persistence, Lieutenant Kazansky, but I must admit I am getting bored. I think it is time to speed things up,” he announced, then gleefully turned to Slider. “Lieutenant Kerner, how about we take a closer look at that right wrist?”

Mav saw Ice's already pale face turn completely white hearing this. Then the blond pilot’s pained look after twin-two had stomped his arm with his boot flashed through his memories and he almost heard Ice’s anguished cry again before he was brutally silenced. 

With that the picture came together and Mav was sure now that it was that wrist they hurt even then. The fear in Ice’s eyes was more than enough confirmation. The question is, how badly did they hurt it?

“Lieutenant Kerner, step to your pilot and take his right hand, please!” Nightmare ordered and Slider reluctantly stepped to Ice. Describing the way he looked as terrified was closest to the truth, but it still was an understatement.

The RIO took Ice’s hand into his hands as gently as he could, but no matter how careful he was the pilot’s whole body twitched to the touch as if he had been electrocuted. 

This is not good… Mav thought with growing concern. That injury already looks pretty serious.

“If you are ready, you can start twisting his wrist as hard as you can,” Nightmare told Slider in an expectant voice.

He can’t make him break it, right? Mav was horrified by the thought of what would happen then. 

Perhaps Slider was thinking about that too, because he hesitated to carry out the order again. Mav knew by now that Ron “Slider” Kerner may have seemed like a callous muscle-bound brute at first glance, but he was actually a gentle soul who wouldn’t hurt a fly. And for the past hour, this man had been forced to cause pain to his pilot whom he loved like a little brother…

Another memory flashed into his mind: the moment when, after Ice’s near drowning, Slider comforted him, and it hit Mav for the first time how real and deep the bond and affection between the two of them was. He remembered how enviously he looked at them, that they could still be there for each other, while he had lost his best friend…

“You didn’t say a single word, just looked at me with a bitter face, as if you had bit into a lemon…” the words suddenly echoed in his mind.

Damn it, Ice! He swore, realising that that was the very moment the blond pilot told him about, when he misinterpreted his expression as hate. 

“I saw the contempt in your eyes,” he recalled as Ice’s exact words from the morning, and upon his realisation he felt even more devastated looking at the blond man now. 

The jealousy he previously felt was long gone. Mav was grateful that Goose didn’t have to go through this hell. And he felt guilt and immense pity towards the other two pairs. He had no idea how their friendships would be able to survive after this. 

“Come on, Lieutenant Kerner! What are you waiting for?” Nightmare’s impatient question brought Mav’s attention back to Slider, who didn't move, just held Ice's hand.

“Do it!” Nightmare ordered again, this time more irritated, and emphasising his words he waved his knife in front of Mav.

“No!” Slider said then in the most decisive voice he could.

Nightmare just stared at him speechlessly for a long moment, while Mav's gaze flicked from the RIO to the pilot and then back. He knew that there would be consequences for Slider's defiance, but didn’t know which one of the two would be punished for it.

“Well, I see you need a bit of motivation,” Nightmare said with a telling look, then unexpectedly plunged his knife into Mav's thigh, who couldn't help but scream from the sudden sharp pain. His thoughts were so consumed with concern for the other two that he had forgotten that he himself was also still in the “game”. He stared with clenched teeth at the handle protruding from his leg, which Nightmare slowly began to rotate, taunting the RIO…

The pain was excruciating, and for a moment Mav wondered what would happen if he was the one to pass out next.

Then, as he stared at the knife's slow rotation, it occurred to him that Ice would surely feel similar pain in his wrist if Slider obeyed. This thought helped him to tear his gaze away from the knife and look back at the duo. He tried to block out the pain by concentrating on them.

His gaze met with Slider’s, but the RIO quickly turned his head away and started staring at his hand holding Ice’s… Then suddenly he looked up at Mav once more, then down at Ice again, as if waiting for approval, until finally he closed his eyes and, taking a deep breath, exclaimed:

“Stop! I’ll do it!”

“Great decision. Let us see it!” Nightmare said enthusiastically and pulled the knife out of Mav's thigh, who found himself glaring at his leg again.

He was not well-versed in medical matters. He only knew the basic first aid needed for flying and motorcycling, and even that knowledge had eroded somewhat over the years, but now it occurred to him that in the case of a puncture wound, the object causing the puncture should not be removed... 

Suddenly he felt nauseous and broke out in a sweat.

Shit, shit, shit, he cursed to himself and tried to pull himself together. His thigh was throbbing terribly, and it was extremely frustrating that he couldn't even put his hand on the wound, but to his surprise it seemed not to be bleeding as much as he had expected. So, although he felt he needed superhuman strength and will to do it, he turned his gaze back to Ice and Slider, and attempted to focus on them with every nerve fibre once again.

Slider closed his eyes for a moment, then, as if receiving some kind of signal, he nodded slightly, and after taking another deep breath, he slowly began to twist Ice's wrist.

The pilot's entire body became tense in an instant: resting his forehead against the cold stone, he closed his eyes tightly; the knuckles on his left hand turned whiter and whiter as he clenched it into a fist; and although it wasn't visible because of the tape, Mav was sure that he was biting on the rag in his mouth hard with his teeth. Ice used up his last reserves of strength, his last shreds of willpower to be able to remain silent, so that he didn't give a clear sign of his pain. In the end, he started kicking the floor in agony, but then he couldn't take it anymore.

A deep, agonizing cry tore from his throat, to which a few moments later another scream joined. It was Slider, screaming along with Ice. Then Ice’s body, after a strange popping, cracking sound, finally went limp in his best friend’s hands…

And after a final cry of "No!" the RIO fell silent, then quietly and carefully pulled his pilot into his arms, and, with soft tears, touching his forehead to Ice's, he started gently rocking the almost lifeless body.

“Well, that was really fun, guys!” Nightmare ruined even this moment with his cheerful words. “You three are the most entertaining prisoners I have ever had. I particularly like Lieutenant Kazansky, but I was also genuinely impressed by your performance today, Lieutenant Kerner!” The man told Slider and then turned to Mav. 

“Lieutenant Mitchell, I am sincerely grateful to you for your kind cooperation! Without your effective help, we could not have had such a good time!” Nightmare patted Mav on the shoulder as a feigned friendly gesture, while his honeyed words further pressed the burden of responsibility and guilt on him. Then he signalled to his minions in the room that they were finished and could be taken back to the cellar. 

Twin-one immediately walked over to Mav to cut his ties, while Twin-two and Slapper stood in front of Slider, but when they tried to take Iceman out of his arms, Slider became stubborn and, holding him even tighter, declared in a voice that would not tolerate contradiction:

“I will take him.”

Nightmare's eyebrows rose, but then he just waved.

“You know what, Lieutenant Kerner? I will let you take Lieutenant Kazansky. But in this case I will accompany you…”

The journey back to their basement cell was agonizing and long. Mav was initially surprised that the usual precautions had not been taken; moreover, not only was he not given a bag over his head, but they also didn't tie him up again after they cut the duct tape from his hands and legs and let him tear it off his mouth as well. They just pushed him in front of them to follow the RIO.

Even if Mav thought about trying to break away from them somehow, he quickly forgot about the idea after taking the first few steps. His leg was painful, on fire with every tiny movement, as if Nightmare’s knife was still in his thigh. The only relief was pressing his palm over the wound, but that brought its own agony. Mav had no idea how he would be able to limp back to their room and it was frustrating to see Nightmare’s telling grin following their every move.

Because the man, of course, suspected how painful this walk would be for them, so true to his promise he accompanied them, and he was the first to laugh when Slider could no longer bear the dead weight of Ice's unconscious body and fell to his knees with him. No one stopped Mav as he limped over to help the RIO keep carrying the pilot. Nightmare and his men had a lot of fun watching the two of them struggle before they somehow managed to drag Ice to the basement.

In the meantime, Ice had regained his consciousness. It was clear from his confused gaze that he was slowly piecing together what was happening around him, and in the end he closed his eyes, perhaps escaping into the benevolent darkness from the pain or the shame he might have felt upon his condition, and he might have passed out again.

When they finally got there and the door opened and then closed behind them, Wolfman immediately jumped to them.

“Jesus…” fell from his mouth as he looked at the three of them and without a word he stepped over to help lower Ice to the ground.

“We should lay him on his side—just be very careful with his hand,” Mav told Wolf, then turned to Slider. “Sit down, Sli, we’re gonna put him on your lap.” The RIO nodded with a blank expression and silently changed places with Wolf so that he could follow Mav’s instruction. 

“What happened to his hand?” Wolf asked, while he stepped next to the other RIO to swap places with him. 

Mav unwillingly glanced at Slider, who turned completely pale at the question and looked away to avoid both of their eyes. Mav winced internally and simply replied, “It might be broken.”

Fortunately, Wolf didn't ask any more questions. He understood everything without them.

“Wood?” Mav asked meanwhile, looking for the third pilot.

“I’m fine, Mav,” he heard the unconvincing answer from across the room. Wood was lying against the wall, one hand covering his eyes.

“He might have a concussion,” Wolf replied quietly, with a similar expression that Slider had, eyes downcast. 

Mav also looked down and noticed that Ice was awake again. This time he seemed fully conscious, silently accepting and enduring everything they did to him.

“It’s okay, you’ll be free soon,” Mav tried to comfort him, while they somehow managed to carefully place him on Slider's lap with his face towards the RIO. Slider was leaning against the wall in a half cross-legged position so that he could hold Ice as comfortably as possible, and in his movements he was as gentle with him as ever. But Mav noticed he didn’t neither spoke to his pilot nor looked him in the eye.

I don’t like this…

“Sli, hold him there,” he instructed the RIO again. He hoped that by giving him simple tasks he could jolt him out of whatever miserable thoughts he was stuck in.

“Let’s get rid of this fucking duct tape!” He kept talking to Ice and lightly patted his shoulder. Something told him that the ever-stoic pilot needed encouragement and reassurance right now, and if Slider couldn't provide it, someone else would have to. After all, they had unofficially accepted each other as wingmen up there…

“Hang in there, Kazansky,” he said, while searching for the end of the tape that covered Ice’s mouth. He had barely begun, however, when Ice suddenly tensed, and in the next moment his whole body was shaking from another violent coughing fit. The pilot buried his face in the crook of Slider's strong arm as if he wanted to hide from it, but he couldn’t escape.

“Hurry up! He’s gonna choke!” Mav urged Wolfman, who seemed to be lost in his own thoughts, but to his astonishment the RIO, instead of helping, abruptly stood up and ran into the shower. “I have an idea,” he shouted and disappeared behind the door of the small room. 

“I hope it’s a good one,” Mav murmured and looked at Slider, who sat stiffly and stared aghast and wordlessly at his friend in his arms.

"Here!" Wolf was suddenly back, crouched down next to them again, holding out a long, sharp piece of the broken mirror in the bathroom. Mav took the hefty piece in disbelief, and another thought suddenly crossed his mind, but he pushed it aside for now, because it was more important to concentrate on Ice, whose coughing seemed to have subsided somewhat. 

Mav placed his hand carefully on his shoulder again. "We're here, Ice. As much as your cough allows, try not to move your head or I'll cut you," he told the blond pilot, who nodded slightly, and Mav squeezed his shoulder once more before letting go. Then, using the piece of mirror, he began to cut through the duct tape behind Ice’s ear. 

Slider held his pilot with firm arms throughout, but otherwise he remained silent and passive, so no matter how unusual the role was for Mav he continued to try to keep the tortured pilot's spirits up with soothing words. The truth was that Mav had already been worried after Ice survived ‘the clean method’ that the trauma he had suffered might break him, even though Ice had still been able to be cool and tough back then, or at least give the appearance of being so. But now, Mav did not miss the fear, sometimes almost panic-like, that reigned in each glimpse of the blue eyes…

Unfortunately, he knew all too well what it felt like to be broken into a million pieces and then try to pick up those pieces to somehow rebuild himself. He knew what it was like to just lie, body functional but completely empty inside, like a clam shell, tossed back and forth by the waves. And he was also painfully aware of how easy it was to stay there once on the floor…

After all, he had spent the past two weeks picking up the pieces of his broken soul, and it was only a few days ago that he had almost given up. He had been just a hair away from getting on his motorcycle and trying to get as far away from everything as possible. And that would have been exactly the biggest mistake he could have made, because with that he would have only continued to carry the million fragments of his soul.

Instead, he had decided to stay to try to somehow put the pieces back together, and although he was still a long way from truly being well, he felt like he was at least on the right track.

How much easier it is when you have someone by your side to lean on. He looked at Ice. 

Or when you have someone who catches you before you fall and break. His gaze found Slider again. The RIO, however, looked as if he was already in pieces himself…

Mav could see tremendous relief on Ice’s face when he was finally freed even from the rag, but it lasted only for a few moments as the cough continued to torment the pilot. 

And the dealing with his wrist was still to come…

“Now let’s free his hands and look at that injury,” Wolf said, taking control.

Mav simply nodded to the RIO, and when Ice finished coughing, leaning closer to his ear he asked, “You okay Ice? Ready to go on?”

“Yeah, just…” the pilot started in a hoarse voice.

“We’re gonna be careful,” Mav finished instead of him, suspecting what Ice wanted to ask. 

"Since we don't know what condition it's in,” Wolf said, “let's assume the worst. We should be really careful while removing the tape so that we could keep the hand as still as possible.” 

Mav nodded again, then gently touched Ice’s injured hand. It felt hot, and as he leaned closer, he saw that it was starting to discolour under the tape.

“Do you know how to recognize if it's really a fracture?” he asked the RIO, because he didn't dare make a judgment on his own.

“Intense pain, swelling, redness or bruising, numbness, partial or complete immobility of the affected limb, visible deformity…” Wolf listed, and Mav looked at him with wide eyes. "My father is a paramedic," the RIO explained, answering his unasked question.

“I didn’t know that,” Mav admitted, but he only noted to himself how useful that knowledge could be now as he turned his gaze back to Ice’s wrist. “Okay, then you try to hold his arm still while I cut the tape.” He quickly decided on roles, and finally they were able to free the injured hand. Wolf held it carefully, examining it, but they both saw immediately that Ice's wrist was an angry purple and somehow unnaturally positioned, and then, almost as one, they both looked at Slider at the same time, who was staring at his pilot's right hand with an expression on his face like he was about to be sick.

Mav and Wolf exchanged a telling, worried look before the RIO spoke: “I'll keep holding his hand, you two turn him on his back.”

Mav placed the piece of mirror on the ground near the wall and supported Ice's back with one hand, while holding his left arm with the other so that he could pull it out from under him while he was being turned.

“If anything we do hurts, let us know!” Mav told Ice, then signalled to Slider to start. Without a word, the RIO obediently, almost mechanically, lowered his pilot from his chest, and although Ice, as soon as he was face up, immediately began to seek his friend’s gaze, Slider avoided meeting the grey-blue eyes.

Damn it, Slider, don’t do that! Mav scolded the RIO, recognizing the obvious signs of guilt. Of course, he actually understood him very well, but he also knew, and saw clearly now that Ice was facing them, how much Kazansky would need him.

Who’s gonna catch him then, before he falls and breaks? He asked himself the question he intended for Slider, while the blond pilot, after trying in vain to meet his RIO’s gaze, finally turned towards Mav and Wolf with visibly painful resignation.

“Can you move it?” Wolfman asked, catching the pilot's eye. 

Ice moved his fingers as if he wanted to clench his fist, but they could see from his face that even those small attempts at movement were accompanied by excruciating pain.

Mav glanced again at Slider. His face was now almost green.

“Not really,” Ice finally replied in a low, hoarse voice. He cleared his throat before asking again, “What’s your verdict, Wolf?”

“Look, I’m not a doctor, I just heard things from my father,” Wolfman apologized, then told the pilot with a sigh, “but that definitely looks like a fracture… I’m sorry Ice.”

“Damn,” the pilot groaned and, looking upwards, sniffed… And Slider couldn’t take it anymore.

“I’m sorry, Tom… I… I’m… so sorry… I’m sorry Tom…” he mumbled to the pilot, while he half-lifted him up, crawled out from under him, and practically pushed him into Mav's arms, then without looking back, rushed into the bathroom and slammed the door behind him…

Chapter Text

The concepts of suffering and pain took on a whole new meaning, a much greater depth, than Ice had ever wanted. However, Nightmare had made sure that their knowledge in this field was as thorough as possible.

When he regained consciousness, he felt all kinds of pain all over his body all at once: sometimes it was dull, sometimes it throbbed wildly, sometimes it was sharp and blinding; but he was nevertheless overcome by relief when he realized that their torture was finally over…

He slowly opened his eyes and saw Maverick looking down at him with a worried expression. His body seemed to be floating. But he soon realized that Mav and Slider were carrying him, the former holding his legs, the latter reaching under his arms, leaning Ice's upper body against his chest, while mocking laughter rang out from somewhere behind them.

Embarrassing… the word sluggishly appeared in his mind, only to disappear in an instant, giving way to other confused fragments of thought that lazily chased each other in Ice's foggy consciousness. He closed his eyes, because even this slow billowing movement made him almost dizzy.

He must have slipped back into unconsciousness, because later he didn't remember how they finally got to the basement room.

His mind only really cleared when they were inside, and the others holding him began to deliberate about how to free him from his bonds and how to set him down, until they finally found the position they thought would be the least painful for him and laid him on Ron's lap.

They couldn't have known that such a position hardly existed for Ice at this moment. There wasn't more painful or less painful, there was just PAIN in all capital letters. His whole body ached, but his right hand throbbed most unbearably, and it was as if an elephant was sitting on his chest not wanting to move.

Although he tried not to show it outwardly, the closer he got to being finally free of the gag, the more desperately he wanted to get it off. While he had previously been able to hold on for the others, now it seemed as if all his strength and willpower had left him. He felt panic watching him like a lurking predator, and as he started coughing again, it immediately pounced on him greedily and bit into his heart. For a few moments he was convinced he was going to suffocate. He tried to push the terrified thought out of his mind, to focus on something else, while he kept begging for them to hurry up and for himself to hold on a little longer. 

As a last resort, he buried his head in the crook of his best friend’s arm, but for some reason even Ron's presence couldn't calm him down. His RIO's strong arms, though they held him firmly, lacked comforting warmth. Somehow the entire man remained uncharacteristically rigid, like a stone statue.

"We're here, Ice. As much as your cough allows, try not to move your head or I'll cut you." He heard Maverick's voice and felt the encouraging squeeze on his shoulder. But it was so hard to do what he asked. Tears sprang to his eyes involuntarily as he tried to hold back his cough, while panic whispered in his ear that he didn't have enough air, that he would suffocate, just like Nightmare wanted: with a fucking piece of rag in his mouth, a piece of his own T-shirt, just to make it even more humiliating...

On the one hand, it was a huge relief when he could finally spit out the rag after what seemed like hours, but on the other hand, it didn't get that much easier. The cough remained almost as painful and suffocating as it had been with the gag. He felt as if something was still blocking his airway. Or was it just the oppressive atmosphere that made him feel that way?

There was a certain coldness in the air that had nothing to do with the occasional chills running through his body. This coldness was fed by remorse, shame, bewilderment, and his own fear of loss and solitude…

“You okay, Ice? Ready to go on?” Mav asked him when his coughing finally subsided. “We’re gonna be careful,” the pilot promised. “If anything we do hurts, let us know!” 

That was the moment it hit Ice: 

Why is it Mav who's comforting me, anyway? Where’s Ron?

It wasn’t that he had any problem with Mitchell. On the contrary, although he wouldn't have admitted it to the pilot, his words, his care, the hand he put encouragingly on Ice’s shoulder, really helped him. Mav was giving him a sense of security, and in fact, in the most difficult moments, he clung to his presence as if he were the one rock he could hold on to to save himself from falling into the abyss.

The problem was that the one rock Ice had been able to hold on to since the beginning of their ten-year old friendship was Ron Kerner. It should have been him even now, and the fact that someone else had to fill in that role instead of his RIO terrified Ice.

Where is Ron? He repeated his previous question worriedly, because even though he knew that his best friend’s arms were holding him, the real Ron was nowhere to be found. His body was there, but he wasn’t really present in that body. But Ice desperately needed his best friend's presence.

When he was finally turned onto his back and was able to look up at Ron, it was clear that the man was avoiding his gaze.

Nothing will ever be right, ever again… His own earlier thoughts came to his mind: his fear of what would happen if they could break Ron, his fear of losing their friendship, a loss he knew would break him too.

He just needs a little time, Ice tried to reassure himself, but concern still took hold of his heart.

He knew Ron would blame himself for what had happened, for Ice’s every injury. No matter that he himself would never blame his friend for this, not for a moment. After all, neither of them had a choice. They had been in Nightmare's grip all along.

But knowing Ron, that wouldn't be enough for him to forgive himself.

Although he felt it was pointless, he still waited for a while, hoping that Ron would look at him, until he finally turned his gaze towards Mav and Wolf. It suddenly became unbearable that even though he was lying in his best friend's arms, he was getting further and further away from him.

“Can you move it?” Wolfman asked, catching Ice's eye, jolting him out of his worries about Slider, only to make him face another miserable problem: the condition of his wrist. He knew it was inevitable, but he wasn't ready to hear what he suspected he would hear. He couldn’t be ready without the support of his best friend…

In the end, he gathered himself and moved his fingers. Each tiny movement felt like it sent a series of electric shocks down Ice's entire arm.

He closed his eyes tightly and clenched his jaw as he tried to overcome the pain so that he could at least clench his hand into a fist. But at a certain point neither pain nor willpower mattered, because he was simply unable to move his fingers any further.

“Not really,” he admitted to the others. He looked up at Slider again, whose arms seemed to tremble and his embrace to weaken, making Ice feel as if that abyss he feared to fall into was not under him, but between him and Ron…

“What’s your verdict, Wolf?” he finally asked, not wanting to listen to his own increasingly negative thoughts. Wolfman hesitated a bit before giving the straight answer:

“That definitely looks like a fracture… I’m sorry, Ice.”

“Damn.” Screw it, screw it…!

Slider unexpectedly started to move behind him. For a moment, Ice thought, he hoped, that maybe the fog of guilt had finally lifted from Ron's eyes, and he would finally be by his side again, as he had been for ten years. But as he heard the confused, almost terrified mumbling, it broke both his hopes and his heart in an instant.

“I’m sorry, Tom… I… I’m… so sorry… I’m sorry Tom…” Slider repeated his apology as he practically pushed him into Maverick's arms and fled into the bathroom.

“Ron! Please wait!” Ice made a desperate attempt to stop him, but the slamming of the door drowned out his voice. He flinched at the sound, and all three of them, even Hollywood, who had risen to his elbows to see what was happening, just stared at the door for a few minutes.

“He just needs time,” Maverick finally said, echoing Ice's earlier thoughts, while he himself now felt that this was only self-deception. 

Nothing would be right, ever again... The thought echoed in his mind once more, and he was grateful that the others couldn't see his face, because he was unable to hold back a few stray tears that rolled out of his eyelashes in frustrated helplessness and pain.

He wanted to go after Ron, he wanted to sit with him in the dirty little bathroom once more, like the RIO had done when he needed it. He wanted to be there for him, he wanted to fix what he feared would irreparably break if he didn't do anything…

I wasn’t strong enough…he realised bitterly, thinking that if he could have endured the pain better, if his body hadn't been so weak, maybe then Ron wouldn’t be behind that door. 

Driven by a sudden surge of inner anger, fuelled by frustration at his own helplessness, he gathered the last of his strength, gritted his teeth, and, suddenly pulling his upper body away from Mav’s supporting hands, stood up to follow Ron.

It wasn’t a good idea…

The movement immediately sent a sharp pain through his arm, sparkling dots began to dance before his eyes, and he felt himself stagger. He desperately tried to grab onto something to stay standing. Somehow he managed to reach the nearest wall, but as soon as his fingers touched the cold stone, his legs gave out and he fell to his knees. His hand was throbbing, he felt nauseous, the world was spinning around him, and no matter how hard he tried to stop it with every nerve fibre in his body, he just couldn't. His ears felt as if they were stuffed with cotton wool, and he could hear nothing but his own too-loud, wheezing breaths.

He hugged his injured right hand with his left and pulled it towards him, bending over it as if he were trying to protect it with his body. He remained in that position, head down, trying to pull himself together and somehow manage to hold on without fainting, hoping at least his dizziness would go away. It seemed like an eternity before he felt his vision begin to clear.

It was then that he felt hands resting on his back and shoulders: Mav on his right, Wolf on his left, kneeling beside him.

“Ice?” The pilot was the first to talk. “You okay?”

Ice nodded. He wasn't feeling well at all, and after what happened, he felt like he might never be well again. But what else could he have replied?

“You need to give him time and some space. I know how he feels,” Wolfman told him, expressing his empathy towards the other RIO.

Ice didn't doubt that it was indeed so: if there was one other person who could know what Ron was feeling, it was Leo, because he had to go through it as well, had been forced to do the same thing. 

Ice wondered how he and Wood were dealing with what had happened. Did they have a chance to talk about it? To forgive each other? Or was Wolf helping him so willingly and eagerly because he also needed some space, some distance from Wood?

He never doubted Wolf's good intentions for a moment, but he just knew that his true place would be elsewhere. Because while Leo knew what Ron might feel, Ice knew what Rick might feel and he was sure that, just like himself, the other pilot would need his best friend the most right now. Not only mentally, but also physically, as Wood may also be seriously injured and require treatment.

Oh damn, Mav got hurt too… How could I have forgotten that? He scolded his foggy mind and his weakness again for being so immersed in his own misery that he didn’t even think about Mitchell’s condition. The countless cuts on the other pilot and the stab wound on his thigh could be much more serious than a mere broken wrist.

“If you want me to, I can try to talk to him,” Mav offered. “But first, let’s find you a more comfortable position and treat your injuries!”

“After yours, Mav!” Ice looked up at Mitchell, who immediately waved dismissively at the severity of his own condition.

“Yeah, sure,” he added, as a kind of distracting reassurance, then turned to the RiO as if he considered the case closed. “Wolf, help me move him!” 

Yet he must have known Ice well enough to know that he was persistent and unwavering in what he wanted to achieve, even in his current state. He propped himself up into a half sitting position with his good hand and stared into Mav’s eyes.

“No, Mav, Wolf’s gonna check your wounds, now,” he declared, emphasizing the last word as if it were a command, his gaze finally settling on the RIO.

 “Okay." Wolf acknowledged the order with some reluctance, and, turning slightly red, guilt in his eyes, he turned to Mav to take a closer look at his cuts. And in that moment Ice realized that Wolf’s eager help towards him was not just because the RIO needed some space from his pilot, but also because Ice was the only one Wolf felt no remorse towards. The man clearly thought himself responsible for Wood's and partly Mav's injuries, which is why he avoided them, just as Ron avoided him.

What a fucking mess, Ice cursed to himself as he watched Wolfman's facial expressions and body language.

“I think this stab wound is the deepest,” Mav told him, resigned to the fact that he would be in the spotlight for the time being. He hooked his fingers on either side of the hole the knife had made on the trouser leg of his flight suit and with one swift movement tore it wider.

“Jesus, Mav, you’re a fucking idiot!” The reproach bursted out of Wolf as he took a closer look at the injury. “Why didn’t you tell me about this earlier?!”

He started examining the wound, and after a few moments he looked up at the pilot, shaking his head in disbelief and still a bit of anger. “You should be glad to be alive, you know! Do you realise that if this had gone in a few inches over, it would have hit the artery? You would have bled out in minutes…”

“Then I guess I was lucky,” Mav replied, still trying to understate his injury, although his face visibly turned a shade whiter. 

“Or Nightmare knew what he was doing,” Wolf noted. “I mean, I won’t be surprised if it turned out that he has knowledge of human anatomy just to be able to torture people more effectively,” he explained and, on second thought, Ice could also easily imagine that about their captor. Considering this, the feeling that the man was playing with them like a cat with mice only grew stronger.

“You haven’t got more wounds like this, have you?” Wolf asked suspiciously, but Mav shook his head in the negative. It seemed to Ice as if Wolf's rigidity had loosened a little, knowing that he hadn't caused the pilot that injury. But when he asked Mav about how he had gotten it, the air froze again.

This time it was Mitchell who blinked a few times at the RIO shamefacedly, then cleared his throat, glanced at the bathroom door behind which was Slider, and finally settled his remorseful gaze on Ice.

“I'm sorry that because of me…” he swallowed and glanced at Ice's wrist. Ice followed his gaze and looked at his own hand, then at Mav’s thigh and it suddenly hit him: Mav could have died because of me… Because Ron wanted to protect me…

“If this had gone in a few inches over…” he recalled Wolf’s previous words and felt himself go paler, too.

“It wasn’t your fault, Mav,” he replied to the other pilot.

“But… what they did to you…” Mav shook his head as if trying to shake out of it the memories of the past hours. Then he looked around at those in the room before his gaze returned to Ice once more. “Please forgive me!” he apologized, as if he hadn’t heard Ice’s previous words. “It was all because of me!” 

Ice didn’t know what to say to that. How to help him get rid of those thoughts. When Nightmare picked Mav to be the one through whom he blackmailed the RIOs to hurt their pilots, Ice suspected that it wasn’t by chance. That bastard knew very well why he did what he did.

Poor guy just can't catch a break from his guilt. He looked sadly at Mav, wishing he could somehow relieve him of the burden of self-blame. After all, some of it should really belong to him…

“We should clean that wound.” Wolf was the one to break the silence, then he stood up and headed for the bathroom. It must have occurred to him as he reached the door that Slider was still hiding inside, and he muttered a curse under his breath. But then he turned the handle and went in. 

Ice looked after him expectantly, hoping that one RIO would say a word or two to the other and Ron would finally venture out to be with Ice.

However, Wolf returned alone holding his own wet T-shirt in his hand. Seeing Ice's gaze, he shook his head with pity in his eyes, then returned to Mav's side and silently began to carefully wipe the area around the wound. When he was done, he grabbed the mirror piece from where Mav had put it and cut a longer strip from the T-shirt to wrap it around Mav's thigh.

“You really are lucky,” Wolf wondered. “It’s not even bleeding that badly. But it would be better if we put something like a pressure bandage on it,” he decided. “How much can you move your leg? Can you put weight on it?”

“It hurts when I put weight on it or move it, especially when I bend my knee..." the pilot replied.

“Whenever you can, try to rest it stretched out, and when you’re lying down try to elevate it…” advised the RIO, knowing that the possibilities for this were limited.

“All three of you need medical attention,” Wolf looked around at them. “But we all saw what that meant to Nightmare earlier.” He shuddered at the memory.

Then he sighed deeply, gathering himself before turning to Mav and speaking again. “Now let’s see those cuts!”

“They're not deep, Wolf, you don't need to worry about them,” Mav tried to avoid dealing with those wounds for the RIO's sake. “I think we should be more concerned with Ice’s injuries or checking on Wood,” he suggested, but his tactics didn’t work.

“I’m fine, Mav,” Ice lied immediately.

“I’m fine, too, my head just hurts,” said Hollywood, who had been listening to their conversation in silence until now.

“Fine, you win.” Mitchell raised his hands in surrender.

Wolfman cleaned up the cuts as best as he could. Watching from his prone position, Ice counted at least twelve cuts on the other pilot's upper body, and the earlier marks of beating were also clearly visible, the angry red streaks beginning to be edged with purples and blues.

He felt nauseous again, thinking that Mav had gotten all this because of him, but this time he managed to push aside the self-blaming thoughts. Of course that didn’t mean that he forgave himself and no longer felt remorse. However, he realized that the atmosphere was stifling enough without adding his self-loathing, too.

Almost everyone avoided everyone's gaze. Some felt responsible for the mental and physical injuries to one person, some to several, to one degree or another.

Hell, he also felt it, especially towards Mitchell—that he had made so many mistakes, had hurt the man so many times, now even literally, and those were certainly the less serious wounds. But he was afraid that if they couldn't put all of this aside somehow or resolve it soon, they would all be consumed by the guilt they felt towards each other.

What would become of them if they only dared to tiptoe around each other, heads bowed low in avoidance?

He missed Ron. He should be here with him. Just as Wolf should be with Wood now. And he himself had become Maverick’s wingman. From now on, he had to take care of him, because he made a promise, entered into an alliance with him, and had meant every word he exchanged with the other pilot at dawn.

And it wasn't just Maverick who became his ally. All five of them were allies, and thus responsible for each other. Yet now everyone was inwardly focussed instead of having each other's backs.

This isn’t right…

"Nightmare did an incredibly thorough job," he finally said out loud, trying to sit up, leaning on his left arm. Two pairs of eyes locked on him at once, and, although a little more slowly, Wood also turned his head toward him, accompanied by a groan.

“What do you mean by that?” Wolf asked while Mav helped him sit up and supported his back. 

“It seems he has managed to shake our relationship to its foundations,” Ice replied. “He’s tried to ruin the friendships between the five of us. Not only the ones that started forming recently”—he looked up at Mitchell—“but also the long-standing ones”—he turned to Wood and then to Wolf. “Did he succeed? Or can we save what’s left, start rebuilding and strengthening our fellowship?” He saw that the others were cautiously looking at each other. 

“What happened… Well… It was tough for all of us,” he continued with determination, “but if we can’t somehow move on, it will make any further cooperation between us impossible.

“I know we failed this time… but none of us are to blame for that,” he quickly added in a tone that tolerated no contradiction. “None of us made a mistake,” he repeated once more for emphasis. “We did our best, we all fought hard, but our enemy was stronger… The punishment we got was extremely cruel, but we’ve survived even that, which proves that we are strong, too…” He stopped for a moment to gather himself, as he began to feel out of breath. “We’re all still here... We're here and we can't give up hope that we can somehow get out of this place… But that can only happen if we support and trust each other…if we can put aside the guilt, the shame, the self-blame and all the bad feelings Nightmare wanted us to have, to make us weaker… 

“There’s no time now to get stuck in those feelings… We all have to move on or it’s over! So let's look each other in the eye now and promise to be there for each other!”

The way the other three followed his advice and looked around first a bit timidly, but then with increasing determination, was a truly uplifting moment. Then Mav nodded and was the first to say: “I promise, Ice… I promise you all.” 

“I promise, too,” Wood was quick to follow his example, then after a bit of hesitation and a sigh Wolf also spoke up: “I’m not sure how I will be able to forgive myself, put everything aside,” he admitted. “But I promise to do my best, and of course I’m here for you…” he added with a shy smile.

“And I’ll be here for you, too, and I promise to fight for you until the very end of my strength,” Ice finished with his own vow. 

Only two things broke the solemnity of the moment: the absence of Slider and the violent coughing fit that seemed to steal the air from Ice’s lungs once again.

Maverick, perhaps instinctively or unconsciously, started to rub his back to ease the uncomfortable feeling. Then, when the coughing stopped, the pilot realized what he was doing and stopped it abruptly, patting Ice on the shoulder to hide his embarrassment. 

“That was a nice speech, you will be a real leader one day,” he told him, but with genuine appreciation rather than mockery in his voice.

"I'll go talk to Sli. Until then, you rest!" he added, and squeezing his shoulder helped him to lie down. Then, looking at Ice once more, he turned his back and went into the bathroom. Ice really hoped that he would bring his RIO with him when he left…

“I'll try to stabilise your arm as much as possible with the rest of my T-shirt.” Wolf knelt down next to him again, and, for lack of a better option, cut more strips with the piece of mirror and tried to use them as a bandage to wrap around Ice's broken wrist. "I know it's not even close to the real thing, but it would be good to improvise something like a splint so the bones can't move at all. Right now, even this's better than nothing,” he added apologetically. 

“It’ll be fine—and thank you. I know you’re doing your best,” Ice reassured the RIO, who after finishing wrapping his arm, placed it crosswise high across his chest.

“Is that comfortable?” he asked. “As far as I know, if we place the injury higher than the heart, it won’t swell as much,” the RIO explained, a bit shamefaced as though he felt the others were relying too much on his limited medical knowledge. “But frankly, it doesn’t look comfortable at all. I’m just not su…”

“It will be fine, Wolf,” Ice interrupted him. A bit of sarcasm seeped into his words, because he felt that no matter how they tried to position his hand, it would still hurt like hell.  But of course that wasn’t Wolf’s fault, so he quickly added a much warmer “Thank you, really!” He was honestly grateful for the care Wolf showed towards him, but not wanting to keep the RIO away from his pilot any longer, he also started to urge him away. “Now go, check on Wood!”

“Will you be okay?” Wolf asked quietly one last time, but he was already watching his pilot with a worried, uncertain look.

“Sure! Go!” Ice replied, and as he followed the RIO’s steps to re-join Wood his throat tightened… 

What if Ron couldn't put aside his guilt no matter what Mav said? Or what if even Mav couldn't talk to him? Thinking about it, he felt a little grateful that the RIO hadn't been present when Wolf had treated Mav's injuries, especially the stab wound…

Ice knew his best friend well, knew how long remorse tormented the man even over the smallest things. And what happened to them was far from a small thing.

He wasn't naive, he knew that both Wood and Wolf needed much more than a conversation and his previous words of encouragement, and Mitchell also wouldn't be able to shake off his guilt overnight. However, he still wished they could at least talk to Ron. If only they could take small steps towards some shared mental healing. But instead, here he lay, all alone, in all his pain.

He didn't want to feel sorry for himself, because, unable to escape his own guilt, it kept telling him: You deserve it!

God, what a hypocrite I am… he almost laughed out loud, because how ironic it was that he was the one asking the others to put aside their guilt, while he himself was still unable to free himself from the same thoughts.

You deserve it!

He deserved to be alone, because he wasn't a good enough friend. He didn't take good care of Ron, or of himself, despite his promise to the RIO. He didn't keep his word. And he deserved it, for what he did to Mitchell, for not trusting him, for calling him a traitor, for thinking he was better than him, and most of all for taking his best friend away from him.

Maybe it was just some kind of heavenly justice that in return for his sins he's now losing Ron…

You deserve it!

The sentence kept coming back to his mind as his eyelids grew heavier and heavier, and finally, despite the pain from his throbbing wrist, his tightening chest, and the countless bruises covering his body, he was overcome by sleep…

At first, he only had cold, shallow dreams.

He still woke up from time to time, half-consciously sensing that he was getting colder and colder, and also sensing movement, sounds of conversation, and perhaps even a touch here and there, but none of this could firmly hold on to his consciousness. Except for a few confused fragments of memory, everything else slipped back into the mists of oblivion as he finally fell into a deep sleep…

He sat all alone in the middle of the room. 

“Where’s everyone?” He looked around with growing concern in his heart, since everyone had been here a minute ago. Wood and Wolf had been talking in the corner, and Mav had been trying to convince Ron to come out of the bathroom. 

“Where’s everyone?” 

He quickly stood up and hurried to the bathroom door. He tried to open it, but found it locked. That couldn't be. He stared angrily at the doorknob and attacked it wildly, but the door remained stubbornly closed. Then he noticed that there was a small latch on the door at eye level. He didn't understand why he hadn't noticed it before, but he didn't think about it any further, he quickly pulled it away so he could peek at what was behind the door. To his surprise, he found himself face to face with Ron, but something was wrong…

His best friend looked back at him with pure hatred and contempt in his eyes.

"Ron?!" Ice shouted at him, and started banging desperately on the door.

But the RIO, with disgust on his face, measured him up, then turned his back on him and started to walk away.

Hollywood, Wolfman, and Maverick slowly joined his retreating figure, each giving Ice a scornful look.

And despite Ice shouting after them, begging them to forgive him and come back, despite him banging on the door and desperately pulling the handle, they disappeared into the distance, leaving him alone, locked in the darkness...

He woke up coughing and gasping for air. Forgetting his broken wrist, he tried to sit up, but pain shot through his hand immediately. He groaned involuntarily, then looked around, ashamed that he couldn't control his pain.

And suddenly an icy terror gripped his heart, because in the room, just like in his dream, there was no one but him…

Chapter Text

When he entered the bathroom, Slider looked up at him like someone who had been cornered but was still trying to escape.

Mav thought about how to begin, how to address him, but in the end he just sat down beside him without saying a word. He had a feeling that the RIO eventually would share with him what was in his heart.

The guilt surrounding him was so strong that it was almost palpable. Yet, perhaps half an hour passed in complete silence before Slider quietly asked:

“How is he?”

“He’s a tough guy, can withstand a lot of things… but he needs you by his side,” Mav replied honestly. 

His words made Slider snort in disbelief. “How could he need me when I was the one who caused his suffering? I, who told him at the beginning of our friendship that I would never hurt him.” 

"Because you were forced to do it! You didn't hurt him of your own free will; you were blackmailed through me! By hurting him, you protected me. It was all because of me! So if anyone is to blame for his injuries, and Wood's injuries, and your and Wolf's suffering, it can only be me.” The guilty confession that he had been trying to put aside for Ice’s sake suddenly burst out of Mav. Out there, when he was with the others, he had refused to draw undue attention to himself through remorse, because everyone else had much bigger problems than him. But now he was unable to keep his guilt bottled up any longer.

“We’re a nice little team,” Slider remarked ironically. “But if you truly think I'm not at fault, then you're not either. You didn't volunteer to be the fucking guarantee, as that asshole called you.”

“But I screwed up the escape attempt,” Mav objected. “We should have waited. We should have thought through the whole thing better, planned our steps, like Ice suggested. But I ran headfirst into the first opportunity that came my way.”

“Neither of you got your call sign by accident,” Slider said, which made Mav smile involuntarily. "Anyway, we all agreed to take advantage of the opportunity when it presented itself. And that's just what you did. And after having to fire on Chip and Sunny up there? None of us would have hesitated, if we were you." 

“Damn it… Chip and Sunny…” Mav only now realized that since they had landed, he hadn’t thought about what might have happened to them. He was instantly outraged with himself. How could he have forgotten them?

“It only occurred to me, too, after I came here,” Slider admitted.

“We saw the chutes, but…” Mav started, however, the RIO quickly interrupted him knowing how Mav wanted to continue the sentence.

“We have to believe they came through okay.” Slider looked Mav in the eye for the first time since they started talking. Suddenly realizing that, he quickly looked away again and began poking at the tile grout instead. 

“Please, forgive me!” Slider finally spoke again after a long time, still staring forlornly downwards. “For all the cuts… but mostly for that one,” he pointed at Mav’s thigh. “You know… I heard the crack…” he continued softly, tears welling up in his eyes. “When Ice was manhandled, I… heard that his hand…” he swallowed hard. “I was sure they broke it… And even though he tried to pretend everything was okay afterwards, I know him too well… He can’t just fool me… no…” he shook his head then took another deep breath to gather himself. Mav stilled, listening. 

“So when Nightmare gave me that final order…” the RIO continued in a trembling voice as his tears suddenly began to flow. “I just couldn’t… I… I didn't want to hurt any of you, but I had to choose... and… Oh my God…” Slider was now openly sobbing. “Tom is my best friend… my little brother… and if it had depended only on me… I wouldn’t have obeyed… Please forgive me, Mav, but I would have let that scumbag torture you... I'm so sorry because it wasn't fair to you… but he's my best friend...” Finally, he buried his face between his raised knees and wept.

Mav said nothing for a while. He was deep in thought. If he had to choose…

He didn't blame Slider at all for trying to protect Iceman, even though he got hurt because of it. Although he didn't really understand why he finally obeyed the order then. What did he mean by, “if it had depended only on me”? 

As if Slider could read his mind he gave him the answer. “He squeezed my hand… When I held his injured wrist, he still wanted me to obey… He wanted to protect you, you know.”

“Why?” The question slipped out of Mav’s mouth before he could stop himself. It was a stupid thing to ask, but he wanted to hear the answer from Slider so that he could know it was true.

“Because I think Ice is starting to see you as a friend.”

A friend…

Wingman…

Could it be true?

When they met, Kazansky had instantly become his biggest rival. Were they really friends by now? Their conversation at dawn seemed so far away, though it was in fact only hours ago… 

“God, Mav…” Slider’s gravelly voice interrupted his pondering. “Tom is like my brother… My little brother… and I beat him half to death… I broke his arm… who knows what other injuries I might have caused him…”

“You were forced to do it, Sli, that's all I can repeat. You’re not to blame! The only person to blame for all this is Nightmare!” Mav tried to comfort the RIO, but he shook his head.

“It doesn't matter that I didn't do it of my own free will, because it was still my own two hands causing those injuries.” He raised both his hands. “Don’t you get it, Mav? My own two hands… I can't just forget this, erase it from my memories. I can still feel the blows I gave him…” he said dejectedly.

“I do get it… at least partially. Because I know what it's like to be responsible for your best friend's... condition," Mav replied quietly.

“Shit, Mav, I’m sorry! Of course you know… I… I didn't mean to bring up the painful memories," the RIO apologized, but Mav just waved it off.

“Doesn’t matter, Sli, they're with me every minute of every day.” 

“Is it that hard to get over what happened?" Slider asked, and Mav knew that the question wasn't really about his state of mind. The RIO wanted to hold on to something that could give him hope in their situation. He didn't resent him for it at all. On the contrary, he felt very sorry for him, because he knew that if he answered honestly, it wouldn't offer much comfort.

“I won’t lie to you, I have no idea if I’ll ever get over it…” he replied, then added hastily: “But your situation is different. You didn’t lose Ice, he’s right out there, and I bet he’s just waiting for you to finally show that ugly face of yours!” Mav tried to encourage the RIO with a little humour, but he seemed to sink even deeper in his remorse.

“Maybe I haven't lost him... but I think I've lost myself. I don't know how I could stand in front of him, look him in the eye..." his voice faltered, then finally spoke again, almost in a whisper. "How do I even look at him?" he asked, and his tears began to fall again. “I feel like I’m incapable of it, Mav… He's my best friend and I just can't look at him because when I do, his whole body is covered in bruises and I caused them all. I, who promised I would never hurt him..." Slider once more returned to the memory he had alluded to earlier.

It seemed like a fond memory, and Mav thought maybe telling him about it might help. If nothing else, it would at least take the miserable man’s mind off the present for a short while.

“Hey, you want to tell me about that promise? Because this is the second time you've mentioned it, and I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he asked the RIO, who nodded.

Ron gratefully stretched his limbs after a mind-numbing seminar. Finally, the week was over and he could go home to his small apartment, where he would plan to watch a game in the company of a can of beer until he fell asleep on the couch. It could have been the perfect close to an endlessly long week. However, man plans…

The students slowly scattered out of the building. Ron was already outside, watching how the lights in the classrooms were turning off one by one as he walked by, when he reached into his pocket and realized he didn't have his Walkman with him. He turned back, muttering a curse. 

Luckily, the upstairs room wasn't locked yet, and no one had stolen his favourite device—it was lying there on the desk where he had sat. He quickly put the earphones on his head and was fiddling with the cassette when he heard a thud nearby, then the sound of swearing, and another crash, maybe a chair overturning, and then more muffled sounds, as if there was some kind of fight. 

Shoving the Walkman into his pocket and leaving the earphones around his neck, he headed in the direction of the sounds without hesitation. As he got closer, the conversation became more and more distinct.

"You humiliated me in front of everyone, you cocky little bastard!" an angry voice hissed.

“Come on! We both know that your performance is humiliating regardless of me," another replied with almost indifferent calmness.

“If I were you, I wouldn't be so uppity, Kazansky! If you hadn't noticed, we’re overpowering you,” said a third.

“I don’t think I’m overpowered, at most outnumbered,” the owner of the calm voice, whom they had called Kazansky, sarcastically remarked.

"What are you waiting for? Let's finally get the fucking brat," another voice urged his companions.

So it's at least three against one? Ron felt anger rising in him and he quickened his steps. Then he heard another crash and a shout, and he started running.

When he reached the classroom, he could finally see what was going on inside. 

One guy was kneeling on the ground, curled up, wailing.

Could this be Kazansky? He wondered to himself, trying to assess the situation. No, he must be one of the attackers, he decided, as his gaze darted to the three other figures in the room.

Two tall, brown-haired guys held a blond kid who looked too young to be a student at the Academy. He was almost as tall as his attackers, but much skinnier, his body showing that he had suddenly grown taller not long ago. The other two seemed stronger than him, yet his blue eyes radiated the same calm confidence that could already be heard in his voice.

That’s Kazansky, Ron identified, now beyond any doubt.

"What the hell is going on here?" he shouted, causing them all to turn their heads towards him.

“Shit man! I thought you were one of the profs,” the guy standing behind the boy laughed with relief.

“We’re just talking, nothing special,” the other replied.

“You know, around here we talk while twisting the other person’s arm,” Kazansky nodded behind him almost cheerfully, and only then did Ron notice that the kid's left arm was actually being twisted behind his back by the guy standing behind him.

"Let him go! Now!" Slider shouted again and started towards them, while at the same time the guy standing opposite the blond stepped closer to him, grabbing his jaw roughly with his right hand.

“You think you're so smart, Kazansky,” he hissed in his face. “You think you’re smarter than everyone.”

“I don’t think… I know,” the kid growled in response, then with a sudden movement he kneed the guy in front of him in the groin, then slammed his head back with all his strength, causing the guy behind him to let go of his arm, grabbing at his face.

Ron stopped. Looking at the thin kid, who was now watching the two boys he had rendered harmless with disdain while massaging his shoulder which was surely sore from being twisted backwards, he couldn't have predicted him to so easily overcome his abusers.

However, the game wasn’t over yet as the third guy, pulling himself together, rushed headfirst into Kazansky like a battering ram, pushing the boy against the wall. That was when Ron intervened, grabbing the guy by the waist and spinning him away. 

"Behind you!" The blond shouted at him, just in time for Ron to duck a right hook. Meanwhile, the battering ram attacked again, this time targeting him, but Kazansky stuck his foot in front of him so he tripped and clumsily fell on Ron. He couldn’t make Ron budge, but his impact caused the Walkman to slip out of Ron’s pocket and hit the ground with a loud thud.

“Fuck you,” Ron shouted at the guy, this time grabbing him by the collar and pushing back him against the other, who was about to attack Kazansky with another right hook. Then the blond kid suddenly appeared next to him and hit the third person on the head with a well-aimed throw.

"Damn it, let's get out of here!" The battering ram then called out, and the others listened to him and beat a quick retreat. 

"Dickheads," noted Ron, following their backs with his gaze. Then he stepped to his Walkman and carefully lifted it up. It was clearly irreparable.

"I could have handled it on my own," the blond boy stated coolly, looking at Ron with his piercing blue eyes. Then he stepped past him and left the room without another word.

"You're very welcome!" Ron shouted sarcastically after him and then angrily threw the remains of his Walkman into the trash...

Four days later, someone knocked on his door. When he opened it, he was surprised to see the 'ungrateful' blond kid standing on his doorstep.

“I hope you haven't bought a new one yet,” the boy began without greeting, extending towards him a brand new Walkman, exactly like the one that was broken. 

Ron looked at him in astonishment. He even forgot to blink.

After a few silent moments Kazansky visibly tensed up from the lack of any specific reaction; he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and finally spoke again:

“I see you probably did then… Or maybe it wasn't the type you wanted… Anyway, I'll leave this here for you, so you can sell it if you don't need it,” he started to ramble in embarrassment, then pushed the Walkman into Ron's hand and turned his back on him to walk away.

“Why?” Ron asked loudly when the kid was only two steps away from him. Kazansky turned back in confusion at the question.

“Why what?”

“Why did you buy me a new Walkman?” Ron asked, feeling less and less able to figure out the blond boy. Last Friday, he had simply thought him an ungrateful jerk after he left him in the classroom without a single thank you, but from the way he appeared here with a gift in his hand, it was clear that there was more going on.

“Well, because…” the boy began, and looked up searching for the words, then sniffed and finally said only: “the last one broke because of me.”

"It wasn't you,” Ron began, “it was those three bastards' fault. I hate cowardly people who abuse those who are weaker than them.”

Kazansky’s eyes suddenly flashed threateningly. 

“I wasn’t weaker than them. I could have handled the situation. I know how to deal with such people,” he stated defiantly.

“This isn't the first time you've been in a situation like that, is it?" Ron asked back, suspicious of the answer. 

"I…" he glanced to the side this time, then took a deep breath, stepped back in front of Ron, and continued, looking him straight in the eye. “I'm good at what I do. I was accepted here as the youngest student ever, and for good reason,” he said with both a hint of arrogance and complete confidence in his voice. “Lots of people envy my achievements and abilities, but there can only be one person who is the best, and I can't afford not to be that person,” he finished, his grey-blue eyes almost glowing in the darkness with determination.

"Wow... well, the way you put it, you really are a cocky little bastard. I'm not so surprised anymore that so many people want to beat you up." Ron marvelled at the boy's attitude.

"If you want to be one of them after this, just go for it." Kazansky immediately switched back to a defensive-offensive style, taking another step forward, almost standing in Ron's face.

Ron looked him deep in the eyes, and noticed that they were not entirely blue, but rather grayish with a warm brown circle around the irises. He wondered if the colours reflected the boy's soul: cold from the outside but maybe, if he took the time to get to know him better, he could find a likeable person inside. He wasn’t sure why, but he felt a kind of vulnerability and loneliness under the boy’s tough words.

“No,” he finally replied. “I could never do that. I could never hurt you because something tells me that you need someone in your corner… That you need a friend, even if you won’t admit it to yourself.”

This time Kazansky took a step further, then sniffed again and looked at him with a distrustful, almost worried look, before carefully, as if the words would turn into a mist and disappear when he said them, he finally spoke: “You said… a friend?” His eyes were filled with disbelief and uncertainty, but there seemed to be a glimmer of hope as well.

Ron just smiled in response, then extended his hand forward.

“Ron Kerner.”

“Tom Kazansky,” came the cautious reply, and Tom accepted his hand.

"I would never hurt you, Tommy," Ron stated once more, to which Tom raised his eyebrows.

“If you really mean it, then don’t call me Tommy anymore!”

"Of course, I've been calling him that ever since, when we're alone and I'm trying to emphasize something to him. Or when we’re just joking around. But I know he doesn’t hate it anymore. At least not from me.”

“And after that, was it easy to get along with him?” Mav asked, because he was actually very curious about the answer.

If someone told him a few days or weeks ago, in the middle of their rivalry and disagreements, that he would feel a desire to find common ground with Iceman, it would have seemed completely absurd. However, whatever horrors this day had held, it still confirmed to Mav that the blond pilot could indeed be selfless, that he could be counted on, and that he had much deeper and more human feelings than he let out on the surface.

"I'll be honest, Mav, it was really hard at first. He was a real screwed up kid with a screwed up childhood," the RIO replied, and Mav looked at him questioningly, not only to find out what that statement meant, but also to keep the other man talking. He felt that telling stories was really doing good for Slider.

“He’s an only child. He was 14 when his mother died, and his father…” Slider let out a frustrated sigh as he shook his head. Then, after another breath, he continued: "Well, that's why Ice became the way you knew him. Back then, before this whole fucking Layton mission, what did you think about him?” Slider turned the question around.

“I think what anyone would probably have thought in my place..." Mav tried to avoid having to say what his first impression really was, and in fact what his firm opinion of the blond pilot had been up until the past few days.

However, Slider looked at him expectantly, almost daring him to do it, while not realizing that although he had previously lowered his head in shame, he was now looking straight into Mav’s eyes.

“Stuck-up, arrogant prick,” Mav finally said, almost rushing through the words.

And Slider, despite all his miserable feelings, laughed. However, in the wake of his laughter tears appeared in his eyes again, and the next moment he began to cry once more. Mav gently put his arm around his shoulder.

“I don’t know what would happen to me without him… The little stuck-up, arrogant prick really found his way into my heart, once I realized that so much was just a mask… and a true friend was hiding behind it.”

Mav just nodded, sensing that Slider wanted to talk more, and he continued. 

“He opened up to me very slowly because at first he didn't believe he could really trust me. He was too used to relying only on himself and was dead serious about wanting to be the best at everything…

“He played the unwavering tough guy for me for a long time. And of course he was that, but he was also so much more...” the RIO explained, then stopped for a moment, thinking before continuing. “I know he has his own unpleasant attitude, and his own faults, for which, ironically, his striving for perfection is responsible… And his father…” Slider snorted with angry disdain on his face, making it clear that he had difficulty even using the word 'father' for the elder Kazansky.

"’Iceman’ wouldn't exist if that ferret had cared even a little about his son. After his mother's death, he and his father lived side by side for almost three years like two complete strangers.”

“That explains his coldness…” Mav admitted. 

“Yeah,” Slider nodded. “No wonder he's become so emotionally distant, right?”

“Why didn’t his father care about him?” Mav couldn't help but ask. He, who still missed his dad, couldn't even imagine a father-son relationship like the one Slider described to him, the one Kazansky had.

“Sorry, Mav, but that’s too personal. If you wanna know more, you should ask Ice,” the RIO apologised. “All I can tell you is that no matter what he did, or what he achieved, he never received a single word of appreciation... And from this he concluded that he was not good enough, that he had to be better, more than better, the best, perfect… because if he isn’t then he is simply not valuable enough,” Slider concluded. 

“I see…” Mav said thoughtfully, replaying some of their previous conversations in his mind when they were tense with each other. How much more clearly he could see everything now…

“Mav!” Slider snapped him out of his memories after a while, and as if reading his thoughts, he continued: “I know you've had more than one disagreement since you've known each other. But please don't be mad at him for it! In fact, he was mostly just scared because he had never met a pilot before who could be a worthy opponent for him and who flies as crazy as you,” he said and he smiled faintly at the last part of his sentence.

“Thanks for the compliment!” Mav replied, trying to keep the lighter tone. Slider nodded, then kept on speaking.

“Ice was frustrated that you were so good and he was afraid that this time he wouldn't be able to be the best. I'm sorry he couldn't handle the situation well, but if you can, please forgive him!"

“I already forgave him, Sli, a long time ago,” he replied, and he truly felt that he was no longer angry with Kazansky at all. He no longer resented him for their past clashes or for the mistakes of the last few days. Moreover, he felt that he was slowly beginning to understand the other man. Of course, the picture was still far from complete, but the outlines were becoming more and more distinct.

“And now it’s your turn to forgive yourself.” He stared into the RIO’s eyes, returning to the starting point of their conversation.

“I don't know, Mav… It can’t happen that easily, that quickly… It’ll still take a lot of time…” Slider began to explain himself, but Mav interrupted him.

"That's exactly what we don’t have, Ron! Time!" he began in a firm voice, to emphasize his point as much as possible. “We have no time to wallow in self-pity! We have no time to lament over our wounds, no matter how deep they may be! If we get out of here, we'll have plenty of time to deal with our guilt and remorse. But now we need to focus on trying to come up with a new plan. And this won't work if—to quote Ice—we can't even look each other in the eye.” Drawing inspiration from Ice's earlier speech, he continued, “this is a difficult situation for everyone, but we have to put everything aside. For each other…

“We need each other! We need to stick together; we need to support each other! After all, we can only count on each other!

“So pull yourself together, Sli, because your place isn’t in here, hiding… Come be where you really should be!” he finished, then stood up while suppressing a curse from the pain ripping through his leg and patted the RIO on the shoulder before exiting the bathroom.

He really hoped that his words would reach their goal and that Slider would soon venture out of hiding.

He closed the door quietly behind him, not wanting to disturb anyone.

As his eyes quickly swept across the room, he was relieved to see Wolf sitting at Wood's head, talking quietly. But as the RIO looked up at him, he saw concern in his eyes.

Ice?

The pilot was sleeping against the other wall, and as Mav approached him as quickly as he could, he saw that his sleep was restless and he was shivering. In the silence, he could also hear that his breathing was slightly wheezing. Mav looked at Wolf questioningly.

“He's burning up…” he answered, worry evident in his voice, too.

Mav, aware of his throbbing thigh, knelt beside Ice and, being careful not to wake him up, he gently put his palm on the blond man’s forehead. It felt like he was on fire indeed.

Shit… As if the pilot's broken arm wasn't enough of a problem in itself. That, plus Wood's concussion and his own stab wound, were more than enough to greatly hinder any further escape attempts. Even at their peak, they had been defeated by their captors. What would happen to them like this?

“Can a fracture cause a fever?” he asked Wolf because he had never heard of such a thing.

“Well, it can happen. Especially if the broken bone has possibly injured the surrounding—Oh, shit…” the RIO suddenly interrupted himself with a swear, as they could all hear the familiar, feared sound of rattling keys outside the door.

“Damn, we should have expected them to come,” Mav swore too and they looked at each other worriedly. Then both of them stood in front of the two pilots, Wolf in front of Wood and Mav in front of Ice, so that they could hide them a bit from the eyes of those arriving. Although Mav was sure that no matter how they tried to protect each other, it was already decided which one of them would be taken…

It wasn't because of his arms tied behind his back, or even the bag pulled over his head, that Mav felt so helpless. But because he had to leave the others without knowing in what condition he would see them again. 

He wasn't even sure what condition he himself would be in, because by the time they reached the other room, his leg throbbed so terribly that he could do nothing but collapse to the ground, dizzy and nauseated.

What would happen when they all become useless? When they were no longer any good even as hostages?

I shouldn't think like that! We all have to get out of here... We have to find a way somehow... he tried to encourage himself. However, no matter how much he thought, he couldn’t find a solution. 

He wondered if they could still escape with the MiGs, but he had no idea how they could even get to them. Moreover, because of Ice’s condition, it also became a question of how would they proceed now, even if they managed to get to the planes? How would all five of them get home with only two viable pilots? As much as he and Wood could be regarded as such…

And as he continued to ponder the question, his thoughts turned back to Iceman without him noticing it.

He recalled everything that Slider had told him about his pilot, and although he hadn’t shown it to the RIO, he was quite surprised at several points.

After meeting the man in Miramar, he hadn't thought much about why Iceman was the way he was. Of course he had a strong opinion about the man that wasn't exactly favourable. But all those early impressions now turned out to be the exact opposite of what Slider said was the truth.

For some reason, he always thought that Ice had gotten everything he ever wanted in his life, and that's why he acted as if he deserved everything.

And he couldn’t have been more wrong…

He would never have thought that the real driving force that shaped both of their personalities to the greatest extent, though in completely different ways, was the same: their father.

Besides, they were even similar in that (as Ice himself had pointed out) they both had a hard time trusting other people…

From the day he entered naval training, Pete had seen the contempt on their faces…

The whispers behind his back, the heads that suddenly turned in the opposite direction upon his arrival, and the occasional mention of his own name in quiet murmurs all became familiar to him over time.

Or rather, he was forced to get used to it, whether he liked it or not.

He quickly realized that most of these people were not at all interested in the truth, or what kind of person he really was.

For such people, it was enough to hear a name to put you in a box; to write you off for life; to label you as a traitor, an untrustworthy comrade, a deserter, regardless of the fact that they didn't even know you.

After a while, Pete wasn't surprised when even those who initially, not knowing whose son he was, spoke to him and treated him kindly and normally, as soon as they realized what the name Mitchell meant turned their backs on him. Often literally: they turned away when they saw him; they no longer returned his greeting; they looked at him as if he were nothing.

All of this hurt him badly. He didn't show it to anyone, but it made him feel terribly forlorn and angry.

He tried to defy the situation, but since, maddeningly, even he himself didn't know what had really happened to his father, it was difficult for him to defend his family name. That made him get more and more angry at anyone who looked at him with even the slightest bit of a sideways glance... And he wasn't just angry at them, but also at those who kept his father's death a secret; sometimes even at his father for putting him in such a situation; and finally at himself, for being able to be angry at his father, whom he missed almost every day.

Then one day, after he had graduated from school (oh, but not from the Academy, no, because the name Mitchell meant rejection there too) and was assigned as a pilot on the USS Enterprise, he met Nick “Goose” Bradshaw, who in some ways completely changed his life.

Even when he introduced himself, Nick behaved surprisingly and unusually naturally, smiling the whole time and being kind. He deliberately emphasized his last name more strongly, but the RIO literally didn't even blink an eye when he heard the name Mitchell. From all this, Mav, who had received his call sign by this time, gathered that Goose certainly had no idea that he was Duke Mitchell's son. 

That assumption was only further supported by the simple fact that Nick Bradshaw seemed to seek out his company. The moustached man had no problem meeting him outside the cockpit, sitting next to him in the canteen, and talking to him, even while Mav, as usual, remained the target of muttered comments, finger-pointing, whispers behind his back, open insults, and veiled insinuations.

Some of his fellow pilots, as well as some of their superiors, had immediately made it clear as soon as he stepped onto the ship that they knew who he was. And Goose saw and heard more and more of these things, but strangely, he didn't react to any of them. He treated him the same way he had before, looked at him the same way he had when they first met, and continued to be kind and helpful even when Mav was sure that the RIO must know about the curse of the Mitchell name.

After a few weeks, one day he finally couldn't take it anymore and the questions burst out of him:

“Do you really not know who I am? What the name Mitchell means? Or are you really not bothered by that?”

“I know very well, Mav,” the man replied. “I know you’re the son of Duke Mitchell, who most people believe was a traitor,” the RIO stated. “I knew it from the very beginning,” he added, almost with pride in his voice.

“Then why…?” Mav started to ask, but Nick Bradshaw, already knowing exactly what was on his mind, interrupted.

“Because I don't judge people based on who their parents are and what they did. But based on how I see them,” he told him. “And I can definitely say that I see you, Pete, as a good person. Self-sufficient, reckless, and headstrong, sure, but a trustworthy, good person with his heart in the right place.”

And that day Mav realized that he could trust Nick Bradshaw completely. So, in careful steps, he opened his heart to him…

From Slider he had learned that Ice had also experienced what it was like to be rejected and despised, what it was like to be lonely. So Mav felt like he knew and understood the other pilot much better than before. He had never thought that those would be points he had in common with him. That they would have points in common at all, and especially that there would be so many.

He then ran through the conversations between the two of them over the past few days again, but this time looking at them from a different perspective, with a much deeper understanding of the blond man.

And then he realized that the way they finally shook hands at dawn was actually very similar to how Ice and Slider's friendship had begun. It wasn't a perfect start, but the same shy openness that was present in the then-teenage Tom Kazansky could be felt at dawn.

What does it take to become friends? How much time? Is it sometimes enough for just a moment to change a person's opinions and feelings, and that the kind of love and affection that is the basis of true friendships could so quickly be born? 

“He wanted to protect you, you know? Because I think Ice is starting to see you as a friend…” He recalled Slider’s words and his own uncertain questions after hearing them and he felt that he finally knew the answer: in their own way, Ice and he were already true friends...

In the morning, Mav had no idea when or how he had finally fallen asleep. When he woke up, he felt that all his limbs, but especially his thigh, were aching. Some of the more superficial cuts on his body had already healed relatively well, but some of the deeper cuts were angry red.

The bandage on the stab wound was bleeding through, and under it his thigh felt like it was on fire.

He felt weak from hunger. It wasn't as if the bread or tasteless porridge they had previously gotten had given them much energy, but the day before, as part of their punishment, they had been deprived of even that small amount.

He accepted all this with resignation, and then didn't bother with himself any more since he could do nothing to change his current state. Instead of himself, his thoughts constantly revolved around his companions. He was worried about them…

Later, when they came for him and took him to the hangar, or at least that's where Mav thought they must be, they pushed him into a chair, unlike before, and only pulled the bag off his head when they had tied both his hands and feet to it.

It was clear that they had earned this extra precaution with their escape attempt. 

As soon as he was able to assess his surroundings, his gaze immediately began to search for the others. He spotted Wood first, tied to the chair nearest him. Although half his face was swollen, the pilot's complexion was not as pale as it had been the night before, and his eyes were clear and focused when their gaze met. Wolfman sat next to him, but since they were seated in a row, Wood largely covered the RIO from his view. It took some stretching of his neck to see who was in the fourth chair. It was Slider, whose every movement exuded tension.

And the fifth chair… 

Just a bit more forward… 

Just a bit more… 

But no matter how much Mav tried to lean forward, no matter how much he craned his neck, the fifth chair still remained empty.

Where is Ice? They had put out five chairs, so he ought to be there too…

Mav spent the whole day searching in vain for the answer to his question. He could not interact with the others in any meaningful way. Except for the few minutes they could go to the bathroom (strictly one at a time), they spent the entire time tied to the damn chairs. The only positive thing about the day was that they didn't have to take off in the MiGs, as their compatriots hadn't launched another attack. But somehow Mav didn't really find any comfort in that either. Until he found out what had happened to Ice, he wouldn't calm down. 

And when he finally found out that evening, he was overcome with even greater anxiety and fear than before…