A/N: Some pretty dark stuff is going to happen next chapter, just a warning.

-

May 24, 1998. Miramar, California.

"I could stay with my sister."

Maverick sighed, set down his cup of coffee, and began rubbing his temples.

"It would just be temporary --"

"Then why don't you stay in a hotel?"

"Because --"

"Because it's not just temporary, right?"

"Stop interrupting me. I'll go stay with my sister in Napa --"

"Napa? I thought Libby lived in San Jose."

"No. I don't know where you got that idea."

Maverick was quiet. "For how long?"

"Until we've got this sorted out."

"Well, when is that gonna be?"

Charlie tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

"Hey, Mom?"

They both looked up to see Nick standing in the doorway, baseball glove in his hand. He glanced between them. "Can I go over to Danny Costello's? His mom said it would be okay."

"Um," Charlie said distractedly, "I don't see why not --"

"Did you put it under your mattress?"

Nick's brow knit in confusion, and then he realized that Maverick was talking about his glove. "Oh, to break it in? Yeah. So can I, Mom?"

"Yes," Charlie said. "Yes, it's fine."

A moment later the front door had slammed behind him.

-

May 25, 1998. United States Navy Fighter Weapons School, Miramar, California.

"Kazansky?"

Iceman looked up. Maverick cleared his throat. "I have a few things you need to sign," he said, handing him a manilla folder across his desk and shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

"Fine," Iceman muttered, accepting it and returning to his computer, brows furrowed as he leaned back in his chair.

Maverick circled the desk, stopping next to Iceman, who turned to him, swiveling in the cheap, standard-issue but nicely upholstered desk chair. Maverick stared into his hazel eyes and felt everything reflected in them -- wedding cake and thirtieth birthdays, terraces with crawling ivy and Congratulations, It's A Boy balloons, his supposed happiness -- rushing up slap him in the face. He drew in a breath.

"What you said today about strike missions..."

Iceman tipped his head back and nodded. Maverick's eyes slid across his neck and he lost his train of thought.

"So you never settled down," he said, glancing at Iceman's bare ring finger.

"No," Iceman replied, gazing back at him, voice even. "Guess I didn't find the right... the right person."

Maverick got even closer, his knee between Iceman's thighs, gently running his hands over his chest. He popped the first button of the collar on his dress whites, and slipped his finger through the hole.

"Maybe you got lucky," he murmured, "'cause settling down isn't all it's cracked up to be."

"Mitchell," Iceman said, voice suddenly strained. "I think you're getting the wrong idea," he said, nudging his hands away.

"I don't think so," Maverick said, fingers trailing down Iceman's stomach to his lap, where the fabric of his pants tented.

Iceman cleared his throat and sat forward, pushing Maverick off. "I'm not going to be responsible for you fucking up your marriage," he said, quiet and stony.

"My marriage is already fucked up," Maverick told him.

They stared at each other.

"Get out of my office," Iceman told him.

Maverick didn't move.

"I'm not going to tell you twice."

Maverick brushed himself off and left, stomach in knots. He was barely down the hallway when he ran into Jester.

"Commander Heatherly," he said.

"Afternoon," Jester replied. "Were you just talking to Iceman?"

Maverick swallowed. "Yes."

"Did he mention anything about the Pacific?"

"Uh... no."

"Ah," Jester said. "I was reading up on his file an hour or so ago. Didn't get the specifics, but turns out he went through some pretty tough shit. Had a real rough time of it, lost a lot of good men."

Maverick nodded.

"Guys go through something like that, they're almost never the same again. Well, I'll see you later, Commander."

Jester disappeared down the hallway.

Maverick took in a deep breath and continued on his way.