Author's Note: So just to be clear, here's the timeline for this story –
Early May 2001: Carole dies
Late September 2001: Maverick calls the Naval Academy
Late May 2002: Bradley finds out and cuts Maverick off
November 2002: Ice finds out he has throat cancer
January 2003: Ice tells Maverick
March 2003: Maverick is sent to Iraq
Enjoy… I have other stories I've been working on AO3 that I need to copy to here as well.
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"But plans have been made
all of the furniture sold
So store up your hate,
use it for warmth when you're cold"
- "Sparrow and the Wolf," - James Vincent McMorrow
~2004~
Ice rested his head against the wall behind him and closed his eyes, trying to ignore the typical hospital smell of antiseptic and cleaning products and sick bodies, the sounds of the intercoms and quiet footfalls and muted conversations at the nurses' station.
Usually he was able to keep his cool and compartmentalize and shove his feelings aside.
However that ability was limited where Maverick was concerned.
At least they'd led him to the waiting room on the surgical floor instead of leaving him downstairs pacing the lobby.
The Admiral's uniform probably helped, and the stern glare-downs to the staff from his aide that Ice had helped Kurzweil perfect on the flight.
The commander of VF-154/CVW-5 had called him to tell him that Maverick's F/A-18 had been hit by a missile over Iraq and that he was presumed dead. The CO also told him that the other pilots said Maverick had intentionally put his plane in harm's way to save the others.
Typical.
Ice had sat at his desk with his head in his hands, unable to move, to think, to breathe. He always thought he'd be prepared for this day, but it turned out that he couldn't have been more wrong.
His eyes glanced around his office, remembering all the times Maverick would come sauntering in when he was in town, much to the annoyance of Shorty.
When he'd told Ice he was out of time and would need to pull Bradley's papers because the war was starting.
When he'd called the Naval Academy and wept piteously in Ice's arms.
When Bradley had cut him off and Maverick had come straight here, reeling and barely able to stand, eventually passing out from the stress and the pain.
All in his office.
Here.
Just as he thought he'd always be prepared for this day, in the same vein he also sort of expected his wingman to live forever. It was inconceivable that Maverick was just gone.
He'd debated calling Sarah, wanting nothing more than to go home and lay in her arms until he crumbled into dust, but he knew better. Too soon. "Presumed dead" was not the same thing as "confirmed dead."
Especially not where Maverick was concerned.
He forced himself to breathe, commanding each inhale and exhale. He turned his computer off and stared at the phone, sitting like that for long minutes.
Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale.
Ring, damn you!
After a tortuous amount of time, his phone did ring again. He swallowed down the bile in his throat and answered.
"Admiral Kazansky."
"Sir, this is Captain Overstreet, Carrier Air Wing 5, Kitty Hawk, calling you back."
"Yes, Captain?" Ice hated how strained his voice sounded, even worse than usual.
"Sir," he heard the relief in the captain's voice. "We found Captain Mitchell. He is severely injured but he's alive."
Ice had to mute the phone to allow the air to whoosh out of his lungs. Of course he was, that maniac.
"He's alive?"
"Barely, but yes sir. We sent a search and rescue just in case and they found him several miles from where he should have been."
Oh, God, thank you, Lord, he's alive. He's hurt but he's ALIVE.
"Where is he now, Captain?"
"They're assessing him in sickbay now, sir. He's pretty banged up. He's also been mostly unconscious since being picked up, sir."
Okay, Ice thought. Okay….he's being assessed. He's alive.
"Captain, please notify me of any changes and the moment he wakes up."
"Yes, sir, of course. Shall I take the liberty of calling the other person listed as his next of kin, sir?"
Ice blinked. Was it still…?
"Who is that, Captain?"
"A Bradley Bradshaw, sir."
Ice closed his eyes for a minute and sighed heavily.
"Sir?"
"Not yet, Captain. Not until we know the damage. Let me give you my cell number and please call me as soon as you have an update."
"Yes, sir, of course."
"He may be disoriented when he wakes up, but please call me anyway."
"Yes, sir, I will."
"Thank you, Captain. Take care."
He's alive he's alive alivealivealive….
Ice could hardly be angry with Maverick for saving another person's life, and yet irritation and annoyance were simmering in him.
He eventually turned the computer back on and stared at his long list of emails, clicking through and prioritizing the ones that couldn't wait. There was also a stack of intelligence reports on his desk that he needed to go through but those could come home with him.
He whipped through those emails as fast as he could while still being thorough, actually enjoying having work to do that could mostly keep him distracted from images of his wingman, injured, lying in the Kitty Hawk's sickbay on the other side of the world…
Two more afternoon meetings and he was out the door, but frozen in place when his cell rang with an unfamiliar number on the screen.
"Admiral Kazansky speaking."
"Sir, Captain Overstreet again," the CO of CVW-5 wasted no time in getting to the point.
"Sir, we are having Maverick transported to the US Army hospital in Frankfurt, Germany. He is stable, but needs a surgery that is too extensive for us here on the carrier and he'll need some recoup time."
Ice almost had to bend at the waist in relief, nearly dropping his briefcase and keys on the sidewalk.
"When is he going?"
"Soon, sir, he will get there midafternoon tomorrow, Germany time."
Ice wasn't sure what time it was in San Diego, so he wasn't sure what time it was in Germany or in the Gulf.
No matter. He could be on a plane the very next day.
"Did he wake up at all, Overstreet?"
He heard a pensive sigh, and then, "Yes, sir, he did, and besides trying to sit up and leave sickbay he kept calling for Goose, and then for you, sir, and then for dog tags, which didn't make a lot of sense because he's wearing his tags, until another medic found a set of dog tags in a zippered pocket of his flight suit."
Oh, Christ. Not good. But could be worse.
Ice blew air out of his cheeks and closed his eyes.
"Thank you, Captain. Looks like I'm going to Frankfurt."
When he got home he told Sarah about Maverick, and she crumpled in his arms, scared for their friend while also relieved that he was stable.
"When do you leave?" She whispered against his shirt.
"As soon as I can arrange transportation. I need to be there when he wakes up if possible."
She nodded, understanding.
"Maverick hates hospitals…" she said sadly, still with her face pressed to her husband's chest.
"He does," she heard his chest rumble as he replied, and took comfort in the sounds of his breathing, and his steady heartbeat. It was so reassuring to hear, after eight months of cancer treatments and a minor surgery that left his voice changed but he was still able to communicate, to speak clearly and strongly. She'd been worried about how the change in his voice would affect him but he said he was so glad that he could still speak that he didn't even mind how different his voice sounded now.
So she squeezed him tight as he released a long breath and laid his head against hers.
"I know you're worried about him, Tom," she said simply. He grunted in response and pulled her tighter: a confirmation.
Then he'd spoken to his superiors and met his aide at the airport the next morning.
Now they'd been waiting in this room at the hospital for over an hour.
Kurz was quietly going through a report, making notes with a pen. He'd pulled a small end table over catty-corner to his chair, one leg tucked under him, jacket off, a styrofoam cup of coffee on the small table with the report as he alternated with the pen and a highlighter.
Ice couldn't concentrate on anything except his finger tapping against his leg and the the tick tick tick of the wall clock.
Ice awoke with a start a few hours later. He'd been sitting up, resting his head against the wall. He blinked blearily and looked around.
Damn jet lag, he thought, as he looked down at Shorty, who, though asleep, looked extremely uncomfortable: he'd pulled a second chair over and had his slender upper body in one chair and his legs and hips curled into another, one gangly leg hanging out under the armrest, his uniform jacket balled up under his head as a makeshift pillow.
Ice stood and stretched, groaning as his joints popped and his muscles protested. He twisted to the left and then to the right, and noticed the time: 3:17. What was taking so long?
He wandered to a vending machine looking for a bottle of water but saw two different kinds: Mineralwasser and one called Stilleswasser and his brain decided it was too taxed to make decisions and he got a Coke instead.
When he came back the doctor had just arrived and was about to wake Kurzweil when he saw Ice.
"Admiral Tom Kazansky?"
Ice nodded and shook the man's hand.
"Yes, that's me. How is Captain Mitchell?"
"I'm Dr. Cortez. He's out of surgery and stable. I would have gotten you sooner but he is only just now beginning to wake up from the anesthesia. He stayed asleep quite a bit longer than we'd expected, but there was a note in his file that it's imperative you are there when he wakes up?"
Ice nodded again. "If not me then someone…but preferably me. Can I see him?"
Cortez nodded back.
"Yes, of course, Admiral." His gaze drifted down to the young lieutenant, still dead to the world and sleeping across two chairs.
"Should we wake him or is he okay to stay here?"
Ice smiled a little as he looked at his faithful aide. "Kurz should be fine here, but I'll leave him a note."
He bent down to write a note in the notebook Shorty still had open on the table.
"Kurz?" The doctor asked.
"Well, his last name is Kurzweil, but I usually call him Kurz, or by his callsign, Shorty."
The doctor snorted out a laugh and Ice raised an eyebrow at him.
"Sorry, Admiral. It's just quite clever."
"I don't follow."
"'Kurz Weil' in German basically means, 'In short, because.' Kurz itself is the word for short."
Ice blinked at that and smiled wider.
"I always wondered where Shorty came from. He's of average height after all…what room is Maverick - sorry Captain Mitchell - in?"
The doctor told him and he added it to the note, then finally went with the doctor to see Maverick.
The nurse was in there checking his vitals. Ice glanced around the room.
"Hello…is there a bag with his personal effects in it?" Ice asked, trying to keep the urgency out of his voice, and the nurse nodded and pointed to a large plastic bag in the corner. The doctor raised an eyebrow as Ice went to it immediately and started digging through it looking for something.
"Oh please tell me they sent them with him…" and sighed in relief when he found Goose's dog tags, pulling them out of the bag gently.
"Is everything alright, Admiral?" The doctor asked, concerned and more than a little curious.
Ice's shoulders visibly relaxed as he sank into the chair next to the bed.
"He has a hard time with hospitals and usually wakes up very disoriented. These," he said as he held up the tags, "will help."
The doctor nodded in understanding, reaching up and under his collar and held up a similar-looking chain with his thumb.
"My brother's. He was a corporal in the Marine Corps. Killed by an IED last year. I understand."
Ice's eyes reflected sympathy and understanding. "I'm sorry, Doctor."
Cortez sighed and walked closer to the bed. Maverick looked pale, with dark bags under his eyes, and even though he was unconscious he looked exhausted. He watched the Admiral immediately lean as close as he could and take the captain's hand.
"Maverick…Pete…I'm here…"
"He should wake up any minute now, Admiral," the nurse said as she finished writing some numbers on the chart and then left.
"The nurses station is down the hall to the right if you need anything, Admiral. I'll be back to check on him in a few hours."
Ice dropped his head and then lifted it. "I appreciate it, Doctor, thank you."
And then they were alone.
The nurse was correct: Maverick began to stir not long after they'd left. Ice put his hand on Maverick's forehead, brushing back his dark hair, just waiting silently.
Maverick's brow furrowed and his mouth opened and closed a few times. His right eye was pretty swollen but his left eye opened just a crack.
"…Ice?" His mouth sounded like it was stuffed with cotton.
"It's me, Mav. I'm here."
That eye went wide as Ice pressed his hand more firmly against Maverick's forehead, smoothing his hair over and over, his left hand squeezing Maverick's as he switched from the chair to sitting on the bed.
"Shhhh, it's okay, Mav, you're safe, it's okay…"
Tears were immediately leaking out of both eyes as Maverick fought with the onslaught of memories from previous hospital visits…when his mother died, various times during foster care that Maverick didn't like to talk about with anyone but Goose and Ice, when Goose died, when he was shot in Kuwait, when Carole was diagnosed, Ice's chemo treatments…it always hit him all at once.
Ice took Goose's dog tags and immediately shoved them into Maverick's hand, closing his fingers around them even as Maverick struggled in the bed, trying to get up or roll out.
"Shhh…Mav, it's Ice. It's your wingman. I'm right here. You're okay."
He wasn't really okay, but he was safe, and was in the hospital because he had almost sacrificed his life for someone else, not because yet another person in his life was dead, or because a foster father had beaten him…or worse…
Maverick began to relax with the feel of the tags in his hand and Ice's firm touch and soothing words, but he was still panting a little, not really in pain, not really feeling anything at first, just woozy. Then the sharp pain of his surgery and the stitches started to break through, and Maverick squeezed his eyes shut, turning his head this way and that.
"Ice….?" He asked, his voice still sounding thick and mumbly, eyes still closed.
"Yeah, Mav?"
"Ice, where's Goose? Why isn't he here?"
Now the voice sounded younger and plaintive. Ice closed his eyes momentarily, still stroking Maverick's hair while sitting with him on the bed, Ice's other hand holding Mav's.
This had happened before, but…
"He'll be here soon. You just rest, okay?"
"No…where is he?"
"Mav…"
"Goose is always here when I'm hurt, always," he said pitifully. "Goose…? Talk to me, Goose!" He started to shout.
"GOOSE! NICK!"
Shit.
Ice took Maverick's left hand and gently crossed it over his chest so that it was pressed against the right shoulder. He couldn't really do that with the right hand, and Maverick had stitches across his left side and abdomen, but Ice was trying to give him just enough pressure that he would calm down, as tears streamed down Maverick's cheeks and he gasped for air.
I think I might need an ice pack again…
"Maverick. Pete Mitchell. Listen to my voice," Ice said, using the cadence one might use to soothe a startled horse or a frightened child.
"It's Tom Kazansky, your wingman, you are in the hospital but you are safe, you're okay, you're going to be fine, I have you, Mav…take some deep breaths for me, come on…"
Maverick resisted him at first, trying to twist out of his grip, tears still escaping from his closed eyes. He wanted to take his left hand and use it to pull the IV out of his right hand and run away, but one, Ice was holding his left wrist against his chest, and two, that hand was holding…something…
Ice pushed Maverick's fingers tighter around the tags, and Maverick finally realized what was in his hand.
Goose is gone, but he's here with me…Ice is here…I'm not alone…
He calmed then, following Ice's coaching to take deep breaths, and with a shudder cracked his eyes back open. This time they were more clear and lucid, at least, but wide and flicking this way and that.
Finally he focused on Ice and relaxed, blinking.
"Oh…Ice…Tom…"
Ice sighed and released his tight grip on Maverick's arm that he had pinned to his chest.
"Ice…'m sorry…"
"It's okay, Pete," Ice muttered as he fussed over him, arranging Mav's hospital gown so it covered him again, pulling the blanket back up, tugging at the pillow, wiping the tears off of Maverick's face and neck…
Maverick squinted as he turned his head this way and that, looking around the dim hospital room, his voice now sounding a little raw and thick.
"Ice…where am I?"
"Army hospital in Frankfurt, Germany. What's the last thing you remember?"
Maverick blinked, his vision unfocused as he tried to remember."Coming back from a bombing run…smoke in the air…Buster was running low on fuel, running behind, got behind him… then…"
His brow furrowed as he tried to remember.
"I started to come-to, but I was confused, because I'd been with Goose and then suddenly he was gone…"
Ice sat back a little, smoothing Maverick's hair off his forehead again.
"You were with Goose?" He asked lightly.
"Well, like in a dream, we were back at the bar, he was about to go play piano…but his face was bloody…" he trailed off, and Ice knew the rest. Maverick usually woke up from anesthesia or a trauma episode or a panic attack with Goose's name on his lips.
"And then I woke up again, just now, still confused as to why Goose wasn't here…"
Maverick was rubbing the tags, and raised his right arm a little, frowned at the IV in his hand, and then looked at Ice plaintively.
"Ice, can you…" he asked quietly holding up the hand holding the tags.
Ice understood and nodded. They had been friends long enough that not everything needed words. He took the dog tags out of Maverick's hand and rearranged them so that the chain was looped and wrapped around his wrist - Mav felt more secure that way - and then gently placed the tags back in Maverick's hand.
Maverick wondered what Goose would think of him right then, pale and sweaty and still a little bloody and bruised and barely able to move…
"So what happened to me?" He asked Ice, those green eyes starting to shine a bit.
Ice ran a hand through his hair, which was thankfully coming back but was still shorter than he was used to it being.
"You were shot down, idiot."
Maverick nodded slowly. "Right…how did you get here?"
"An airplane," Ice replied, deadpan.
"No…I mean…I know that part, Ice…"
"Overstreet called and said you had been hit and were presumed dead…I…I cannot tell you what those hours of waiting to hear back from him were like…" Ice said, having to stop and clear his throat and get the words out around the lump that had appeared in his throat thanks to that memory, now that he was finally able to process those emotions.
"He, ah, ahem, finally called me back and said you were alive and that they were flying you here, so Kurz and I were on the next flight we could get on…"
He had to clear his throat again and wipe away the tears floating in his eyes. Maverick raised his right hand and managed to grip Ice's left elbow in an attempt to comfort him, then dropped it, and Ice reached over and held Mav's fingers gently.
Maverick blinked a few times and took a good look at Ice, a small smile appearing on his lips as he gazed at Ice with humor glinting in his eyes.
Ice, of course, noticed. He snorted a laugh.
"What's that look for, Mav?"
Maverick smiled at him, his eyes half-open.
"Haven't seen you in a few months. You look good, Ice."
Ice huffed. "In comparison to how I looked a few months ago, I'm sure I do. I looked terrible."
Maverick tilted his head a little. "If you grew your hair long you'd kind of look like Jim Morrison, anyone ever tell you that before?"
"Yeah. You. Tons of times. Not growing it long, Mav. Keeping it Navy standard," Ice replied, smoothing Maverick's hair off his forehead again.
"Ice, you're no fun, you know that?" Maverick muttered, his eyes fluttering.
Ice snorted again.
"I am lots of fun, Maverick. Lots," Ice murmured, running his fingers through Maverick's hair to keep calming him and feeling relief flood his body now that the pilot was fully relaxed, seeing him rub his thumb back and forth over the dog tags, and his eyes continue to flutter close then bolt open as he fought sleep.
"Hey, Ice?" Came the sleepy, mumbled question.
"Yeah, Mav?"
"You think these Army docs went to the same medical school as Dr. Pepper?" Maverick muttered as he appeared to drift back to sleep, anesthesia still in his system and his body now able to rest, now that the mind knew it was safe and in good hands.
Humor was always a good sign, and Ice felt himself relax as well. He sat on the bed staring at the now sleeping Maverick, his left hand loosely holding the tags, right hand jerking a little as he fell into a deeper sleep. He stared at his friend's face, still pale, still with dark bags under his eyes.
Ice heard a knock on the door then, and softly said, "come in?"
He had to stifle a grin as an obviously still-mostly-asleep Kurzweil came shuffling in, his sandy-blond hair sticking up at crazy angles, holding his jacket, folders, Ice's briefcase, his briefcase, and the notebook Ice had written in in his hands. He arranged their belongings on the floor and settled into a chair in the corner, squinting blearily at his boss, who was doing a terrible job of stifling that smile at this point.
Kurz was not a morning person by nature; forced to be a morning person thanks to the military, but not by choice. Throw in some jet lag and a last minute trip to Europe and the poor man was exhausted. Thanks to his slender build he was able to curl into a ball in the armchair that was at least slightly more comfortable than the chairs in the waiting room.
He tossed a nod and a "sir" at Ice before he was quickly asleep again, his head resting against the back of the chair.
Ice did grin then, and thought about their training: they had to be able to fall asleep quickly when necessary, and wake up immediately when necessary. He assumed Shorty had woken up in some even more uncomfortable position, saw Ice's note, and wandered down the hall to find the Admiral.
My faithful aide…Ice thought. The boy deserved some vacation when they got home.
He kept his gaze on Shorty for another minute, then made sure Maverick was in fact deeply asleep. When he was satisfied that they were both dead to the world, he moved his body into the chair next to the bed, pressed his head against his forearms on the mattress, and allowed himself to finally weep the tears he'd been holding back since that first call, when they'd thought Maverick was dead and and his world went dark.
Ice awoke with a start a few hours later, suddenly sitting straight up thanks to a nightmare he was well acquainted with: Maverick and Goose in that flat spin, heading out to sea…but in the nightmare they were usually both dead in the ocean, floating lifelessly…this time he had been in the water too, trying to swim to them, to save them, but no matter how fast he moved his arms and legs he was unable to move any closer, he struggled futilely, he could only scream their names into the wind and waves…
He put his elbows on the bed and his head in his hands, drawing a deep breath before taking a good look at Maverick, who appeared to still be sound asleep. Ice was satisfied by the steady heart rate appearing on the screen, and he wondered if someone had come in and given Maverick more medicine while he'd been asleep, bent in half with his forehead against the mattress and his arms on the bed.
He took his phone out of his pocket: 06:38am. So he'd slept about two, maybe two and a half hours. Lovely.
He stood up gingerly, groaning as his back and legs stretched and popped, and glanced over at Shorty. He was still in the chair, albeit in a slightly different position, dead to the world and snoring lightly.
He wandered into the hall to find the men's room, then decided to go downstairs and see if he could find decent coffee.
Turns out the coffee in the Army hospital was actually not bad, and he found himself wandering back into the waiting room where he'd spent most of the prior day. It was now 7am, so it would be 10pm in California…
He wasn't even sure if Bradley was still on the West Coast, but the boy needed to be told, or at least notified. He was tempted to call Sarah first but…
He sighed and pressed Bradley's contact information and held the phone to his ear.
To his surprise, Bradley answered after two rings.
"Hello?"
Ice sucked in a breath. It had been two years since he'd heard his voice, and it sounded deeper than he remembered.
"Bradley?"
"Yeah?"
"This is Tom Kazansky. Ice." He was aware that his voice sounded different as well.
"…Uncle Ice?"
Air whooshed out of his lungs.
"Yeah, Bradley it's me. Listen…"
"He's dead, isn't he?"
That threw him for a loop.
"No, but you're on the right track."
Bradley didn't say anything, so Ice continued.
"He was flying over Iraq and was hit by a missile and shot down. He ejected in time, but just barely. We're ah…we're in Germany at a US Army hospital."
He still didn't hear anything.
"Bradley are you still there?"
What Ice couldn't see was how Bradley had thumped his head down against the back of the couch, staring up at the ceiling, feeling his chest constrict at the news Maverick was hurt badly enough that he had to be flown to Germany.
Again.
But he was alive…
"Yeah, I'm here, Ice…um…are you wanting me to fly out there or something?" He said in a neutral tone, almost sounding annoyed, shoving the feelings down, desperately trying to keep his voice even and aloof. He was glad Maverick wasn't dead, surprisingly, but he didn't want to see him or talk to him. His anger was still too real, even two years later.
Ice's eyes narrowed.
"Ah, no…I'm letting you know because I thought it would be better for it to come from me than from some doctor that doesn't know you."
Seriously? Ice thought. It's been TWO years, and this is how he reacts?
"Oh," was the reply from the now twenty-one year old.
"Oh?" Ice repeated.
"I mean…is this really a surprise? He's a reckless maniac, Ice."
Ice really had to bite his tongue with that comment.
Maybe Maverick is more reckless than usual because he doesn't think his life is worth anything, even more so than he used to!
"I'll have you know," Ice said, his voice turning cold. "That that 'maniac' is in the hospital, recovering from surgery, because he saved the life of another pilot."
"Oh," was all Bradley said again.
Ice could picture him sitting on his couch being petulant, refusing to admit how much he cared for Maverick. Ice was about to launch into another lecture, when Bradley asked another question.
"Ice…are you okay? Your voice sounds different."
Ice had to pause for a minute before replying, deciding to go all in and not sugarcoat it, because frankly the kid needed to know everything he was missing out on, what his silence was costing him.
"Bradley, in late 2002 I was diagnosed with stage two laryngeal cancer. I had to have a minor surgery on my larynx a few months ago."
"….what?" Came the strangled whisper.
"Yeah. It seems to be in remission now, I had to do radiation and chemo, then the surgery, but I'm on the mend."
"Oh…God, Ice, I'm sorry…I-"
"Didn't know?" Ice cut in, his voice derisive, almost mocking.
"You would have known had you answered any of Maverick's calls or messages."
Bradley didn't have much of a response to that, unfortunately for him. He stayed silent as Ice continued.
"What about the messages from me? You used to email Sarah and then you stopped. What the hell, Bradley?" Ice wasn't pulling any punches but also didn't want to attack the boy.
Not really.
Okay maybe a little bit.
The anger returned to Bradley's voice.
"Maybe because none of you will tell me the truth! You think I don't know when Mav is lying? When he's hiding something? If I'm not worth telling the truth to then I'm not really your family, am I?"
Oohhhhh this kid...easy, Tom, don't let him get to you…
"Maverick has his reasons. You should know by know that you just need to trust him. It was for your own good."
"Pulling my papers behind my back was for my own good? Are you fucking serious?"
Ice almost wished Bradley was already in the Navy so he could court-martial his ass for that comment. He kept his anger under control, though, and tried a different approach.
"Bradley, have you ever known Maverick to be selfish?"
That made Bradley pause for several long moments.
Reckless, flippant, daring, brave, kind, cocky, possessing of an innate need to prove himself…
He'd heard Ice and the other flyboys call Maverick "a little shit", "a giant toddler" and "a really smart dumbass." But he was also Iceman's wingman and deeply loyal to his loved ones. Ice wouldn't have bestowed "wingmanship" on Maverick if he didn't trust him implicitly.
Was Maverick selfish? Quite the opposite. Constantly putting himself in harm's way for others (as recent events had proven). When Bradley was little Maverick spent nearly all of his free time with him and Carole, taking Bradley on adventures, teaching him, taking care of him. He had done everything he could for Bradley and Carole he when Carole told him she had cancer, usually sending her money in his letters to her, and when the end was inevitable Maverick had basically moved in with them and helped take care of her and Bradley for months…
So…selfish? No, Mav was never selfish.
"No…" he finally answered, his voice calmer and quieter.
"No, Ice, Mav's not selfish."
But what Maverick had done still stung Bradley, made him believe that Maverick thought his son wasn't good enough for the Navy, wasn't good enough to fly with him, that he wouldn't want to be in the air with him…
"Okay, then," Ice was saying. "You know then that this wasn't a selfish decision."
"Do you agree with his decision?"
Ice blinked hard at that question, taken aback.
"What?"
"You heard me. Do you agree with Maverick?"
Ice sucked in a breath. Shit. Can't tell the kid the real reason, because he'd promised Mav, but…
"Bradley, if I vehemently disagreed with Maverick then I would have stopped him. I didn't think you were ready then, and frankly this conversation makes me think you aren't ready now."
Bradley was seething in silent anger, trying to keep his cool. He suspected this would be the answer but actually hearing it hurt.
"Well then it's a good thing there's more than one way to become an officer in the Navy, isn't it?" Bradley said. "I've already enrolled in school and I'll start in the fall. Then I can attend OCS," he added with a touch of pride in his voice.
Ice sighed and closed his eyes. He was way too tired to argue with this kid, but didn't know if Bradley would take his calls again after today. He did his best to keep his tone even; after all, the kid wasn't wrong, there was more than one way to become an aviator…and honestly Ice was damn proud of him in that moment.
"Well, Bradley, that's great news. I'm very proud of you, truly. Which university?" Ice asked, and for a moment he wondered if Bradley would share that information with him. But…Bradley may be pissed at him and Maverick, but Ice was still an admiral in the Navy. He'd meant what he'd said before: he wouldn't do anything to hold the kid back or give him crap assignments. But there had to be some give and take here, and even Bradley knew that.
"UC Irvine," Bradley said quietly. Hearing the pride in Ice's voice moved him…but…
No. Don't cave, Bradshaw.
"Bradley…congratulations. Seriously. Still kind of local, huh?" Ice said, sounding more like Uncle Ice than Admiral Kazansky.
Bradley swallowed. "I guess…thanks, Ice. Really."
Ice tried again. He had to.
"Bradley, listen, please just talk to Maverick…how can he explain himself if you won't talk to him?" Ice pleaded.
It was a fair and solid question, and Bradley wished he had a good answer besides his own stubborn pride.
"I'll think about it, okay?" He finally answered, hoping that would be enough to get Ice to drop it, and he tried to appease Ice with:
"I am glad he's okay, though. You can tell him that."
He heard Ice draw a long sigh.
"Alright. He'll be pleased to hear that. Can I tell him about Irvine?"
"I mean, I guess so…Ice?"
"Yeah, kiddo?"
"I'm, um…I'm glad you're okay, too…"
The distance between them was still cavernous (and frankly, awkward) but Ice had learned to take little joys in small victories.
"Thanks, Bradley," Ice said warmly. And then, "keep in touch, okay? Ball's in your court."
"I'll think about it," Bradley repeated, sounding more glum than Ice would have thought.
"Okay, kiddo, let's talk soon."
"Bye."
Ice leaned back against the closest wall after having paced the lobby back and forth during that call.
That kid. So damn stubborn.
But he still had love in his heart for Bradley, not just because he was Goose's son, but because he'd known him literally since he was four years old. He, Maverick, and the guys had been there for almost every birthday, almost every first day of school (not always all of them, since it depended on who was stationed where, who was on deployment, at training, etc.) and he was quite fond of the kid.
He paced around some more, thinking through what he knew about psychology and about these two men. Despite Maverick stepping in when Goose died, Bradley naturally had his own father issues and abandonment issues. In fact looking back on it, Ice could remember times when Bradley's issues rivaled Maverick's.
Ice knew first-hand how Maverick's abandonment issues and PTSD could rise up at seemingly innocuous things sometimes… he remembered when, not long after Goose died, Maverick'd had a trauma response after Bradley spilled bright green paint, the paint reminding him of the green dye that bled out into the ocean as they waited to be rescued…
Bradley lost his father very young, then less than a year after Carole died, Maverick left on deployment, then Ice did too…and came back…and left again…
Ice now wondered, two years later, if that had affected Bradley more than they'd realized. Not that they could have avoided leaving, not really, but maybe addressed their absences with the young man…
Ice shook his head and rolled his shoulders. He knew better than to allow himself to spiral into non-useful thought patterns like the "what ifs" and "if onlys," and decided to get another cup of coffee (his having long since cooled) and going back upstairs to check on Maverick.
Bradley stared at the phone in his hand for several long minutes. His roommate came in the door then from a late soccer practice.
"Yo, Brad, you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."
Bradley blinked a few times and put on his mask of self-preservation.
"What? Oh, yeah, I'm fine, just got off the phone…"
Steven set down his duffel bag in his room and then came to stand in his doorway so he could get a good look at Bradley.
"Everything okay, Brad?" Steven asked again, discerning.
"Yeah, Stevie, I'm good. Promise."
Steven decided to drop it. His roommate was known to be very tight-lipped and had a hard time opening up to anybody, especially about his family. All Steven knew was that both of Brad's parents were dead but he refused to talk about anyone else in his family. Wouldn't say that they were dead, just outright refused to talk about them. So Steven decided to drop it.
"Okay, buddy," he said with a nod and a "goodnight", as he shut the door to his room so he could shower and go to bed.
Bradley sat on the couch in silence for two hours, wondering if he could pay the price his stubbornness was costing him.
Kurz was still sound asleep when Ice returned to the room, but Maverick started twitching not long after Ice sat down next to his bedside.
Ice did note with a small amount of relief that Maverick's color did seem to be coming back somewhat and he didn't look as pale. A blood transfusion and sleep will do that, he supposed.
Green eyes blinked open and immediately looked to the left to see if Ice was there - he was - and Maverick relaxed a fraction.
Ice blinked at him in concern, moving himself to sit on the bed with his wingman.
"How are you feeling, Mav?"
Maverick tried to take a long deep breath and winced.
" 'M okay…had a bad dream…you know how much I hate pain killers…"
Ice did know; Maverick usually had worse dreams than normal when he was knocked out on painkillers like Percocet, and the sedative nature of the drugs meant he didn't wake up as easily.
He noticed Maverick rubbing and squeezing Goose's dog tags in a more harried way than normal. Ice raised his eyebrows and rubbed Maverick's arm comfortingly.
"Bad dream? You okay, Pete?"
Maverick was shaking his head slowly, his eyes suddenly narrowed in the pain of remembering.
"It was…like the usual nightmares…holding…holding Goose in the water…we wait forever and no one comes to rescue us. We just float there for what seems like forever, but this time when I went to look at Goose's face, it was Bradley's instead…"
He shuddered and closed his eyes, causing a few tears to fall. Ice kept rubbing his friend's arm as if trying to warm him.
"It's okay, Mav, you're safe now, here."
Maverick took another long, shuddering breath, then his eyes suddenly opened wide.
"Oh my God, Bradley didn't get the same call you did, did he? That they thought I was dead?" He was tryin to sit up straight in distress, but Ice gently pushed him back down onto the bed, using that same soothing tone he'd used when Maverick had first woken up.
"Mav, you need to relax…it's okay…" Ice said gently, again running his fingers through Mav's hair in an attempt to calm him, to ground him.
He heard a ruffling sound and a grunt and turned his head to see Shorty standing up and tugging his shirt and pants into place before he put on his blue jacket and also tugged it into place. His hair was still a mess though, and his blue-green eyes squinted at Ice.
"Good morning, sirs," was the mumble that emitted from the man's mouth.
"There's coffee downstairs, Eric. Go get something to eat, too."
There was a nod and a "yes, sir" as Shorty headed for the door, and Ice called to him over his shoulder:
"And go fix your hair! Don't want a Naval officer to look shabby in an Army hospital, Lieutenant." He said that last part with a wink to Maverick and he heard another mumbled "yes, sir" from just beyond the doorway.
Ice turned back to Maverick, satisfied that Eric would be gone for a while, and resumed stroking his friend's scalp.
Maverick's eyes were narrowed as he looked at his friend. Unlike Maverick, Ice was really good at hiding his feelings…except to people who had known him for as long as Maverick had…
"Ice…you didn't answer my question," Maverick said pointedly.
"Hmm?" Ice replied nonchalantly.
Maverick tilted his head, his eyes still narrowed.
"Did Overstreet call Bradley?"
Ice sighed and shifted in the bed, resting his hand over Maverick's hand that still held Goose's dog tags tightly.
"No, Mav, I asked him not to until…until we knew how you were."
"So…Overstreet did call him once they flew me here?"
It was a simple question, so Maverick was a little confused as to why it was taking Ice so long to answer him directly.
Ice took a few breaths as he considered how to answer.
"No, Mav, I called Bradley myself."
"Oh…" Maverick said, his voice suddenly soft, his mouth in a slight frown.
Ice gestured vaguely over his shoulder.
"Just now, actually."
Maverick's eyes widened, and Ice's heart clenched at what he saw there: a mix of grief, caution, and hopefulness.
"Oh, um…is he…" Maverick wasn't sure which question he wanted to ask…
Is he okay? Is he worried about me? Does he even care? Is he in school? Is he safe?
Does he want to talk finally?
These questions and others swirled around but were interrupted by a firm knock on the door and then the door opening, a smiling nurse appearing and walking into the room.
She brushed her chin-length brown hair behind an ear as she went to the bed.
"Well, good morning, Captain. Did you sleep okay?"
"Umm, I think for a few hours," Maverick replied, trying to keep his voice neutral.
"Okay, good good, how's your pain? Scale of one to ten?"
"Umm around a five or six…"
"So it's really a seven," Ice said, sotto voce.
"Ah, I see, you're one of those," the nurse chirped as she took Maverick's blood pressure and temperature.
"Now, don't be shy, I need to check your bandage and dressing, alright?"
Maverick nodded, biting back a smile at the nurse's cheerful demeanor. Ice got off the bed and leaned against the wall as the nurse raised an eyebrow at him and asked Maverick if it was alright that Ice was in there while she lifted his gown, and Maverick actually laughed at her, even though it was a valid and important question.
"We've served together almost twenty years. He's seen it all at this point."
The nurse nodded and smiled and made quick work of checking him over, and, satisfied, got him covered back up and practically tucked him in.
"Alright, Captain, I'll go talk to Dr. Cortez about your pain and we'll see if you're ready to eat something soon, okay?"
He nodded and gave his thanks as she bustled out of the room.
Ice resumed his position on the bed and sat in silence for a minute, until Ice cleared his throat, taking a stab at what Maverick was trying to ask before the intrusion.
"Well…okay. Back to what we were talking about. Bradley tried to act like he doesn't care, but I know better. He did say he was glad you're okay…he noticed my voice and was shocked that I am in remission from cancer…I did give him a hard time about that," Ice said with some humor in his voice, but Maverick's expression didn't change. Ice sighed and continued.
"He, um, he's joining the Navy anyway, planning on going to OCS…he will soon be attending UC Irvine…"
Maverick's eyes widened with that and began to shine with tears. He was so proud of Bradley in that moment but it also deeply enhanced his sorrow: he wasn't there to celebrate with him, couldn't share in it with him…
After a long minute of silence Maverick finally asked another question, the hope in his voice like a stake through Ice's chest.
"Can…can I call him? Does he…want to talk?"
Ice tapped his fingers on Maverick's hand thoughtfully as he pondered how to answer yet again.
"No, Mav. Or at least…" Ice huffed angrily, causing Maverick to furrow his eyebrows.
"He isn't being rational. He wants you to explain the 'real reason' but won't answer your calls and doesn't want to talk to you," Ice said, frustrated, and threw his other hand in the air in an irritated gesture.
Maverick stared at his lap, tears pricking his eyes. This was all my fault, he reasoned, finding his mind traveling down the same, familiar, worn path in his memory…
Were Goose still alive, none of this would have happened; this was his reasoning whenever he thought of how he'd ruined his relationship with Bradley. And his ironclad loyalty to Carol prevented him from telling Bradley the full truth, as he couldn't bear the thought of Bradley being as angry with his mother as he was with Maverick.
For his part, Ice was wishing he had been gentler with Maverick while also not wanting to sugarcoat anything.
"Mav," Ice said gently, his hand still resting on Maverick's left hand, even as Maverick was rubbing the tags with his thumb.
"I know that look. I really do wish you'd tell him the whole truth, but-" he stopped at Maverick's violent head shake and the tears that had started to fall down Mav's cheeks.
Ice sighed and cupped his friend's cheek for a minute before letting his hand drop.
"Okay, Mav. Okay."
"Ice…I just miss him so much…"
"I know, Mav. Me too. It's okay."
Maverick was shaking his head, staring at the wall over Ice's shoulder, tears still flowing.
"And it's like it was all for nothing, because he's joining the Navy anyway, but I had to do what Carole asked, I had to try, for her…" this was mostly Maverick muttering to himself, but at the word "her" he turned to look Ice in the eyes, his green eyes now red and wet.
"I'd do anything for Carole, and now I feel like I failed her…" he started to shake with the sobs that were welling up in him in spite of his stitches, unable to stop it. Ice changed his position in the bed so that he was able to put an arm around his wingman and pressed the side of his head to Maverick's, holding him as best he could while Mav cried tears of loss yet again. The loss of Bradley in his life was a gaping hole; it had carved him out and made him feel so hollow, almost as bad as he'd felt when Goose had died.
Goose's death had left a raw and tender wound, and Carole's…the loss of all three Bradshaws, then Ice's cancer diagnosis… his losses in childhood… wounds that were stubborn to heal. Mainly because Maverick believed he deserved this pain.
Shit. My poor friend, Ice thought.
Ice almost wanted Maverick angry about this situation. At least an angry Maverick would be standing up for himself to the kid…
The door to the room slowly opened, and a slightly more awake and much less disheveled Kurzweil walked in, balancing a tray with a coffee and a small plate of food in one hand, and his open cell phone in the other.
"Sir, it's your wife," Kurz said as he handed the phone to Ice and left again in the direction of the family waiting room.
Ice's eyebrows had raised in surprise when Kurz handed him the phone; by now it was midnight in California - and why hadn't she called him?
He did have to commend Kurz though. In the years of being Ice's aide it didn't even seem phase him that his boss was sitting in a hospital bed with his arm around a crying Maverick, just handed him the phone and knew to give him privacy.
He held the phone to his ear.
"Hello? Sarah?"
"Tom," she breathed, relieved. "I've been trying to call you…"
He sat up ramrod straight. "Is everything alright? Something wrong with the kids?"
"No, no, I was just worried is all, I hadn't heard from you…"
"Oh, oh Sarah I'm sorry, we got here, and no one would give me answers and we had to wait for hours, and…"
Maverick had stopped crying and wiped his face with his arm as best he could. He actually smiled a little, as he never got tired of seeing Ice as a doting husband and family man. The Admiral persona was usually tossed out the window where his wife and kids were concerned, something Maverick knew Ice worked hard on, as Ice's own father had been unable to separate the officer and father personas and Tom didn't want to continue that pattern with his own family.
"Tom," she said, her tone light and almost chiding, "it's okay. I was just worried when I hadn't heard from you, and your phone kept going straight to voicemail."
Oh. His phone must have died after that conversation with Bradley…
"How's Maverick?" She asked, her voice now sounding concerned.
"Here I'll let you talk to him," Ice said with a smile and held the phone out to Maverick, who gently, gently lifted the hand with the IV, winced, and held the phone to his ear.
"Sarah? Oh, hi. Yes, it's good to hear your voice too…oh, you know me…I'm too tough to kill…uh-huh…"
Maverick continued his conversation as Ice stood up and stretched and rifled through his briefcase for his phone charger. He plugged in his phone and smiled to himself a little at how Maverick's tone had brightened when he started talking to Sarah. Maverick was sure to be on medical leave for a few weeks and Ice didn't think it would take much convincing for Maverick to stay with them throughout.
After another minute Maverick was waving the phone in Ice's direction.
"Your wife would like to speak with you again, Admiral…"
Ice grinned at him and took the phone back.
"Hi, baby. You guys doing okay?"
"I miss you," she said wistfully. "Will you be back soon?" He heard the edge of anxiety in her voice, and frankly couldn't blame her. They'd been through a lot together in the last year.
"As soon as I find out when they're releasing Maverick I'll let you know, I'm hoping he'll just fly back with me and Kurz, and then come home with me until he's cleared for duty," he told her, pacing the room a little, Maverick watching his slightly stooped back.
Maverick felt the ache in his chest deepen as he watched his friend. Knowing Ice was undergoing chemo and surgery while he'd been in Iraq had been so difficult for him to deal with, and as usual he had bottled his fears and emotions and cherished every phone call he was able to make to his wingman.
Maverick had been home for the holidays but only for a few weeks before he had to go back. Ice was done with chemo by then but hadn't put quite enough weight back on, and he looked more gaunt than Maverick had ever seen him, so it was a relief to see him now, months later, hair growing back and some of his muscle tone returned.
His ears perked up though, as Ice continued speaking to his wife.
"You're sure you're alright, Sarah?" And then a pause.
"Okay, honey, yes, I'm charging my phone now, okay, I love you too, bye," he said with a sigh as he snapped the phone shut and looked over at Maverick, Ice's blue eyes full of emotions that Maverick couldn't quite read, and Mav's green eyes narrowed.
"Ice…what's wrong? Is everything okay with Sarah and the kids?"
Ice sat down on the bed again, running his fingers through his hair.
"Hard to hide things from you, isn't it, Mav," he said quietly as Maverick sat up a little more, wincing at the movement and feeling his heart begin to hammer in his chest.
"Um…" Ice fiddled with Kurz's phone in his hands, and Maverick's brows furrowed even more, not used to seeing Ice unsure of himself, especially when it came to talking to him.
Ice took a deep breath, preparing himself to tell Maverick something that only he, Sarah, and a doctor knew about.
"Sarah…had a miscarriage. About five weeks ago," he said stiltedly as Maverick's brows went to his hairline and his mouth dropped open.
"Oh, Tom, I'm so sorry, I had no idea…"
Ice did a one-shoulder shrug.
"No one knows but her and I and her doctor," Ice replied.
"She's okay, at least physically, it…" he didn't know how to phrase this part without sounding insensitive; it sounded insane to say that it "went well."
"It didn't…take long…" Ice finally said, unsure how else to explain it, and he shrugged again.
"After chemo, we didn't even know if I could…if my…if I could get her pregnant, and it's not like we were trying, it just sort of happened, and although we were surprised, we were happy about it too," he continued, the words flowing out. He'd bottled this down just like Maverick bottled his own issues and hurts.
Maverick reached out with his hand and Ice took it gratefully, feeling tears fill his eyes as he finally released the words he'd been dying to tell Maverick, to tell somebody…
"But then…she was bleeding, and…" he stared down at a nonspecific spot on the blankets.
Maverick didn't know a ton about pregnancy and childbearing, although he'd reveled in feeling both Carole's and Sarah's pregnant bellies and feeling those babies squirm around, leaving him amazed…and almost longing for this experience for himself. So he asked,
"Did…something happen? To cause it?"
He squeezed Ice's hand. Ice shrugged again and rubbed his forehead with his fingers then wiped at his eyes.
"Ah, well, she's forty years old, and honestly her doctor said sometimes it just happens without rhyme or reason, so…"
He trailed off and finally looked up into Maverick's eyes again.
"God, Ice, I'm so sorry. Truly," Maverick said and meant it.
Ice nodded his thanks, still looking at his friend and drawing strength from their physical contact. As much as Maverick missed and needed Ice, Ice had missed him and needed him too.
They sat like that together for several minutes, lost in their thoughts, when Maverick cleared his throat.
"Tom…Admiral, sir," he said with a tinge of humor, as Ice smirked at him and quirked an eyebrow.
"Yes, Captain?"
"Do you think…I could get assigned stateside? At least for a little while? Maybe near…Miramar?"
Ice's smile grew.
"I'm sure I can find something," he said, and glanced at his friend.
"You mean it, Mav?"
Maverick shrugged noncommittally, in his Pete Mitchell way. "At least for a little bit, Ice."
"Until you get bored, you mean?"
Maverick laughed and winced."Maybe…but let's find out. If we can. Sir."
Ice squeezed Mav's hand. "Okay. Once we get back I'll see what we can do. I'd love to have you close to home for a while."
It's not like Maverick had requested to go overseas, but orders were orders and a second war had started. But with his injuries Ice was fairly certain he could keep him stateside, at least for a little bit, and he was pleased that Maverick had made that request: maybe the idiot was realizing that he needed rest and family right now.
"You're a Vice Admiral, I'd think you could snap your fingers or have Shorty call someone and have it done," Maverick said jokingly and with a wink, as Ice laughed.
"I wish it was that simple," Ice replied as he looked around.
"Actually speaking of which, I wonder if he's alright…but the kid sleeps anywhere, he's probably found some corner to tuck into like a cat," Ice said with a smile.
Sure enough, Ice found Kurz asleep sideways in a chair in the waiting room, lean legs flung over the arm rest, head flopped back.
Ice woke him and had him come back to Maverick's room, where he found Maverick again fast asleep, and Kurz was soon snoozing again in the armchair.
Content that both men were resting, Ice sat back in the chair, put his feet on Maverick's hospital bed, and closed his eyes.
Closing Notes: Up next is to fill in on what Bradley has been up to….