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Maverick hates hospitals.
Ever since he would visit Carole and watch every chink of light slowly fade from her eyes over what felt like years but was merely months in reality, he’s avoided them where possible.
The selfish part of him was grateful that when Ice had gotten sick the first time, Mav had been stationed overseas for the worst of it and by the time the assignment was over Ice had already come along in leaps and bounds in his recovery.
And when Ice’s cancer had returned years later, it had happened so quickly and everyone was so consumed with the uranium mission, Mav barely had chance to process it at all. At the funeral he was numb, the one moment he felt what should be the well of emotions within being when he hammered his wings into Ice’s coffin. He’d felt everyone’s eyes on him with such focus he thought he was going to burn in from the weight of that collective gaze.
He hadn’t. He had taken a breath and marched on, the way he always had.
It was only after, when every plane had landed and everyone had partied themselves out enough they could happily spend a millennia sleeping it off that Mav felt like one more march forward might just kill him.
He hasn’t stopped since the Layton mission.
Since Bosnia.
Since Iraq, twice.
And all the missions in between, too many that had promised certain death be it either his own or someone else.
He’d marched through all of them and made it through.
But now he was here, and here was over thirty years of saving lives, losing lives, sometimes losing himself along the way.
When he finally crashed out it came hard and fast. He hadn’t really noticed he hadn’t been feeling so hot, busy moving into an apartment that overlooked the water, a building where he could go to the roof and almost touch the planes coming into Miramar.
Penny had helped him house hunt, something Mav had never really had to do before. The vast majority of his life had been lived on naval bases or on carriers. Before that, the foster system had determined where he’d be any given month.
It felt surreal to have a home to call his own, that he’d picked out and furnished. He felt like an intruder but Penny had insisted he’ll get used to it, especially once he has people over for beers, a game, whatever he likes.
Bradley’s already swung by and checked the place out, bringing a plant for a housewarming gift. The less said about how well that plant is doing under Maverick’s care the better, but Bradley being back in his life is another strange thing Mav is struggling to adjust to. They are still wary around each other. The mission, and especially the outcome of the mission, had helped to start stitching severed ties back together but there were years upon years of uncharted territory between them, they may as well be people who had only first met a few months ago. It lifted Mav’s heart when Bradley sent a postcard from Japan after getting shipped back out after the mission, and not just a postcard but a picture of him with his squadron.
‘For the museum’ Bradley had scrawled on the back of the postcard with a winking face, the picture attached one from a Polaroid camera. Maverick didn’t think anyone used those these days but evidently the old ways weren’t quite dead yet.
He pinned both up in pride of place and spent a long time that day saying goodbye to the hangar. It would still be his property but he’d lived there for a while, he figured he could give himself a moment before beginning life anew.
Retirement wasn’t a word he liked but he’d managed to fly as long as possible and that had been longer than anyone else.
Mav has never known how to rest but he tries, he’s got a good home here and he knows how lucky he is to have it.
And for every person he has lost, there are many who care about him who are still here, who he knows he can call if he ever needs to.
He doesn’t get the chance.
Before he’s realized how sick he is, he’s in bed shaking like he’ll break apart and feeling like death is at his door.
Time is lost track of and when Mav is next aware, his apartment buzzer is going off so persistently he can feel the noise vibrating right into his skull.
It’s a herculean effort to get out of bed and it’s the worried faces of Penny and Hondo who Mav unlocks the door to, instantly swaying on his feet and nearly going over when he attempts to show them in, trying to march on again because it’s all he knows and he’s just got the flu or something and that never killed anyone -
He’s grateful he has such good friends who know him better than he knows himself. Friends who will takeover and let Mav follow along on autopilot as they bundle him into a car and take him to the emergency room, who will sit and wait for goddamn hours before any doctor is able to get to him and who, upon learning that Mav has a raging chest infection, take him back home and put him to bed like the best, most protective mother.
He only realises he’s verbalised at least some of this out loud and in his semi-delirious and exhausted state, what actually comes out is Mav calling Hondo a great mom.
Hondo laughs that wonderfully deep rumble of his and tells Maverick to sleep, that he and Penny have everything under control.
They give him some privacy, shades on the window blocking out the last of the summer’s day light as evening slowly draws in.
Rest, Penny tells him as she gently pulls the door closed and the room is cool and dark and quiet and Maverick… Maverick feels good.
He hasn’t felt like this since he was last with Ice, a place to call home with people who will love him and protect him.
Ice spent so long protecting him, Mav still doesn’t quite know what the future will look like without Ice to come back to.
There’s something wet on his cheek, then, and Mav releases a shaky breath.
Tears.
As soon as he’d been left alone with just his thoughts they’ve been silently spilling down, from when Penny shut the door, and he hadn’t noticed.
There has never been much time to cry but now there is nothing but time and the tears flow like a burst pipe, a rushing river that can’t be stopped.
It could be minutes or hours but Maverick is only aware of something other than his own grief when he feels the coolest hand placed upon his forehead, sweat-soaked hair being brushed aside in a repetitive, soothing way and he can’t help it, he sinks into that blissfully cool tide as it washes over him and carries him out to sea.
“Good. That’s good, Maverick.”
He doesn’t startle at Ice’s voice and he doesn’t need to look to know he would see Ice’s face staring down at him, knows that Ice is somehow young again, the brightest star anyone had ever seen before illness tried to snuff out that incredible shining light.
“You have to take care of yourself, like I told you,” Ice chided, but it was Ice was chuckling as he spoke because nobody knew Maverick Mitchell better than Tom Kazansky had.
All Mav wants to do is loses himself further in what feels like the calmest ocean he’s ever sailed upon.
Something wraps itself around him. Ice has joined Mav on the bed, manoeuvred their forms so that Maverick is tucked into him. Not so different from when they had all too rare leave together and would spend evenings in bed just because they could, Ice usually reading while Mav was just happy to be close to his… whatever they were.
Mav had never thought to give them name, had never felt the need. They were just Ice and Mav and that suited him fine.
He can feel the feathers from Ice’s wing curl around him and it’s like the softest pillow. Without shame Mav burrows as deeply as he can into the protective shield Ice is making for him and lets himself drift and dream and drift and dream for whoever knows how long.
He has never thought much about what came next, if anything. Has never been able to pin down any kind of belief system. Most of the time he has seen too much death and destruction to be able to bring himself to accept any kind of God, let alone a God who supposedly could love.
It doesn’t matter.
He doesn’t have to let anything matter other than the caress of Ice’s hand and the rolling waves of his voice as Maverick is lulled in and out of consciousness, savouring every moment that feels like he was being swept away from all of the hurt and pain he’d ever felt.
“Rest,” Ice orders him, his breath in Mav’s ear like the most delicate breeze.
A feathered wing stokes Maverick’s soul and, at last, Maverick Mitchell is still in body and mind.