Chapter Text
Contrary to popular belief, Lieutenant Thomas Kazansky is not, in fact, made of ice.
Up in the air is one thing. The rules are different when you're slicing through the sky with nothing but a laser lock between you and your target, nothing but a tailspin between you and certain death. At twenty thousand feet, he's ice cold, no mistakes, vision tunneling till there's nothing but the enemy in his sights. On the ground, regrettably, he thinks he might have a heart.
It's why, though he knows it's a matter of protocol - what with his name on the plaque and all - he still counts being offered the position of TOPGUN instructor as one of the best moments of his life. It's why getting up in that Tomcat and showing the new kids the ropes still gets him smiling like a child on Christmas morning in the pilot's seat, even after a year's worth of it. And it's why he's at the Officers' Club tonight, stepping in behind Charlotte Blackwood, playing buffer for a friend.
If anyone had told him before the USS Layton rescue that he'd one day consider Maverick Mitchell a friend, he'd probably have snapped his gum in their face. But then Maverick showed up at TOPGUN and proved himself a worthy wingman all over again, and Ice found himself actually starting to like the guy. He's still dangerous, both in the air and on the ground, but after eight months of flying with him, it's easier to tell when he's putting on a front. Which is why Ice is here, giving up his perfectly nice Friday evening, all because Maverick made a joke about exes that afternoon and Ice saw his face before he turned away.
Maverick tips his glass to them in greeting as they enter, some of the whiskey sloshing over the side onto his fingers.
"Pete," Charlie says, and he smiles just a little too wide in answer, standing to attention and shaking her hand. "It's good to see you."
"Yeah," Maverick says. "Yeah. You look...You look happy. You look good."
Ice returns the friendly nod Maverick sends his way, and he and Charlie join him at the table. Once they've ordered drinks - bourbon for the two of them, scotch on the rocks for her - Charlie leans forward in her chair.
"So," she says with a grin. "You two want to tell me how you both ended up with my job?"
"Top Gun is guaranteed a teaching position, should he want one," Maverick quotes, gesturing at Ice with a grin of his own. "I just followed him here like a bad penny. Turn up everywhere, you know how it is."
Ice and Charlie roll their eyes, and Ice decides to do his part to help the conversation along. "How'd your meeting with the Admiral go?"
"I could tell you," Charlie says, a pointedly mysterious smile on her face, "but then I'd have to kill you - both of you."
"What," Maverick says, his hand over his heart in mock offense, "you don't have any news for us small fry from DC?"
Charlie laughs. "I'm not telling you my secrets that easily, Pete Mitchell."
Maverick smiles at that, polite, but Ice notices the stiffness there is to it, even if Charlie doesn't. "How about me?" Ice offers. "I can keep him quiet."
"Right?" Maverick says with enthusiasm. "That's what he's here for, to keep me quiet. I can be quiet. I know you don't believe me, but - okay, I'm not exactly proving my point here. What's a few secrets between friends, anyway?"
"You'll get the news the same day as everyone else," Charlie says, "and not a moment sooner."
It's easier from there, less tense. Charlie smiles more, laughs at their jokes, and Maverick relaxes, genuinely smiling back. Ice isn't sure how much of that is due to his presence and how much to the whiskey, but he'll take it any day over how miserable and tense Maverick had been that afternoon.
By the fourth round of drinks, Charlie has agreed to reveal some of the details of her new job - namely how much more money she's making thanks to the newest round of tax cuts. "Thirty-five percent tax cut," she says, over-enunciating every syllable, "and if you know where to put the extra money, you'll get even more."
"Hey," Maverick says, nearly knocking over his glass with a dramatic gesture; Ice rescues the glass and puts it back upright. "That's because you make all of that civilian contractor money. What do the rest of us mere mortals get?"
"Less," Charlie says helpfully, and Maverick actually pouts.
"That's not fair, I want a tax cut too."
"Maybe when you make it to captain, Pete."
"What idiot would make this idiot a captain?" Ice deadpans, and Maverick shoves him in the arm and laughs.
"You know what us mere mortals have to do?" he says, like he's had a stroke of genius. "Us mere mortals have to get married to get a tax cut." His eyes cast about the table for a moment before landing on Ice. "How about we get married, Ice? Marry me, that'd work."
Ice doesn't choke on his drink, but it's a near thing. "You're funny, Maverick."
"I am not funny," Maverick says. "I am a genius,you're not listening—"
"I heard you," Ice says. "Gotta say, I dared to hope any marriage proposals I'd get in life would be nicer than that."
Maverick stops for a moment, ponders, wearing an almost adorable expression like he's doing long division in his head. Then, hopefully, "Please?"
Ice snorts and shakes his head over Charlie's laughter. "You're drunk, Maverick."
"That…is accurate."
"Boys," Charlie says, wiping away tears of mirth. "Another round? This one's on me."
They stay at the club till well past midnight, laughing and talking like old friends do, even though before tonight they'd barely fit that definition. Ice definitely hadn't expected to enjoy himself this much - nor did he expect to get proposed to. He supposes Maverick would do pretty much what he did tonight, if he ever proposed to anyone for real: a bare-faced proposition, facts only, no finesse. No romance.
Maverick gets around, he knows; Ice's love life hasn't exactly been thriving. It figures, he thinks, that the first proposal he'd ever get would be a mock one from this idiot. He's always dreamed of sweet proposals with flowers, or by candlelight, or at the seaside. Something romantic and Shakespearean. Or something out of a Jane Austen novel: he's always secretly wanted someone to confess how ardently they admire and love him, while staring at his lips in the rain.
Not that he'd ever admit that to Maverick Mitchell, or say it out loud at all.