you can be my wingman anytime

Ice is gentle like he didn’t know he could be before then, opening the car door and keeping a hand pressed into the small of Maverick’s back when they walk on the gravel path. Lets him cling to his arm when they get close, nails bitting through fabric like he’s clutching a lifeline again. Keeps a hand on Maverick’s shoulder when he sits by Goose’s grave. Head bowed like he’s got the weight of the whole world on him. He’s built to be patient, but he finds the gentleness as the years go on.

hot shower or cold shower // texting or calling // earbuds or headphones // paperback or hardcover // matte or gel // 12 hour clock or 24 hour clock // blue or green // sunsets or sunrises // tulips or orchids // candle light or moonlight // sci-fi or horror // ball pen or pencil // pandas or koalas // gold or silver // sneakers or boots // denim jacket or leather jacket // pink or purple // chocolate or sour candy // deodorant or perfume // drive-in movie theater or the cinema // pastel colors or neutral/earth tones // lemonade or fruit juice // past or future

Only because he’s not completely ungrateful and slightly desperate to prove to Ice that he can be responsible when he tries, does he not gleefully pick up the phone to crow about this new nickname that's been thrown around. He is grateful of course, and there's always time for that later.

After that, there are only a few more scattered incidents involving flight patterns, control towers, and one near-death experience during a test flight that requires Ice to intervene. And just about every time he’s staring down the barrel of some other pissed-off commander? They rip him a new one and then wave their hands around muttering about his guardian angel and throwing him out of their respective offices. It's not a pattern he enjoys per se, but there is some smug satisfaction to knowing Ice is perched on his shoulder.

They don’t talk about it, because it feels a little delicate to bring up in between the hows the weather, and the, it’s not bad, how’s it over there for you? Oh, I forgot to mention, thanks again for bailing me out, want me to send a gift basket? It's easier to ignore it for the most part.

That is until he finds himself at an evening dinner with so much of the top brass in one room he's starting to wonder why he’s here does he ever acknowledge it. Ice is talking to someone, hands wrapped around a flute of champagne flashing a blinding smile that seems to disarm anyone he finds himself across from. He sees Maverick and his smile changes, not really diminishing but selfishly Maverick likes to think it makes it up to his eyes when they start talking.

It's always so easy now to do it, to talk and tease like they always have on some level. Until Ice is holding an empty glass and Maverick in a moment of letting whatever the fuck his mind is saying come out his mouth says, "Can I get my angel another drink?"

It's only by the miracle of well made glass that Ice’s current drink doesn't shatter in his grip because Maverick sees his knuckles go white around it and his mouth flop open mid sentence. For a second Maverick is worried that he’s overstepped an invisible line, until he notices that the tips of Ice’s ears have gone very red and there’s a matching shade that’s made it down to his cheeks.