FIC: I Cannot Count the Hours (Top Gun, Iceman/Maverick, PG-13)

[carlyinrome]

TITLE: I Cannot Count the Hours
RATING: PG
FANDOMS: Top Gun
PAIRINGS: Pete "Maverick" Mitchell/Tom "Iceman" Kazansky
SUMMARY: They've been doing this a long time, but that doesn't mean it's getting any easier. Written for tarkalean for the prompt a kiss goodbye.

Iceman had been home—not home, Maverick thought, the boat was home, this was—fuck it, no, his home was Ice's home, and it had been for a long time—for twelve days, and now they were sitting in the rental car in the airport's short-term parking garage with minutes until Ice had to leave or be late for his transport back to the Gulf.

They'd taken off their seat belts, and Ice had turned off the car, but no one had moved beside that, for minutes, now.

It was getting harder every time.

"It's only six months," Maverick said.

Ice nodded. "One hundred and eighty-three days."

"Four thousand, three hundred, and ninety-two hours."

"Two hundred and sixty-three thousand, five hundred and twenty minutes."

Maverick looked away, because he was afraid if he looked at Ice, he would cry.

"We can do it in minutes," Ice said. "Here, now we're one minute closer to seeing each other again."

Maverick did cry, now. Ice's arm slid around his shoulders, pulled him close.

"That's one more minute down, Maverick," Ice murmured against his temple.

Maverick dried his face on his knuckles. He exhaled harshly.

"Three million, six hundred and seventy-nine thousand, two hundred minutes," he said. "That's how long we've been doing this."

"I've liked every minute we've had together," Ice said softly. He glanced at his watch. "I gotta go, Mav. Kiss me; you're not going to see me for all that time, and I want you to kiss me."

"And I want you to stay."

Ice nodded. Not okay, just I hear you.

"I gotta go," he said, and he got out of the car. He pulled his duffel out of the back seat, and then shut the door. He stood looking at Maverick for a long moment, and then turned and started walking towards the exit.

Maverick rested his head on the dash. He felt wrung out, tired. Angry. More than a little angry.

Ice was almost out of the garage, almost out of sight. Two hundred and sixty-three thousand, five hundred and twenty minutes. Shit.

Maverick ran after him. "Wait! Ice, wait!"

Ice stopped. Turned and watched as Maverick got closer. His arms were open when Maverick folded his arms around him, kissing him like CPR, like they both needed it to live.

They held each other in the middle of the garage, steps outside the airport and the plane that would take Ice away again, and no one counted the minutes.