FIC: Not If It's You (Top Gun, Iceman/Maverick, PG)

[carlyinrome]

Pylades: I’ll take care of you.
Orestes: It’s rotten work.
Pylades: Not to me. Not if it’s you.
- Euripides, from “Orestes”

Ice didn't get home from the VA until late, so dinner was after eight, and it's even later now that they're taking care of the dishes. His physical therapist told him again that he needs another surgery on his hip, this time to address the scar tissue that's formed in the 15 years since the initial injury. They may need to replace the hip or the joint or both; medical technology has improved a lot since Ice's plane was shot down. Maverick knows that the pain has been getting worse, and that Ice has lost some mobility in the past few years. They're getting older. Things catch up, and there's only so much longer Ice can put this off.

It doesn't mean he's not gutted about it, about all of it. It was pretty much the only thing he said at dinner: "They want to schedule me for surgery." Maverick tried to comfort him, tell him how much better he'd feel afterwards, tell him he can take care of the time off Ice will need. He'll take care of him after the surgery. He'll take care of everything.

Some things you hear, but don't really understand. Some things, you've got to feel.

They're doing the dishes, Ice washing and Maverick drying. Ice bought an old radio at an antique store years ago that he keeps on the shelf above the sink. It's the size of a toaster, powder blue with a little antenna and little feet. He bought it because it reminded him of the one his sister had when they were kids, but it still works, and sometimes it's nice to have music on when they're working in the kitchen. While Ice is dealing with a stubborn spot on the wok, Maverick turns on the radio, fiddling with the dial until he finds a clear station. It's playing slow jazz, a mournful trumpet, and it's not Maverick's favorite, but he knows Ice likes that kind of stuff, so he leaves it. He takes the clean wok from Ice and puts it in the dish drainer, and then he takes his hand and tugs gently. Ice's brow is creased, but he lets himself be led out into the middle of the linoleum dance floor.

Ice is hurting, so Maverick goes slow, and they don't really dance, just kind of shuffle and sway, in each other's arms. Maverick holds him close, and he leans in, whispers against his cheekbone, "I've got you, babe. I've always got you."

Ice squeezes him a bit tighter, and then he dips Maverick back, and kisses him. Maverick's head spins, and he laughs. Ice pulls him up slowly, and kisses him again.

"I love you every day, Maverick Mitchell," he says. His expression turns somber. "It's not a fun recovery, you know."

"I'm in for anything you can throw at me, Iceman."

"It's ugly work," Ice presses.

"Not for me. Not if it's you."

Ice relaxes against him, resting his forehead against Maverick's. They stand in the kitchen, in the low light, the music playing on and on around them. Together.