Archive of Our Own ^beta

George Michael’s voice croons out from the radio, and they’ve barely pulled out of the packed rental car parking lot before Maverick props his feet up on the dash of their ‘88 Honda Accord before Ice slaps his legs. They’ve barely been on the ground for an hour, and Tom’s already full of nervous energy. 

“Feet off the dash.”

Rolling his eyes, Mav keeps his feet in place before he hums along with a few bars. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of getting into a crash here.”

“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of, idiot. Do you know how bad the drivers are here? It's December in Annapolis.” Ice rolls his eyes, and the anxiety that’s been building up in his chest loosens just a hair. 

As if on cue, a car merges into their lane, and Ice honks his horn, mumbling something under his breath about people not using their damn blinkers before he turns back to Maverick.

“See? My point exactly. Now, you want to get a medical discharge because you broke both your legs?”

The thought makes Mav wince, and he finally drops his feet from the dash. He settles back into his seat, muttering about Ice being a dick. But before he can finish, Ice reaches over to whack the back of his head. 

Mav lets out a hiss and pretends to rub his head, but he can’t help but smile. “Funny how it’s not you causing the accident.”

“You didn’t go to school around here,” Ice rolls his eyes again, flipping on his blinker as he steers around a car going twenty under the speed limit. “If we get into an accident, it won’t be my fault. People in Maryland suck. Good thing we're gonna be out of here before the New Year.”

Methodical, calm—just like when he flies. But Mav’s been with the other man long enough to see past it: the clench of his jaw, the nonstop drum of his fingers against the steering wheel. To everyone else, he would probably appear calm. At least his knuckles aren’t bone white anymore.

George Michael and Andrew Ridgeley are still crooning about Last Christmases, and Mav wishes Christmas would be over and the year would tick over to 1989. He reaches forward to slam the seek button in hopes of locating a station not playing Christmas tunes. 

“I fucking hate that song,” Mav says, trying to lighten the mood and distract them from their approaching destination. The more the DMV flies by, the closer they get to Ice’s family. “They’ve been playing it since Halloween.”

He trails off, hoping there isn’t a hint of uncertainty creeping into his tone. “So. Hanukkah.”

Ice sniffs. “It’s not even an important holiday.”

“Oh?” Mav raises an eyebrow, knowing they're both pretending they haven’t had this conversation before. But the familiar back-and-forth brings a sense of comfort amidst the reality of their current situation – that they're on their way to Ice's parents' house for Hanukkah.  

Mav asks, and Ice nods. They’ve both had this discussion before, but the repetition is nice at a moment like this. They’re in Maryland, and both are ignoring the fact that they’re heading to Ice’s parents’ house for Hanukkah.  

“High Holidays are normally in October.”  Ice responds, keeping his eyes fixed on the road and his hands steady at ten and two on the steering wheel. Mav can't help but roll his eyes at Ice's overly cautious driving style. The man drives like he’s taking his driver’s test. Has he ever even gotten a parking ticket? Probably not.

“And what is that?” Mav asks.

“Do I look like a fucking Rabbi?” The tension snaps like a rubber band and Mav can't help but choke out a laugh at the absurdity of it all. Mav almost feels like they’re back in Miramar, bitching over the newest batch of Top Gun recruits. They’re a terror up in the skies, even if Mav swears he’s the better teacher.

A slight, knowing smirk appears on his face, and Mav knows he’s said the right thing to put Ice at ease. He can practically feel the tension melting away from Ice's shoulders.

They’ve been together for the better part of a year now, and against all odds, they've managed the ultimate miracle: getting leave at the same time. Leave that just so happens to fall over Hanukkah, and Mrs. Kazansky had insisted that her son come home for the holidays.

Mav is not entirely sure why he’s coming along. Ever since Ice invited him, there’s been a twinge of uncertainty hovering just underneath his skin, the kind of uncertainty that makes him wonder why he’s joining the other man for his family's celebration.

In the early days of their relationship, there was one night when Mav had pulled Ice in by his dog tags, only for his eyes to drift downward and catch sight of the Star of David etched into the metal.

"You're Jewish?" Mav had asked in surprise, his lust-addled mind trying to process this new piece of information. But Ice met his gaze with a cool, detached look.

"Is that a problem?" His tone is almost daring Mav to say something stupid. And let's be honest, Mav tended to say plenty of stupid things, but this was different. This was Ice.

“Didn’t realize you had a religion other than the Navy,” Mav finally replied, feeling foolish for not knowing this important detail about someone he cared so deeply for.

And then Ice pulled him back into a biting kiss, and the rest was history.

History that now was the reason. Silence descends upon them, and Mav sighs, suddenly uncomfortable and unable to shake the feeling of being an outsider, a stranger invading their sacred space, unsure of where he truly belonged at this moment. Maybe he ought to have stayed in Texas with Carole and Bradley.

“Weather here sucks.” 

“That it does,” Ice agrees.

“So, do your parents...?” he trails off, cursing his brain for deciding now was the right moment to loosen his lips and ask the question he’s been thinking about for a while.

“Yes, my parents are aware of my sexuality,” Ice says as he merges into another lane.

“So they know that…” Mav leans back in the passenger seat and points at himself, his free hand lightly resting on the center console.

“It was implied.” Ice bites his lower lip, and Mav can tell Ice doesn’t want to discuss it further. “Slider’s come around once or twice. I’m sure they understand there’s a difference.”

“Wait. You having a thing with Slider?” he asks teasingly.

“I fucking wish. He’s a lot less annoying than you.”

The playful jab makes Mav toss his head back, and he shakes his head in mock disbelief. His gaze shifts from the curve of Ice’s chiseled, cheekbones to the monotonous highway ahead. The clouds hang low, mirroring the gray expanse of the road. Mav sure as hell hopes it's not going to snow. He’s gotten spoiled with the weather in San Diego.

“So, why didn’t they pick us up from the airport? Annapolis is only like, what, an hour from Dulles?” Mav asks, trying to steer the conversation away from any uncomfortable topics.

"My sister flew into Baltimore earlier," Ice explains nonchalantly. "Besides, I thought we'd want some freedom to explore on our own." A faint smile tugs at the corners of his lips as he looks at Mav. For a moment, everything feels easy between them. The way it does when their legs press together under tables at the O Club, or when they’re giving Carole a night off.

Then, Ice takes an exit to another highway, and Mav remembers precisely where they’re heading.

From the first day they met, Mav knew Ice was a generational Navy brat. Even if Ice hadn’t attended the Naval Academy, Mav thinks he’d ooze discipline and authority. There are around 200 admirals in the Navy, and his boyfriend’s father just happens to be a two-star one currently stationed in Annapolis.

For someone who was chasing his father’s ghost and avoiding his chaotic childhood, Mav can only imagine what a real family is supposed to be like, and Ice apparently likes his family. A lot, in fact. Mav can barely comprehend it.

Ice glances at him, sensing his shift in mood. He’s always been good at sensing Mav’s moods."You okay?" he asks softly.

Mav takes a deep breath before responding, "Yeah, I'm just feeling a little nervous about meeting your family."

Ice reaches over to squeeze his hand reassuringly, still navigating the roads with ease.

Finally, after what feels like hours but is an hour-and-a-half trip, Ice pulls into an upscale neighborhood with perfectly manicured lawns and large houses. Mav can feel his heart rate pick up as they pull into a driveway adorned with a small American flag.

Ice parks the car and turns to face Mav. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

As they step out of the car, the chill of the air immediately seeps into Mav's bones. He grabs his duffle bag from the car and takes a deep breath before following Ice towards the house.

Ice doesn’t even get the chance to rap his knuckles across the door. Their feet barely reach the doorstep before the door swings open, and a short, brunette woman explodes from the home to wrap her arms around the taller man’s neck. Mav’s seen a few photos of Sarah Kazansky, whose face seems to be in a permanent smirk. She’s only 18 months younger than Ice, so they’re close. Thicker than thieves, even. Must be a family trait, Mav guesses. Except he can’t imagine it belongs to two-star admiral Jakob Kazansky, which is what he dreads most of all.

“Tommy!” She screams.

From deeper inside the house, Mav hears someone else calling something unintelligible.

“Tommy,” Mav repeats, unable to skip any opportunity not to be a bit of an ass. Ice shoots him a glare from over his sister’s shoulder, but Mav can see the hint of amusement in his eyes.

“There you are!” Even if Mav had never seen photos, he would know this is Ruth, Ice’s mom, from the resemblance alone. They have the same eyes and jawline, and as they hug, Mav sees they have the same smile. “Sorry, your father isn’t here. He called to let me know he’s working late today, but he’ll be back in time for Shabbat. How was your flight, sweetie? Are you hungry? Come in.” She’s talking a mile a minute as she herds them into the house, and as soon as the door closes, right before Mav can feel ignored, Ruth is pulling him into her arms.

“And you must be the infamous Pete,” Ruth says with a twinkle in her eyes, pulling away so she can press a hand to his cheekbone. It makes Pete drop her gaze when a feeling akin to analyzed begins to flutter under his skin.

“Call me Maverick, ma’am. Everyone else does,” he says politely, tacking on his patented megawatt smile.

Sarah lets out a soft laugh. “Infamous, indeed. During Top Gun, whenever Tom called home, he would always complain about you. Maverick did this , or Maverick did that. ‘I wanna hate him, Sarah, but he’s just such a good pilot.’” Her lips curl into a mischievous smile as she teases her brother.

When Ruth pulls away from hugging him, Sarah immediately steps into her place to pull Mav into a tight hug. Not entirely expected, but Mav isn't going to complain. It's better than the other option.

“And now we know why,” Ruth says, her grin sly and knowing, maybe even conspiratorial. Once again, Pete suddenly feels too exposed because he’s never had someone’s parents be happy to see him. Hell, he’s never been invited to meet anyone’s parents, and that thing with Admiral Benjamin was not this. Mav wants to pull out the false bravado he usually gets in these situations, but his emotions have swung like a pendulum.

Sensing Mav’s mood, Ice extracts Sarah from him.

“Ma, you know I’m happy to be home, but how about we let Mav and I settle in? It was an early flight from San Diego.”

“Oh, right, of course. Sorry.” Ruth steps aside, but then a serious-looking older woman walks into the foyer, and Mav knows this has to be Ice’s grandmother. Except, she’s starting to rattle words off in a language Mav does not understand, and Tom is responding just as rapid fire. His eyes have to be as wide as saucers because everyone laughs.

Tom grabs Mav by the arm and says something to the shorter woman, which has to be an introduction.

When the older woman turns the full power of her gaze on Maverick, he finds he actually wilts. Her eyes are discerning, as if she’s seen into his soul and has now found him wanting.

“Nice to meet you, ma’am,” Mav says with an incline of his head, and she says something to him before she starts speaking to Ice again. Dismissed. Disregarded, brushed off like an unwanted speck of dust.

Mav is no stranger to the feeling, having grown accustomed to being overlooked or forgotten. He’s in the military. He’s always being dismissed or ignored. At this point in his life, he should be used to it, but a bitter sensation churns his stomach, the equivalent of a small boat tossed in the turbulent seas.

Using the powers that Mav assumes most moms who care about their kids develop, Ruth takes Mav’s arm and pats it before she steers him away.

“That’s Bubbe. Her English is very bad.”

“What is she speaking?” Mav asks.

“Yiddish. Tom speaks it, too.” Ruth tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “They also speak Polish together sometimes.” She says it like an afterthought, and Mav realizes he didn’t know Tom spoke Polish.

“Oh.” By now, he’s beginning to remember his manners instead of being dumbstruck by Tom’s linguistic abilities. While he had known Tom could speak Yiddish, witnessing it in practice is a whole new experience. It’s leaving him a little hot under his collar, and he clears his throat to maintain composure. “Do you speak it?”

Once she gets talking, Ruth is unable to stop, and her free hand zips every which way to accentuate everything.

“I do, but not as good as them! Enough to speak to her. I met Jakob when I was at Barnard, and he was at Columbia. My family’s from Boston, you know, so I picked it up to make his mom like me, and well, I knew she liked me when she started teaching me family recipes. Now, let me show you your room.” Ruth says something to Ice in Yiddish, and the sound of the unfamiliar language rolls off her tongue effortlessly. So much for not being as good as them.

She uses the hand she has settled on the crook of his arm to guide him up the stairs, and Mav can only glance in Ice’s direction.

Unfortunately, the short Polish woman who is now fussing over him by pinching his arms and poking his ribs doesn't seem as impressed. Mav doesn't need to understand Yiddish to know she's scolding him for being too skinny.

Ice looks in Mav’s direction, but they both know he’s beyond saving.

As they ascend the stairs, Mav can’t help but notice the walls are adorned with numerous photos of Ice and Sarah. Baby photos, snapshots from family vacations, the two doing their respective sports, and high school and college graduations.

He almost wants to pause on the plush carpet running the length of the steps but decides he can look at the photos later. This definitely wasn’t the house Ice grew up in, but Sarah was doing her best to make it a home.

When they reach the second floor, Ruth gestures towards some closed doors.

"Sarah's staying in this room," she says, pointing to one door. Bubbe's room is here,” she indicates another. And this is yours!” Ruth pushes open the door to the office, and Mav finds the deck pushed against the wall and a futon dragged into the room and folded down. The linens are a cheery dark blue plaid.

“This is technically Jakob’s office, but we’ve decided to put you and Tom up here so you two can have some privacy. Doubt you want to be sleeping in the living room when Sarah’s around. Love her to death, but she never knows when to give people space.”

Right, Mav remembers. Ice is a military brat, too, so his family always moves around. When he left for the Naval Academy, they probably got rid of his furniture, or maybe they put it in storage to make it easier for them to relocate. Maybe they drove to that Swedish store in Virginia and got some flat-pack furniture for the guest room.

More importantly, maybe Mav should open his mouth to make some sort of half-hearted, false protest about air mattresses or sleeping on the couch. After all, Ice’s dad is an admiral, and if Mav pisses him off, then he could ruin his whole career, but Ruth places her warm hand on Mav’s forearm, and the ricocheting thoughts screech to a stop.

“I might not be able to read minds, but I can tell you’re about to panic,” Ruth smiles at him. “Calm down.”

“I’m not…” The words trail off when Ruth’s smile becomes even more tender. There’s nothing for him to defend, so he slips into silence. 

“Pete or Maverick, I guess? We know about Tom. We know what you mean to him. We might not talk about it, but we know what this is to him—what you are to him.” Then, with a strength Mad didn’t expect, Ruth pokes Mav square in the chest. “Do not hurt my son. Do you understand?”

“Ma’am, I would rather die than hurt your son.”

Ruth’s answering smile is brighter than the sun, and Mav can’t help but smile back at her. “Well, the bathroom’s right across the hall, extra blankets and linens are there, too, and our room is at the end. Anyway, how about I let you drop off your bag and freshen up? Jakob’s going to be home in thirty, and we’ll have dinner then.”

There’s no waiting for goodbyes. Instead, Ruth takes her leave and shuts the door behind her. As soon as the door closes, Mav sinks to the mattress and puts his head in his hands. Parents like him, right? Not that he’s had the opportunity to make any parents like him. His love affairs have also burned bright and burned fast, never getting to the stage where he’s been asked to stand in front of their parents.

Mav sits on the edge of the futon in his new temporary room, still feeling a bit disoriented from the whirlwind of their arrival at the Kazansky household.

A knock on his door breaks Mav's thoughts, and he looks up to see Tom standing there with his duffle bag.

“Hey,” Ice says, stepping into the room. He kicks the door shut behind him and lets his duffle drop to the floor. “Doing okay?”

“Never better,” Mav responds, and Ice cocks a brow in response. “So…Tommy, huh?”

“I’m gonna kill you.” Ice groans.

"Relax, Ice," Mav teases, a smirk on his lips. "Your mom already beat you to it with her 'do not hurt my son' speech." He chuckles as Ice collapses next to him with a groan.

Ice rolls his eyes but can't hide the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah, well, she's just looking out for me.”

“Should we bother to unpack?” Mav asks a moment later, and Ice shrugs a shoulder up.

“We’re only here for, what, three days? Doesn’t seem worth it.”

Mav nudges him with his shoulder. “Can you repeat that for me, Mr. Navy?”

As they settle in the room, they chat aimlessly until Mav hears the sound of what can only be the garage door opening. No more than five minutes pass before the two of them hear Sarah shouting from the bottom of the stairs.

“Dad’s home! Get your asses to dinner!”

Ice glances at Mav. “C’mon. Let’s go eat.”

They follow the scent drifting from the kitchen, and Mav swallows, knowing he’s about to meet Jakob Kazansky for the first time. Instead of heading into the kitchen, Ice leads them into the dining room, where Sarah sits, her hair now tied up in a messy bun. She looks up and smiles warmly at them as they enter the room. There are so many similarities between Ice and his sister - their bright blue eyes and easy smiles. He wonders if he'll see any resemblance between Jakob and his children.

Just then, footsteps sound from the hallway, and a tall man with graying hair enters the dining room. He has a commanding presence, and while dressed in civvies, Mav still has the urge to salute.

Jakob's eyes quickly assess the room, lingering on Maverick before turning his attention to Tom.

“Son,” he says with a polite nod.

“Dad.” Ice crosses the room to pull his father into a brief hug. Jakob returns the hug, clapping Ice on the back as they pull away. "Good to see you, son."

Mav watches the interaction quietly, feeling like an outsider intruding on a family moment. But Jakob turns to him then, looking him up and down. “And you must be Pete Mitchell.” He extends his hand, which Mav accepts, sensing the strength in his grip.

“Most people call me Maverick, sir.”

“Oh, I’m aware,” Jakob says, dropping Mav’s hand before going to the sideboard. He retrieves a kippah from one of the cabinets and passes it over to Ice before he gestures for Mav and Ice to sit at the table. “You two sit. I need to find where your grandmother put the Shabbat candles.”

When Mav glances down at Ice’s hands, he sees two kippahs.

Without hesitation, he takes the kippah from Ice and places it on his head. Should they be doing this more often?

A few moments later, Jakob returns with two candlesticks and a bottle of wine. As he pours for the entire table, Ruth enters the room again, her pleasant chatter filling the space as they prepare for prayers.

He’s never celebrated Shabbat with Ice before, and Mav suddenly feels self-conscious about that as they light the candles and recite the prayers, wondering if it’s because of him.

“Sometimes we do Shabbat at sunset, but it depends on Jakob’s schedule. Most of the time, we do it when he gets home,” Ruth explains as she serves Mav a piece of lasagna. “Clearly, you can tell we don’t really keep kosher. Dairy and meat? Not kosher. Though, I don’t think any of us eat pork.”

“I don’t eat shellfish,” Sarah says with a grin. “Does that make me the more observant Jew?”

“That’s because you’re allergic to it, idiot.” Ice says from across the table, and Jakob starts rubbing his temples when Sarah kicks him from underneath it. Bubbe says something unimpressed in Yiddish, and Jakob responds in kind.

Mav does his best to ignore it because he’s trying to make a good impression on Ice’s parents, which means not teasing Ice or Sarah at the table, despite the fact he really wants to.

“This challah is delicious. Did you make it, Mrs. Kazansky?” Mav asks as he serves himself a side of asparagus.

“Pete, Mav, sweetheart, please call me Ruth. I’m begging at this point.” But the smile she sends him from across the table is blinding, and she offers to teach him how to make a loaf. 

“I would love that, ma’am,” he responds, and Ice’s hand finds his thigh under the table, giving it a quick squeeze before he resumes eating.

Around his family, Ice’s smiles are wider, he’s quicker to laugh, willing to chase his sister around the house, and there’s a feeling of ease that Mav has never seen before. He’s so clearly “Tom” that Mav’s heart aches because he wants these moments for himself.

Don’t get him wrong, Ice is still all furrowed brows and pursed lips, still careful, but he doesn’t have to be perfect around his family. He can let his guard down and just be himself. It makes Mav’s heart ache in equal parts jealousy and longing because this isn’t something he’s familiar with. The Bradshaw’s were – are, he corrects – the closest thing he ever had to a family, but Goose, Carole, and Bradley weren’t exactly the Brady Bunch.

“So, how was Texas?” Ruth asks. “Tom told us you were there to have Thanksgiving?”

“Yes, ma’am. With my, uh, late RIO’s wife and my godson, Bradley.”

“We remember Tom telling us. We’re so sorry for your loss, Pete.” Next to her, Jakob nods solemnly. 

“I met Lt. Bradshaw on his first carrier assignment. He was a good man,” Jakob says, pausing for a moment before he continues. “Had a hell of a laugh.”

Grief is such an odd thing. Goose’s loss will always hurt him. Will always have a hole in his chest, will always have so much love for Goose, and will have no idea what to do with it. Some days, he can remember Goose with all the fondness the man deserves. On other days, the inky black feeling of despair hits him like a million Gs, and he collapses on himself. The feeling 

With burning eyes, Mav nods. “He would laugh in his sleep and wake up our entire room. Scared me the first couple of times he did it, and I fell out of my bunk.”

Jakob’s eyes crinkle at the story. “Well, I didn’t get much of a chance to know him, so I guess you will have to fill me in.”

“I can do that.”

Ruth seems to sense Mav’s mood and artfully turns the conversation to Bradley, asking about what he’s like. She adds personal anecdotes about Sarah and Ice at just the right times, and Mav eases up because talking about his godson is just as easy as breathing. 

Before they know it, the table is full of empty plates, and Ice is rising from the table. He’s already offered to wash the dishes, which Ruth has already gratefully accepted, even as she tries to tell him which soap he should use for which plates.

“Ma, you’re acting like I’ve never cleaned anything before,” Ice says as he begins picking up various plates. Mav follows his lead and starts to gather the silverware. “I’m the cleanest one in this family.”

Sarah grins, impish and looking far younger than her actual age, holding her plates in her hand. 

“I think Ron would disagree with you.”

Ice’s head snaps toward her so fast that Mav can hear his neck pop. He winces because Ice is definitely going to be complaining about it tomorrow.

“Excuse me?” Ice asks, voice low and carefully neutral. Except for the underlying intensity that would set off warning bells for anyone half-sane. “You call him Ron? Since when?” 

Without a word, Sarah darts out of the room, and Ice chases after her as fast as one can chase their sibling with their hands full of dirty dishes, wanting to know when she started calling his RIO, Ron. When Mav looks over to the admiral, he sees him shaking his head in exasperation as Bubbe gathers the remaining dishes and follows her grandchildren into the kitchen.

“Permission to speak freely, sir?” Jakob raises a brow but gestures for him to continue. “Do you have enough favors left to get your son off a murder charge? Because I think Slider’s going to die.”

Jakob shrugs a shoulder and looks every inch like a father whose two children have never given him a day of peace. “Sarah will get over it.”

Mav helps Ruth gather the plates, and the two bring them into the kitchen, where Ice is currently harassing his sister into spilling the details about her and Slider, rinsing the plates off before he loads them into the dishwasher. By now, Mav recognizes the look in Ice’s eyes, and he steps to the man’s side to help him with the dishes and keep him from killing his sister.

“What do you mean you two have been calling each other.” Ice’s eyes are narrowed. “Did you go visit him when he was on leave?”

“Maybe,” Sarah taunts and Pete suddenly wonders if he wants to get involved. Instead, he drops the silverware on the counter and trails his fingers down Ice’s spine before hooking a finger in his belt loop. 

“Play nice. We can smother him when we get back to Miramar.”

When they finally make their way to the living room, Bubbe is nowhere to be seen, but Ruth promises she is tired and doesn’t secretly hate Mav. So, Mav settles in on one of the armchairs while Sarah and Ice pull out a chessboard, which Mav decides he will pretend to watch while Jakob reads a thick tome about Eisenhower. 

“Oh!” Ruth says, disturbing the quiet peace. She rises from her chair and heads into the other room. Mav’s not sure how long she’s gone for, but then Ruth returns with a book.

“Thought you might like this,” she says as she drops it on Mav’s lap. When he picks up the paperback, bright colors proclaim it Yiddish for Dummies.

“Thank you, ma’am.” 

“That’s not your Hanukkah present. Just so you know.” Ruth says, settling back down in the space next to Jakob, who doesn’t even look in her direction. Mav nods, flipping open the book. His eyes feel raw again, and he has no idea how one woman’s kindness has turned him into an emotional wreck. He flips through the pages until he comes to a table of transliterated phrases.

“ A gut ovnt ,” Mav says, trying out the greeting for good evening. Jakob winces at Mav’s pronunciation but still nods his head. “You’ll get the hang of it, son.”

The praise makes him flush.

“If I did, you can too!” Ruth helpfully cheers. “ Vi heystu ?”

Mav looks through the pages before he figures out Ruth is asking him what his name is. “Uh, ikh heys Pete Mitchell.”

“Es freyt mir dikh tsu kene.” Ruth says, smiling over at him. When Mav looks over at Ice, the other man is smiling down at his board, too, and he winks when he meets Mav’s eyes.

The two of them beg off to bed not long after Ruth says something about it being an early day tomorrow, and they brush their teeth side-by-side.

Mav can't help but catch Ice's eye in the mirror, and a silent conversation passes between them. Ice looks at him with such warmth and fondness that Mav's heart skips a beat.

As they settle into bed, Mav can feel the weight of the day lifting off his shoulders, replaced by the comforting presence of Ice beside him.

Mav's fingertips trace the lines of Ice's chest and stomach, feeling the warmth of his skin and the dip of his muscles. Ice's hand runs through Mav's hair, sending shivers down his spine. Mav mouths at his neck, pouting when Ice moves Mav’s hand from his abs. “Come on, Ice. Would really help me to get my mind off the fact your grandma hates me.” His words are muffled by the skin of Ice’s neck. 

“Bubbe doesn’t hate you.” Ice responds.

“What do you mean she doesn’t hate me? She spent all of dinner glaring at me.”

“It takes her a while to warm up. She’s been through a lot,” Ice exhales. “She just wants me to be with another Jew.”

“I could be Jewish!” 

“Mav…” Ice’s voice is a rumble in the dark, barely a whisper, but Mav can hear the tension, and Mav narrows his eyes. In the dim light of their bedroom, Mav can see Ice's silhouette; head tilted back, eyes closed, jaw set. He knows that pinched expression all too well. It's the one Ice gets when they're on the verge of a fight.

“You think I’m kidding?” When Ice doesn’t respond, Mav scoffs. “Wow. You actually think I’m kidding.”

It would be so easy to start a fight. For Ice to rise up to meet Maverick’s annoyed tone, maybe they’re both getting better at this relationship thing because Ice only sighs, and the fight immediately drains out of Mav.

Sensing the shift in mood, Ice moves closer to him and wraps his arms around Maverick's toned waist. They don't need words - Ice can sense what Mav needs at this moment. In the early days of their relationship, Ice thought that sex was the solution to these rough moments, but now he knows better. While Mav loves and craves physical intimacy, what he truly needs is for Ice to run his fingers through Mav's hair and whisper adoring words into his skin.

They've never explicitly discussed it, but Ice has learned that Mav yearns for emotional closeness without any pressure for more. The gentle press of fingertips against a cheekbone, a conspiratorial grin that turns into a tender kiss on Mav's neck. 

“Go to sleep,” Ice whispers, his breath tickling the side of Mav's ear as Mav’s body relaxes more. His eyes slowly close as he falls deeper and deeper into a peaceful slumber, guided by Ice's soothing voice.

***

The next morning, Mav barely has time to enjoy the feeling of Ice’s breath on his neck and arms around his middle, because Ice apparently decided to take his father up on a pre-breakfast run.

So much for enjoying their leave, but once Ice is up, Mav is too. He dresses and follows Ice downstairs before he takes residence in the living room, shifting through the various New Yorkers and other reading materials, where Sarah finds him.

“Morning, Pete,” Sarah says, cradling two mugs of coffee. She passes one over to Mav, who takes the second cup from her with reverence. As she settles down on the armchair across from him, Mav notes she’s wearing a dark blue sweater and gray sweats that look far too big for her. “I heard Dad roped Tom into a morning run.”

Mav nods. “You heard correctly.”

“Well, great. That means I can corrupt you.”

He tries not to snort into his mug of coffee and fails miserably. “Corrupt me? How?”

“Well, first of all, I know the real reason behind his call sign.” Mav immediately perks up at Sarah’s words. “Oh? And how’d you get this information?”

“Ron told me, and then I asked Dad to tell me if that was right or not,” Sarah says, examining her nails as if the conversation is beginning to bore her. “You want to know or not?”

“I hope you’re not testing me here because I really need to know.” He pauses. “Immediately, actually. It might be a matter of national security.”

A bark of a laugh escapes. 

“National security, my ass, but I respect it.” She leans forward. “He’s called Ice Man because he got locked in the freezer during flight school.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“Nope. Caught on at flight school, and Tom has so much dirt on Slider that he’s pretty much blackmailing him, so he’s buried it good .” Sarah pops the p, reminding Mav so much of how Ice says his name, deciding now and then that he never wants to be on Sarah’s bad side. “Do with that info what you choose.”

Not for that first time that trip, grief forms raw and ragged in his chest. He can imagine calling Goose up to say, ‘You won’t believe what I just found out,’ and spilling the beans to Goose’s honk of a laugh. They’d keep it just between them and spring it on him at just the right time. But there’s no Goose to call, and Mav hurts. 

“Now, time to show you how much of a nerd my brother is. Duh.” Sarah must sense something has changed because she takes a sip of her coffee and rises from the chair, already searching for something. When she comes back, she has two photo albums tucked against her chest and places them down on the table in front of Mav. “You might know Tom, but you definitely don’t know Tommy. Trust me. He was a nerd. Still is, I’m sure.” She flips the album open to a page with a toothy thirteen-year-old standing before a paper mache volcano.

Mav leans closer to the album, sipping his coffee before setting it aside.

“Tommy?” Mav raises an eyebrow.

“He hates being called Tommy.”

“Oh, yeah?” Mav asks, twisting the photo book around so he taps at a photo of Ice playing what Mav thinks is lacrosse. “Doesn’t seem very nerdy there, huh?”

"Wrong.” Sarah flips a page. “Captain of the damn chess club. You know he was top of his class at the Academy? You don’t get there unless you’re a capital-N nerd.”

Mav flips through the book, and if his finger traces over the curve of a much younger Tom Kazansky’s cheek, well, that’s his business and his business alone. Though, Sarah pretends she doesn’t notice.

"Since you didn't know him before his 'Ice Man' days, well, then I have to introduce you to Tommy," Sarah says with a soft smile.

Mav nods in agreement, his eyes scanning the pages of a photo album filled with images of a younger Tom proudly standing next to a man in military attire, undoubtedly a younger Jakob Kazansky.

"Anyway," Sarah continues, flipping through more pages. "I have some other embarrassing photos of my brother if you want to see them."

Mav laughs and shakes his head, taking a sip of his now-cold coffee. He chugs it without a second thought. "I think I've seen enough for now."

A mischievous grin spreads across Sarah's face as she responds, "Well, if you ever change your mind..." The moment hangs briefly before she continues, "I think my brother is in love with you."

The world stops, and Mav finds he can’t tear his eyes away from the photo album. He and Ice have whispered those words to each other multiple times, but unlike Goose and Carole, who were happy to elaborate on their love to anyone and everyone, those words between Mav and Ice feel too precious and too delicate.

“I’ve never seen him like this. He looks at you like you’ve hung the moon.”

Mav's heart races at Sarah's words, and he can't help but feel a warmth spread through his chest.

He clears his throat, trying to push away the sudden wave of emotions. "I highly doubt that," he mumbles, flipping through more pages of the photo album before him.

But Sarah doesn't let it go. She leans in closer, her voice low and serious. "No, I'm serious. Tommy’s never brought a boyfriend home to meet our family. Ever."

Mav looks up at her, a million thoughts racing through his mind. He had never thought that Tom bringing him home could mean anything more than just wanting to spend time together and get away from base for a little while. “We’ve never…”

“You’re in love with him too, huh?”

“No use in trying to convince you that we’re only really good friends?”

“Even Dad’s been referring to you as Tom’s Man.” Sarah makes a face. “Besides, I’m trying to marry his actual 'really good' friend.”

“Jesus, Sarah.” It’s Mav’s turn to make a face. “You could do better than Slider of all people. Aren’t you supposed to be in med school?”

“Stop deflecting with that stupid charm. Are you in love with my brother?”

Mav throws his hands in the air. “You know I am.”

Sarah clasps her hands together. “Good. You have my blessing, and if you fuck this up, Ron says we can tie you to the front of a plane.”

Some part of Mav slots back into place, and he shakes his head. “You really think Slider’s got the balls to steal a plane?”

Sarah’s smile turns sharp. “Now that’s the Maverick Ice was always bitching about. I know my dad could be your boss, but I was expecting more bite with you. Maybe you can flirt with Bubbe a bit?”

“You’re too nice.” Mav rolls his eyes. “And your grandma hates me.”

“I’m not being nice, idiot. Mom and Dad love you, and Bubbe smiles at you, so you’re basically in the home stretch.”

Does Admiral Kazansky like him? Sarah’s coffee must not have woken her up yet because her words are borderline insane, so Mav decides to give her the benefit of the doubt.

“What’s going on here?” The voice comes from the doorway, where a pink-faced Ice is glancing between them. In less than a second, his gaze snaps from Sarah to Mav to the book currently on the coffee table, which Sarah scrambles to hide from his sight. She’s not fast enough. “I’m gonna kill you.” 

She tosses the book in Mav’s direction as Ice strides across the room with murder in his eyes. “Save yourself!”

With no effort at all, Mav catches the album and sets it back down on the coffee, which only makes Ice turn his gaze towards him.

But instead of running, Mav stands his ground and shoots Ice a flirty smile.

“Come on, baby. You were cute with your chess club and Eagle Scout uniform.” Mav’s voice is dripping with flirtation, and he gives Ice a crooked smile before he winks playfully. "I'd definitely have asked you to prom."

Ice’s expression softens, but then Sarah goes and ruins it.

“Which Tom didn’t go to because it was right before his SAT!” Sarah barely gets the words out before Ice wraps his arms around her and shakes her from side to side like she’s a doll.

“Gonna show Slider all the photos of when you tried to dress like a member of The Cure.”

Sarah only lives because Ruth enters the room with her hands on her hips, glancing between her two adult children. Even though she looks exasperated, Mav sees the crinkle in her eyes. It must be nice having her two adult kids at home, even if they spend most of their time fighting each other.

“Tom, Sarah. Come with me to the store?” Ruth asks, and Sarah groans before she pushes herself away from her brother. She sticks her tongue out at him, and Ice flips off her retreating form. “Can you be ready in twenty minutes?”

“You got it,” Tom responds, and Ruth filters out of the room, leaving the two of them alone.

“Nice run?” Mav asks, and Ice rolls his eyes. He crosses the room and presses a kiss to Mav’s lips, and it takes everything in Mav’s power not to throw his arms around Ice’s neck. When they pull apart, Mav takes the opportunity to whisper, ‘Chess club?’ He gets jabbed in the rib for his efforts. 

***

Apparently, a lot of work goes into Hanukkah, and even more work goes into the Kazansky Hanukkah prep.

Somehow, he manages to convince Ruth to let him join the grocery store excursion, which is a relief because Mav does not want to be left alone with Jakob or Bubbe, which is how he gets a peek at the grocery list.

(“A lot of work for an unimportant holiday.” “Shut up, Mav.”)

It takes them an hour to get the needed ingredients, and they’re immediately put to work when they return. The kitchen turns into a flurry of activity. Everyone has a task: Bubbe is making the dough for the sufganiyot, Ruth and Ice are on brisket duty, and Jakob is getting the ingredients for the kugel ready.

It’s vaguely chaotic, but Ruth directs them with quick, sure movements.

Ruth gives Mav the task of making the latkes for Hanukkah dinner, claiming it’s the easiest job.

With a quick demonstration of how to peel and shred the potatoes, she assures him that it should be a breeze. And it should be the easiest job. He never got put on potato duty when he fucked up that one time and had to do kitchen patrol, but how hard is peeling a bunch of potatoes and shredding them? 

Except all of Mav’s latkes are either too crispy or too mushy, and none look like they’re supposed to. Somewhere along the way, he has screwed up something.

“Mav, how do you fuck up a latke?” Ice asks, sliding up behind Mav so he can feel the heat radiating from his body. His lips find the back of Mav’s neck, and a hand curves around his hip. Any doubts Mav has about Ice wanting to hide their relationship from his family go away when Sarah makes a gagging noise from where she is chopping vegetables at the counter, and Mav leans back into Ice’s touch.

“You two are going to make me ill.”

Ice doesn’t even look at her. “Says the woman who wants to date my RIO.”

“Maybe even marry him.”

That makes Ice pull away to send a glare at his younger sister. “Excuse me?”

Mav closes his eyes as they start to bicker. Fucking Slider. 

Then Ruth pushes Ice out of the way and looks into the pan of oil. “Oh, baby. This is my fault. I didn’t tell you that you’ve got to dry them. Here, let me show you how.” Ruth glares at Ice. “You could be nicer to your young man, you know. Here he is, trying to experience your culture, and you’re being rude to him.”

Mav sticks his tongue out at Ice as Ruth shows him how to dry the potatoes properly and use flour to hold them together.

Somehow, this ends with Ruth bumping Maverick out of the way with her hip. He watches as she flips the latkes in the pan, turning them golden brown and crispy.

“We’ll put them in the fridge and then reheat them in the oven tonight, so they’re perfect and crispy,” she says before she hands Mav the spatula. His next latke is perfect, and when Ruth praises him, Mav can’t help but smile, especially when Ice catches his eye from across the kitchen and winks at him.

It’s far too domestic when he thinks about it, and maybe, in the past, that would have made him pause. He’s always been a hopeless romantic, but he’s never gotten to this point. Maybe because he’s always been trying to outfly his dad’s ghost, perhaps because he’s always thought of a plane as his one real love. But now…

He makes a few dozen latkes and stacks them, as Ruth indicated earlier. The kitchen is still a hotspot of activity, but Jakob filtered out earlier to take a call. When Ruth comes to peek at his stack of latkes, she turns to Mav with a warm smile. "These look perfect, hon. Why don't you and Tom take a little break?

Mav grins and nods eagerly. He catches Ice's eye from across the kitchen and tilts his head subtly towards the door leading to the back porch. Ice gives a barely perceptible nod in return. They both know an opportunity for some much-needed alone time when they see one.

"Thanks, Ruth," Mav says sincerely. "We'll just step out for a few minutes to get some fresh air."

"Take your time, boys," Ruth replies with a knowing twinkle in her eye.

Ice casually makes his way over to Mav and they slip out the back. Mav immediately sidles up behind him and presses a soft kiss to the nape of Ice's neck, inhaling the familiar scent of his aftershave.

"Hey," Mav murmurs against Ice's skin. "Wanna sneak away for a few minutes?" His voice pitches low and suggestive.

Ice turns in the circle of Mav's arms, a slow smirk spreading across his face. His hands find Mav's hips, squeezing gently. "Oh yeah? And just what did you have in mind?"

Mav returns Ice's smirk with a mischievous grin of his own. “Well, we’ve got that rental car. Didn’t you go to school in this area? I’m sure there’s a quiet spot we could park.”

Ice's eyes darken with unmistakable heat, but he laughs. “You want to make out in the car like a bunch of teenagers?”

“C’mon. I’m the first guy you’ve taken home, and your mom is encouraging it.”

Ice chuckles, but his thumb continues to rub enticing circles against Mav's hipbones through his jeans.

Mav's grin widens, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "I'm not suggesting we make out like teenagers who can't keep their hands off each other. I was thinking more like adults who can't keep their hands off each other." He leans in closer to Ice, his lips brushing against his ear. "Unless you have a better idea."

Their mouths meet, but it’s not a hungry, passionate kiss. Instead, they kiss leisurely, and Ice's mouth curves into a smile against Mav's lips as they kiss slowly, savoring the stolen moment together. His hands slide around to the small of Mav's back, pulling him flush against his body. Mav melts into the embrace, his hands cradling Ice's face.

The crisp December air nips at their cheeks, and Ice tastes like the cinnamon gum he's constantly chewing and something uniquely him. Mav can't get enough.

He tilts his head, changing the angle to deepen the kiss. A pleased hum rumbles in Ice's chest and vibrates against Mav's. His fingers dip beneath the hem of Mav's white shirt to stroke the smooth skin there while Mav's fingers thread through Ice's bleach-blonde hair, tugging lightly at the short strands at the nape of his neck. He has no idea how someone hasn't pinned Ice down to shave it, especially knowing the Navy. But then Ice makes a low, approving noise in the back of his throat that sends shivers down Mav's spine, and he forgets what he was thinking. In retaliation, Mav nips at Ice's bottom lip, eking out a quiet gasp that Mav eagerly swallows.

They lose themselves in the push and pull, the intoxicating slide of lips and tongues. The rest of the world fades away until it’s just them.

But the moment ends when a loud knocking on the window startles them both. They pull apart with a gasp and look up to see Sarah standing at the porch door, her hand now covering her eyes.

“I never want to see my brother kiss anyone ever again,” Sarah says. “And mom says we forgot the sour cream and applesauce, so I’m running back to the store. Since Dad took the car, you need to drive."

Ice’s lips form a line, but he nods. “Okay, when are we going?”

“Now, while mom’s on the phone with Aunt Rita.”

With the way Sarah has her arms crossed and the frown on her face, Mav wonders if Ruth hid the applesauce he saw earlier so Ice and Sarah could hash out whatever issue they have in private. Then, with a nod, Sarah dips back into the house. Yeah, he’d put money on this being some orchestration of Ruth’s.

“I’m gonna be fine. Go,” Mav says, clasping Ice’s shoulder.

Ice hesitates for a beat, his gaze searching Mav's face. "You sure?"

Mav gives him a reassuring smile. "Yeah, I'm good. Besides, your mom likes me now that I've made her latkes. Go deal with your sister, and I'll see you when you get back."

"Okay," Ice agrees with a small sigh. He squeezes Mav's hand briefly before following Sarah back into the house to grab his keys and wallet.

Left alone on the back porch, Mav takes a moment to breathe in the crisp winter air and center himself.

When he walks back inside, it’s not the empty kitchen he expected.

To see Bubbe there rolling out the dough for pierogi is a surprise, to say the least. Mav had assumed she'd be resting or off elsewhere, not standing at the floured countertop kneading and rolling the elastic dough with practiced, wrinkled hands. She looks up at Mav with shrewd, knowing eyes as he tentatively steps into the kitchen. The rolling pin moves and the dough flattens obediently.

Then, with the universal gesture of 'come here,' Bubbe gestures for him to join her at the kitchen island.

Mav’s smart. He might not be a genius, and the proximity to jet fuel might have killed a few brain cells, but when he puts his mind to something, it tends to enter his short-term memory.

“Sholem-aleykhem,” Mav says as he approaches the counter. This close, he can see the little imperfections in what must be dough for pierogi, the thumbprints and folds that mark Bubbe's handiwork.

“Aleykhem-sholem,” Bubbe replies as Mav chews on his lower lip, tearing at the skin. He tastes blood. 

"Vos makht ir?” Mav says, hoping that’s the formal. The corner of Bubbe’s mouth twitches upwards.

“Gut, a dank.”

That’s definitely good, thanks. This is definitely the longest conversation he’s had with her.

Once again, Bubbe pats the island and gestures for Mav to come closer with an impatience only an old woman can muster. He steps to her side and their shoulders, and Bubbe gestures at the dough before she starts speaking in Yiddish.

“Ikh red nisht keyn Yidish,” Mav says when she finishes, and Bubbe rolls her eyes with a look that screams, ‘I know you can’t speak Yiddish, idiot.’

Then, she reaches over to grab Mav’s hands, placing a dumpling wrapper in one and a spoon in the other. With exaggerated motions, she shows Mav how much filling to scoop into the dough and how to wet his finger to help the edges stick together. It takes a few tries, but soon, he’s creating pierogi that resemble Bubbe’s perfectly shaped ones. Sort of. These ones are much, much uglier.

When they’ve got a huge stack, Bubbe grabs Mav by the wrist and leads him to the pot of boiling water. She says something in Yiddish that he does absolutely not understand, but he nods along anyway as the woman dumps a dozen of the pierogi into the pot. It must look ridiculous, Mav thinks. An old Polish woman and her grandson’s boyfriend staring into a pot of boiling water like it holds the secrets to the universe, but Bubbe doesn't seem to mind Mav’s presence. In fact, she gestures for him to take a spoon, and when one of the pierogi begins to float, she points at it and looks expectantly at him.

“Oh, you want me to scoop it out,” he says, wondering if the woman understands him before he carefully scoops the first of the floating pierogi out of the water and places it onto a plate next to Bubbe. Another pierogi floats to the top of the pot, and Mav doesn’t need her to point to know it’s his job to scoop them out of the boiling water and next to the waiting plate. She nods her head in approval.

Together, they work in silence, Bubbe occasionally muttering something in Yiddish that Mav still doesn't understand, but he continues following her lead.

While Mav is on pierogi scooping duty, Bubbe heats oil in another pan and prepares the unboiled pierogi for the freezer. Most of the pierogi he’s boiled are whisked away to sit next to the latkes in the refrigerator, but the six dumplings Bubbe hasn’t put away are dumped into the oil.

Bubbe says something else in Yiddish and gestures at the pan. She holds up one finger, and after one minute, Mav flips the pierogi over. He lets them brown on the other side before he splits them in half and puts them on the two waiting plates.

When Bubbe comes back, it’s with a small jar of applesauce. She places it down on the counter, and Mav shakes his head.

“I respect it,” he responds as she pours a small amount on his plate. She makes sure to put the applesauce back in its hiding spot before she guides them to the small table in the kitchen.

As they sit down at the little table, Mav is unsure what to expect—this is the most time he's spent one-on-one with Ice's intimidating grandmother—but his stomach growls once the smell of the warm food hits his nose, and he decides food is more important than feeling awkward.

The pierogi are delicious—the potato and cheese filling complements the tart sweetness of the applesauce. Mav can't help but let out a slight hum of appreciation as he chews, even as they eat in silence.

Bubbe watches him with a satisfied expression, her eyes crinkling at the corners. She says something in Yiddish that Mav still can't quite make out, but her tone is warm and approving. He gets the sense she is pleased he is enjoying her cooking.

“A dank, er, thanks.” He says, and Bubbe waves her hand dismissively.

They eat in companionable silence, and the only sound is the clink of forks against plates, which is where Ruth and Jakob find them when they enter the kitchen.

“What are you two up to?” Ruth asks, brow furrowing as she glances between them.

“Oh, Bubbe here showed me how to fill and cook pierogi.”

Jakob's brows shoot up his forehead, and Ruth’s eyes widen in surprise. Mav wonders if he should feel nervous about the sudden scrutiny. But the moment ends just as quickly as it arrived, and Jakob goes to the fridge to pour himself a glass of orange juice.

Just then, the front door opens and closes, signaling Ice and Sarah's return. While they’re still bickering as they return, it doesn’t seem as tense as it was previously.

"It's ridiculous," Ice mutters as they step into the room, his gaze immediately going to Mav and Bubbe sitting together at the kitchen table, empty pierogi plates in front of them. His brow furrows in confusion. "What's going on here?"

With their return, Mav quickly finishes the last few bites of his pierogi. He gives Bubbe a grateful smile.

“Dank again for the lesson,” he says with a smile, and Bubbe smiles back, her eyes twinkling. She gives Mav's hand a gentle pat before he rises to greet the others. Ruth is already unpacking the grocery bags Ice and Sarah brought in. Ice’s eyes track Mav as he stands up.

“Now, how about that drive?”

***

“Ten-minute warning!” Sarah yells, passing kippahs out to Mav and Ice, who are trying to watch the Washington Capitals try to defeat the Boston Bruins in overtime. Neither of them is even a hockey fan, and Mav’s more of a baseball guy, but he guesses he can get behind the sport. Ice had offered to help Ruth with more of the set-up, but she had sent him on his way under the guise of ‘he was a guest.’

“I thought this wasn’t an important holiday,” Mav murmurs as Ruth retrieves the menorah, a beautiful silver candelabra with intricate engravings, and places it prominently on the mantle while Jakob inserts two candles into the menorah.

His words make Ice roll his eyes. “It’s because you’re here, idiot.”

When the clock finally hits the appropriate time, Jakob clears his throat, and they all form a semi-circle around the menorah. Mav hangs back a little, not entirely sure what he should be doing, but Ruth seems to notice his hesitation.

"Come closer, hon, you'll want to see this," Ruth beckons to Mav with a warm smile, gently tugging him forward to join the family circle. His initial response is to want to protest, to insist that this is a family event, but Ruth’s gaze means business. So, Mav

steps closer and stands next to Sarah, who gives him a small smile.

As the head of the household, Jakob takes the central spot in front of the menorah. He clears his throat and begins reciting the blessings in Hebrew, his voice strong and sure. Mav doesn't understand the words, but he feels the weight of tradition and the meaning behind them. From what Mav remembers, there are three blessings for the first night, but he can’t tell which is which. Sarah lights the middle candle, which Ice then takes to light the first candle.

"Happy Hanukkah," Ruth says with a smile as she turns to hug each family member, including Mav.

"Happy Hanukkah," he responds, hoping his smile is large enough to hide the sudden, off-kilter feeling he has.

“Jakob’s off to finish the latkes and fry the remaining pierogi, and dinner will be ready. So, hold tight while the candles burn down,” Ruth says, leaving the room.

Before Mav can do anything, Sarah is already dropping a spinning top and a pile of gold-wrapped chocolates on the floor.

“Okay, soon-to-be losers, who is playing?” She says. Mav loses and then recovers his gelt before Jakob calls them in for dinner.

After dinner, they all gather in the living room. The fire Jakob had started paints the room a warm glow, and it looks picturesque, like something out of a movie. Mav settles onto the plaid couch next to Ice, their thighs pressed together.

“We’re not the world’s biggest present people, with all the moving,” Ruth says, coming back into the room with a pile of presents in her arms. “But it’s been a while since we’ve had both Tom and Sarah home at the same time, and, well, it’s your first time here, Pete.”

She begins to pass them one. One present for Bubbe, one for Jakob, one for Sarah, one for Ice, and then…

"Here, dear. A little something to thank you for being part of our family celebration this year," she says warmly, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she presses a small, carefully wrapped package into his hands. From its weight and shape, Mav can tell it's a book of some sort.

Mav feels awkward when he realizes he didn't bring any gifts since he didn't expect to be included in the family gift exchange.

“You really didn't have to get me anything, ma’am."

"Nonsense," Ruth waves off his protests as Mav swallows past the lump of emotion that suddenly forms in his throat. He looks down at the gift in his hands, touched by Ruth's thoughtfulness and the easy way she has welcomed him into her family. Not for the first time, he wonders if she’s upset that it’s Pete in her home and not some girl she can brag about to her friends, who would give her grandkids.

Mav carefully unwraps the package, revealing a beautifully bound leather journal. Looking closer, he can see his initials embossed on the cover. Touched by the gesture, he runs his fingers over the cover.

"Tom said you like to jot things down, so we thought it might come in handy," she replies with a fond smile, clearly pleased by his reaction as she perches on the arm of Jakob’s chair.

Mav ducks his head, feeling his cheeks heat slightly. He's not used to this easy family affection and acceptance. Not from anyone who wasn’t the Bradshaws.

"Thank you," he says sincerely, meeting her warm gaze. "I really appreciate it. I'm sorry I didn't bring anything..."

Ice gently elbows him in the ribs, and Mav shuts up, deciding to let it go for the current moment. He'll have to make it up to them somehow.

Sarah gets a watch, and Ice gets a book, which Mav snorts at. Even Ice’s parents think he’s a nerd.

They spent the rest of the night playing dreidel and chatting about everything and nothing, which doesn’t help with the odd feeling just under Mav’s skin. Like the previous night, Sarah and Ice pull out their chessboard, and Mav has settled next to the board to spectate, but their game barely gets started before the phone hanging on the wall between the living room and kitchen rings, and Ruth answers. She chats amicably for a moment before she calls out, “Sarah, it’s for you!”

Sarah dashes for the phone, and her cheeks flush pink when the person on the other end of the line speaks. “Oh, hey.” She twists the phone cord around her finger. 

“Sarah.” Ice says. “Is that my RIO on the end of that line?”

Sarah responds with a raised middle finger, and Ice moves his chess piece like it has personally offended him. Mav reaches over to rub his back. “Sorry, man.”

“This is what I get for bringing Slider home when his parents fucked off on a cruise.”

“No good deed goes unpunished,” Mav agrees as Sarah giggles at something Slider said.

“Yeah, baby, I’ll see you for New Year’s.”

“What?” Ice’s brow furrows while Sarah continues to giggle.

Mav whistles lowly. “Tough luck, Ice. Your backseater is going to become your brother-in-law.”

“Hush, you two,” Ruth says, still bustling around the kitchen. “Be happy for Sarah. Ron is a good man.”

Under his breath, Ice mumbles something that sounds like ‘the fuck he is,’ and Mav is unlucky enough to be breathing as he says it because his spit gets caught in his airways. It takes seven slaps to his back to dislodge it to come free, and Sarah is narrating it to Slider the entire time, so Mav knows next time he sees Slider, he’s going to get shit for it. Just kidding, he’s going to help Ice murder Slider, or maybe he can convince the man to let him in on some of that blackmail.

The hour begins to draw late, and Ruth is begging off to bed. Ice has already kindly offered to wash the dishes again, which Ruth thanks him for profusely. As she rises, Jakob kisses her cheek and then turns his gaze to Mav.

“Join me on the porch, son? Tom can join us after he’s done with the remaining dishes. ” Ice raises a brow, but Jakob’s words have a sense of finality, so he doesn’t even try to fight them. Neither does Mav because even if the admiral wasn’t in a spot where he couldn’t ruin Mav’s life, there is something to his voice that says this request can’t be denied.

The two of them know it’s some sort of dismissal, but neither really understands why, so Mav follows Jakob out onto the enclosed porch, where he presents Mav with a cigar that he must have grabbed on his way out.

“Cigar?”

Mav shakes his head. “I don’t smoke, sir.”

“Good for you,” Jakob replies, disappearing indoors for all of thirty seconds. Mav knows this because he counts in his head, each second dragging on like an eternity. When he returns to the porch, he hands Mav a crystal tumbler with a few fingers of whiskey. While Mav might occasionally do stupid shit, he knows what's coming next - yet another shovel talk from one of the Kazansky family members. It seems to be a tradition in this household, and as much as Mav wants to have another sip in hopes the alcohol will numb any discomfort that may come from this conversation, instead, he nods.

“I’ve seen your file. You’re a pain in a lot of people’s asses.” Jakob snips off the end of his cigar while Mav’s nails clink against the glass. Usually, this would be a comforting sound, but right now, it’s anything but.

“Am I a pain in your ass?” Mav asks. There’s a heartbeat before he tacks on ‘sir.’ Jakob chuckles.

“Remains to be seen,” Jakob says, lighting the cigar between his teeth. He inhales deeply, causing the tip to glow with orange embers. His lips curve into a small smile as he releases a puff of smoke. “I wasn’t kidding when I said we’ll be fine if you’re not serving under me.”

Time for Mav to rescue this the only way he knows how.  “How long have you and your wife been together?” 

If there’s one thing Mav has gathered from these past two days, it’s that Jakob Kazansky loves his wife and worships the ground she walks on. His eyes light up every time she walks into the room, and he reaches for her hand every time they pass by each other. Not to mention the adoring glances he sneaks at her when she's not looking.

“Nice distraction, kid, but to answer your question: since we were nineteen. I met her at Columbia at a mixer. Came back to my dorm and told my roommate I met the girl of my dreams. Me, some poor boy from Brooklyn, meets this smart, firecracker of a girl from Boston. Lost my damn mind. She refused to marry me until after we graduated, and then I joined the Navy, and, well, I’m unbelievably lucky to have a wife like her. Tom’s got all of her best traits, you know.”

“Yeah?”

Jakob nods. “Sarah, on the other hand? My clone.”

“Are you also in love with Slider?” He can’t resist being a little shit.

“You really think you’re funny, don’t you?” Jakob says with an eye roll, but Mav knows he’s only taking a puff of his cigar to hide his smirk. He breathes out the smoke, and they spend a few minutes in companionable silence.

“You’ve got this look in your eyes, son. Like you’re about to turn and run.”  Jakob inhales his cigar, and Mav only stares at the whiskey in his glass. “You have much of a family growing up? I know about your father. Everyone who’s anyone in the Navy does, but what about your mom?”

“No, sir.” Mav barely chokes out his answer, shoulders rolling back and body tensing as he prepares for another person to pinpoint every single one of his flaws.

“So that’s why you’ve got that look on your face.” Jakob nods once. “You’ve been confronted with something you’ve never had, and you think you might want it, but now you’re scared.” Mav’s head snaps up, and he wants to say something, but Jakob holds up his hand. “My son has wanted to be an admiral in the United States Navy since he was six, and you, Maverick, are a rather big obstacle. A career-ending obstacle, in fact, and I think the both of you are aware of that.”

“It would be easy for him to marry a woman and have a child, but for some reason, he’s decided to bring you home, and your reputation precedes you. You could destroy him before he’s even gotten started, but he wants to build a life with you, so he’s brought you home.” There’s a pause. “Tom has never brought home a…partner before. We didn’t think he ever would, but here you are.”

The end of Jakob’s cigar burns bright red as he takes another puff, and Maverick can't help but follow the wisps of smoke as they disappear into the night. “That means you must be something special to him, and I trust my son’s judgment. But I can’t help but wonder if you’re still going to be around if your wings get clipped.”

The pressure that has been forming in Mav’s chest this entire conversion suddenly releases, and he no longer feels like he's on the edge of a precipice or a heart attack.

“No, sir,” Mav responds. “He’s…he’s…he’s him.”

The words are trapped in his throat, but Jakob keeps his gaze fixed on Maverick as he patiently waits for him to speak, waiting for him to find the right words to verbalize the thoughts he’s trying so hard to put into words.

“I care about Tom, sir. A lot more than I ever thought was possible for anyone. Being with him…it feels like coming home. I trust him to have my back. Not just in the air, but in life.” The words still don’t feel right. Mav’s gaze is firmly on the glass of whiskey in his hands, and he traces the patterns in the glass. Not the way to talk to a superior officer, but Mav’s not talking to an admiral. Right now, Jakob Kazansky is acting solely as a father.

Finally, the words come. Mav takes a deep breath and looks up to meet Jakob's steady gaze. His heart pounds, but his voice is resolute. "I love your son, sir. More than I've ever loved anyone or anything. Being with him feels like I've found a piece of myself I didn't even know was missing."

Jakob stays quiet, letting Mav gather his thoughts. Mav's fingers tighten around the whiskey glass as he continues.

"When I'm with Tom, I feel like I belong somewhere for the first time in my life. Like I'm exactly where I'm meant to be. He grounds me, challenges me, makes me want to be better. Both in the air and on the ground. He makes me feel like I can finally breathe easy. He even makes all the noise in my head go quiet. He sees the real me in a way no one else ever has. He knows all the shit I get up to, but he still chooses to stand by my side, day after day."

A gentle, almost imperceptible curve appears on Mav's lips. "Your son...he's brilliant and driven and respectable. Follows the rules so much that sometimes it makes me want to tear my hair out." He chuckles fondly. "But that's part of what I..." He hesitates before he continues, "It's part of what I love about him. He’s him. And I don't think I'm bad for him either.”

His heart pounds as he finishes his speech like he’s just been caught in a dogfight and gotten out against all odds. Except now, his words hang heavy in the winter night air between him and Jakob. Mav’s palms are sweaty where they grip the whiskey glass, condensation beading along the crystal surface.

What if Mav’s said too much? Revealed more than Ice was comfortable with his father knowing at this stage? All of the words he’s said are true, and Ice is brilliant and by-the-book. Too smart, too talented, too everything. He’s the brightest star in Mav’s life. So bright that Mav feels blinded by the fact he gets Ice’s easy smiles directed at him and to be the one to hear his cutting observations. He's caught in his orbit and doesn't think he'll ever leave it. Doesn't want to ever leave him.

And then there’s Mav, who is, well, they both know he’s a wildcard with a penchant for insubordination and risky aerial maneuvers. Talented, sure, but far from what most would consider an ideal partner for their only son. If Mav was normal, he wouldn’t be having this conversation with Jakob.

Jakob takes a long, contemplative drag from his cigar, and his face is inscrutable as he studies Mav, who has to fight the sudden urge to fidget. He’s been in the Navy for years now. He’s better than twitching under the gaze of a man who can rip away everything he’s ever wanted.

Worst of all, Mav thinks he might want this too. The supportive mother, the annoying sister, the grouchy grandmother, and the exasperated father. He wants these people to like him. He wants these people to love him and welcome him with open arms. To tell him every year that Hanukkah isn’t an important holiday, to pretend to act surprised when he gives them presents. Maybe to even think of him as a second son one day. Maybe even let him bring Carole and Bradley over so they can have something like this, too. He wants this future so badly it hurts.

A voice in his head tells him he deserves none of it, and the silence stretches on for an eternity. Mav can hear his blood rushing in his ears.

“You’re right. My son is all those things.” Jakob responds. “Maybe he needs someone to remind him to relax every so often. Certainly, someone who’ll help him kill Kerner if he breaks Sarah’s heart.”

“I can do that, sir,” Mav nods. He finally risks a sip of his drink before a smirk appears. Knowing when to shut up has never been on his list of skills. “To clarify, are you giving me your approval, sir?”

“Don’t push it, Mitchell, but I think it might be.” Jakob gazes off into the distance as he speaks. “As long as you stay out of my chain of command, that is.”

Heat builds up in his eyes, and Mav might be on the verge of tears for the first time since Goose. He hasn’t even been at Ice’s parents' place for more than two days, and he’s spent the entire time feeling like a scooped-out bagel.

“Now, why do you still look like you’re going to run?”

Maverick stills. A few moments pass, and Jakob clears his throat. “Son?”

“Because I don’t think I deserve this. I don’t think I deserve him.”

That makes Jakob chuckle. “He seems to think you’re worth it, so how about you trust my son’s judgment? Since you think he’s so brilliant and all.”

It’s a good point, and Mav struggles to come up with a response, so he takes a sip of his whiskey instead. He doesn’t believe the older man but can’t argue with him.

The door to the glass-enclosed porch opens and bathes the room with the warm light from the kitchen. Ice pokes his head out, glancing between them before he steps out into the night air. “There you two are.” He perches on the arm of Mav’s wicker chair. “Am I interrupting anything?”

“Just getting to know your young man,” Jakob replies, breathing smoke again. “I want to see how much of a pain in my ass he’s going to be.”

Ice grins, and Mav can only watch as the corners of his eyes crinkle. “Sounds about right.”

Mav can’t help but smile at the sight of Ice perched on the arm of his chair like it’s the most normal thing in the world. Feeling brave, Mav wraps an arm around Ice’s waist, causing the other man to furrow his brow in surprise. But it's not unpleasant, just unexpected. Ice relaxes against his arm and takes Mav’s glass without asking, causing Mav to grumble about the man’s lack of manners. When he looks back at Jakob, he sees him raise his chin. The gesture is subtle but unmistakable - approval.

They head up to bed shortly after, where a sliver of moon is visible from the window, and Mav nuzzles Ice’s face with his nose as they settle under the comforter. Ice's steady breathing and the solid weight of his arm draped across Mav's middle grounds him, reminding Mav that this is real. He really is here, in Ice's childhood home, welcomed with open arms by the Kazansky’s.

"Your family is amazing, you know that? Even when they’re threatening me," Mav says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "I never expected them to welcome me like they did. Especially your dad."

“Bubbe said you were tolerable.”

Mav flicks Ice’s ear. “Shut up. Tell the truth.”

“Okay, fine. She said you were a ‘nice, young man.’”

The room is too dark for Ice to see Mav’s answering grin, but he’s sure Ice can feel it against his neck. He kisses the skin, and Ice lets out a small sigh.

For a minute, the only sounds in the room are their heartbeats and the occasional noise of them shifting on the bed, but then a question appears in Mav’s head, and he needs to know the answer.

“Was it scary? Telling them that you like men.”

“Didn’t really mean to tell them. Guy I was seeing broke up with me, I got drunk, called home, and told Mom I was gay.” Ice’s voice has lost the rough edge he only gets with approaching sleep. “She said she’d known since I was a kid, and we’ve sort of avoided talking about it until she started asking if I was going to bring any ‘good friends’ home, and your name’s come up enough.”

Mav laughs, but he’s secretly pleased to hear Ice talk about him to his parents. That when he arrived, Ice’s entire family knew they were an item, and apparently accepted that. If any of them didn't, then they had done a great job of keeping under wraps. “Oh, like Slider, huh? I need to be jealous?”

“I’m going to smother you in your sleep. What’s your fixation with me fucking my RIO?”

But Mav’s already running with it, and when Mav gets started, it’ll take a miracle to hold him back. “C’mon, baby. Tell me the truth, how many ‘good friends’ have you brought home? How many boys have you kissed in this room?”

“None, because my fucking parents didn’t move here until last year.” Ice snaps, but Mav knows it's all bravado. He trails his fingers down Ice’s abs. As much as Ice tries not to, he leans into Mav’s touch and tilts his head to the side so Mav can continue to nuzzle at the skin there. He scrapes his teeth down the side of Ice’s neck, and the other man clenches his teeth together so fast that Mav can hear the click of his jaw.

“Gonna suck you off now, okay? Be a good boy, and don’t make a noise.”

And like the good military man he is, Ice does just that.

***

The rest of their leave passes far too fast, and the Monday they have to return to Top Gun comes before they know it.

Ruth throws her arms around Mav’s neck. “Come back any time, sweetheart. You don’t need to come with Tom. Our door is always open for you.”

As she speaks, Mav wraps his arms around her waist and holds her tight. Her perfume tickles his nose when she pulls away. Sadness settles in his chest, and he knows he shouldn’t feel this way since he knows he’s only known them for a few days. But they’ve made him feel so welcome that it’s hard to leave.

“Oh, and write me on occasion, okay? I’m going to worry about you, too.”

Sarah sniffs. She’s staying a few more days before heading back to school for the winter term. “You weren’t worried when I went off to college.”

“You’re not Pete, and you go to Dartmouth, sweetie. What trouble can you really get in?”

Ruth continues to fuss over him, and when Mav looks over at Ice, he sees the man leaning against the door frame. When Ice meets his eyes, he winks, and Mav can’t help but grin back. When they walk through that door, they will have to return to appropriate distances and careful touches, but for now, they’re safe for at least a few more minutes. Jakob had said goodbye to them early that morning before breakfast. Monday morning meant reporting for duty.

When Ruth finally pulls away, Bubbe grabs Mav by the face and kisses each cheek. She says something in Yiddish that Tom translates to mean ‘stay out of trouble.’ He doesn’t say he will because that would be a lie.

“A dank, ma’am,” Mav says, and Bubbe pats his cheek fondly before ushering him towards the door. He has a recipe written on a notecard in a language he can’t read, but it's good that he has Tom for that since Tom says it's challah.

As he heads towards the door, Ruth stops him for one last hug, “I’m serious. Don’t forget to write to me.”

“I won’t,” Mav promises with a smile.

Before they step through the door, Ice links his fingers with Mav’s and gives his hand a quick squeeze. And then, they drop out of their hands to step out of the house. After all, it’s a military neighborhood, and they must be careful.

As they walk down the sidewalk towards their car, Mav can hear Sarah teasing her mother about being overly emotional. They drop their bags in the trunk and wave as they pull out of the driveway.

“Thanks for coming home with me,” Ice says, voice nonchalant as he turns the car in the direction of the highway that’ll take them to Dulles.

Mav smiles. “You know you’re it for me, right Kazansky?”

“Yeah, Mav. I know.” The corner of Ice’s mouth turns up in a familiar smile, and Mav reaches over to squeeze his thigh. “Now, let’s go home."