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There’s something in his hand.
Maverick squints at it suspiciously, moving it closer to his face. Yep. That’s his hand. It’s his. And there’s something in it, that’s for sure. It’s small. Shaped like a thing that’s a circle with corners. A square! That’s what it’s called.
So there’s a square thing in his hand. Kinda crumbley, kinda small. He doesn’t like it. He also doesn’t like that he can’t feel his body. Everything is weird and fuzzy, and his tongue feels too big for his mouth. He feels like he’s floating. Is he floating? No, he’s not. He’s in the hospital (he thinks, anyway) and he’s lying on something soft, and there’s a square thing in his hand. What is it again?
“Just eat the cracker, Mav,” a voice by his side advises. It’s a nice voice. Very pretty voice. It’s probably right and he decides to do what it says.
He tries to lift his hand to his mouth but it doesn’t want to move. Maybe he can bring his mouth to his hand — but no, that doesn’t work either. “I need some medicine,” he mumbles. Whoa. Is that his voice? He sounds like shit. “I sound weird.”
“The doctors are bringing you some. Just eat that cracker until they get here.”
He brings his mouth to his hand and nibbles at the cracker — and then he remembers that he doesn’t like crackers. They’re dry and leave crumbs everywhere and always get stuck in his teeth. He turns his head to ask the nice pretty voice if he really has to, and then his entire mind just stops.
There’s a man sitting next to him, and he’s kind of blurry but really blond, and really, really pretty. Like, beautiful pretty. Unreal beautiful pretty. He’s holding Maverick’s hand, and his hand is big and warm. Maverick bets those hands could make really good snowballs in the winter. Like, he could make Maverick a whole army of mini snowmen out of them.
The rest of the man seems equally as warm. He’s wearing a gray sweater with a pair of glasses tucked into the collar, and the sleeves are rolled up neatly, showing off strong-looking arms. Maverick wonders if he goes to the gym. He probably knows how to do squats. Wow.
“Did the doctor send you?” he asks in wonder. “Man, you are eye candy.”
There’s a weird noise in the distance, but Maverick’s eyes are only on the man sitting next to him, who smiles slightly and shakes his head. “Just keep eating the cracker, Mav.”
But Maverick doesn’t like eating crackers. Maverick likes him. He wants to keep talking to him. “You’re the hottest guy I’ve ever seen,” Maverick tells him earnestly. It’s important that he knows that. “Are you a model?”
“No, I’m not a model, but I’m going to be right here with you.” He runs the pad of his thumb over Maverick’s knuckles. “You feeling okay?”
He’s already feeling better. That’s weird. Maybe he’s not a model. Maybe he’s just a really hot magician. “You should be a model,” Maverick says. “‘Cause you’re hot. And really blond. You’re like — really blond.”
“I try,” the man says, his voice funny like he’s trying not to laugh. “Eat your cracker, Mav. The doctor said it’ll make you feel better.”
“You make me feel better,” Maverick says. “You’re the blond hot model magician thing.” He tries to sit up, but the man gently pushes him back down. “I’m a pilot.”
“I’ve heard.”
“I’m a great pilot. I work at the place. You know. The place with the pilots.”
He can hear the smile in the man’s voice. “At TOPGUN?”
“Right, yeah, that place.”
“That’s weird, I work there too.”
“No you don’t,” Maverick says, sure the man is lying. “I’d remember you if you were there. ‘Cause you’re hot. Who are you?” Maverick uses his cracker-hand to point at him just in case he doesn’t know he’s being talked at. “What’s your name?”
“My name’s Ice,” he says, somewhere between patient and amused. Now he really looks like he’s trying not to laugh. “I’m your husband.”
“You’re my husband?” Maverick’s jaw drops, and the cracker plops onto his chest. The weird noise in the background gets louder, followed by a shushing sound. “Have we kissed yet?”
“Yeah, we have.”
“Wow,” Maverick says. He really wants to lean over and kiss Ice, but he can’t make himself move. “Do we have kids?”
“No,” Ice says. “We’ve got cats, though. Do you remember our cats?”
“No,” Maverick says, disappointed. He wonders if they take after him or Ice. “I wanna see our cats. Are they here?”
“No, they’re at home. You’ll see them when we get out of the hospital.”
Maverick squints at Ice. “Why are you in the hospital?”
“Because you’re here, idiot. I came to see you.”
“Oh,” Maverick says. “Why am I in the hospital?”
“Training accident,” Ice says, which is probably the professional explanation for something really stupid. “You took a hit for one of the kids.”
“But you just said we don't have any kids.”
“Students,” Ice corrects. “You took a hit for one of the students. She’s okay,” he adds, as Maverick had just been about to ask if the kid got hurt. Can he read minds or something? That’s so cool. “And so are you. The doctor says you’re going to be just fine in a few days, but they want to keep you overnight for observation.”
Maverick considers. “Are you gonna be here?”
“Yeah,” Ice says. “Yeah, I’ll be here.” He takes Maverick’s hand, lifts it up to his mouth and kisses it. His eyes are suspiciously shiny. “Keep eating your cracker, okay? You’ve gotta finish it before the doctor comes back.”
“I lost it.”
“It’s right here.” Ice withdraws his hand and gives Maverick the cracker back — and then takes Maverick’s hand again when Maverick pouts. “Come on, you’re almost done.”
“But it’s hard, baby, it’s hard.” Maverick takes a bite anyway, chewing carefully. It feels weird on his tongue. “Do we call each other baby?”
“Sometimes,” Ice says, sounding less upset now. Maverick counts that as a victory.
“How long’ve we been married?”
“Almost ten years,” Ice says. “But we’ve been together a lot longer.”
“Holy shit,” Maverick says, a little stunned that anybody would be willing to put up with him for almost ten years, let alone a lot longer. “Oh my god, I hit the jackpot. The really hot blond jackpot.”
“Jesus, Mav.” There’s a faint blush tinging Ice’s cheeks. “How strong of a painkiller did they give you?”
“Dunno,” Maverick says. “Wow. You’re perfect. I wanna see your face. Come here.” Ice leans in, and Maverick touches his face with the not-cracker hand. Wow. Even better up close and not blurry. “Can you turn around?”
“No,” Ice says. “You can check out my ass when you aren’t drugged out of your mind.”
“I’m in my mind,” Maverick says, a little offended. Then he winks. “And you’re on my mind, baby. Ice, Ice baby.”
Ice shakes his head. “You’re ridiculous,” he says, but there’s a smile tugging at his mouth and Maverick’s pretty sure he doesn’t mind. Then, raising his voice, he says, “Bradshaw, Kendrick, Mendoza, you want to make yourselves useful and go get Captain Mitchell’s doctor?”
There’s a muffled gasp and the sound of something hitting the floor with a thud, followed by a female voice saying, “Yes sir, come on guys let’s go,” and three sets of footsteps echoing down the hall.
“Perks of the job,” Ice says, grinning. “They better get me a copy of the video they were taking.”
Maverick frowns, suspecting somewhere in the back of his mind that they were taking a video of him. Oh well. He’ll figure it out later. “Hey, Ice, I finished the cracker.” He waves his now crackerless hand in the air, and Ice catches it effortlessly in his left hand. Hey, they’ve got matching rings. They really are married. “Did I get you that ring?”
“Yeah,” Ice says. “Yeah, you did.”
“I must have loved you a lot,” Maverick says. “I still love you a lot. Have I said that I love you?”
“You’ve mentioned it from time to time.”
“I should mention it more. Like, all the time.”
Ice rolls his eyes, but he’s still smiling. “Mention it to me all you want when you get out of here,” he says.
And Maverick does.