Archive of Our Own

When he gets the news, Pete’s first thought, as is often the case, is that he wishes Goose was here.

It’s not even a sensible thought to have, really. Goose could be a real idiot sometimes, and he’d probably say something stupid like what the hell are you talking about?

“What the hell are you talking about?” Pete asks, squinting at the doctor. “I got sterilised.”

He’s been told his whole life that he’d be infertile. Ever since the first time a pediatrician sat him down with his mom, only a few months after his dad’s death, and told him that he was a carrier in the same grave tone that people used when they spoke about Duke Mitchell. 

A terrible genetic mutation for a little boy to have, terribly unfortunate, so awful that he will never be man enough, not when he has two functioning reproductive systems, and thank god technology has advanced enough to stop it before his life gets too perverse. 

It’s okay Pete, everyone had soothed him, just take these pills, you’ll never have to worry about it.

“I’m sterile.” Pete reiterates, more firmly this time.

Doctor Elgin shakes his head with a little tutting noise. “Clearly not. Your file says you only had a month’s course of the 1965 formulation. You should’ve had a top-up when the ‘81 pills entered circulation, they’re far more effective.”

Pete’s mouth is dry. “I wasn’t aware of that.”

Elgin grunts. “Regardless, the fact remains that you are pregnant.”

“No.” He shakes his head. “No, I’m not.”

“Lieutenant.” Elgin scowls. “You are not the professional here.”

He just shakes his head again. This can’t be happening, this isn’t happening, he is not pregnant, not a chance in hell.

“I will have to include this in my report to your superiors.” The doctor says, voice flat.

“No. No, no, there’s no need for that.” Pete’s mind is spinning helplessly, caught in jetwash. “Surely if you just get rid of it, that’s not necessary, I’m - I’ve only got a few weeks left of Top Gun, I need to graduate-”

Elgin gives him a severe look. “My job, Lieutenant, is to carry out your physical and report the results to your commanding officer. I am not here to provide treatment, only information. There would be consequences for both of us if this report was filed incorrectly.”

“My entire career is going to implode.”

“Which is why, Mr Mitchell, you should have taken the ‘81 steriliser.” Doctor Elgin looks at his clipboard. “Other than your pregnancy, your results indicate you are in adequate health. However, I will of course be marking you as unfit for duty. I’ll recommend termination - either of your pregnancy or your role, which you can discuss with your superiors.”

“Doctor, I am begging you-”

“Thank you for your time today, Lieutenant.” The doctor sounds a little bored. “Please close the door on your way out.”

Pete knows a dismissal when he hears one, and arguing will get him nowhere. So he stands, making a point to scrape his chair loudly, and slams the door behind him when he leaves.

In a horrible twist of fate, the one person he really doesn’t want to see right now is sat waiting for his turn with Elgin, with an annoyingly perfect eyebrow raised in an annoyingly perfect arch.

“What’s up with you Maverick? Psych eval not up to scratch, say you’re too much of a cowboy?”

“Fuck off.” Pete snaps, and Iceman’s lips curl up into that infuriatingly pretty smirk.

Pete keeps walking before he does something stupid, like press him up against the wall and kiss him.

Stupid things like that are what gets him into this shitty situation in the first place.

He wonders what Goose would tell him, and begrudges the Bradshaw-sounding voice in his head that quietly wonders if having a baby could be a good thing.

Even dead, Goose still gives him terrible ideas.

Pete had fallen apart after Goose died. It had broken him, flying felt impossible without his RIO, the grief was intensely suffocating those first few weeks.

He’d nearly handed in his wings.

He would’ve done, if not for Ice of all people.

Ice had laid a hand on his shoulder in the locker room when it was just the two of them. Expressed how sorry he was for the loss - and sounded genuine about it, the fucker - and invited Pete out for a drink.

One drink became many, and over the course of the night, Pete got sloppier and sloppier. And when he gets sloppy, it’s a lot harder to remember to only ogle ladies.

He knows that when he gets drunk, he gets more obvious in his appreciation of the masculine form. Goose used to be there to protect him, to quietly nudge him when his eyes went astray, or cause a loud scene so Pete could sneak away undetected with a handsome man or two.

Ice is a handsome man. Pete notices him even when sober, so with a few beers in him, he was bound to get a bit friskier.

If Goose was around, he would’ve warned him. If Goose was around, Pete would never have been out with Iceman in the first place.

Iceman loosened up with him, and maybe nothing would have happened if Ice hadn’t made the first move.

Pete can remember it through the fuzzy haze; a strong hand settling on his thigh, ice blue eyes gazing at him, lips parting ever so slightly. The sort of move Pete has made on many occasions.

The first kiss was tentative. The second was greedy. The third is where his memories get foggier, and only God knows how many there were between then and when they woke up tangled in the same sheets.

Pete’s grief stopped feeling as fresh and heavy.

They haven’t talked about it. They have had more sex though. Eighteen times since that night, and of those, it’s been at least twice a week over the last month. Each time, Pete tells himself it won’t happen again.

This time though… This time it really can’t happen again.

Probably because he’s going to get dishonourably discharged - getting pregnant with another man’s child is possibly the biggest breach of regulations Pete could have committed - but also because there’s no way in hell Pete can tell Ice about this.

Being a carrier is a bigger shame than being bisexual. The fact that he has a working uterus makes him an abomination. He needs to get a hold of those newer, better drugs, or better yet, tear the damn thing out of him with his bare hands.

Maybe he can volunteer to be a lab rat, so those hotshot scientists can learn how to extract a male womb without inadvertently killing the host. Maybe he should curl up in a hole and never come back out.

Ice will think he’s a freak. Hell, he is a freak.

So why is there an aggravating, nagging thought at the back of his head that’s imagining some fucked up domestic life with Iceman, where they both come home from a day of dogfighting to coo over a baby together?

Pete needs to get a grip.

He’s got less than twenty-four hours before his life falls apart. He can arrange an abortion and come up with a conveniently non-homosexual excuse for his pregnancy in that time, of course he can!

Ice shows up at his door just as Pete is about to go on a nighttime hunt for a clinician who will keep his situation on the downlow.

“Mav.” He steps inside Pete’s room without invitation. “Listen. Earlier, when I said about the psych eval, I didn’t mean - We both know you’ve been feeling better. If I really thought that was the issue, I wouldn’t have made a joke out of it.”

“Your ‘jokes’ aren’t good enough to stick in my mind.” Pete glances at the closed door. “You really came to check up on me? God, I should start telling people that the Iceman is losing his edge.”

“I’m not losing my edge.” Ice grunts. “Spreading baseless accusations is the last thing you should be doing, and-”

Pete interrupts him with a kiss, regretting the decision already.

Ice’s hands lower to his hips, and for one last night, Pete pretends that everything is normal.

Viper summons Pete to his office, a manila folder on his desk.

Pete stands stiff at attention as Viper looks at him, expression severe.

“Sit down, Maverick.”

He does as commanded, his jaw squared to keep himself from pleading and begging like a child.

A second passes, and they just stare at each other. Pete refuses to break.

Another second, and Viper sighs.

“I don’t want to have to do things the hard way, Maverick, out of respect for you and out of respect for your father. You’re a good pilot, and you deserve to be remembered as such.” He touches the front of the manila folder. “So I’m going to ask you this. Are you going to resign, so I can file this document here into the trashcan?”

It would be the right call. Pete is lucky that Viper’s giving him the option, that Viper wants to keep this from getting out. It would be the sensible thing to agree to. The safe thing to do.

‘Safe’ and ‘sensible’ aren’t words people use to describe him.

“No, sir. I won’t resign, sir.”

Viper scowls at him. “Maverick. You do not need me to explain to you that the contents of this folder is deadly for your career. This isn’t an unauthorised flyby, this isn’t breaking the hard deck, this is a blatant violation of regulations. I ask you again, will you resign, or am I going to have to begin official proceedings?”

He’s an idiot. He’s a fucking idiot, he just needs to accept the escape he’s being given, he should just agree and be grateful.

“Flying is who I am, Commander. I can’t quit.”

Viper pinches his brow. “You’re not going to be flying either way, Mitchell, there’s a paper trail, this information doesn’t stop with me. Medicals get passed to my superiors, and unless you hand in your wings right now, this is getting out, and you’re going down with it.”

“I understand, sir.”

“I don’t think you do, son.” Viper folds his arms. “This will launch an inquiry. You’ll be suspended up until the court martial, which you will lose. The inquiry won’t stop with you, do you get that? It’s a two-person job to get knocked up, and eyes will turn to your classmates. This isn’t just about you, Maverick. You are kidding yourself if you think nobody will know who the other man is.”

Pete bites his lip and stays silent.

“It’ll be an honourable parting.” Viper adds. “Nothing you’ve done wrong. Say losing Goose was too much, you just can’t get your groove back. You’ll get a nice pension, a good send-off, find something at a commercial airline.”

“I don’t want to work commercial.”

“You don’t have much of an alternative here.”

“I’m going to terminate it, it won’t even be a problem, I’m getting rid of it.”

“That doesn’t change how it got there in the first place.”

“Sir-”

“Pete.” Viper says quietly. “You will be kicked out. So will the other guy.”

“No one can prove it was someone from Top Gun.” Pete doubles down. “It’s just - It’ll just be rumours. Hearsay.”

“Rumours can get hot enough to melt an icecube, Mitchell.” Viper says, tone far too pointed and metaphor so transparent he may as well not have used one. “Once more, and then we’re done. Do you quit?”

Pete runs a hand over his face. Fuck.

It’s one thing to torpedo his own career, but he just can’t do that to Ice. Even if Ice is irritating and smug and an asshole, and the whole reason this is happening in the first place.

Pete removes his badge, and places it on the desk. “Okay. Fine. I quit.”

Viper opens his mouth, presumably to make an attempt at comfort, but he can’t deal with that. So Pete gets up without being dismissed and digs his nails into his palms to stop himself from punching the door on his way out.

There’s not a lot that Pete actually owns, but he’s given a week to move out the barracks anyway, as if all his possessions don’t just fit into one large duffel bag.

A week to find somewhere new to live. 

Maybe Carole will let him crash with her and little Bradley for a while? Or he and Charlie are sort-of friends, she might let him sleep on her couch for a night or two.

Ice has off-base housing. Maybe-

Pete stops himself before that thought goes any further; delusions aren’t going to make anything easier. Ice won’t even want to know him when Pete’s a bit further along, once the pregnancy gets more obvious.

If he gets further along. Which he won’t, because the first thing he’s going to do once he leaves is find a doctor to perform an abortion. How could he keep it? It’s ruined his life. There’s no way he could look at the baby who flipped his world upside down and love them, no matter how cute they turned out.

Except if he doesn’t keep it, then he’s got nothing at all. No career, no roots and no future.

Either way, life is looking miserable.

There’s a knock at his door. Pete doesn’t even get one step towards it before Ice slams it open, stalking in with a bizarre expression on his face, as if he’s trying and failing to stay composed, all sorts of rage and panic and upset barely leashed back.

“Maverick.” He points, accusatory. “What the fuck?”

For a split second, Pete wonders if Viper has gone ahead and told Ice everything.

“You’re leaving!” Ice points again, composure fraught. “There are only three weeks til graduation, what the hell are you playing at? Have you lost your mind completely?”

“Maybe I have.” Pete shrugs a shoulder. “Because I seem to be hallucinating the famously cool Iceman barging in to yell at me for what is basically none of his business.”

“Of course it’s my business, we -” Ice takes a breath, steps back a little. “Were you even going to tell me?”

“It wasn’t on my to-do list.”

That seems to take the wind out of Ice’s sails completely, shoulders sagging. Pete didn’t even know it was possible for him to slump.

“Right.” He scoffs. “Of course. If you wanted to stop what we were doing, Mav, you could’ve just said, you didn’t have to throw your whole career away. I do know how to take no for an answer.”

“It wasn’t exactly a voluntary decision. And keep that ego in check.”

Ice completely ignores the jab, eyes narrowing. “You were kicked out? Sure you’re dangerous and an idiot, but you’re one of the best here, why would- Did you break a reg?”

“Yep.”

A pause.

“Surely it can’t be that bad.” Ice prods. “What rules have you been flouting?”

“Same ones you have.”

His brow knits, and Pete watches him think. He’s going to miss seeing Ice’s annoying face. Those pretty blue eyes, that smarmy mouth, what it looks like when understanding dawns on him and how his jaw tightens when he’s unnerved.

“Fuck.” His voice drops to a hush. “Fuck, Mav, tell me you’re joking.”

“I wish I could, Ice.”

“But we’ve been so careful. There’s no way - Fuck.”

“You’re fine.” Pete adds, just in case Iceman really does start panicking. “It’s just me. There’s no evidence against you, you’re all clean.”

“There’s no evidence for either of us, surely, just all gossip and hearsay. You can fight this, take it to trial-”

“I can’t.” Pete shakes his head. “It’s cut and dry. Trial will just mean - My career is over, Ice, I’m not gonna ruin yours just for the hell of it.”

“Unless you’ve been leaving letters of confession around, or hanging up a rainbow flag, any ‘evidence’ is-”

“The evidence is in my medical.”

Maybe that was the wrong thing to say, because Ice goes deathly pale.

“What? Mav. You have- Shit, do I need to get tested? They’re working on drugs for it, right? You’ll be okay? Oh my god, Mav-”

“Not the disease, no no.” Mav hurries to reassure. “Don’t worry. Please, Ice, this will be easier for all of us if you just- Just leave me be.”

Ice doesn’t move. Pete’s never seen him like this, so transparently upset.

“Please, Maverick.” He swallows, glancing away then looking back. “I never wanted you to find out that I’m no good at goodbyes. We were meant to have three more weeks.”

“Well, at least there’s no more competition for who gets Top Gun, right?”

“There wasn’t anyway, because I’m the best pilot.” Ice waves a hand dismissively, and Pete rolls his eyes. “I’m - I’m not ready to miss you.”

“You’ll find someone else to hook up with.”

“That’s not the problem.” Ice folds his arms, a terribly determined air about his stance. “You’re staying. You’re going to fight the accusation and you’re staying.”

Pete pinches his brow. This is the worst possible outcome - telling Iceman the truth.

“It’s written on my report in black and white. I’m pregnant.”

Ice scoffs, shaking his head. “Really, Mav, this is ridiculous, just tell me…”

Maybe it’s something on Pete’s face, because Ice’s disbelief stops dead in its tracks.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“With my-?”

“Mhm.” Pete attempts an air of nonchalance. “And, yknow, that sort of thing doesn’t happen to a guy unless he’s taken it up the back door, so… What the hell would my defence be? Immaculate conception?”

Ice doesn’t speak. Just continues staring.

“I probably won’t keep it.” He adds, hoping it might ease the tension. “Haven’t found a clinician yet, but-”

“Why wouldn’t you tell me to use a condom? What the fuck is wrong with you?” Evidently, processing time’s over.

“I don’t know, because I enjoy the risk? Obviously I didn’t think this would happen! I had the sterilisation, nobody told me that I’d need a top-up with some newer drugs!”

“Surely when you had the pills, the doc told you-”

“I was four fucking years old!”

Iceman jerks back at Pete’s shout.

“This isn’t even your problem, Ice. You’re fine. So back off.”

“You’re getting rid of it?” Ice’s voice catches. “You swear?”

“Not your business.”

“Of course it’s my business!”

Pete grits his teeth. “Unless you feel like throwing your career away too to own up to this, no it isn’t.”

There’s no reply, but Pete wasn’t really expecting one. And with nothing but uncomfortable silence between them, Iceman puffs out a sigh and leaves, raking a hand through his hair.

The search for an abortion isn’t going too well. Carole’s taken Pete in, because of course she has, and is trying to help him, but every clinic she knows about doesn’t have the correct set-up for men. After all, it’s not like male pregnancy is particularly well-researched.

God, if he ends up having the baby, he doesn’t even know what childbirth would be like; would he need to be cut open? Fuck, would it come out his asshole?

It’s too scary to think about, even as the options are becoming more and more narrow.

“I’m fucked.” Pete grumbles curled up in Carole’s armchair. She’s still in off-base accommodation at the moment, and will be for another few months before she’s removed; he wonders if he’ll be invited to move with her and Bradley wherever she goes next. Not like he has any reason to stay here.

“You’re not fucked.” Carole tuts. “There’s two more to check before we have to ask around for more.”

“I’m not ready to be a mother.” Pete continues his lament as if she hadn’t corrected him. “I don’t know anything about babies. I don’t think I’ve even met one.”

“You were very good when Bradley was born, you’re still good with him now.”

“I know nothing about babies! And I need a new job, but who’s gonna hire a pregnant man?” He groans. “And I’ll get fat. Nobody will ever want me again.”

“I think you’re being a bit dramatic, Maverick.” Carole pats his shoulder. “There’ll be a clinic somewhere for you.”

“I know.” Pete sighs. “It’s just so hard, and-”

“Mav!” Bradley runs into the living room and launches himself onto the couch, tackling onto Pete’s chest. “Mav, I wanna play planes.”

“Bradley, Mav and I were in the middle of a conversation.” Carole chides.

“Mav, please?”

“‘Course, buddy.” Pete ruffles his hair, smiling at the pleading look on the little guy’s face. “Give me a sec to finish talking to your mommy, okay?”

Bradley nods, and rushes off without another word, hurrying as fast as those tiny toddler legs can carry him. Pete watches, slightly in awe of how much energy two year olds seem to have; when he turns back to Carole, she looks a little forlorn.

“What?”

“He hasn’t wanted to play planes since…” She clears her throat. “It’s alright. Go make sure my baby has fun.”

Pete salutes, content to pause in his moping to hang out with Baby Goose. He’s a great kid.

It’s Top Gun graduation day.

Pete has the date seared into his mind from when he was battling for the title with Ice; not even a month ago, yet it seems so far away.

Graduation day, and Pete won’t be there. 

But at least he and Carole have finally, finally found a clinic. It’s a two hour drive (though Pete thinks he can shave it down to one and a half, providing he doesn’t get lost), but it’s specialist, just for male pregnancies, so that’s something. Fucking hard to track down though, and the only reason it’s come up is because the last place Pete inquired at had a nurse who had a cousin who had a friend who had a brother who had an uncle that went, or something along those lines.

While Ice gets to celebrate being Top Gun winner, Pete gets to go have a medical procedure. Life’s unfair like that.

There’s no one free to look after Bradley, so Pete has to go on his own, which is fine. He spends the journey thinking. Driving and thinking, accelerating too fast and taking turns too sharply.

No more worrying about a baby after this. No remnants of Ice. Nothing to hang onto, nothing to hang on for.

He speeds up, and for a moment, he can pretend he’s flying.

The clinic is small, as Pete expected it to be. It’s in a tucked away alley, standing between a laundromat and a tattoo parlour; from the outside, it doesn’t look like a clinic at all, and the name Bardo’s doesn’t give away any hints either.

The door opens smoothly though, and there’s immediately a little desk opposite the entry way, a young woman sitting there and flicking through a magazine. She looks up when he clears his throat, and looks him up and down.

“Name?”

“Pete Mitchell.” He pauses as she puts her magazine aside to peer at what must be a visitor’s book. “I don’t have an appointment, couldn’t find a number for you. You do take walk-ins, right?”

She hums and clicks her pen, scouring at her notebook. Pete shifts his weight from leg to leg, kicking himself for not searching harder to call ahead.

“Dr Bardo will be able to see you in an hour.” The woman opens a drawer, and gets out a wad of paper that looks awfully like a stack of forms. “You’ll need to fill these out. Please, take a seat.”

She gestures to the door behind her, kept open by a worn doorstop. Wordless, Pete nods, and walks through.

There’s two other people in the waiting room. Pete has to stop himself from staring, eyes glued to the floor as he takes the furthest seat away; with the size of the waiting room, that’s only two chairs over.

He takes a shaky breath as he tries to concentrate on the form, doing his best not to glance at the stranger.

It’s just -

He’s never seen a pregnant man before. Hell, he’s never even met another carrier, not that that’s something to be open about. And it’s weird, really weird, to see a baby bump on a bald guy with a very bushy beard.

Pete hadn’t considered that people would come here for baby check-ups, or whatever a pregnancy appointment is called. Hadn’t considered that a pregnant guy would keep a baby at all.

He can’t help it - he looks again, attempting to be subtle. This dude’s hand is resting on his belly like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and maybe it is. The other guy here - presumably this one’s partner - has an arm wrapped around his shoulders, and their heads are bent together, whispering.

Is this what it could’ve been like, in an alternate universe where Pete keeps his baby and Ice decides to throw his brain away and step away from the navy just to cozy up with him? Would Ice caress Pete’s swollen stomach, speak quietly in his ear, lace their fingers together and look forward to the next sonogram?

“You got a problem?” The non-pregnant one, the guy who must be the dad, speaks up, eyebrow raised at Pete.

“A problem, sure, but not with you.” Pete thinks he does a pretty good job of sounding relaxed for someone who was just caught staring.

The Dad-Guy nods, and pointedly looks at Pete’s paperwork.

Pete gets the hint, and turns back to his forms. He’s halfway though page two when he can no longer contain the urge to explain himself.

“I’m pregnant.” He says, and both men look at him. “Obviously. Or I wouldn’t be here. I meant it more as - I wasn’t being judgemental. Congratulations, if anything.”

“Right.” Pregnant-Guy replies. “Thanks. Congratulations to you too.”

“Oh no, no.” Pete shakes his head, scoffing. “No, I’m not keeping it, my life’s wrecked enough as it is, I’d be insane to… Not that you’re wrecking your lives.”

“Uh huh.” Dad-Guy rolls his eyes. “Ever heard that phrase ‘If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say it at all’?”

“Daniel.” Pregnant-Guy jabs his partner with his elbow. “Leave it.”

“What?” Dad-Guy - or rather, Daniel - scowls at Pete. “Just because he’s an insecure dick doesn’t mean he can-”

“Daniel.” Pregnant-Guy says again.

“Sorry.” Pete adds a little belatedly. “I just meant, for me, it’s not - I’ve just been kicked out the Navy ‘cause of this, that’s all. It’s cool that you’re doing it. That it isn’t, yknow, ruining your lives.”

“We’ve hardly got it nice and smooth, Lieutenant Asshat.” Daniel the Dad-Guy grunts.

“Don’t - I’m sorry about him.” Pregnant-Guy clicks his tongue. “It’s not been easy, we’ve had a few, uh, issues over the past few months, and now he’s all overprotective.”

“Sorry you’ve had issues.”

“Sorry you lost your job.” Pregnant-Guy returns the apology with a sad smile. “Must be pretty tough.”

Pete nods, turning again to his forms, even as questions tug in his mind. There are so many, too many, and after writing in his address - or rather, Carole’s address - for the third time in as many pages, his big mouth is open again.

“What made you keep it?”

If Pregnant-Guy is surprised by the question, he doesn’t show it. Daniel, for his part, huffs again but doesn’t speak.

“Because we want the baby.”

“Isn’t it hard though?” Pete can’t stop himself from pushing. “How do you even - How could that be worth it?”

“Okay man, I think you need to back off, and-”

“Honey.” Pregnant-Guy shakes his head at Daniel. “It’s fine.”

“I mean, you don’t have to answer. Just - Just want to make sure I’m doing the right thing.”

It’s weird, and Pete doesn’t mean to say it, because aborting is the right thing. He can’t provide a baby with a good life. He can’t give them the world, can’t believe that they could be the centre of his universe, can’t even tell them that they have a daddy out there who loves them.

Pregnant-Guy’s expression softens. “I know. It was tricky for us to decide. And it is really hard. Harder than being gay on its own. People don’t always treat us too well. I lost my job once I started showing, some of our old acquaintances don’t want to know us. But we have each other, we have a good support system, and we really want this baby.”

Daniel hums in agreement, and Pregnant-Guy cups his belly.

“But mostly… You ever loved someone so much that you wish you could make a little version of them?” Pregnant-Guy smiles. “A little version that’s half you and half him, but better than both of you combined. That’s what’s worth it, to me. To us.”

Pete wishes there was a water cooler in here; his mouth feels really dry.

“Oh.”

“Does that help?”

“It does, thanks.” Pete says, even though it doesn’t help whatsoever and has actually made everything worse.

A doctor - presumably Doctor Bardo - appears, clipboard in hand.

“Peter Ford?”

Pregnant-Guy stands, Daniel close behind him. Pete had almost stood with them, almost out his seat before the surname was read out.

“Hope it goes okay for you.” Pregnant-Guy says to him, and then follows the doctor to another room.

Pete sits, silent, and slightly proud of himself for not declaring “hey, that’s my name!” like an idiot.

The form looks at him, still mostly empty. Pete flips to the front again, and scribbles out what he’d written under ‘Reason for Appointment’.

Need an abortion. to discuss pregnancy.

Pete’s brain has clearly gone on vacation.

That’s the only answer, because why else has he left Bardo’s with specialised prenatal supplements and a follow-up sonogram appointment, instead of a post-abortion care package? He must be insane. He must have something really wrong with him, because something about the image of a tiny baby with ice blue eyes, chubby cheeks and spiky blond hair has hijacked his mind.

To make matters worse, when he pulls up to his temporary home there’s an awfully familiar car parked outside, and an awfully familiar man leaning against the wall talking to Carole.

Pete curses himself and his luck and the universe. Wonders if maybe anyone would notice if he just turned his bike round and sped off down the road.

Iceman looks up at him, and Pete regrets for the first time that his bike’s engine is so loud and cool. Biting back a sigh, he parks.

Carole, the traitor, smiles softly before going inside, abandoning Pete to deal with the worst conversation ever all by himself.

“You’ve been out?” Ice says, all casual as if nothing is wrong. And maybe nothing is wrong for him. He’s just graduated, won Top Gun, and now he’s got his pick of deployment, what an amazing life for him. 

Well, Pete hopes Ice deploys himself to the middle of the ocean and never comes back.

“Mhm.” Pete stuffs his hands in his jacket pockets, fist tight around his pill bottle.

“You weren’t at graduation.”

Pete offers a very fake smile. “That’d be because I wasn’t graduating.”

“Right. But…” Iceman looks a bit more like Meltedman, discomfort blatant on his face. “The guys all wanted to see you. Slider’s holding an afterparty at the O-Club. You’re invited.”

“Thanks, I’ll pass.”

“Maverick-”

“Should probably drop the callsign now that I’m just a civilian. Sounds stupid on its own.”

“You’re not just a civilian, Mav.” Iceman shakes his head. “It’s shit. It’s really shit, I know that. And I’m sorry. If I could go back in time and just put a wrapper on, I would. But you never know, things could change. In the future, if it ever gets repealed, anyone with a brain would be jumping to have you fly with us again. You’re the second-best pilot there is, and maybe once you’re all, uh, recovered from the abortion, Viper might even be able to sneak you back in as a civilian instructor, and you can go from there. I heard Blackwood’s going back to DC, so-”

“Right.” Pete internally kicks himself. God, he’s so stupid, he didn’t even consider the civilian instructor option. He should get back on his bike and tell Dr Bardo that he takes everything back, he needs to terminate, should throw this pot of prenatals in the trash. Instead, he grips it tighter. “Right.”

“Slider wants to request a posting in Europe.” Ice adds, apropos of nothing. “I haven’t agreed it with him yet but… that’s where we might be heading. If you were wondering.”

Pete snorts. “Cool. Well, I’ll probably end up in retail or stuck behind a desk. If you were wondering.”

And then Ice looks away, with a bewildering blush on his cheeks, shoes shuffling in such a blatant display of nerves that Pete has to wonder if he’s been replaced by a poorly-programmed clone.

“Could I, uh…” Ice clears his throat a few times with an uncharacteristic cough. “Uh. I know that given the circumstances, it might not be - It’s probably a bad idea, I know. But, maybe, if you’re okay with it, could I…”

Another cough. Maybe Iceman is dying.

Pete squints at him, and Ice’s cheeks get pinker, before he takes a deep breath and straightens up.

“Could I write to you?”

“That’s what you’re so nervous about?”

Ice’s face is now bright red. “I am not nervous.”

“Nervous, embarrassed, shy, whatever.” Pete rolls his eyes and despite everything, his chest feels warm.

“I’m not any of those things, I don’t know where you’ve gotten that impression from, I… have a cold.”

“A cold in the middle of summer that makes you act nervous?”

“I’d never act nervous.” Ice puffs his chest. “I’m the Iceman, Maverick, haven’t you heard?”

“Keep flapping those lips and you’ll miss your afterparty.” Pete smirks, though it might be too fond. “Yes. You can write to me.”

“Great. You’re a lucky man, I’ve been told my penmanship is some of the best.”

“You must have an ego the size of the moon.”

“Bigger than the moon.” Ice smiles wryly. “Are you sure you can’t come to the party?”

Pete’s own smile drops. “No. I just - I really need to get some sleep.”

“Right.” Ice’s tone goes softer. “Carole said you had an appointment. Was that for the..?”

He makes a crude gesture, like something getting thrown away.

Pete opens his mouth, fully intent on correcting him. To explain that he’s sort of changed his mind, that he wants to keep it, and maybe Ice should consider working at Top Gun so they can stay together, so that he’ll have someone to hold his hand when it’s time to give birth, someone to help him make sure the baby feels loved.

“Yeah.” He says instead.

“I can stay with you instead of going to the party?” Ice asks, voice dropping even quieter. “My sister had one once. She said she felt awful and ill, that she needed company, so we put some records on and sat together.”

“Go to the party, Kazansky.” Pete shakes his head. “Send me a postcard from Europe.”

Iceman hesitates, then nods.

Pete enters the doorway without another word, and he only looks back when he hears Ice’s footsteps crunch on the gravel.

Ice is looking over his shoulder as he walks, and he offers Pete a small wave and a smile. He doesn’t turn away until he opens his car door.

Pete’s plan was to wait until he had more of an idea of what the hell he’s doing before telling Carole that he’s keeping the baby.

That plan is ruined after he throws up four mornings in a row, and he knows the jig is up just from the way she looks at him at breakfast as he pushes cereal around with his spoon.

“It’s not going to eat itself.” She says, nodding at his bowl. “You’re going to need all the nutrients you can get.”

Pete bites his lip and peeks at Bradley out the corner of his eye. Even if he’s only two, Pete would rather not have this conversation in front of him, but it looks like he’s still half-asleep, so it can’t be too bad.

“Am I an idiot? If I’m keeping it?”

“If you want it, Mav, then of course you should keep it.” Carole takes a bite of her own cereal. “What did Ice say?”

Pete elects not to reply to that, an answer in itself.

“Oh.” She frowns. “Maverick-”

“I know, I know. I just couldn’t.” He sighs. “He’d ask why, and I don’t have a reason, not a good reason, I just know I want it, I want to try. Ice likes his plans, he likes things orderly, and none of this… It’s just better this way.”

“And when he’s back to visit? Or are you going to tell me that Ice will just accept that he’s never going to see his boyfriend again?”

“What? Boyfriend?” Pete splutters. “You’re all wrong Carole, that’s not what me and Ice have. It’s casual. We have our careers - or, uh, he has his career, getting too attached to another guy would completely blow that up.”

“Oh.” Carole tilts her head. “But you’re so sweet on him. You want to have his baby. That doesn't sound casual to me.”

“Doesn’t matter, he’s being deployed.” Pete shrugs and tries not to let too much emotion seep into his next words. “I’ll probably never see him again. So really, that’s the least of my problems. I gotta focus on this now.”

He gestures at his middle, which still doesn’t show a hint of what’s to come. If he hadn’t started throwing up, Pete would suspect the pregnancy was all a scam to kick him out the navy.

“Well you stick with me and Brad then.” Carole says firmly. “Someone needs to be around to pat your back when you’re puking in my bathroom, and I’m happy for that someone to be me.”

“Thanks Carole.” Pete prods his cereal again, willing his appetite to come back. “Means a lot. Don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Mav,

Hi.

I hope you are doing well?

I understand that things must be very hard for you at the moment, and I’m sure that your old squadron is missing you greatly. You are a very talented aviator. Perhaps there is a civilian role which will enable you to keep those skills honed. A test pilot maybe?

Outside of careers, I hope other parts of your life are looking up. I hope you are feeling healthier than when we last spoke, and that you have people nearby to stop you from getting into trouble, as you so often seem to be.

Slider and I came to an agreement to finish out the final four months of our original deployment (pre-Top Gun), after which we’ll have a short leave before heading out further afield. I plan to return to Miramar during this break. It would be nice to check in on you, assuming you would still be there?

I think of you often. I imagine the weather is still nice where you are. It is okay here too.

Will you ever forgive me?

I know I ruined your career, I’m sorry.

I wish things were different.I wish we had other options.I miss your laugh.

Also, I forgot how bland the food is at sea. Tell me what your favourite dinner is this week, and I can live vicariously through you.

Yours, Speak soon,

Ice

Ice,

I’m surprised you wrote to me so soon. Are they not keeping you busy enough? I’d have thought that Mr Top Gun wouldn’t be given a lick of spare time, maybe your CO figured out that you only won by default.

Considering all that big talk you gave me about how amazing your handwriting is, there sure are a lot of ugly scribbles all over my letter. Does the famous Iceman secretly not know how to spell?

Jury’s out on the civ instructor role. I’ve picked up some shitty little part time gig as a mailman. It sucks, but need money for the baby so can’t be picky. Not sure I can swing it as a test pilot at the moment.

RE health - I’m puking my guts out.I’m tired.I feel like shit but the baby’s healthy.We’re both ok.Pregnancy sucks ass. All good. Did you know that a pregnancy check-up is called an obstetrician appointment? I have my third one next week. Carole’s keeping an eye on me, so I haven't had much chance to get into any more trouble, health or otherwise.

I don’t know if I’ll still be in Miramar by the time you get back. At the moment, I’m still hogging Carole’s couch, so depends on when she gets sick of me and I have to find somewhere cheaper to crash.

Weather’s fine. Didn’t realise being at sea makes your conversation as bland as your food. Best thing I ate this week was pancakes and blueberries at breakfast. It was amazing, syrup was perfect, berries fresh. Be extremely jealous of me next time you’re eating your plain, dry, boring rations.

Also I’m keeping the baby. I’ve decided to take up cooking.

Happy flying,

Maverick. Pete Mitchell

In between all the fatigue and the throwing up, Pete somewhat settles into the whole ‘being pregnant’ thing. It’s still shit and a terrible decision, obviously, but it’s made better when he thinks about the end product.

An adorable Little Baby Mitchell that he gets to cuddle and kiss. He hopes they’ll be a giggly baby, that he’ll get to hear cute squawky laughter, and maybe they’ll be very chatty too. Pete can imagine it pretty easily, walking around with a babbling baby strapped to his chest, chunky fists waving in the air as they talk nonsense together.

It’s cute, this image he has of his baby, and it makes all the difficult stuff a bit easier. If things had just continued as they were, Pete would’ve been fine. Happy, even, to deal with it all, as long as it meant getting Mitchell Junior.

But now he’s thirteen weeks - according to Bardo anyway - and the joy of seeing the little fetus on an ultrasound has come at a devastating cost.

Pete scowls at himself in the mirror. More specifically, he scowls at the subtle swell of his stomach.

He knew it was coming. He’s not stupid. But it feels worse than he could have ever predicted.

He turns to the side, studying how that looks. Not too bad. A stranger wouldn’t see him and think ‘pregnant’. They probably wouldn’t look twice at him.

He twists again, hand ghosting over his middle. Only a little while ago, he would have felt strong abs beneath his palm, not a gentle roundness. If it wasn’t so humiliating, maybe he’d think it was nice to feel the evidence of his baby growing. In another universe, one where Ice is holding him and quietly praising how well Pete’s growing their baby, he probably feels great about it.

But in this unfortunate reality, Pete only feels distraught.

Damn. He should’ve prepared for this, and yet he still doesn’t have very many clothes; those he does have are meant for flaunting a toned body, not hiding a growing belly. That’ll have to be the first thing he does with his next paycheck, investing in some horrifically baggy t-shirts and pants. And then he’ll have to get miserly with it, save as much as he can; that other guy’s words about getting fired because of his pregnancy ring in Pete’s ears every time he clocks in on shift.

His priority needs to be on keeping this hush-hush, and stowing away enough cash to keep himself afloat once he inevitably gets too big to hide. And ugh, isn’t that a horrible thought, being so heavily pregnant that it’s obvious to an onlooker. How long will that take? How fast does a bump grow?

Pete adds that to his endless list of questions to ask next time he sees Bardo, and tries to rid himself of the thought that when he sees Ice again - no, if he sees Ice again, the bump will be obvious.

He doesn’t want to imagine that. He should concentrate on the good parts.

The baby’s growing. That means he’s not fucked up yet, means that he’s still keeping them alive and healthy.

Pete trails his fingertip where his stomach is at its most curved. Maybe he’s being a bit dramatic about this; he just looks a little pudgy. No one will be touching him to find out that his belly’s strangely firm instead of doughy.

For a brief moment, he entertains the thought of what the baby’s doing in there. They’re still tiny (he had to really squint to make out what he was looking at during his ultrasound), and they don’t really look like a baby yet. He can’t feel any movement or anything, but maybe that’s just because it’s still too early to sense it.

Yes, if the baby’s anything like him, they must be wiggling up a storm in there, eager to explore every inch of the womb they’re currently living in.

Or if they might take after their dad. Steady and calm and composed, cool as ice. Pete bets that when Iceman was a baby, he barely cried. Probably just looked severely at his surroundings and glared until he got his milk.

With a huff, Pete turns away from his reflection and chucks on a t-shirt.

Damn his past self for constantly flaunting how hot he was; the fabric clings to his middle.

It’s fine. He’s only going to pick up some groceries for Carole. None of his fellow shoppers will care about some random dude with a slight belly.

With a shopping basket containing only a bag of apples and a loaf of bread, Pete cowers in the meat aisle.

Is this what he’s come to? The great Maverick, hiding amongst ham slices and chicken breasts?

He stares into the shelving, and hopes he’s doing a good job of melding into the crowd.

“Maverick?”

Fuck.

Cursing internally, Pete turns to see Charlie. She looks as amazing as ever, pretty and beautiful and forever out of everyone’s league.

“Hey! Fancy seeing you here.” He puts on his best smile, and hopes to God that it’s enough to stop her from looking at him too hard. “I heard you were back in DC?”

“Not yet. Next week.” Charlie tilts her head, and her eyes run over him. Pete’s insides churn, a familiar feeling at this point, and he’ll kick himself if he ends up spewing his guts here. “I heard you completely disappeared.”

“Not yet.” Pete shrugs, mustering every bit of casualness he can manage. “Maybe next week.”

“... You quit.” She says, softer. “I - I’d have thought you’d at least say goodbye.”

“Sorry. Been busy.” He wonders how smoothly he can make his exit, how he can rush off and hide without seeming like he’s having a mental breakdown. “Stuff came up. Had to leave.”

“You’re a great pilot, Mav. Dangerous, but great. The Navy needs people like you, is there no way you could-”

“I appreciate that, really, but there’s no way I’ll be welcomed back.” Pete hesitates. Something about Charlie makes him want to tell her everything. He’s felt that way since he first met her. She’s always been too easy to talk to.

She looks at him again. And Pete sees it, the moment she notices the swell pressing against his t-shirt, and he hopes the ground opens up beneath him and swallows him whole. Her eyebrows raise and her lips quirk.

“You’ve been taking it easy, I see.”

“Mhm.” Pete grunts, shifting the basket in front of his stomach. It’s fine. He can be ‘the guy who left the Navy and started getting fat’. That’s fine, it’s all fine. “Discovering the art of cooking and all that.”

“It’s not a bad thing.” Charlie adds quickly. “I like a man who can eat.”

Pete chuckles but it sounds hollow, even to him.

Charlie places a hand on his shoulder. “Like I said, I’ve got one week left before I go back. What do you say we get some drinks?”

“Maybe.”

“You like sushi?”

“Yeah, sushi’s great -” Pete cuts himself off. Didn’t Bardo say something about avoiding raw food? “I mean. No. Can’t do sushi, sorry.”

Charlie frowns at him. “Right. Well… Just drinks then.”

“Mhm.” Pete picks up a packet of ham. “Anyway. You’re probably busy, I won’t keep you any longer-”

“Mav, I meant let’s get drinks now.”

Pete curses internally, fumbling for an excuse, but nothing comes. “Right. Okay. Sounds good.”

It does not sound good.

Pete follows Charlie to the bar, driving behind her rather than racing out front, which he knows isn’t doing him any favours for his image. Would she buy the idea that Maverick Mitchell has simply mellowed out?

Probably not.

She’s already parked by the time Pete arrives, head cocked to the side and hands on her hips.

“Since when do you abide the speed limit?” Charlie pats the handle of his bike. “You told me rules like that don’t apply to Kawasakis.”

“Figured I’d let you win for once.” He knows his smile is forced and lopsided, but he’s never been the best actor. He feels his brow twitch at the thought of having to trade in his bike for a boring, family-friendly car. “Shall we?”

She clearly wants to interrogate him further, but instead she just nods, leading the way.

The next issue Pete faces comes only two minutes later, when Charlie strides right up to the bartender and requests two beers.

“Just water for me, thanks.” He corrects, trying and failing not to squirm under Charlie’s bewildered gaze.

“Okay, what the hell?” She squints at him. “What is wrong with you?”

“Nothing’s wrong.” Pete waves her off. “Can a man not keep himself hydrated?”

“Not the Maverick I know.”

“I’m not Maverick anymore.” Pete grunts back. “I’m a mailman.”

“A mailman? God, Pete, what is going on?” Charlie shakes her head. “... Is it because of the crash? Goose? You seemed like you were getting better.”

“I was. I am. Better, I mean.”

“You loved the Navy, you loved flying, what would-”

“Charlie. Please. I don’t want to talk about this.”

She studies him. Pete doesn’t want to imagine what she sees.

“You would never have left voluntarily, would you?”

“No.” Their drinks arrive, Charlie’s beer looking delicious and Pete’s water looking plain and sad. “I wouldn’t have.”

A pause.

“So what did you do? Usually when a student gets discharged, the instructors get to hear about it, but Viper’s insisted that you just decided to hand in your wings one random day.”

“Didn’t do anything.” Pete sips his water. It’s not even refreshing. “Just leave it, please.”

Of course, she wouldn’t be Charlie Blackwood if she didn’t keep pushing.

“Was it an accusation then? Unfounded, but would’ve dragged your name through the mud?” She pauses and then her eyes narrow. “Iceman?”

Pete coughs. How the fuck did she know? What gave him away? Sighing at Ice too many times? God, is Ice’s career in jeopardy now?

“What about him?” He asks, super casually, as if he didn’t just choke on water.

“Surely he wouldn’t.” Charlie’s frown deepens. “That’s horrible.”

“What’s horrible?”

“Iceman!” She takes a swig of beer. “What a dirty little rat.”

“I’m not following.”

“Is that not what happened? Kazansky accused you of something, just to get you kicked out, make sure he could win the trophy?”

“What?” Pete huffs a laugh despite himself. “No. Ice wouldn’t do that.”

“Then what-”

“You’re not gonna drop it, are you?” He sighs. “Charlie. You can’t tell anyone.”

She leans in, eyes wide.

“I’m pregnant.” Pete whispers, glancing around to make sure no one heard him, then gestures at his middle. “So… Yeah.”

Charlie stares at him.

“What?”

“Mm.”

“Wh - Maverick! What the hell?”

Pete nods. “That’s pretty much how I felt about it too.”

“But I thought - I thought male carriers were sterilised?”

“You and I both.” He sighs and takes another sip of his water. “Apparently I should’ve had some additional pills a few years back. But I missed the memo. I didn’t find out until my medical, which, yknow. They didn’t ask but my body’s gone ahead and told anyway. Kinda hard to claim I’m completely straight when I’ve got another man’s baby in my belly and all that.”

“You never told me you’re gay.” Charlie says, like that’s the most important part of all this.

“I’m not gay gay. Only half.” Pete scoffs. “I’m having a kid, Charlie, I don’t think whether or not I kiss guys is the big deal you’re making it.”

“And you’re keeping it.” Her brow knits. “Why?”

“Why does anyone have a baby?” Pete shrugs and pats his middle, clinging to his faux-relaxed persona, the only part of ‘Maverick’ he has left. “Just crossing my fingers and hoping they’re cute.”

“Well. As unconventional as it is, congratulations Mav.” She squeezes his shoulder. “You must be real smitten with baby daddy to even think about keeping it. Is he excited?”

“He’s not around.”

The pity in her eyes is too much to bear. Pete turns away from her.

“Oh, Pete. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He drums his fingers against the glass. “Let’s not - Tell me what’s waiting for you back in DC, huh?”

For a moment, he thinks Charlie won’t let him get away with such a blatant deflection. But then she relents, starts chatting about some tech programme, and Pete can pretend that it’s as if nothing has changed at all.

He can also pretend that he doesn’t know, deep in his bones, that this is the last time he’ll ever see Charlie Blackwood.

When Pete reaches week fifteen of pregnancy, the nausea’s gone, which is great, but he’s outgrown all his clothes, which is considerably less great.

This of course means Carole demands to take him on a shopping spree, which is how Pete finds himself in a cramped ‘Mommy & Me’ store, trying not to turn tail and run. The clothing selection is leaving a lot to be desired; none of it is his taste, not to mention that half of the offerings are dresses and skirts.

Pregnancy’s one thing, Pete can handle that, but a frock? No way in hell.

“Why aren’t there any jeans?” He grunts, shaking his head as Carole plucks an ugly floral shirt off the rack. “No flowers.”

“No pink, no flowers, no frills… Mav, your options are getting fewer and fewer by the second. And no pregnant person is wearing jeans, that’s ridiculous.” She sighs, taking a look at Bradley writhing to jump out of his stroller. “Give us a few more minutes Brad, there’s no room in here for you to be running around.”

“Out, mommy.” Bradley grumbles, wriggling some more. “Mav, Mav, out now.”

Pete leans over and ruffles his hair. “It’s alright, little Gosling. You can stretch those legs once we’re done.”

Bradley huffs, and continues shuffling, tugging at the buckle keeping him strapped in. It’s cute, in an exasperating sort of way. Pete bets his baby will be exactly the same, squirming for freedom, a whirlwind of energy; he can only imagine how often he’ll be running after a tiny toddler.

He scours the clothesline with renewed vigour, a silent timer as to how long it’ll take before Bradley throws a tantrum.

“It’s not ridiculous to wear jeans.”

“Mav, when you have a baby bump sticking out several inches in front of you, yes it damn well is.”

“But it’s still only little right now.” Pete grazes his hand against his belly. “They should sell jeans. I can’t be in sweatpants for the next twenty-whatever weeks.”

“You won’t just be in sweats. Leggings, drawstrings, anything relaxed fit. Go look at that rack, sometimes you can get them stretchy enough to grow with you the whole time.”

“They better be.” Pete obeys the expert, and trudges over to another railing, pointedly looking only at the black and grey options.

“New shoes too.” Carole commands, draping a few shirt options over her arm.

“New shoes?” Pete scoffs. “What, my feet are gonna grow?”

“It’s possible.” She shrugs. “But I was talking more about your ankles. Once they start puffing up-”

“My ankles?”

“- Yes, your ankles - You’ll need some very comfortable shoes. Slip-ons.”

“No one told me pregnancy meant getting fat ankles.” Pete curses to himself, glancing at his small belly. “The things I do for you. You better be the cutest damn baby in the world after all this.”

“Mommy, out now.” Bradley whines. “Out p’ease.”

“Shh, shh.” Carole rocks the stroller back and forth at the same time she continues picking through clothes, appearing to multi-task with astonishing ease and dexterity. She’d have made a good pilot. “We have to get Uncle Mav just a few more new clothes, and then we’ll be done.”

A pause.

“Why?”

“Because his clothes aren’t fitting him anymore, and no one wants to see Uncle Mav walking around naked.”

“... Why?”

“Why aren’t his clothes fitting?” Carole looks at Pete, eyebrow raised. “Uncle Mav, do you want to answer this one?”

Pete double-checks there’s not been a sudden appearance of an old friend or acquaintance, but the coast looks clear. The only people in the store are still just them and the sales assistant.

He steps closer to Bradley, crouching to his eye level.

“Well, Brad. My belly’s been getting bigger, hasn’t it?” He pats his middle to demonstrate, and ignores the twinge of humiliation when Bradley nods as if it was obvious. “So. As you might know, in the photos you’ve seen of your mom and dad before you were born, babies grow in people’s bellies. And that’s what’s happening with me. I’m growing a baby in my tummy.”

“Okay.” Bradley blinks at him. “I go out now?”

It’s strange to remember that kids don’t really know ‘the norm’ until they’re taught. Strange to think that a toddler like Bradley doesn’t care or understand that a man like Pete being pregnant is something seen as weird or taboo.

It’s relieving, in a way, that Pete doesn’t have to worry what Bradley thinks of him now. He’s still just Uncle Mav, as he’s always been.

“Not yet.” Carole answers him. “Mav hasn’t looked at the baby onesies.”

“They’re not gonna be here for months yet, I don’t need to buy them clothes too.” Pete shakes his head. “My paycheck’s only so much yknow.”

“I know, I know.” She smiles. “But take a look anyway. I’ll finish picking out these.”

With a bit of reluctance, Pete follows her point away from the maternity aisles into the baby section. It’s a lot more colourful over this way, plastic blocks and flashy prams, soft plushies that seem outrageously expensive and fluffy blankets folded neatly on shelves.

The baby clothing is just as bright, and broken up into age groups. Pete wanders all the way to the end to find the newborn stuff.

And oh good God, it’s all so tiny.

Compelled by just how adorably small it is, Pete picks up a lavender coloured onesie and holds it out in front of him.

Shit, how is it possible that babies are this teensy? And he’s going to have one. He’s going to have an itty bitty person, with little arms and little legs, and even smaller hands and feet. They’re going to fit in this, this miniscule piece of clothing.

The overwhelming holy fuck, my baby’s tiny and adorable sensation swooping through him is not helped when he finds the baby socks. They don’t even take up the entire palm of his hand.

He needs a hundred of them.

By the time he checks out, Bradley starting to thrash, baby clothes make up over a half of the total cost, and he’s so giddy about how damn cute it all is that he could walk on air.

The feeling, of course, comes crashing down when the cashier glowers at him and his stomach during the transaction, and mutters something nasty under her breath.

As annoying as it was to have to size-up his entire wardrobe, Pete can admit he’s a lot more comfortable now that he doesn’t feel vacuum-sealed into his clothing. The stretchiness of his new waistbands are absolutely amazing, no more huffing and puffing to button up his pants, and no more itchy red marks from where it used to dig in too tight.

Which means now he can notice his different, less-itchy and less-red marks.

With the bathroom door closed - always a stinging reminder that he doesn’t have a private bedroom to do this in, he really needs to get that sorted out, he can’t sleep on Carole’s couch forever - Pete hikes his shirt up, lowers his pants, and studies his belly.

If the maternity clothing wasn’t enough of a signal, the fact that he’s starting to get stretch marks, definitely solidifies that he’s veering into ‘actual bump’ territory. He won’t be able to keep it secret from the postal office much longer (goodbye, paycheck), and he won’t be able to hide it from Ice.

If Ice ever even comes here, that is.

Sure, in the handful of letters he’s sent Pete over the last month or two, Ice seems very adamant that he’ll be coming back to Miramar, but he has no reason to. He also seems to have convinced himself that Pete will somehow be teaching at Top Gun by then too; he brings up the civilian instructor thing in basically every sentence, and Pete has been stubbornly ignoring it.

There’s a lot Pete has been ignoring in his letters to Ice.

He’s written it out plenty of times, of course. Shit like ‘Remember why I had to resign? Yeah, I lied, I didn’t get rid of it’ or ‘If you want to come back to Miramar, bring a baby toy with you.’

Each time, he scribbles it out furiously. There’s no point telling Ice, because it doesn’t matter. It won’t change anything.

Ice wants to be an Admiral. He’s not going to get there by coming back to Miramar, and definitely not by embracing life as a parent. A gay parent, to a baby made from gay sex, gayly. Telling Ice about the baby will just make both their lives harder and more complicated - not to mention that putting it in writing could implicate Ice as the father - it’s just easier for both of them if they remain amicable penpals who just never see each other again.

That’s probably what Ice wants to say. His letters come with heavy scribbling too, so thick that Pete can’t read what’s underneath even when squinting, so he has to imagine what Ice is so uncharacteristically reluctant to say.

Tracing one of his stretchmarks with his fingertip, Pete imagines again what might be written underneath Ice’s redactions.

‘Considering everything, it is for the best that we cease communication.’

‘Our correspondence has been engaging. Let’s leave it there.’

‘I changed my mind and I won’t be coming to Cali. Goodbye, Mav.’

It’s not like Ice to beat around the bush, but maybe Pete is such a good lay that he doesn’t want to cut that off. They did have really good sex. Some of the best Pete’s had in his life.

So until one of them pulls the plug, it seems they’re doomed to wasting lots of ink to cross out words they don’t want to say.

“We don’t need him anyway.” Pete mumbles as he studies his belly. “You’ve got me, I’ve got you. So we’re okay.”

As if in response, the baby shifts.

Pete blinks. Holy shit. The baby moved. And he felt it.

Heart stuttering, Pete presses both his palms to his little bump, stunned into a reverent silence for a moment. There’s another sensation of something in there, like the baby is rolling or wriggling towards the side.

“Wow.” He whispers. “Holy - Oh, wow. Is that you, baby?”

Another flutter.

“Oh - Oh my god. Hi. You’re in there. You’re really in there.” Experimentally, Pete drums his fingers against his stomach. The response is small, but undeniable; now that he’s felt it once, he seems to have instinctively tuned in to them. The same way he feels in sync with a plane, he can sense the tiniest movements of his baby. “Hey. I’m your mommy, I-”

He pauses.

That’s the first time he’s said it. That he’s a mom, someone’s mommy. It’s crazy to think, crazy to say, but it feels so right. He’s this baby’s mom.

“I’m your mama.” He says, caressing another stretchmark. “Things are… a lot, right now. But I promise, I’m gonna take care of you. I’m gonna love you with all my heart and more. You’re my baby. You’re my baby, and mommy loves you.”

Within, he feels the baby shift again, and for a moment, it doesn’t matter what’s hidden behind Ice’s scribbles, because Pete’s got the cutest baby known to man.

Hello Mav,

In regards to your last letter - Yes, I have kept up with a few of our fellow Top Gun attendees. Hollywood got engaged last month, and Wolf is obviously going to be his best man. Chipper and Sundown got deployed somewhere top secret, so haven’t heard too much from them.

Seriously still doing the mail round? I’m telling you, I think you could swing a civ position, Viper would want you. Maybe you’d have to tone down all your insanely dangerous impulses, but I’m sure you’ll be allowed to release them every once in a while. Keep giving it some thought.

You could always save those impulses up for when I visit, and we can get some release together.

I’ll admit, I’m surprised you’re still crashing with Carole. Are you two doing some weird grief relationship? I always thought the famous Maverick preferred the lifestyle that comes with a bachelor pad. Are she and Bradley staying in Miramar long-term?

One of the officers here is on a week’s paternity leave. It made me think about what if- It’s made it tougher on the rest of us, having to put in a bit of extra work - Slider had to pick up one of the guy’s shifts, and all I’ve heard the last few hours is how tired he is now, as if he doesn’t get enough beauty sleep. We’re bunkmates (like I don’t spend enough time with him!) - I know full well he’s sleeping more than I am, because he’s keeping me up half the night with his damn snores.

Imagine, if things were different, it could’ve been me going on paternity.

I hope you’ll be pleased to know I did a barrel roll yesterday. It was against my will (Slider lost a bet and I had to pay the price), but I thought of you. You’re the only guy who should be doing ridiculous stunts like that. Wonder what sort of shit you pull with your bike nowadays.

When I get to Admiral, I’ll buy you a plane. I’ll make you the Navy’s test pilot. If a plane can handle whatever horrors you do to it, then it’d definitely be good enough for us regular aviators. 

Speak soon,

Ice

Ice,

I hope you know that the next letter I’m writing will be to Hollywood to demand my wedding invitation! Can’t believe I’ve had to find out through you. You should bring me as your plus one. Crazy to think that son of a bitch will be the first of us bachelors to settle down. I would’ve put my bets on Slider, always thought he was a secret romantic.

Not doing the mail round anymore. No one wants a pregnant guy working for them. Guess it wasn’t my calling. Back to the job adverts for me. Until I get something more long-term, Carole’s still letting me stay for now, but I think she and Brad will be going back to Virginia before the end of the year. She said she’ll stay til the baby comes but I know she doesn’t really want to. I’m not sure on the timeframe of that. I would go with them but my doctor’s here Virginia isn’t really my style. I’m sticking around Cali for now.

Can’t believe you did a barrel roll! I think I might’ve been a bad influence on you. It had better have been a good one, don’t want people thinking I taught you badly.

I had to sell my bike. Bump is getting bigger, balance is harder. Gotta get cash somehow. I’ve got a shitty banger instead now, can barely hit 80. Life’s a bitch going from Mach 10 to this.

Even when you’re Admiral, I’m not sure you’d be able to pull enough strings to get me in the air again. But I appreciate the thought.

Do some loop-de-loops for me next time you’re in the air.

Best,

Mav Mitchell

Now that he’s more obviously pregnant, it’s even harder to get a job. Sure, he gets a couple of interviews when he sends off his resume, but the moment he shows up and the first thing they see is his seventeen week belly, that shuts things down pretty quick.

Pete isn’t picky about what he does, he just needs a bit of extra coin, but half the vacancies he sees are automatically out the window just by virtue of his pregnancy. He can’t do heavy manual labour, he’s got enough aches as it is, he can’t do anything with long hours because he knows he’d end up falling asleep towards the end of shift, and he can’t be customer facing, not when he’s only going to keep growing, he can’t handle the stares.

It’s slim pickings out there.

God. The Navy was meant to be a job for life.

Pete’s routine now consists of taking himself off to the job centre, spending hours in there trying to ignore the derisive sideways looks he gets, and then leaving with nothing to show for it. This is rock bottom.

To make things worse, he’s now developing breasts. Sore, tender, and annoying breasts. How the hell do women live like this?

Truly, it is impossible for things to get any more terrible.

Only one day after deciding that life can only get better, Pete enters the job centre to find that he must have done something evil in a past life, because that’s the only justification for his misfortune.

It’s an open careers event, fine, whatever. And maybe someone had said something about military roles being advertised, but only in the unluckiest of unlucky universes would Commander Mike Fucking Metcalf be here.

Pete turns on his heel and makes his way back to the doors. Only Maverick would have the confidence to survive this, and he isn’t Maverick anymore. He just has to hope Viper hasn’t seen him.

“Maverick!” Viper’s voice rings out, cutting through the various crowds, and Pete needs to curl up in a corner and die.

Instead of continuing to flee, he stiffens, every fibre of his being calling out to stand at attention like the officer he used to be. But officers don’t have baby bumps.

His seconds of frozen hesitation mean that Viper has the time to stride right up to him, and at least his fellow job-seekers have gone back to talking amongst themselves as a hand claps on his back.

“Don’t you skulk away from me, Mitchell, I’d recognise that mop of hair anywhere.”

With a sigh, Pete turns to face him, one hand cradling his belly as he braces for disgust and disappointment in his former Commander’s eyes. “Sir.”

Viper snatches his hand away immediately, brows leaping up. “Mitchell-”

Pete dips his head and takes a step back. “I need to get going. I’m sure you understand, sir.”

“Maverick.” For the first time in his life, Pete watches Viper struggle for words. “What - What the hell have you done?”

“Well.” Pete glances down at his bump. “It looks like I got pregnant.”

“You kept it.”

“Yes. Listen, Viper, I need to go-”

“Good god, you kept it.” Viper runs a hand through his hair, sounding like he’s talking more to himself than to Pete. “Of course you did.”

“I didn’t join the Navy just to leave with nothing to show for it.” Pete feels the familiar flames of defensiveness as he caresses his bump. “So yes, I kept ‘em. And despite everything, I know they’ll be the best thing to ever happen to me.”

“Mitchell, this is completely - Of all the hare-brained -” Viper sputters and gestures at his stomach. “Do you just always choose the most insane option?”

“Nothing insane about having a baby, plenty of people do it every day.” Pete grunts. “Was there something you needed, or do you just want to gawp at me like every other judgemental asshole?”

Viper doesn’t reply, just blinks at him, so Pete stomps off without further word.

At times like this, times where he’s so frustrated and angry and upset that he can feel himself shaking, he liked to hop on his bike and not stop speeding until the wind calmed him down. Now, all he can do is clamber into his shitty run-down sedan, put his foot on the accelerator, only to ease off so he can sit in traffic for an hour instead of weaving straight past it all.

“Mav! You have a guest.” Carole calls, and Pete shouts an acknowledgement as he puts down the toy robot he was using to play with Bradley.

Bradley pouts at him. “Mav, not done yet.”

“I know buddy.” Pete ruffles his hair. “I’ll be back in a minute. Roboboy is just recharging, you can keep playing in the meantime.”

Bradley huffs, but returns to his own toy robot, using it to knock down a tower of blocks.

Pete wasn’t expecting any visitors, but of all the people he would’ve been surprised to see, Viper’s so far off the table that he wasn’t even up for consideration. Seeing him sitting in Carole’s living room is a shock to the system.

“Sir.” He says cautiously.

“Can I get you something to drink, Commander?” Carole asks, smile sunny as she ushers Pete to join him on the couch.

“I’m all good, thank you Mrs Bradshaw.” Viper bows his head. “This shouldn’t take long.”

“Mav, I’ll just be out back with Brad.” She offers him two thumbs up, and Pete can only return them, still bewildered.

Pete expects Viper to… say or do something once she’s disappeared from the room, but instead he takes a few seconds to look at the bare walls of the room, then Pete’s belly, then the walls again.

“No pictures?”

“Carole’s not planning on reapplying for Navy housing, there’s no point putting anything up.” Pete replies, still on edge. “Her family’s in Virginia.”

“Mm.” Viper meets Pete’s eyes. “Plannin’ to go with her?”

“My, uh, doctor’s here. So no. Not until…” Pete gestures to his middle, then clears his throat. “What are you doing, Viper? Here to what, chastise me? I’m a grown man, I’m not enlisted anymore, I’m allowed to have my own baby.”

Viper peers at him, too assessing to be casual.

“I was surprised to see you yesterday.”

“Don’t go thinking I’ve been unemployed for the last few months, I had a job, but surprise surprise, the Navy’s not the only one who doesn’t want a pregnant man working for them.”

“I don’t doubt that you got yourself a job.” Viper tilts his head. “You’ve got a good head on your shoulders. Stupid and impulsive, but still good. I suppose what I meant was I was surprised to see your bump. You seemed pretty adamant you’d be getting rid of it.”

“I changed my mind.” Pete grumbles, cupping his belly. “I love them.”

“Is Kazansky aware?”

Pete stiffens. “You can’t tell him. Fuck, Viper, the fewer people that know the better, Ice definitely can’t find out.”

A hum, and then a brief nod, almost approving.

“Alright. Because you know that - keeping this between these four walls - if anyone gets wind that Kazansky’s the father-”

“I know.”

Another nod, as Viper leans back against the couch. “Your cohort missed you at their graduation.”

“I was busy.”

“You know who was asking after you the other week? Jester.”

“And what did you tell him? Mitchell got himself knocked up?”

Viper raises his brows. “No. I told him that wherever Maverick ended up, he’d surely be scaring the shit out of his friends with all his damn thrill-seeking shenanigans.”

“Sorry to disappoint, then. Hope you didn’t bet on it.” Pete absent-mindedly strokes the curve of his bump, noticing his movement only because Viper’s gaze lowers to watch it.

“Pregnancy’s its own kind of scary. Especially so for you.”

Pete doesn’t reply to that. He wouldn’t even know how to.

“Where’ll you go when the Bradshaws move back home then?”

“Based on the job-hunt, it’s looking more and more likely that it’ll be the streets.” Pete snorts, ignoring the real fear lurking behind his words.

Viper frowns. “If it ever came to that, you better haul your ass over to my house. Like hell am I letting Duke Mitchell’s kid go without a roof.”

“Not sure how your wife would feel about that.” Pete rolls his eyes. “The optics of taking in a pregnant stray.”

“Melissa’s a better woman than I am a man, son, she wouldn’t give a damn about the optics.”

“Well.” Pete shakes his head anyway. “I’ll be fine, sir. I can scrape by.”

“Sure you can.” Viper leans forward. “You asked why I’m here. Well, Mitchell, I’m here to offer you a job.”

“What?” Pete scoffs. “No way. Don’t mess around, Metcalf, that’s not funny.”

“At Top Gun.” Viper adds.

Pete can hardly believe his own ears. “Wh- Sir. There’s no way, the Navy’d never let me back in, especially not when I’m carrying my little passenger, what are you-”

“Civilian roles exist, Maverick.”

His heart thumps and he’s honestly feeling a little dizzy. Sure, Ice had been talking about the hypothetical instructor role that Pete could take on, but in his head, there’s no way something like that would be offered to him, not as long as he’s pregnant.

“Commander.” Pete’s mouth is dry. “I don’t know what to say. Even… I’m not exactly done growing, my bump’s only gonna get more obvious. If I’d had an instructor like that-”

“An instructor?” Viper shakes his head. “No, son, there’s no way I could swing that. For Christ’s sake, Mav, you’re pregnant, no shit a single classman wouldn’t take you seriously.”

“Right.” Pete smothers the spark of hope he had and decides to pretend it never existed. “So… Engineer? Control tower? Analytics?”

Viper stares at him. “You’re living in dreamland. Your expectations are too high.”

“Just tell me what the role is then! What other jobs even exist at Top Gun?” Pete sighs. “You know I’d do anything, if it meant I could just be a bit closer to my old self again. Anything, Viper. You need a janitor? I can mop floors.”

“No. There’s a vacancy in my team.” Viper folds his arms. “I need a new secretary.”

Pete stares at him. “What?”

“A secretary.”

“You’re joking.”

“It’s the best I can do.”

“But…” Pete flounders for words, searching for something that’s not sexist, but failing. “That’s a woman’s job.”

“Big words from a pregnant man.” Viper raises a brow. “It’s that or nothing. If it’ll make you feel better, we can even put ‘Maverick’ on your name badge.”

Pete’s face heats. He can’t think of anything less appealing than returning to Top Gun as a fucking secretary. God, he’ll be a laughing stock.

“Salary’s good. We can sort housing too.”

He needs a good salary. He needs housing. He needs to provide for his baby.

Fuck.

“Okay.” Pete says, hoarsely. “Alright.”

Viper pats his back, tone going gentler. “I know it’s not ideal, Pete. I’m sorry I can’t do more. But I’ll look out for you. And once you’ve popped the baby out, they’re a few years older and everyone forgets that you grew your own kid, there might be some different opportunities. You’ll be fine.”

Pete nods, speechless, attention to Viper’s words fading in and out.

By the time Viper leaves, Pete can’t even bring himself to say thank you.

A secretary.

With that, his pregnancy, his breasts, and the disdain people have for him, he may as well wear a dress and change his name to fucking Peterina.

As anticipated, the first two weeks of his new job are some of the hardest of Pete’s life. It starts before even stepping foot back on site, when trying to find business attire to suit his new terrible life as a secretary.

Based on every store he dares to look in, someone would get the impression that no pregnant person in the history of the world has worn suit pants. Oh sure, women have pant suits, but all the clothing factories must have forgotten to make a single maternity version of one. Is it really that hard to put a stretchy waistband in? Do the fashion designers of the world not believe that a pregnant person would step foot in an office?

And the shirt selection… Oh, the shirt selection is a nightmare too. Everything he finds is so fucking feminine, even promising-looking plain white shirts turn out to have lace on the cuffs or pink embroidery on the buttons, there is no way Pete will wear something like that to Top Gun of all places.

His only course of action is to procure some large and extra-large items from the men’s section and beg Carole to use all her medium-level sewing skill to take in the sleeves and hems and legs so it doesn’t look like Pete is swimming in clothes that are too big for him everywhere except his belly. Even then, it’s hardly ideal.

The cherry on top of the clothing fiasco is that he realises that his steadily softening chest also needs to be dealt with. Purchasing some bras is so humiliating that Pete has to ask Carole to go on his behalf. And God, where would he be without Carole? His life will get so much harder and shittier when she and Bradley leave.

Speaking of his life being hard and shitty, re-entering Top Gun territory is a twisted nightmare. Instructors and employees remember him - after all, he was a contender for the trophy only four months ago. They know him as the cocky shit who acted untouchable, the mouthy short guy who flew too dangerously.

Pete knows some of them are amused by his situation now. He sees it, their smirks, the barely contained humour in their eyes when someone passes him something to be stapled, the quiet and confused laughs that follow him down halls.

If only he knew, back when he was having fun buzzing the tower, that he’d one day be glowered at by the technicians who worked there, that one day Air Boss Johnson would hand him a folder and say ‘be a dear and put this on Metcalf’s desk for me, can you do that Mitchell?’

If he’d known, maybe he wouldn’t have been such a little shit.

Two weeks in, Pete reaches his breaking point when he sees someone’s taped over his stupid desk nameplate, replacing the Mr with Mrs, and the ‘Maverick’ with ‘Mamarick’. The vandal has left a book on his desk.

101 Ways to Succeed as a Housewife

Maybe if he wasn’t eighteen weeks pregnant, with all the raging hormones that accompany such a condition, and maybe if he’d had a better morning, and maybe if he didn’t feel so crushingly alone, it wouldn’t have mattered.

But that’s a lot of maybes. 

So he looks at it and bursts into tears.

What a pathetic mess he’s become. Snivelling outside Viper’s office - because secretaries don’t get offices of their own - where anyone can walk by and see him crying. Is this what he’s been reduced to? An emotional, pregnant, emasculated wreck.

The Pete Mitchell of last year would be so ashamed.

The shame and embarrassment just makes the crying worse. Pete tries furiously to get a grip on himself, pressing his fists against his eyes as if he could physically block his tear ducts. He feels the baby move, gentle waves of shifting pressure within him, and - as if he needed more things to cry about - immediately panics that this sudden bout of emotion might affect their health.

His stress makes the baby stress, right? Is it possible to cry so hard that he hurts his kid?

It’s all too much. He can’t do this. He needs to get out of here, he can’t handle it. He should take himself off to a bathroom or something, splash some water on his face to calm down, and once again tell Viper that he’s quitting.

It’ll be difficult to get to a bathroom without passing by anyone though. All it would take is one look at his puffy eyes and sniffling nose, and that’s yet more fuel to the inferno that is his life.

He just needs to calm down. And yet now the dam is broken, the tears aren’t stopping.

He misses Goose. He’s a burden to Carole, he’s not cut out to be a mom, he’s fat, his nipples are sore, he hates his car, he’s unemployable, his only friend is going to move out of state, he doesn’t know how to change a diaper, he’s tired. God, Pete is just so fucking tired.

And deep down, at his very core, he wants Ice.

He wants Ice to want him, wants Ice to want the baby, wants Ice to love the both of them. Wants Ice to wrap his arms around Pete’s waist and kiss his cheek, wants Ice to tell him that the two of them, Pete and the baby, are the most important things in his life. He wants to come home to Ice, or Ice to come home to him, wants to press Ice’s hand to his belly and coo together over the movement inside, wants to fall asleep with his head on Ice’s chest.

He’s a sad, pitiful man. Can he even be called a man anymore? That thought has him crying too.

Pete’s so wrapped up trying to control himself that he doesn’t notice anyone’s approached until a hand is on his back. He jolts, twisting to see Jester, and immediately starts scrabbling for an excuse for his tears.

“Allergies.” He mumbles pathetically, before Jester can ask. It’s not a good excuse, but it’s all he’s got.

“Right.” Jester raises a brow. “... Allergies.”

Taking a shuddering breath, Pete wipes his eyes with the back of his hand, and clears his throat a few times before standing to attention.

“Commander, sir. Uh-” Pete clears his throat again, willing himself to stick to his secretary script, glancing at the timetable pinned at the top of his clipboard, the timetable he still hasn’t been able to memorise. “Viper’s instructing right now. His current class ends at… 1400, if you’d like to return then. Otherwise I’m happy to - to take a message.”

Jester eyes him, then the nameplate, then the book. He folds his arms. “We haven’t really had the chance to catch up since you got back here, have we?”

“Well, you’re busy, I’m busy.” Pete shrugs and grabs a pen from his penpot to keep his hands busy, to pretend he’s not still sniffling. He can’t twirl it around like Ice can, but he can click and unclick like there’s no tomorrow. “The message, Commander?”

“Nothing urgent.” A pause. “You had lunch yet?”

“No.” Pete squints at Jester.

“Let’s grab a bite.” He stretches. “Yknow, when my Lola was pregnant with our son, she was damn near obsessed with the grub we have in the mess. How are you finding it?”

“Definitely not obsessed, I’ll tell you that much.” Pete hesitates, sniffing again. “Not got a lot of time to savour my meals here either. Being a secretary is way harder than I thought.”

“Harder than flying?”

“Flying comes - came - natural to me.” Pete gestures at the nearest binder, one of many. “This does not.”

“You never were the most organised.” Jester knocks his knuckles to the desk. “C’mon, Maverick. Let’s get some food in you.”

Lunch with Jester is surprisingly pleasant. Who knew that the guy with the clownish callsign could actually be funny, when you’re not the one victim to how much of a hardass he is?

And no one gives Pete any funny looks either, not with Jester staring down anyone who glances at him. It’s sort of like having a grumpy guard dog.

It’s such a good lunch, in fact, that when Pete returns to his desk and reads Mamarick again, he snorts before ripping the tape off. Jester tuts behind him.

“You know we can get whoever did that written up? The rules are pretty tight when it comes to civilian employees. Especially if that was one of the students.”

Pete shakes his head, and tosses the tape - and the book - into the trash. “Won’t be a student. They don’t know me enough to bother.”

“Mm.” Jester folds his arms. “You know, Maverick. As foolish and reckless as it is to be going through with all this, you’ve made a pretty brave choice. A bold choice, definitely not something I’d have done in your… scenario, but brave. But from what I know of you, the way you flew… That’s exactly the sort of man you are.”

“Stupid?”

“And brave.” Jester nods. “Put any one of those numbskulls around here in your situation, they’d have all terminated, even if they really wanted it. Only you’ve got the balls to go after what you want. It’s a damn shame the Navy can’t see that. Guys like you are one in a million Mav. Whoever your baby daddy is, I hope he’s treating you right.”

“Oh.” Pete thinks he might cry again. “Thank you, sir.”

“Is he? Treating you right?” Jester pulls a face. “When Lola was pregnant, I’d have twisted a man’s arm clean off if I thought someone was upsetting her. Worked twice my hours so she wouldn’t have to lift a finger. If your mister isn’t-”

“He doesn’t know.”

Jester raises a brow, looks at Pete’s belly. “You might want him to get his eyes checked.”

“No. I mean, he’s not around.”

“Ah.” Jester, for once, looks uncertain. “I’m - Sorry to hear that.”

“It’s for the best.” Pete says, a firm reminder to himself more than anything.

“In that case, you’re even more reckless and even braver than I realised.” Jester scoffs. “You’re doing great, Maverick. Don’t get in your own head.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“And I do have a message for Metcalf, if you don’t mind. Tell him that I expect you to be invited to his next barbecue.”

Pete scoffs. “Not sure he’ll believe it unless hearing it straight from your mouth.”

“We’ll see.”

With a renewed gusto, Pete spins on his swivel chair after Jester walks off with his usual scowl back in place, grabbing a binder.

He is stupid and brave. He’s Maverick fucking Mitchell. And he’s going to be the best damn secretary to ever grace the halls of Top Gun.

As days turn into weeks, Pete settles better into his new job. It’s different, for sure, and every time he hears a jet take off, there’s a longing ache in his heart, but he’s getting good at it. He has even started using post-its. And colour-coding. And he’s getting less dirty looks now, though whether that’s due to Pete’s charms or because Viper yelled at Johnson after one snide jab too many, who’s to say.

He’s feeling… okay. Hasn’t had any more crying fits, so that’s good. And he’s moved into a nice family home offbase as part of the civilian employee benefits package. Three bedrooms, one bath, a pretty spacious kitchen and a small garden out the back, in a good neighbourhood. Part of a good school district too, and isn’t that something? Pete never thought he’d give a shit about school districts. A handful of his neighbours are other Top Gun employees, and the rest seem to be just normal, non-military families.

If he wasn’t pregnant, Pete would introduce himself to everyone, but he’s already had a few people give him a double-take, so he’ll be reserving that for when the baby’s here.

Carole and Bradley have both given the house a seal of approval, and Pete opts to show his gratitude to Carole by offering to babysit Bradley, and give Carole some space to herself. It’s the least he can do, and it’s not like hanging out with Brad is a hardship.

So even with the roundness that twenty weeks of pregnancy brings to his forever-growing belly, and even with the miles and miles of traffic he has to sit in, Pete has a slight spring in his step when he enters Bardo’s clinic for his next appointment.

“Mornin’ Juliet.” Pete chirps as he steps in. “Did your dad get you that plant you wanted?”

“Pete.” Juliet Bardo smiles back at him. Somehow, the receptionist looks younger every time he sees her. Maybe it’s his maternal instincts, now knowing that she’s barely eighteen years old, still just a kid. “The spiderplant? Yes, it’s growing really well actually! Mom says I’ve got a green thumb.”

“I bet. Doctors with a patient still or can I go right in?”

“Mom’s still finishing up, dad should just be prepping your files, might be a few minutes yet.”

“Lucky those chairs are comfy then.” Pete pretends to tip his hat, and moves to the waiting room, settling himself on one of said comfy chairs.

Over his last few appointments, he’s come to be pretty fond of Bardo’s. It’s family-run, owned by both Doctor Emmett Bardo and Doctor Matthew Bardo. The way Pete understands the story, the place came to be after Emmett and Samuel, two dudes working in the obstetrician department of the same hospital, met and fell in love. Then Emmett got Matthew pregnant, couldn’t find a specialist, and ended up having to do all the check-ups themselves, in the same hospital they worked in. Matthew gave birth in that hospital too, thus Juliet was brought into the world. Emmett changed his last name to Bardo, and they decided to open up the clinic.

It’s pretty cute. Definitely convenient for him, that he and his baby are under the care of probably the best people for the job, and it helps that Matthew - his primary practitioner - has actually been through it. He lets Pete ask all sorts of stupid questions, and never makes him feel like an idiot for doing so.

It’s all so straightforward with them, answers to the point and non-judgemental.

‘How will the baby come out?’ Male carriers have two holes, not one. One is the anus obviously, the other’s the ‘birth slit’. Unless actively looking for it, most guys don’t notice the slit because of where it sits on the perineum.

‘Am I gonna give birth here?’ No, you’ll go to a hospital, and one of us will join you there as soon as we can.

‘Why am I always so tired?’ Growing a baby takes a lot of energy.

‘Will the baby know who I am when they’re born?’ The modern consensus is yes, it’s believed this is because of scent and voice recognition.

‘Did you get tits too?’ Yes.

‘So they’ll go away?’ They’ll decrease in size, but the tissue is still there.

‘I’ve been stuffing my face with blueberries, is that normal? Is the baby going to turn blue?’ Cravings are normal, the baby will not be blue.

Yes, Doctor Matthew is very helpful. Pete’s only been seen by Emmett once before, as opposed to the four with Matthew, but they’re both experts, so maybe it doesn’t matter who ‘leads’ on his care.

As Pete stretches in his chair, the door to one of the exam rooms opens - Matthew’s room, not Emmett’s, so it’s not for him - so he spares only a glance over there.

Except those are the guys, the guys he saw when he first came here. God, what were their names? If it wasn’t for the dude’s beard, Pete probably wouldn’t have even recognised them. The bearded guy was the one who was pregnant, right? Only he doesn’t look very pregnant anymore.

For a moment, Pete’s heart pangs for them, only to recover the next second when he sees that Mr Non-Beard (was it something like Duncan? Dan?) is holding one of those baby car seats with a handle to carry it around.

Woah. They had a baby.

That guy delivered a baby, at Bardo’s, and he survived, the baby survived, the both of them are, presumably, healthy.

Beard Guy (Paul?) meets his eyes and stops in his tracks, clearly recognising him too.

“Babe?” Non-Beard tilts his head, then sees Pete too. “Oh. You’re the one from the Navy.”

“Yeah, I guess you could call me that.” Pete smiles. “I see you had your baby. Congrats!”

“I see you kept yours.” Beard Guy says softly. “Congratulations to you too.”

Pete remembers rejecting it last time. Now, he rests a hand on his belly. “Thank you. Really. What you said, about why you kept yours… I've grown pretty attached to this little one here, so I’m grateful. That you helped me figure out what I want.”

“As long as you made the best decision for you.” 

From the car seat basket - Pete wonders if there’s an official name for that - the baby makes a little whining noise.

It’s pretty cute. Not as adorable as Pete’s baby will sound, but still cute.

“Shh.” Non-Beard says, gentle. “You’re alright, we’ll be getting home soon. Settle down, that’s it, good boy.”

Beard Guy looks at his partner and at the car seat with so much love in his eyes that Pete almost feels like he’s intruding. When Beard Guy faces him again, it’s with a wave.

“We should get going if we want Owen to sleep in the car. But we’ll probably cross paths again, I’m sure.”

Non-Beard nods once.

“Sounds good.” Pete cradles his bump. “Though I might be the size of a plane by then.”

“Feel that!” Beard Guy chuckles. “See you around, uh..?”

“Mav - Pete.”

“Mavpete?”

“Just Pete, is what I meant.”

“We’re name buddies.” Beard Guy crosses his fingers to demonstrate the bond. “Prefer Peter though.”

“Name buddies.” Pete crosses his fingers too, the camaraderie he’s feeling akin to his days at Top Gun.

Just as Peter, Owen, and Either-Dan-Or-Duncan leave, Emmett’s door opens. Pete is quick to step in, excited to add another sonogram to his collection.

Pete can hardly breathe through the waves of sobs that don’t seem to stop coming, as Emmett awkwardly pats his back. Pete wipes his eyes, though there’s little point, as more tears spring up as immediate replacements.

“I’m sorry.” Pete manages to blub. “I have no idea - I’m not - I don’t know why this is happening, is this normal? Be honest.”

“More often than not, yes, we have a few tears.” Emmett pauses. “Maybe not this many.”

“They’re just so…” Pete gestures vaguely at the ultrasound, where his beautiful baby is curled up, looking magnificent. Their head is so much more defined, they have a little nose, a body, legs, hands… They look like a baby.

Between that, and this being the first time he’s heard the heartbeat since his initial scan, well - Pete’s a mess.

It’s all the fault of evil hormones. Evil hormones, and the fact that his baby’s so fucking cute. That’s his baby on the screen. That’s his baby’s heartbeat reverberating through the room.

Pete sobs again, grateful that there is only a doctor to witness this.

“I understand.” Emmett hums. “Between you and I, Matthew was just like this every time we did a scan. And considering we had access to the equipment whenever we wanted, that was much more often than necessary.”

Pete laughs wetly, watching the ultrasound distort slightly at his movement, refocuses again after a moment.

“Did you want to know the sex?”

“Yes, of course, I - You can tell? From that?”

“Well you would’ve seen a penis right there, if she’d had one.” Emmett points to an empty section area of the scan, then moves the ultrasound wand to get a different angle.

“A girl.” Pete whispers to himself. He doesn’t know anything about how to look after a little girl. It’s not like he had sisters to practice with.

… Doesn’t Ice have a sister?

Ugh, he’s crying again.

“A girl.” Emmett agrees.

“My daughter.” Pete warbles, like an idiot. “My baby girl. I - Is it hard to raise a girl when you’re a guy? Am I gonna be okay?”

“I’d say Juliet turned out pretty great, wouldn’t you?” Emmett says, and it’s so true and reassuring that Pete can only bawl some more.

Maybe if he cries loads now, that means he won’t cry again until after she’s born. With that logic, it’s probably a good thing that he only stops sobbing once he’s back in his car.

Ice,

Been a few weeks since your last letter. I hope you’re okay. Maybe you’ve lost the will to stick to a strict schedule? About time you loosened up.

Also - Do you know anything about girls?

Thanks,

Mitchell Maverick

Maverick,

I’m glad you’re using your callsign again.

Apologies for the delay. It’s been busy here, getting a lot of flight hours.

Surprised to hear you want girl advice. Aren’t you meant to be some hotshot stud? Glad you’re finally acknowledging me as the superior woman expert, as well as the superior pilot.

Who is she?

Assuming you don’t manage to put your foot in your mouth, the easiest thing to do is just ask her out and take her on a date. I guess you wouldn’t be asking for tips if this was just a one night stand, so try to be a little romantic. Flowers, et cetera. Try and woo her.

Happy to help,

Ice

The day Carole and Bradley returned to Virginia is one of the hardest days Pete’s had since his life flipped upside down. He’d cried when he drove them to the airport, and cried more when having to actually say goodbye, and cried when he was back home too.

Maybe pregnancy is just turning him into someone who cries a ton. He hopes not. Hopes that this is just a temporary character trait, one that will disappear the moment he goes from ‘pregnant’ to ‘somebody’s actual mother’.

It’s strange that Carole’s no longer a short drive away. That from now on, Pete’s not going to get any more parenting practice from babysitting Brad, and he’s not going to have someone he can lounge in his living room with and bounce exaggeratedly stupid baby names off of.

Now that Carole’s not right here, who the hell is Pete going to hug when he’s having a moment of panic. Who will pat his back and tell him that he’s going to be a good mom, make him feel less scared about doing this alone, and who will his daughter have playdates with if not Bradley?

It’s scary.

Pete has several moments a day where panic seizes him, where he convinces himself that it’s impossible for him to be a good mother, and needs to stop himself from phoning up Carole to beg her to come back.

The thing is, she would. Pete knows she would. If he called her on a random Wednesday afternoon, Carole would be here Friday morning at latest. But he can’t do that to her, it’s not fair, she’s already done so much for him, and Pete can’t keep taking.

Instead, their phone calls are casual and chatty. She’s with her parents, where she should be, with space to grieve her dead husband, space Pete couldn’t give her with all his drama. It’s nice to talk to her like that. Nice to hear her feel less of a need to put on a brave face all the time. Nice to know she’s being cared for the way she deserves.

And it’s not like Pete’s incompetent. He starts making notes on everything the parenting books say, and writes out a list of everything he’ll need completed before the baby’s born. He’s been making a lot of lists, actually - something about being a secretary is clearly rubbing off on him.

He collects flyers for baby groups being held around town, and convinces himself he’ll work up the courage to attend one. He starts testing out some serious baby name ideas, talks to his baby girl and coos when he feels her movements - getting so strong now, isn’t she amazing - and plans out how much time off he’ll need to take when she’s here.

It will be okay. He’ll be okay, and so will his baby, even if Ice provided absolutely no help with his ‘girl advice’.

Viper has a daughter, right? Maybe he can help, if needed.

…Maybe Pete should buy a wig so he can practice how to braid hair. He’ll have to add that to the list.

In the meantime, he can make do with phonecalls to Virginia while resting a hand on his belly.

“Sorry, Lieutenant, but this new secretary is pretty strict with the schedule. Honestly, be grateful it’s me you’re talking to, last guy who tried to sneak by without a pre-booked appointment got a real mouthful.”

Pete smirks as he rounds the corner to Viper’s office, another batch of confidential reports in his arms. Who knew secretaries got to read about all those top-secret missions that half the Navy has no clue about? He feels pretty good about himself when he gets to know exactly which Admiral decided which stupid policy.

There are perks to every job, it seems. Only a bit unfortunate that he had to circulate some letters and is now missing out on giving a verbal lashing to whoever is daring to try to fuck with the scheduling system he worked very hard on. At this point, everyone should know there are three lots of two-hour blocks a week where Viper’s free for non-urgent dropins, and whoever is trying to flout those rules is in for a world of pain.

Still, it sounds like Marley The Janitor, who must’ve been in the office while Pete was away, isn’t so confident at telling this Lieutenant to come back later. So Pete strides up to give the schedule-disrespector a good what for, only to immediately choke.

“Ah. Here, see, you can take it up with the secretary bossman himself.” Marley smiles at him. “How ya doin’ Mitchell? These two dropped by to see Viper. I’ll leave them in your capable hands.”

Pete’s attempt at a noise of agreement sounds a bit like a dying frog, as Marley traitorously makes his exit, leaving him alone to die of panic.

There stands Iceman and Slider, seeming similarly stunned, all three of them staring at each other slightly agog.

“... Maverick?” Slider is the first to break the silence. “Wh - Is this a joke? What the fuck happened to you?”

Maybe Pete can just pretend that these are just two normal officers instead of his former classmates. He opens his mouth to do just that, but still nothing comes out except a squeaky rasp.

Ice stays quiet too, except his eyes are glued to Pete’s stomach, and he looks extremely pale.

“Shit.” Slider speaks again. He glances to Pete’s desk, where his nameplate sits askew and slightly hidden behind a fresh stack of sealed envelopes. Numbly, Pete moves towards it, placing down the reports he’s holding, only to regret giving up something to occupy his hands. Nowadays, when his hands are empty, his instinct is to cradle his bump, so that’s where they drift.

Ice makes a noise that could be mistaken for a whimper.

“I-” Pete clears his throat, and holds his belly closer, as if he could shield himself and his daughter away from the awful, bewildered stares.

“Shit.” Slider repeats. He turns to Ice, who is standing deathly still, as if waiting for his pilot to comment.

Nothing comes.

Pete takes a breath, and wills his heart to stop thumping wildly, tries to stop trembling. He’s fine. The worst thing they can do is laugh at him, or be disgusted. At least that’s the worst thing Slider can do.

He can only hope beyond hope that Ice won’t hate his guts forever.

“So.” His voice is thankfully steadier than he thought it would be. “You, uh, want to see Viper? For all non-urgent visits, he’s got-”

“What the fuck?” Slider interrupts, eyes practically bugging out his head. “What the hell? You’re a secretary? And - Are you fucking pregnant?”

“Yes and yes.” Pete says and it sounds way more confident than he feels. “Not many jobs available for a guy in my situation, I take what I can get. So, per the schedule, for non-urgent visits-”

“Is this why you quit? You got knocked up? Fuck, dude, that’s… What the fuck?” Slider squints. “Who-? Shit, Mav, is Viper the baby daddy, is that why you got this job? That’s so messed up-”

“What? Viper’s married.” Pete looks down to shuffle some papers around, anything to give him a reason to pretend he can’t feel Ice silently staring at him. “No. And that’s not your business, anyway. If, uh… Listen, if I knew you guys were coming, I probably would’ve given you a heads up about, yknow, all this.”

That’s a lie, and all three of them know it.

“Oh my god.” Slider’s voice is aghast. “God, Mitchell, this is terrible, I’m so sorry.”

Pete scrunches his brow. “Sorry about what?”

“Your whole life! Jesus, dude, this is fucked up. The other guy, he make you keep it? Fuck, Mav, that’s so -”

“I chose this, Slider.” Pete frowns. “I chose to keep her, I-”

“It’s a girl?” Ice finally speaks, in the shakiest voice Pete’s ever heard. Never in a million years did he think Iceman would sound like this, so uncomposed.

“It’s a girl.” Pete confirms, hearing himself go softer. He strokes his bump, compelled to give out a few more details. “Twenty four weeks. Due in March.”

Ice nods jerkily in response, and runs a hand through his frosted tips, messing up the styling as he does so.

Slider looks between them, and Pete can see the moment he puts two and two together. “Oh.”

“Oh.” Pete echoes, and zeroes in on Ice. “It’s - It’s really not a big deal, I don’t… We’re fine, me and her, on our own. You don’t need to do anything, so don’t worry. Don’t freak out.”

“That seems like a pretty big ask.” Slider murmurs, looking at Ice, who is standing so frozen stiff that one might think it’s how he got his name. “Fuck.”

Pete shakes his head. “Seriously. I mean it, we’re fine.”

Iceman blinks at him slowly. His lips part, and for a moment, Pete thinks he’s going to get yelled at.

“I need a drink.” Ice croaks instead, and turns on his heel, leaving without a further word.

Slider grimaces after him, then at Pete.

“Did he know?”

“I told him I had an abortion.” Pete hangs his head. “But I got there, and I just- I just couldn’t.”

“Right. Well then.” Slider gestures vaguely. “I… It’ll be fine, Mav. It’ll work out fine.”

He doesn’t sound very sure about that, but neither is Pete.

When Slider walks away too, hurrying after Iceman, Pete is at least a little thankful that he didn’t burst into tears. Silver linings, and all that.

The next two days pass agonisingly slowly, and Pete keeps convincing himself that Ice is going to pounce on him out of the shadows, appear in the middle of a Top Gun corridor just to yell at him.

But he doesn’t.

And then Saturday evening comes, there’s a knock at his door, and there Ice is, tall and imposing as ever. It’s somehow the last thing Pete expected. Ice to just show up at his house, no shouting, no swearing, just quietly standing there waiting to be let in.

“Hi.” Pete’s not dressed enough for this. It’s late on a Saturday for God’s sake, of course he’s wearing only a tank top and sweatpants. He was expecting a prank visitor or something, definitely not Ice, so he’s bra-less too, and he knows damn well that this top shows off more of his developing chest than might be acceptable for conversation.

Ice definitely notices that, eyes drawn to the cleavage - god, Ice was never meant to know Pete has cleavage now - then lowering to his belly before seeming to remember that Pete does in fact have a face.

“Hi.” He twists his hands. “I think we should talk.”

“We really don’t have to.” Pete steps aside to let him in anyway, and Ice gives him a very wide berth, avoiding any accidental brushing of skin as he enters. “It’s… I swear Ice, I know how much your career means to you, I’m not gonna fuck that up, all this- It’s fine. I knew from the beginning that you could never-”

The moment Pete closes the front door, Ice grabs his wrist.

For a brief second, he thinks maybe Ice is here to beat him up. But that doesn’t seem like something Ice would do, no matter how angry he gets. So Pete stares at Ice’s grip on him, and Ice stares too, like he’s not quite sure what to do now.

“I could make you a drink?” Pete suggests tentatively.

Ice blinks, then leans down and kisses him.

Not what Pete expected. Regardless, he’s not going to say no to kissing Iceman, so he responds eagerly, wrapping his arms around Ice’s neck and pretending for a moment that life is just as it was six months ago, before a baby changed everything.

It’s harder to pretend that, when Ice’s hand slides down his back, then curves round to rest on his belly. The moment his palm reaches the bump, Ice pulls back.

“Sorry.” Ice coughs. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

Pete scoffs and steps away, tugging his arm from Ice’s grasp. “No. I guess not.”

“A drink would be nice.” A pause. “Maybe, uh - I’ll make it? You should be putting your feet up or something.”

“Making you a coffee is not exactly hard work.”

“Right. Just - God, you’re so big.”

“If you’re here just to mess around and call me fat, you can leave.”

“Not what I meant.”

“Go sit on my couch and tell me what you’re drinking.”

“Whatever you got, I’m not fussy.” Ice lingers over him, hands twitching. “Are you sure you don’t want me to-?”

“Sit down.”

Ice bows his head, and Pete can only wonder what the hell kind of game Iceman is playing.

After setting down a white coffee for Ice and a herbal tea for himself, Pete takes himself off to change into a more suitable t-shirt, one which hugs his bump in a way that feels supportive rather than something too-tautly stretched.

Ice shifts in his seat, and his eyes never leave Pete for a moment, even if they keep flitting between his face and belly.

“Thanks for coming.” Pete admits quietly. “Thought you’d never want to see me again.”

“Couldn’t stop myself even if I wanted to.” Ice sighs. “I just really needed to think. It’s a lot.”

“I know.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Ice mumbles. “You - Mav, I would’ve wanted to know.”

“You seemed so relieved when you asked if I’d have an abortion, there’s no way I-” Pete hesitates. “I wasn’t lying. When I said that I wanted to terminate. It’s just, when I got there, I couldn’t. I was going to, and I couldn’t.”

“And you were never going to say anything?” Ice wavers. “You weren’t even going to give me a choice?”

“I can’t put you in that situation, to ask you to choose between your career and all this.” Pete squares his jaw. “You want to be an Admiral. I’m not gonna be the guy who gets in your way.”

“I do want that.”

Pete nods, he never expected anything else.

“But I want this too.” Ice takes Pete’s hand.

“This?”

“The baby. Fatherhood. A family, a home.” Ice pauses. “You.”

“You’ll get discharged.” Pete shakes his head. “You can’t. Pregnant or not, I’m a man, Ice, if anyone higher up found out-”

“That’ll be their mistake.” Ice’s voice goes sharp, severe. “And I’ll handle it if that happens.”

“You don’t have to. I swear, Ice, you don’t. Me and the baby will be okay, don’t throw your dreams away just because you feel… what, obligated? You’re not. You don’t owe me. Just because it’s yours doesn’t mean you have to do anything at all.”

“Pete.” Ice squeezes his hand, and his cheeks turn a little pink. “I want to raise a baby with you. Surely you know the way I - How I feel about you.”

Ice’s eyes pierce into his, fierce and determined, not a hint of the shock from their encounter at Top Gun. Ice has thought about this, the way Ice thinks about everything. He’s processed it, calculated it, decided on the outcome.

“I’m not gonna sit here and tell you that I’m not scared. Because I am. I know that doing this, with you, is risking everything I worked for. But you have had to give up so much more than I can ever imagine and… God, what kind of man would I be to leave you to do that alone?” Ice lifts Pete’s hand to his lips, kissing his knuckles. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you. You have no idea how many times I laid awake at night, when I thought you’d aborted, imagining what life could’ve been like if I asked you to keep it. Keep her, I mean.”

“I couldn’t have asked you to stay.” Pete mumbles. “But there were so many days I wished I did. At - At the clinic, there was this other pregnant guy, and he said that the reason he kept his baby, it was because he loves his partner so much that he wanted to make another version of them. That’s what did it, Ice. I heard that, and I thought of having this beautiful blonde baby, and I knew I couldn’t.”

“Yeah?” Ice’s voice is hushed. “Because she’s ours?”

“Because she’s yours.” Pete looks at his hand in Ice’s, then shuts his eyes for a moment, concentrating on just the feeling of their hands together. “This is going to be really hard. Whatever this is, whatever we’re about to do.”

“It is hard.” Ice shuffles closer. “But I swear to God, I’ll make it as easy for you as I can. I’ve got about six months of pampering to make up for, right?”

Pete snorts. “Gonna be hard to pamper when you’re on the other side of the world.”

“Fuck that.” Ice says, stern. “I’m not leaving. It’d kill me.”

“But you and Slider are redeploying to Europe.”

“If that’s where Slider wants to go, he can do that. But not me. I’m all in on this, okay? I’ll call in to be an instructor at Top Gun. And maybe in a few years, once she’s here, once she’s older, then I’ll go back to combat again. I’m not gonna miss the birth of my daughter just to fly planes off the shore of Russia or something. If I have to add a few extra years to the timeline of me getting Admiral, so be it.”

“Ice.” Pete looks at him, searches for any hint of a lie, but there’s nothing. “Tom. I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything.” Ice hesitates, then looks at Pete’s bump. “Can I..?”

“Of course.”

Ice slides his free hand underneath Pete’s t-shirt and caresses his belly, touch gentler than anything previous.

“She’s moving.” Pete reports, looking down at his stomach, delighting in the sensation of his daughter wriggling towards the touch. When he then glances at Ice, his breath catches, seeing the smitten smile on his face.

“I can’t get over how big you are, Pete. God, it’s incredible, you’re incredible. And - Are you gonna be able to breastfeed?”

“I should hope so, or else I’ve got these now for no reason other than my humiliation.” Pete gestures to his chest.

“Nothing humiliating about that.” Ice doesn’t stop cradling Pete’s stomach. “You look really good. Like you’re growing a healthy baby.”

“She is a healthy baby.” Pete agrees, and gives his bump a pat. “Aren’t you sweetheart?”

“You talk to her? Can she hear you?”

“It’s meant to be good for them. The books say so, anyway.”

“May I?”

Pete gestures for Ice to go ahead. The blond lowers himself to Pete’s middle, rolling up his top to press his lips to skin.

“Hi, księżniczko.” Ice’s voice is soft, quiet. “I’m your dad. I know I haven’t been around, but that’s changing now, okay? I’m here.”

“What did you call her?” Pete raises a brow.

“Princess.” Ice says absently. “My mom used to call my sister that all the time.”

“You gonna teach her Polish?”

“That would require me to be fully fluent.” Ice shakes his head, still petting the bump. “I only know bits and pieces. Mom and dad had been here five years already before I was born, they hardly spoke it to us. I started trying to learn properly a while back, so my kids would know their history, but that sort of thing’s never been my strong suit.”

“Oh.” Pete watches Ice caress his belly, expression softer than he’s ever seen it. “Have you always wanted kids?”

“Definitely. I pictured myself with a big family, at least five children. Then, yknow, realised I was gay, which sort of put a dampener on those plans. And now there’s you. You, carrying a beautiful baby girl.”

“Yeah.” Pete pauses. “I’m not having five kids, Ice. You have to settle for one.”

“I was going to settle for none, so trust me, I’m happy.” Ice smiles gently, and sits up, moving Pete’s t-shirt back in place, those his hand is still beneath it, rubbing a small circle on his belly.

Pete had no idea that someone else touching his bump could feel so comforting.

He’s about to say as much, only to be interrupted by a sharp jab from his middle, winding him, and Ice’s shoulders tense.

“Mav? What was that, is that normal? Are you okay?”

“I’m okay.” Pete gawps at his belly, where a flurry of activity is happening. “I - I think she’s kicking.”

Ice frowns. “Is that not what kicks usually feel like?”

“It’s never happened before.” Pete cups his stomach. “I guess she must like you.”

“I hope so.” Ice leans close, a small smile at his lips. “Because I like her very much already.”

It’s been forever since Pete woke up next to someone. So long that when morning comes, he recoils away from the arm around him while his brain tries to process what the hell a stranger is doing in his bed.

“Mav?” Ice’s voice is gravelly with sleep, and his arm tightens around Pete’s waist, one palm on his bump. Now that Pete’s mind is slowly coming back online, he remembers agreeing to let Ice stay over, remembers Ice’s hand being right there when they fell asleep - has it stayed just like that the whole time? “Mav, y’okay?”

“Yes, fine. All fine.” Pete resettles, shifting a bit closer. “Just surprised.”

“Mm.” Ice yawns. “You’re full of surprise lately.”

Pete’s never gotten the opportunity to properly stare at Ice in the morning. Whenever they had one of their trysts in the past, sleeping over was a rarity, and even in the cases it did happen, both of them were too preoccupied with rushing off to laze about together.

Ice is handsome. Obviously, Pete would only sleep with a handsome man. But he’s really handsome. Especially like this, sleepiness softening the sharp angles of his face, hair out of its usual perfect place, eyes still bright and analysing even upon waking.

And those lips. That mouth of his should be illegal, it’s practically impossible to look at him and not feel desperate to have those soft, perfect lips against his.

In the safety of his home, Pete appeases his desperation. He leans in, and Ice catches on quickly, meeting Pete’s mouth and kissing him. It’s a gentle kiss, suitable for their grogginess, slow and easy and wonderful.

“Could definitely get used to that.” Ice murmurs when he pulls away. “Good morning. Very good morning.”

“Hi.” Pete watches him stretch, eyeing the way his arms move, the way he cracks his neck. “You’re in my bed.”

“So I am.” Ice props himself up on elbow, and smiles.

Pete didn’t know Ice could look so tender. His heart aches at the sight, the deep want in his bones itching to keep him forever.

“Any plans today? Or can I start making up for lost time?”

“Hmm.” Pete pretends to think it over with an exaggerated furrow of his brow. “I’m not so sure. Depends what ‘making up’ looks like.”

“I’ve never been good at marketing.” Ice leans over him. “But I’ll give you the salespitch.”

“I’ll ensure to keep my expectations low.”

Ice huffs a laugh, and presses his lips to Pete’s jaw before moving round, giving him a necklace of kisses before speaking again.

“Let’s start off with breakfast in bed.” Ice murmurs, moving on to kiss Pete’s shoulder blades. “I’ll make you something real good, with a nice cup of coffee-”

“Not drinking coffee at the moment, it’s kinda bad for the baby.”

“Glass of orange juice then.” He raises his head to go back to Pete’s face, brushing their noses together, pecking his cheeks, then travelling down the apple of his throat and to the top of his sternum. “And after we finish, I’m gonna kiss you some more.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mhm.” Ice’s mouth journeys to Pete’s chest, where he starts nipping the fatty tissue of his left breast, teasingly close to the areola. “Fuck, your chest is something else Mav. Think I’m finally understanding what guys find so appealing about tits.”

His tongue brushes over Pete’s nipple, an achingly light touch, and Pete shivers.

“Then in a few hours, I’m gonna get all caught up on our baby.” Ice moves to his right breast, repeating his ministrations there. “You’re gonna tell all about her. How big she is, how she’s been doing, how often she moves, what her name’s gonna be. I’m gonna memorise it all, and then you’re gonna tell me what you need.”

“What I need?” Pete feels his dick twitch as Ice lightly bites sensitive skin. His throat is a little dry.

“Everything you need.” Ice affirms. “You’re gonna tell me about your cravings. When you need your feet rubbed. How often you need to be fucked. If you got a shelf that needs fixing, wanna buy a crib, want to send some mail but feeling too rough to go out… I’m your man.”

“You really don’t have to do - Ngh.” His words die on his tongue as Ice’s trail of kisses goes over his bump to his right thigh.

When Ice speaks next, his words are breathy, making Pete’s hair stand on end, his dick hardening.

“I do.” He bites Pete’s fleshy thigh, catching it between his teeth. “I take care of what’s mine, Maverick.”

“Is that what I am? Yours?” Pete’s breath hitches. Ice’s hand is curving along his ass.

“All mine, baby.” Ice’s hand squeezes. “You disagree?”

“No-” Pete’s legs start to quiver. “No, Ice, I’m all yours.”

“Fuck yeah you are.” A kiss to his thigh, then another, and another. “So yes, Mav, I will give you everything you want. Everything.”

Pete wishes his bump was a little smaller, so he could have a better view of Ice’s head between his legs. Instead, his belly conceals it, only the top of his hair available.

As good as Ice’s mouth on him is - a thought emphasised when Ice nips him again - it’s still surreal that he’s here, that he wants the baby too. With his face so concealed, Pete can already feel himself second-guessing.

“Ice.” His voice is more strangled than he wants it to be.

“Mm, you always sound so pretty calling out for me.” Ice’s breath ghosts over his crotch, and Pete feels himself twitch.

“Ice-”

“Tell me what you want.” He purrs. “Wanna hear you ask.”

Pete squirms, and is briefly caught in a battle between libido and longing. It’s a short battle. After all, Pete’s had too many months alone.

“Can you just… come lay back down?”

Ice withdraws immediately, brow creased. “Shit, Mav, sorry. I’m sorry. If you don’t want-”

“Don’t be stupid, of course I want to have sex with you.” Pete pats the pillow, and Ice settles back onto it, an obscene amount of worry in his eyes. “But not right now.”

“Right.” Ice pauses. “Obviously I wasn’t going to fuck you, Mav, I’m not an idiot. But you can’t even get off at all?”

Pete blinks at the solemn look on Ice’s face as he continues.

“It’s fine, by the way. I’m not asking for me, it was more for you. But if we can’t do anything until baby’s here, that’s more than okay. I’ll wait as long as it takes.”

“Oh. You are being stupid.” Pete wonders if he’d be as obtuse if it was the other way around, if he was the one coming back from deployment to a surprise pregnancy. Regrettably, he’d probably be worse. “Just because I’m pregnant doesn’t mean we can’t have sex.”

Ice purses his lips. “Right. Right, yeah, I knew that. I’m not stupid.”

“Uh huh.” Pete rolls his eyes. “Any other time, I’d say yes, but - It’s not just me I have to worry about any more.”

“Of course.” Ice’s hand rests on Pete’s bump. “Of course, Mav.”

“And I need to think about what’s best for her.” Pete shuts his eyes. “Ice, I know you said you want this, you want her, that you think it’s going to be fine, but it’s - I need you to understand that this is going to be really hard.”

“I know. I know that, I know it will. I can do hard things, Mav. For us, for her.”

“I’m serious. If any bigwigs find out, you’ll get discharged.”

“That’s not happening.” Ice tuts. “I told you, I’d sort it out.”

Pete frowns. “No. Listen to me. Once she’s here, once you meet her, you’re locked in. I won’t let you back out. And then if you’re ever in a position where you have to choose between her and your job, you have to pick her.”

“I won’t have to choose-”

“Tom.” Pete cuts him off. “If you can’t even hypothetically tell me you’d choose her, then we’re not doing this.”

Ice is quiet for a moment, brow furrowed. Pete feels the baby shift, a gentle kick from one of her little legs, and it seems like Ice feels it, if the brief softening of his gaze is anything to go by.

“It’s not that easy.” Ice murmurs. “C’mon, Mav, you know it’s not that easy.”

“You asked what I want. What I need. I need you to tell me that you’re going to prioritise our daughter, no matter what.” Pete caresses his bump. “My baby’s not growing up being anyone’s second choice.”

“Obviously I’ll prioritise her! But I’ve wanted to be an Admiral my whole life, you can’t expect me to just sacrifice that.”

“Parenting is basically all about sacrifices.” Irritation boils beneath Pete’s skin. “Are you really telling me you’d throw away your daughter just to, what, get some stars on your fucking shoulder?”

“You’re putting words in my mouth.” Ice grunts, words sharp-edged. “I never said that, I wouldn’t say that. I told you last night, I want kids, I want to be a family with you, is that not enough?”

“No! It’s not. Of course it’s not, if you can’t even say you’ll pick her.” Pete grunts.

“I’m not saying I won’t pick her, it’s just tough, I can’t even imagine being in that situation, and - And she’s not here yet. That’s like if I asked you if you wanted to fucking… go back in time so she was never made so you’d still be a pilot. Obviously you’d say yes-”

“That’s not obvious at all, actually.” Pete feels frosty now, all the goodness of a cosy morning dissipated. “Because I wouldn’t.”

Ice rolls his eyes. “You’re just saying that to try and prove a point.”

“No. I’m saying that because I love my daughter.” He cradles his belly. “I’d do anything to keep her safe and happy.”

“Yes, I know, me too, but - Don’t sit there and pretend that it’s just so easy to give up a career by choice.”

“I did-”

“You didn’t choose it, Mav. It was chosen for you. If we went back six months, if you were actually allowed to pick, there’s no way you-”

“Fine, maybe. Maybe, before I knew her, before I could feel her and see her and before I planned out this life me and her are going to have together, maybe I wouldn’t have chosen her. But she’s not just some random embryo anymore, she’s my baby. And if you don’t get that, then - then you can leave.”

“Pete-”

“Get out of my bed.” Pete grumbles. “My daughter deserves a dad who loves her more than anything in the world. Not some guy who will just leave her the moment he has to make a tough decision.”

“I’m not saying I’d leave, you’re not -” Ice clicks his tongue. “God, is it impossible to just have a nice morning? We haven’t seen each other in months, why are you picking a fight right now?”

“If you can’t commit, then yeah, it is impossible to have a nice morning.”

“Maverick.” Ice snaps. “I haven’t even had a week to properly adjust to the idea of being a dad. You’ve had months. And I’m not even refusing anything! I told you, I told you I’ll be an instructor at Top Gun, you know as well as I do that that’s going to hold my career back a few years.”

“I get it, Ice, you’re pausing your career, I know, I fucking know. If you’re gonna be resentful about it-”

“Stop twisting my words, it’s pissing me off.”

Pete huffs at him, and for a moment they just glare at each other. It hurts, this growing fear of Ice tossing their daughter aside, refusing to acknowledge her, pretending he doesn’t even know who Pete is. And it hurts more that Ice won’t just reassure him, all Pete wants is a promise, is that so much to ask?

His baby girl doesn’t deserve that.

But maybe part of the fear isn’t really about the baby at all. Of course Pete knows Ice would probably find a way to weave her into his life, will work something out that balances his Navy dreams and his desire for fatherhood.

Ice would have a plan to stay in his daughter’s life. Whether he’d plan to stay with Pete too is another question entirely.

“What can I say, Mav?” Iceman eventually breaks from scowling to sigh and pinch his brow. “Regardless of what happens, I’m not going to abandon her. Of course I’m not.”

Pete purses his lips, as his brain scrambles to demand whether Ice would ever abandon him, but all methods of asking feel stupid and immature, even by his usual standards.

“I just don’t accept that I’ll have to choose between her and work. I won’t accept it.” Ice shakes his head. “But if it really got to that point, if a superior officer told me I’d be axed unless, I don’t know, unless I swore to never see her again, then… Then I’d wind up discharged.”

Pete tries, very hard, to keep his next question to himself, because he knows it sounds pathetic, knows it’s ridiculous, but his mouth opens anyway.

“What about me?”

“What about you?”

Pete looks at his bump, stroking his taut skin, and hopes maybe they can both pretend he never spoke at all. But Ice is too perceptive for that.

“Oh. Mav.” Ice’s hand rests over his own. “Of course that applies to you too. I’ve missed you so much, I couldn’t take leaving you.”

“Well. Good.” Pete still doesn’t dare glance at him. “That’s good.”

“Hate to break it to you Maverick, but now that I’ve got you, I’m not ever letting go.” Ice brushes their knuckles together.

“I couldn’t handle it.” Pete mumbles. “It’d be easier if you leave now rather than later.”

“I’m not leaving.” Ice says it with so much conviction that it’s impossible for Pete to find anything in his tone to dwell on. “I told you, you’re mine.”

Pete turns to look at him, just to see if there’s any doubt in his eyes. But there’s only the usual cool determination, one that’s sealed when Ice leans in to peck his lips. The kiss is light, delicate, and it feels like a promise.

“Is that okay?” Ice asks, cupping Pete’s cheek. “No one’s ever doubted me before, I’m not sure how to...”

“Ugh, even when you’re trying to reassure me you’re cocky.” Pete rolls his eyes. “But… You do make it very difficult to doubt you. And I guess it makes sense that you’d want to stay in the good graces of the best secretary in the world, especially if you’re going to be an instructor.”

“The best secretary? And I’m the arrogant one?” Ice huffs a laugh, thumb running along Pete’s jawline. “Not sure I believe that you’re apparently such a stickler for this fancy schedule you’ve got Top Gun on running.”

“I’ve learnt to appreciate a good timetable.”

“Yeah?” Ice smiles charmingly. “Any chance you can sneak me in for a meeting with Viper tomorrow?”

“No. Proper meetings have to be scheduled in advance. You’ll have to use one of the open timeslots like everyone else.”

“Okay, Mav.” Ice snorts, rolling his eyes. “I’ll tell everyone you gave me a good secretary answer and I just happened to find a free slot. When can I actually-”

“I’m serious.” Pete tuts. “I work hard on that schedule, I’m not messing it around.”

Ice stares at him, then laughs again, settling his head back properly on the pillow and winding his arms around Pete’s waist.

“Alright. I’ll stick to your timetable. Wouldn’t wanna piss off Top Gun’s best secretary.”

“The best secretary in the world thank you, not just Top Gun.”

“Ah, of course, my mistake.”

Pete is only the teeniest, tiniest bit jealous when he realises that instructing at Top Gun is essentially a promotion, and comes with a nice change of title.

Commander Kazansky will be joining the staff with the next cohort of pilots, starting in January, and in the meantime, he’s getting to spend his entire December on shore leave.

Lucky for some. With the amount of work Pete’s putting in to prepare itineraries and forms and inductions for the new students, he’ll be fortunate to get Christmas off, let alone New Years.

The upside of this is that when gets home, there’s always a nice hot meal ready to eat, and strong arms ready to embrace him. Iceman is putting in a great deal of effort, and as if Pete wasn’t already endlessly attracted to him, all the fuss is making him feel more smitten than ever.

It’s a miracle he managed to last these past months without him. Now that Pete has experienced the joys of this handsome specimen massaging his aches, giving him doting kisses, and putting up shelves around the house… Well, there’s no going back.

And every time he starts worrying about that, fretting over the idea that one day Ice is going to get too bored or too frustrated, Ice somehow notices, and whispers reassurances against his skin, affirms over and over that he has no intention of abandoning Pete or their daughter.

Still, the day Pete comes home after work - to their home, even if Ice isn’t officially living there - and doesn’t smell dinner, he panics. It’s only for a second, but fear cuts through him in that moment, mind whirring with the sick belief that everyone leaves him.

There’s chatter in the living room, and the fear dissipates, but a residual discomfort lingers, unsettled and uncertain.

Kicking his shoes off (with some difficulty), Pete pads towards the conversation. The other day, Ice mentioned that he’s waddling, and Pete had denied the allegation, but in the back of his head, he’s faintly aware that his gait does seem to have changed. Hopefully whoever Ice is talking to won’t be a bitch about it.

“You can still go without me.” Ice says, voice a little chillier than usual. “Your name’s on the trophy too.”

“You know as well as I do that a RIO is only as good as his pilot.” It’s Slider, sounding grouchy. “And you’re the best there is, so - Come on, man, just for a few months.”

“Kerner.” Pete decides to announce his presence and stop lingering in the hallway, leaning against the doorframe instead, one hand cupping his bump to help support the weight. “I didn’t know you were coming for dinner. Or is this just a flyby to convince Ice to whisk you off to Europe?”

Ice stands, and gestures to his now vacant seat. “Hey, you. Sorry, lost track of time, let me get you a drink. How was - Slider, stop staring, that’s rude, were you raised in a barn?”

Slider has the decency to look admonished, eyes moving away from Pete’s belly to meet his gaze. “Hey. Good to see you.”

“You too.”

Ice gently squeezes Pete’s arm as he passes by, leaving the room with a touch to the small of his back and a pointed look to the couch. “Off your feet, come on.”

“Alright, alright, I’m going.” He rolls his eyes, and takes Ice’s spot, pretending Slider doesn’t look like he’s about to combust with a million unspoken questions, each probably as inappropriate as the last. “You shipping out soon?”

“Haven’t gotten an assignment confirmed.” Slider sighs, sagging against the couch. “Europe’s looking less and less likely.”

“Sorry to hear.”

“‘S fine. Just… Never thought Ice would want to try the whole ‘settling down’ thing. I mean, come on, plenty of guys become fathers and still deploy.” A pause. “It’s nothing against you, obviously. No offence, I mean.”

“None taken.”

Slider looks at Pete’s belly, squinting at it. “You gotta admit it’s crazy. That this is happening.”

“Believe me, I know, I’m the guy lugging her around.”

“Right. Yeah, it’s probably weirder for you than anyone.” Slider glances at the doorway, then lowers his voice. “Listen. He’d kill me for saying it, but I think… A lot of the past few months makes sense now. He was so mopey, and got this pout whenever one of the guys mentioned having a family back home, and - Well. All I’m saying is, if you were anyone else, I think I’d manage to convince him to keep flying with me.”

“I’m not sure I can imagine him moping.”

“It was terrible.” Slider rolls his eyes. “Figured he’d left a sweetheart behind, but not in a million years would I have guessed you. He’s putting a lot on hold for you, yknow.”

“I’m aware.” Pete pauses. “I’m not going to tell him to go to Europe with you, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“No shit. He wouldn’t listen anyway. Just don’t fuck it up.” He frowns. “We both know he’s a big softie under all that bitchiness, and he probably loves all the domestic shit. So no… Maverick-ing.”

“I wouldn’t keep the baby if I was going to ‘Maverick’ it up, whatever that means.” Pete strokes his belly. “As long as he puts our little girl first, Ice has nothing to worry about.”

“What should I be worrying about?”

“I just said nothing, idiot, get your hearing checked.” Pete reaches out to accept the proffered drink - smells like ginger tea - and Ice passes it over with a smile.

“Well then. Sounds like a good life, to be worrying about nothing.” Ice leans down and pecks the top of Pete’s head before sitting. “Ignore whatever Sli is saying about Europe, he knows I’m not changing my mind.”

“I wasn’t saying anything.” Slider grumbles. “No tea and kiss for me? I feel neglected, Iceman.”

“Carry my baby and then we’ll talk.” Ice snorts.

“I’ll pass, thanks, I don’t think I could pull off a baby bump as well as your boyfriend here.”

Ice stiffens, and Pete knows exactly why, because his heart twists at the same thing.

Boyfriend.

Sure, Ice has made it clear he wants to stick around, but they haven’t had that conversation. In fact, whenever one of them seems dangerously close to mentioning it, they both find a way to divert the topic.

“Uh.” Ice says, eloquently, and Pete nods in agreement.

Slider squints. “What? Am I not allowed to mention it? It’s a pretty big bump, guys, it’s not easy to ignore.”

“Mav’s bump is great.” Ice says. “It’s a good size, she’s growing so well.”

“She’s definitely getting heavier, that’s for sure.” Pete agrees, just as keen as Ice to move away from any allusion to their relationship status, or lack thereof. Never in a thousand years would he have guessed that the size of his stomach would be a preferred conversation to hold, but what the hell, he’d never have guessed half the shit that’s happened in the past year. “I think it’s because Ice is too tall.”

“Maybe you’re just short.”

“I’m the mother of your child, you’re not allowed to call me short.”

“Mother?” Slider butts in. “Really, Maverick? You’re gonna be mom?”

“After all the work I’m putting in to get her out there? Yeah, of course I am.” Pete sips his tea, and feels his baby girl wiggle. “She’s moving, that means she agrees.”

Ice’s hand immediately slips beneath Pete’s shirt, as Slider grimaces.

“Ew. You can feel her moving around in there? That’s gross. I’d hate that.” A pause. “What’s it like? Is it as weird as it sounds?”

“Stop it.” Ice chides. “It’s not weird. It’s amazing.”

“It is a bit weird.” Pete relaxes under Ice’s caresses to his stomach, though they’re a way off from where he can feel their baby squirming. “To the left a bit. And she’s not kicking right now, so I’m not sure you’ll notice anything.”

“Here?” Ice moves his hand accordingly.

“No, just - c’mere.” Pete drags Ice’s wrist into place, flattening his palm against his curve. “There. And as I was saying - it’s kinda weird. But also sort of cool, being able to know where she is, what sort of thing she’s up to. Annoying, when she’s super active and I’m trying to concentrate or sleep or something, but I dunno, it can be pretty good too.”

“Huh.” Slider looks at Ice’s hand. “And you can feel it too?”

“Only when she’s practicing for a fight and using Mav as the punching bag.” Ice’s thumb strokes Pete’s skin, following the curve of his belly back and forth. “We’ll probably have to enrol her in baby karate classes.”

“You’re ridiculous.” Pete scoffs fondly. “Can’t believe I ever thought you were cool.”

“If you’re telling me you thought that stupid pen twirling was ‘cool’, you have the worst taste known to man.” Slider tuts. “Poor kid, growing up with such losers.”

“The only loser in her life would be you, Ron. And if you’re off in Europe for her early development, that’ll be great, ‘cause then she won’t have any of your lameness rubbing off on her.” Ice looks at Pete’s belly. “Isn’t that right, baby?”

With a timing that promises she’s going to be a budding comedian, the baby kicks. It makes Pete laugh, at least, while Ice smirks at the implied agreement. Slider gives the bump an offended frown.

Once Slider goes home after dinner, and Pete gets into bed, he starts thinking too hard. He should never think, it’s not good for him, and yet he does it anyway.

He thinks about Ice, down the hall in the bathroom, halfway through the longest bedtime routine known to man. Pete’s a simple man with simple pleasures - he’s happy to brush his teeth and call it a night, but Ice is apparently super high maintenance. He does ‘skincare’, with moisturiser and shit, and there’s this whole million-step ritual for his pores or whatever.

It’s a damn miracle he hasn’t been outed yet, because it’s the gayest thing Pete’s ever heard of.

Somehow it’s endearing. The thought of a younger Ice deciding to put as much dedication into under-eye cream as he does flying, the idea of him tagging along with his sister to find out what the best products are, sneakily buying them under the guise of getting gifts for a girlfriend or something.

Whatever shit he’s using, it clearly works, because Ice does have very good skin. Maybe Pete should do skincare too. He and Ice can do it together, standing side-by-side in the bathroom, making eyes at each other in the mirror.

Maybe that’s why Pete likes his stupid long routine. Because it means Pete knows the steps, knows that Ice is being all domestic in his home, knows that Ice is staying the night. As long as that bag of serums is next to sink, Ice is here, with him.

“Mav? You got any spare toothpaste?”

“Should be in the cabinet.” Pete calls back, heart fluttering as he does. It’s just so comforting, doing this cosy stuff. Stuff that married people do, like talk about where products are in the bathroom, or bicker about who’s doing the dishes, or choosing a side of the bed and sticking to it.

“Thanks.” Ice’s voice carries, and Pete can only hope he’ll have this forever.

Would a label make that happen? If Ice was officially his boyfriend, would that mean he never has to worry about the day Ice’s toothbrush stops being beside his own?

They can’t get married. Even if it were legal across the country, Ice is still Navy, and no way would a military man be allowed to be gay. It would be nice to imagine, for certain, but it won’t happen, it can’t happen. So if not husbands, then it’ll have to be boyfriends, even if that sounds kind of immature. It couldn’t be common knowledge either, just something to have between them and a few close others.

And honestly, Pete hasn’t even considered what exactly they’ll do about explaining the baby. He’s mommy, Ice definitely wants to be daddy, but telling other people that will just lead to a lot of questions. They’ll have to pretend she’s not Ice’s biological daughter, which will be very hard to do if she’s blonde and blue-eyed. And coming up with an excuse for why Ice is acting as her father, that’ll be tricky too.

It’s all tricky.

When Ice finally enters the bedroom, presumably covered in ten layers of various ‘hydrating creams’ and wearing only his boxers, Pete pulls the comforter open for him on instinct. Ice slips into bed at once, snaking an arm around Pete’s shoulders. After flicking off the lamp, he rests a palm on the bump.

“It’s kind of cool we’ve slotted into a little routine.” Pete murmurs as he shifts closer to Ice. It’s only taken a week to find the best sleep position together; Ice on his back, an arm around Pete, who lays on his side facing him, his bump resting gently against Ice’s own stomach. It’s a wonderfully supportive position for Pete, and Ice seems to like it a great deal, more than happy to be used as a pregnancy pillow.

“I’m not sure I’d describe it as cool.” Ice mumbles back, pecking a kiss to Pete’s forehead.

“No?”

“No.” Another kiss. “But I’m happy with it. It’s good.”

“It is good. Definitely.” Pete hums in agreement, and considers leaving it there. Of course, he’s not very good at leaving things alone.

Ice picks up on the hesitation at once. “You have a but.”

“So do you.” Pete reaches round to squeeze Ice’s ass, and it earns a faint huff of a laugh.

“You know I didn’t mean it like that. You’re saying it is good, but..?”

“Well. It is good.” Pete hedges. “It is, I like it. But, yknow. What is it, exactly? What this is, I mean?”

Ice stills, and Pete tries not to let it sting. At least he doesn’t pull away, keeping a hand on his belly and head remaining comfortably settled on the pillow.

“Okay.” He says after a few moments pause. “Well, we’re going to raise a baby together.”

“Uh huh.”

“What do you mean ‘uh huh’? Is this because Slider called you my boyfriend earlier?”

“Am I your boyfriend?”

Another pause. The hand on Pete’s back drifts up to card through his hair.

“I don’t know.” Ice brushes a few strands of hair away from Pete’s forehead. “Do you want that?”

“Do you?”

Maybe it’s stupid, that neither of them have the balls to say it first. They’re grown men, having a kid together, and yet the thought of asking to be boyfriends has Pete wanting to bite his own tongue off.

“It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.” Ice’s voice is low. “Being your boyfriend. I mean… God, Pete, if you were a girl, I’d have gotten down on one knee already.”

“I didn’t realise you were so traditional.”

“It’s only right.” Ice pauses. “It wouldn’t be just because of the baby. I mean, you’re Maverick, if the law was different, I’d have a ring on that finger after our first time together.”

“Keep up with the sweet talk and we won’t be getting any sleep.” Pete rolls his eyes. “Who knew you were such a sap?”

“I’m just answering your damn question.” Ice grunts. “If you continue on like that I’ll change my mind.”

“Fine, fine.” Pete says obligingly. “So we’d be tying the knot then, if we could?”

“Yeah. You disagree?”

“No.” Pete trails his fingers along the back of Ice’s knuckles, over where he’s cupping his belly. “Not one bit.”

“Good.”

“Yes, good.”

Pete listens to Ice’s quiet breaths, eyes closed, drinking in every sensation of Ice being right here, with him.

“Well then.” There’s the tiniest bit of hesitation, but Ice recovers quickly. “You’re my boyfriend now. Congratulations.”

Pete snorts. “I should be congratulating you, I’m an absolute catch, you’re very lucky.”

He expects Ice to rib him back, but instead he makes a little satisfied sighing noise.

“Yeah. I am.”

If Pete was a more devious man, he would try to claim that inviting Ice to his next ultrasound would count as a Christmas present, considering how close the holiday is now. But he won’t, even though Ice seems to be treating it as such, what with all the grateful looks he keeps sending Pete’s way throughout the drive.

As Pete steps into the entryway, Juliet gives him a smile, one which brightens upon seeing he’s not alone.

“Morning.” Pete nods at her, taking his hand off his bump for only a moment to sign in before returning it to its rightful place. “You’ve dyed your hair! Looks great.”

“Meant to be red, I don’t know why it’s come out all orange. But thanks.” She glances between him and Ice, with blatant curiosity in her eyes fighting against professionalism.

Ice rests his palm on Pete’s back.

“This is Tom.” Pete leans into the touch, flashing another grin at Juliet. “My wingman.”

She raises a brow, and Ice scoffs, but doesn’t say anything.

“Hi, Wingman Tom. It’s nice to see Pete’s got some company this time, I’m sure mom and dad will appreciate someone to make sure he doesn’t lose his mind in the waiting room. Last time he was here, he was tapping his foot so much I think there’s a hole in the carpet.”

“Sounds about right.” Ice’s tone is even, the sort of coldness he always offers strangers. Not rude, but not obliging either. “I’ll do my best to ensure your floors remain intact.”

Juliet’s smile wavers a little, and she gestures for the two of them to take a seat. Pete leads the way to the chair closest to the corner, while Ice takes an additional few seconds to stand and take stock of the room. Assessing as always.

The first thing he does when he sits beside Pete is frown at him.

“Wingman? After all the fuss, you’re not even gonna introduce me as your boyfriend?”

“I don’t know how secret you want to be about this.” Pete shrugs. “Figured that the more people we outright tell, the bigger the risk for you.”

“Mav, I’m holding your hand while we wait for a check-up on your pregnancy, it’s pretty cut and dry no matter what word we’re using to describe each other.” Ice squeezes said hand. “If you trust these guys to look after you for something as important as our daughter, then I’ll trust them too.”

Pete hums, and rests his head on Ice’s shoulder. “Now look who’s making a fuss about being called boyfriends.”

“You’re clearly rubbing off on me.” Ice glances around the room again, then pecks a kiss to Pete’s forehead. “This is smaller than I thought it’d be.”

“It’s a specialist clinic, Ice, it’s not like there’s a lot of men out there who want to have babies.”

Ice nods, before sticking his hand in his jacket pocket and pulling out a small notebook and pen. He flips the book open, and turns it towards Pete. The writing is cramped together, both pages on the spread covered in text so dense that Pete has to squint to make out a single word.

“I know it’s a bit late to be checking, I should’ve prepared better, but are there any other questions I should ask?”

Pete blinks. “What?”

“Questions to ask. When we’re in there.” Ice scrunches his brow as he looks at his notes. “I’m not sure it’s enough. No, I know it’s not enough. But I am trying, Mav, I swear.”

Peering closer, Pete can sort-of read a few of the options, brief prompts rather than full sentences.

Post-partum care - rest, recovery, pain?

Mav backache, how to help.

Baby size & if that’s good.

Cooking - best foods?

Girl - advice on this

Birth plan

Maternity/paternity leave (how long)

“You’re an overachiever.” Pete says, feeling awfully mushy about something so simple. “You seem plenty prepared to me. I just wing it.”

“Of course you do.” Ice tuts. “I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“Not sure how a doctor will help you with cooking though. He’s not a chef.”

“It’s so I know what stuff’s healthiest for you and the baby, idiot, I’m not asking how to make it.”

“As long as I’m eating, and not having any of the ‘no-no’ foods, I think me and her are just fine.” Pete brushes his thumb over the furrow of Ice’s brow in an attempt to smooth away the worry. “You don’t have to be so nervous. It’s just a check-up, you’re not being tested on anything.”

“I know. I know that.” Ice’s shoulders sag a little - Pete doesn’t even remember them getting tensed up - and he flips the notebook closed. “Just want to make sure everything’s covered. Everything’s addressed.”

“It will be. Both the doctors here are great, very thorough, you’ll like them.”

“Okay. Alright.” Ice raises Pete’s hand to his lips, kissing his knuckles. “I’m excited to see her.”

“She’s real cute. You’re gonna cry.”

“I am not going to cry.”

Not even ten seconds since the ultrasound begins, their little girl on the screen and looking more like an actual human baby than ever, Ice makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like sniffling.

When they get the printouts, Ice slips one of the frames into the front of his wallet without even hesitating.

Pete doesn’t get an opportunity to call Carole until just before New Years. He’s posted her a Christmas card and Bradley a present, of course, and she’d sent him a card and a gift (a model plane) too, but the month since Ice arrived in Miramar has been such a whirlwind - a great whirlwind, a happy whirlwind, but overwhelmingly busy none the less - that Pete just hasn’t been able to set aside the time he needs to properly catch up with her.

Finally though, after finishing early for the day, he curls up on the couch next to Ice and dials her number; the moment she picks up, it’s as if no time has passed at all, easy conversation flowing as always.

“I wish you could’ve come here for the holiday.” Carole says after a while. “Bradley missed you.”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry.” Pete strokes his bump idly as his baby shifts inside him, one of her legs jabbing into his back. “Honestly though, I think Top Gun works its secretaries harder than an Admiral works a fleet. Do you know how many fucking forms it takes to register one officer as a student there? And they’re getting in a cohort of twenty this time, it’s ridiculous. There was this one day last week where I spent the whole shift phoning a dozen different commanders just to get confirmation that one of the newbies is actually planning on attending? I swear, Carole, they’re out to get me.”

She laughs. “I don’t know what to tell you Pete, except that most people’s jobs are like that, you’re lucky you spent so many hours in a plane. But only a few more months and then you’ll get a bit of a break, huh?”

“I seem to remember last time I called maternity leave a break, you were very quick to convince me otherwise.”

“Looks like your only options are paperwork or newborn care I’m afraid.” Carole snorts.

“I’ve got lots to look forward to in the new year then.” Pete chuckles. “Can’t wait.”

In the corner of his eye, he watches Ice check the time, give his bump a gentle pat, then stand from the couch. The longer his boyfriend’s leave has lasted, the more strict he’s gotten with his routines, and at 1700 hours exactly, Ice is apparently compelled by the scheduling gods to make him a drink and get a start on dinner. Pete finds it unacceptably cute.

“What are you doing for it? New Years, I mean.”

“Probably just staying in.” Pete looks down at his belly, rubbing just above his navel, the baby pressing against him right there. “Hardly in a state to go for a night out. Honestly, give it another few weeks and I think I’ll be too big to leave the house.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

“I swear! I’m waddling now and everything, I don’t think I have room to grow anymore.”

“I remember that feeling.” Carole sighs. “You’re getting to seven months now, right? When I was that far along, I remember telling Nick that that was it, I felt too big, and he told me… What was it he said? Something like ‘Honey, I love you, but you’ll probably be bigger next month and wishing you were back here again.’ And he was right.”

“Sounds real encouraging.” Pete shakes his head. “Rose-tinted glasses have me remembering him as being much better at reassurance than that.”

He shouldn’t have said it, the mood dampening immediately, grief unfurling its tendrils again as it always does when Goose’s absence becomes glaring.

“Depends - Depended on the day, I suppose.” Carole says, quieter, the past tense difficult. “... You ever think about what he’d say if he’d known you’d get pregnant?”

“Of course I do.” The baby moves again, and Pete automatically moves his hand to follow her lower down his belly. “Probably something about how I’m a crazy son of a bitch, and then follow it up with all his mushy family talk.”

“Oh, definitely. And then he’d come to me panicking about being a good uncle, as if he wasn’t already a good dad.”

Pete lets out a sad huff of laughter. “Yeah. Yknow, I always thought that on the offchance I had kids, I knew I wouldn’t fuck it up because I’d have Goose around to give me pointers.”

“You wouldn’t have needed them.” Carole says firmly. “You’re Bradley’s godfather for a reason. Goosey always used to tell me that if anything happened to us, there’s no one he trusts Bradley with more than you.”

“Oh.” Pete’s mouth goes a bit dry, tears pricking his eyes. “Oh.”

They both go quiet, the only noise the crackling of the phone.

“Come here for New Years.” Carole says softly. “Goose would hate that you’re on your own.”

“What?”

“He’d never let me live it down, if I didn’t ask you to come see us. God, Bradley would too, that kid adores you, none of us want you alone. Or we can come to you, if that would be easier. Just - Being pregnant’s hard, Pete, I know that, and it’s even harder by yourself.”

“By myself?” Pete frowns, just as Ice reenters the living room with a cup of chamomile for him, setting it on the table before disappearing back to the kitchen.

“I really don’t know what you’re not understanding here. I don’t want you to be alone.”

“I’m not alone, what are you talking about? Ice is here.”

A long pause.

“What?”

“Ice is here.”

“Ice? As in Iceman?”

“Yeah, Ice. Yknow, the father of my baby?”

“He’s there?”

“Of course, he’s been here a month, Carole, I-” Pete pauses. “Did I not tell you?”

“Iceman has been there a whole month? Maverick Mitchell!”

“Shit, I didn’t tell you.”

“Is this why you keep missing my calls? Iceman! He’s there? And he knows everything?”

“I miss your calls because I’m working.” The baby squirms, feeling just as awkward as Pete does. God, how had he forgotten to tell her? “Yes, he’s here. And obviously he knows, Carole, I couldn’t hide the baby even if I wanted to.”

“Is he looking after you? Is he there now? Let me speak to him. Maverick, I cannot believe you, this whole time I’ve been worrying - Give him the phone right now, I need a word with him.”

“He’s cooking, I don’t wanna-”

“Give him the phone.”

Carole is a force of nature when she wants to be, and Pete is only a man.

“Ice, you’re being summoned.” He calls, turning away from the receiver. “Carole wants you.”

Ice returns, lips down-turned. “Am I being interrogated?”

“Uh, one sec.” Pete readjusts the phone. “Carole, are you going to interrogate him?”

“Of course I am, he can’t just waltz in!”

“She said no.” Pete offers Ice a charming smile, and holds out the phone to him, which Ice takes, eyeing it with suspicion.

“Mrs Bradshaw.” He greets, awfully formal.

Pete sits back, both hands on his belly, watching Ice’s expression go from stern to chastised very quickly. He opens his mouth to speak multiple times, only to fall silent, and Pete feels a little bad for him. He’s been on the receiving end of an angry Carole before, after he dragged Goose out for a very long night on the town, and he’s never even thought about wronging her since.

Instead of arguing back, like Pete does, Ice does a lot of nodding and makes agreeing noises. He looks at Pete, hums some more, and then starts chipping in with shit like “of course” and “I completely understand”.

The baby wriggles again, like she’s moving towards the conversation, trying to listen in.

After a few more minutes, Ice is actually getting to speak, which is so unfair, because Pete had to wait way longer than that. And everything he’s saying is so calm, the bastard, so smooth and appeasing.

“I’m taking a position at Top Gun. I’ve talked it through with Mav, made sure he knows I’m all in on this.”

“He’s my priority, Mrs Bradshaw, I’m not going to let him down.”

“Oh, please don’t worry about that. If it takes me a few more years to get Admiral, so be it. Mav and the baby are much more important.”

“Yes, I know she’s a girl. Definitely pleased, I’m not that type of man, that first-born son stuff isn’t for me. And - Yes, I have a sister. I - Oh, she’s absolutely going to be my little princess.”

“Well, you know how Mav is, getting him to relax is like pulling teeth, but I’m managing it.”

It seems to be going very well for Ice, actually. Pete frowns, it’s completely unfair, it took him months to win over Carole. Damn Iceman and damn his charm.

“I’ve done a bit of research, yeah, but still learning. I’d love to get some tips next time you’re free, if that’s okay? I imagine there’s a lot they leave out of the baby books. And - Yes, that works for me. Thank you Mrs Bradshaw, I - Please, in that case, you must call me Tom. Alright. Well, thank you Carole. And thank you for looking after him while I was away. I’ll have Mav pass me your address so I can send some flowers. Of course. Yes, it’d be great to meet you properly, sounds good to me. I’ll pass you back to Mav now? Good, good. Talk to you later, Carole.”

Pete is maybe a tiny bit annoyed that Ice has managed to talk his way straight into Carole’s good books. It’s some sort of superpower, no wonder he never gets in trouble with the higher-ups, not if he can so easily win people over. How annoying.

Ice passes the phone back with a wink and a kiss to the cheek, before sauntering back to the kitchen.

“I can see why you like him.” Carole says, tone softer. “He’s a bit of a sweetheart isn’t he?”

“Yeah, yeah, he’s amazing, whatever.” Pete huffs. “You never let me get off the hook so easy.”

“Well, unlike you, Tom listens.”

Pete grumbles some more, but can’t actually refute her. After all, he’s the idiot that’s actually in love with the guy. Not that he plans on admitting that out loud any time soon.

“- I’m sure you remember, you were a student not too long ago, but these are the offices. Jester’s is there, then we’ve got Murata - he’s our new civ specialist, I don’t think you’d have met him - and at the end to the left is Viper’s.”

Pete doesn’t glance up from his filing as he hears Air Boss Johnson’s voice, until he registers that Ice must be having the ‘site induction’ Murata was given a few weeks ago.

It feels a bit weird that Ice is here. That Ice will be working in the same building as him, that he’ll have an office of his own just across the hallway.

Both Johnson and Ice step into sight, and Johnson gestures at Pete with a little bit of a smirk.

“I’m sure you recognise the secretary. How the mighty have fallen, ain’t that right Michelle? Ah, I meant Mitchell. Slip of the tongue.”

Pete doesn’t roll his eyes, but it’s a close one. “Can I help you, sir?”

“Your former Top Gun classmate’s joining the roster.” Johnson smiles wider. “So interesting how you have both had such different… outcomes since then.”

Pete offers a wry smile to Ice, but Ice doesn’t look at him. He’s staring at Johnson instead, expression blank except for the chill in his eyes.

“So as secretary, any little jobs you need doing, you send ‘em his way. Might find he’s less mouthy than you remember now that he’s a civ.” Johnson pauses. “Course, he’ll be on maternity soon. When’s that again?”

“March.” Pete grunts.

“Considering the size of you, I figured it’d be a lot sooner.” He snorts, and elbows Ice. “Never expected to see this when you signed up, huh?”

“I’m here to make good pilots even better. I have no interest in trying to humiliate civilians.” Ice’s tone is the coldest Pete’s ever heard it. “Maverick’s resignation as an aviator is a great loss to the Navy as far as I’m concerned.”

Johnson blinks at him. Pete does too.

It’s hardly the subtle, ‘pretend we haven’t really spoken’ sort of thing that they’d both agreed to just that morning.

“Well.” Johnson recovers faster than Pete does. “We can’t really have - men who are that way inclined aren’t fit to serve the country.”

“Of course. I know the regulations, Johnson. I understand why he had to go.” Ice shakes his head. “But Maverick is now a civilian, and our career path ensures civilians keep their freedoms to live as they are. Someone’s pregnancy isn’t my concern; the behaviour of a serving officer towards a civilian employee is. Is that clear?”

Johnson’s eyes narrow. “Watch yourself, Iceman. You can’t waltz in here and start making threats just because you’ve got a shiny new title. There’s still a chain of command.”

“And last I checked, unless you’re in that tower launching planes, we’re at the same level.” Ice folds his arms and looks at the unclaimed room opposite Viper’s, then at Pete. “This one my place, Mav?”

“Yes.” Pete hesitates. “Yes, sir.”

Ice’s lip twitches. “Great. Johnson, I think we can put a pin in the tour. My graduation wasn’t even a year ago, unless there’s been a whole remodel, I can remember my way round. What I do need to know is my schedule. Maverick, is that with you?”

“On your desk already.” Pete smiles. “I’m still one step ahead of you, Iceman.”

“Suppose I do need someone to keep me on my toes.” Ice nods. “It’s good to see you again.”

“You too.” He pauses again. “Sir.”

“Hold off on the sir stuff until I make Captain, yeah?” He offers a playful wink, and a casual salute to Johnson, who remains stood there looking thunderous. “If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to inspect my office.”

Ice doesn’t wait for dismissal - Pete lets it sink in that he doesn’t have to, now that he’s a Commander - and steps into said office, closing the door behind him.

Johnson glowers at Pete but doesn’t make any further comments before stomping off.

Through the slats of the blinds in Ice’s office window, Pete makes eye contact. Ice smiles softly at him before picking up the papers left on his desk.

It takes a few minutes for Pete to tear his eyes away from his boyfriend. His ‘concentrating’ face is infuriatingly handsome.

Pete’s a little surprised at how affectionate Ice is with him at Top Gun. Defending him under the guise of just being a good person is one thing, but it’s another to take lunch with him everyday, or squeeze his shoulder in greeting.

No one seems to question it, which is even more surprising. Maybe Ice is just such a good pilot that nobody suspects him of also being gay. Or if they do suspect (or know, like in Viper’s case), there’s nothing concrete to get him, if they even wanted to.

Ice leaving the Navy would practically be a death knell.

And it’s not like Ice is too obvious. It probably just looks like a guy helping his fucked up, pregnant friend. Pete’s only reading into it because he wants to. 

He likes imagining that in another life, one where he and Ice can openly be together, that Ice might kiss his cheek when he passes over students’ paperwork, or wrap an arm around his waist in the mess hall, hand on his belly. It’s a secret thrill, the idea of Ice publicly claiming him, one that Pete has to try to satisfy with only smiles and brief brushes of their hands.

They make up for the lack of contact when they’re at home, a home which is still only in Pete’s name. Ice has been assigned temporary quarters on base, and neither of them have yet figured out a heterosexual excuse for why Ice would move in with him.

It makes things a bit long-winded, saying goodbye to each other at the end of the work day just for Ice to drive over to the house less than an hour after. Everyone on base must think Ice is a real womaniser, never in his own bed.

Sometimes Pete wonders what theu would think if they knew he’s the one Ice is cuddling every night, if they knew that at least one of Ice’s hands stays practically glued to Pete’s belly the moment he gets in.

The bump hasn’t stopped growing lately, it feels like every day Pete’s got a brand new stretch mark, and honestly he doesn’t know what he’d do if Ice wasn’t around. The baby is so heavy now, and Pete can’t even argue when someone tells him to get off his feet, because shit, it’s getting difficult to lug her around.

In the evenings after a particularly hard day, Pete has to make himself feel better by complaining to Ice.

“My back hurts and it’s all your fault.” He grumbles through a mouthful of (admittedly delicious) pasta.

“I know, Mav. I’m sorry. But you’re doing really well, and you’ve only got two more months.” Ice’s fork scrapes against the side of his bowl as he stabs at his own pasta. “I’ll give you a back rub after dinner, will that help?”

“I hope so.” He grunts. “Why is your daughter so big? Tell her to stop growing, I feel like I’ve got a boulder in me.”

“She needs to keep growing to stay healthy, you know that.” Ice sets his bowl down, hand settling back to its usual place on Pete’s belly. “I know it’s tough, but you’ve got this. I promise.”

“And my skin’s so itchy.”

“Your stretchmarks? I’ll get some moisturiser.”

“Don’t call them stretchmarks.” Pete huffs. “It’s embarrassing.”

He shoves another forkful of pasta into his mouth while Ice hums and pets his belly. No matter how achy Pete’s feeling, the thrill of Ice caressing his bump never fades, so it never fails to appease him. The good food helps too.

“It’s not embarrassing.” Ice rolls Pete’s t-shirt up, and trails one of the red lines with his fingertip. “It’s cute. Shows how much room you’re making for her. How you’re using your body to cook up our daughter. Means you’re a mommy.”

Pete feels his face heat, as it tends to do whenever Ice calls him mommy or mama. He says it so casually, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and maybe it is. Maybe Pete was always destined to be someone’s mom.

“Do you never find it weird? Calling me that?”

“Course not.” Ice raises his brows. “Why, have you changed your mind on it?”

“No. No, I like it, I wanna be her mom. Just - I don’t know.”

“Do you find it weird to call me daddy?”

“A little.”

“Maybe when she’s here, you’ll find it less weird.” Ice shrugs a shoulder. “We’re still adapting to it all. I guess I’m not really a dad yet, cause she’s not here, but, I don’t know, of course you’re already a mom. You’re growing her, you’re literally making life right now, Mav.”

“I suppose.” Pete reaches the end of his pasta, and looks forlornly at his now-empty bowl. He wants something else. Something crunchy.

“We have leftovers if you want some.” Ice offers to take the bowl. “Can’t have my baby mama going hungry.”

“No, no, not the pasta. It was good, definitely good, but…” Pete purses his lips, hoping to nail down exactly what he wants. He thinks for another few seconds, then locks onto it, like getting tone on a MiG. “Carrots.”

Ice pecks his cheek, then stands. “Carrots coming right up.”

“But not plain carrots. They need barbecue sauce. And garlic.” The baby wriggles, inspiring Pete to add more. “And can you get an apple too? Oh, and salt. Make sure it’s all really salted.”

“Okay.” Ice nods, not even blinking at the demand. “Whatever you want, Pete. Anything else?”

Their daughter shifts again, as Pete mulls it over.

“Yes. I also need a kiss.”

Ice smiles softly at him, that gentle expression he only ever gives to Pete, all the warmth he usually conceals shining through as he bends down and meets his lips tenderly, a hand cradling his cheek.

One of these days, when Ice kisses him like this, Pete’s definitely going to let an ‘I love you’ slip out.

Never in his life did Pete think he’d ever have a problem with his libido, and yet in the seven weeks since Ice has been back, they’ve only had sex once. And even then, ‘sex’ is a strong word for it, compared to what they used to get up to; Ice jerked him off, and Pete returned the favour. That’s the most they’ve done.

Pete just… doesn’t have a sex drive right now. Which is crazy, because his boyfriend is the hottest thing ever, Ice is basically sex on legs, a walking talking temptation with an invisible sign above his head which says ‘Best Fuck In The World’. Ice is hot, sex with Ice is hot, it’s inconceivable that Pete doesn’t want to jump his bones every minute of the day.

Sex just seems so exhausting right now. All those alleged horny hormones other people get when they’re pregnant either never showed up, or they’ve disappeared at some point.

It’s bizarre how much Pete prefers the idea of simple snuggling rather than a dick in the ass. The only reason he’s even dwelling on sex at all is because he’s starting to get worried about Ice.

Ice doesn’t say anything, never pushes, because of course he doesn’t, he’s so frustratingly sweet to him, but Pete frets anyway. Especially when Ice gets morning wood, or when he takes too long in the shower. Because Ice stopped trying to initiate anything after the third time Pete rebuffed him, he hasn’t playfully pinched Pete’s ass in ages, and it’s terrible. He’s not an idiot, Pete knows that Ice has pulled back out of respect, so Pete won’t feel obligated to fuck him or whatever, but there’s an insanity worming around his brain convinced that Ice is going to get bored and sleep with someone else.

Pete has no reason to even think that, and yet the stress is getting to him, maybe he should just lie there and let Ice pound into him, or maybe once they start, he’ll get into the mood.

The worry is there even when Ice is being the most soppy, devoted father-to-be there could be, curled halfway down the bed so he’s eye-level with Pete’s bump, both palms glued to it, peppering kisses to his skin in between coos.

“When you’re here, księżniczko, and I get to cuddle you properly in my arms, I hope you’re not planning on fighting me with those strong little legs of yours. You’re a little karate kid aren’t you? Mm, you get that from mama, your mommy’s feisty just like you.” Ice caresses Pete’s bump, right where the baby’s jabbing him. “What’s daddy gonna do with his two feisty family members, huh? You need to be a bit more calculated to be a master aviator. I know mommy can pull it off, but watching him fly could be so scary, no way I’m gonna let my baby girl fly like that, okay? No stunts from you, princess, my heart won’t be able to take it. Cool and careful flying only.”

“Last I heard, you flew like you were insane on yesterday’s hop.” Pete rolls his eyes, stretching his leg to nudge Ice’s foot with his own, though it’s difficult to do so when he can’t see past his belly. “Something about a triple loop-de-loop and then a thirty second inversion?”

“Wanted to show the students what it’s like to fly with a real maverick of a pilot. Teach them how to deal with that.” Ice smirks at him, then looks back to the bump. “When you’re here, and a bit bigger, daddy will take you to work and you can have a good look at some of the planes. We can have a little family outing to the landing strip, maybe we sneak mommy into a cockpit.”

“You’ve been saying that for ages, and it’s not happened.” Pete grunts. “Starting to think you’re a liar.”

“Mav, I mean this gently, but you’re pretty big now.” Ice runs his hands over Pete’s bump. “I don’t think you’ll be able to fit in the cockpit until after our baby girl arrives.” 

Pete purses his lips, but can’t deny it. The thought of folding himself up into the pilot’s seat in his current state is enough of a deterrent.

“And that’s because you’re growing so well, maleńka! Ten more weeks of growing, and then you’re going to be out here with us, aren’t you? So exciting.”

It’s a bit scary, to hear it phrased like that. Only ten more weeks, and then they’ll have an actual human baby. It feels like it’s come round too quick; as exhausting as pregnancy is, as much as it drags on, Pete still sort of feels like he only just found out about her. He’s never been thorough when preparing for anything except take-off, and the fact that the nursery has barely been started prickles at his skin. God, she doesn’t even have a name.

Pete must have made the spike of panic too obvious - maybe he tensed up, maybe it’s his expression, or something in between - and Ice sits up immediately, brow wrinkled in concern.

“Mav? What’s up?”

“Nothing.” Pete shakes his head. “But… ten more weeks? There’s still so much I have to do.”

“So much we have to do.” Ice corrects. “There’s time, Mav. Is this about the nursery? Because trust me, I know it seems like a lot, but I’ve worked it out, promise. It’ll be finished by the time you’re eight months, I have it planned.”

“We don’t even have a crib.” Pete frowns at him. “Or one of those car-seat things. Plus I don’t think I’ve got her enough toys. And the room needs painting, she can’t have boring white walls.”

“My mom’s giving us my old crib, and -”

“Your mom knows?” Pete’s not sure why he’s so surprised. Of course Ice would’ve told his family about his upcoming fatherhood, of course he would have, but Pete’s never even met Ice’s family, and surely they have concerns. Concerns about him, concerns about their relationship, how much of a terrible impact it will have on Ice’s career if the wrong person catches on.

“Obviously my mom knows. And my dad, and my sister.” Ice sounds confused. “We’re having a baby, how could I not tell them?”

“And they’re not… yknow. Upset? Disappointed?” Pete bites his lip. “Do they know I’m a guy?”

“Pete. They know everything. God, Sarah’s known about you since probably week three of Top Gun, I can’t hide shit from her. None of them are upset. My dad’s a little worried, only in case the Navy find out, but mom and Sarah are both over the moon. Sarah’s not had kids yet, so everyone’s looking forward to the first grandbaby, no way could they be disappointed.” Ice caresses Pete’s cheek. “They’re happy for me. For us. So yeah, we’re getting my old crib.”

“When?” Pete frowns. “Are they coming here?”

“Dad’s still trying to get some leave hours, so it probably won’t be til after she’s arrived, but the crib’ll be shipped over in time, promise.”

“I’ve never met anyone’s parents before.” Pete bites the inside of his lip. “I can be out, when they come, if you’d prefer them not to-”

“C’mon, Mav, of course I want you to meet them. They’re gonna need to know both members of my new family, not just our daughter.” Ice cards his fingers through Pete’s hair. “They’ll love you. You can be charming when you want to be.”

“Mm.” He cups his belly, feeling his baby shift beneath his palm. “Even if I’m endangering your career?”

“After you’ve had to give up yours? Not a chance.” Ice pecks a kiss to Pete’s cheek. “You’re my boyfriend, idiot. And I only want the best of the best.”

“Sounds like you’ve settled quite a bit then.”

“I never settle for anything.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it, you’re the Iceman.” Pete rolls his eyes, and decides to drop it for now. Ice has heard enough about his insecurities. “... Week three of Top Gun, huh?”

“What?” Ice’s cheeks flush, such a rarity that Pete wants to commit to memory the exact hue of red. “Oh. Yes. Well-”

“You’ve had the hots for me since week three. That’s very flattering, Kazansky, but I have a boyfriend.”

“Okay, I never said I had the hots for you, I said Sarah knew about you, the mouthy little shit who flies like a madman.”

“And what did Sarah say?”

Ice purses his lips and looks away. “Said that I needed to get on with it and fuck you already.”

Pete laughs. “Aw. Iceman had a crush on little old me?”

“I didn’t have a crush-”

“You did! This is great. I bet when you gave me that whole little ‘you’re so dangerous, blah, blah, blah’ speech in the locker room, you went back to your bunk feeling all flustered.”

“Not flustered, annoyed. Because you’re annoying.”

“Yeah?” Pete snorts. “Bet it was real annoying, when you jerked off thinking about how much better I am at flying than you.”

“Sure, whatever you want to tell yourself.”

“Did you?” Pete asks, before he can stop himself.

“Did I what?” Ice stretches out as he lays down properly, arm snaking around Pete’s waist as usual.

“Jerk off thinking about me? Before we slept together.”

“Maybe once or twice.”

“And was I as good as you imagined?”

“More than.” Ice’s voice seems quieter, but Pete presses on.

“What about during your deployment? Did you think about me then? When you read my letters?”

“Mhm.”

“Yeah? You ever imagine what we could’ve done, if I’d been on the ship with you?” Pete pushes more, eager to know exactly how often Ice thought of him, exactly what Ice wanted to do. “Like if we slipped away to the bunks, or a storage closet, or maybe in a plane.”

He feels Ice take a few deep breaths, then a quiet huff, and the arm around him is quickly withdrawn as he sits up.

“What? Where are you going?”

“Bathroom.” Ice grunts.

Pete frowns at him. “I was just teasing, Ice, you don’t have to be embarrassed. It’s cute, really, I like that you wanted me.”

“Not embarrassed.” Ice steps gingerly towards the doorway. “Don’t worry, I’m fine.”

“Ice, I promise, I didn’t mean it in a bad way. Come back here.” Pete sits up too, with a grunt of his own due to the weight of his belly. “Fuck, I feel big today, don’t make your pregnant boyfriend chase you down the hall, I’m getting too heavy for that.”

Ice makes a quiet groaning noise. “‘S fine, Mav, I’m fine, just -”

“Tom, please.”

“Oh, fuck.” Ice mutters under his breath, and Pete watches his hand dart to cup the crotch of his boxers.

Ah. Pete’s stupid. Ice is stiffening up.

“You want me to sort that out?” He asks, trying to ignore the sting of hurt that goes through him, that Ice would so blatantly flee.

“No.” Ice says, far too firmly.

The tone, let alone the refusal, is enough to make tears spring into Pete’s eyes. Tears he thought were left behind with the insane mood swings he was having a few months back.

“Oh.”

Panic flits across Ice’s face, followed by a grimace. “Pete, of course I want you to, but I know you don’t. I know you don’t feel sexy right now, and that’s fine, promise. You’re not obligated to get me off.”

Pete sighs, and rubs a hand over his face. “I know. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I know I’d usually be hard as a rock looking at you, but I just… I don’t know.”

“It’s probably hormones.” Ice offers, leaning against the doorframe, eyes softening. “Nothing’s wrong with you Mav. You’re having a baby, that’s probably doing all sorts of things to your body chemistry right now.”

“I wish it wasn’t.” Pete huffs. “I miss sex. I miss wanting sex, I miss having sex, I miss you, I really want to feel desperate for you and your dick, and sometimes I worry it’ll never come back and - Just, please let me help you.”

“Of course it will come back, Mav.” Ice says, soothing. “And even if it never does, that’s okay. We can figure something out, something that will make you feel good, even if it’s not the sort of thing we used to do. It’ll be fine.”

“Please get back over here and let me jerk you off.” Pete pauses. “Unless I’m not sexy to you right now either, which -”

“Of course you’re sexy. You’re so fucking sexy.” Ice runs a hand through his hair. “God, Mav, you look amazing. Do you have any idea what it feels like, for me to look at you and see how you’re growing my baby? It drives me crazy. You drive me crazy.”

“But I’m so…” Pete gestures at himself, unable to find the words.

“Gorgeous? Hot? Attractive?” Ice raises a brow. “I’m half-hard already, Mav, just from a bit of dirty talk. You think someone else could get me like this? Not a chance.”

“Then come here and prove it.” Pete huffs, and Ice bows his head, returning to the bed.

He hooks a few fingers into his waistband, then pauses. “You sure? I don’t want to push you into-”

Pete shuts him up by tugging Ice’s boxers down himself.

Pete’s libido comes back to him only a day later, at a very inconvenient time.

All he does is step into Ice’s classroom, to drop off the weekly reports, and then bam. There’s that familiar spark of heat in his gut, spurred on just from a sunbeam coming through the window and highlighting the angles of Ice’s face. It’s been such a long time since he’s felt these stirrings, that for a moment he can only stare, as if Ice isn’t holding his hand out expectantly, with a cohort of elite aviators watching them.

“Maverick?” Ice says after a moment. “Did you need me?”

It’s stupid, that Ice still stubbornly, pointedly calls him Maverick at Top Gun, sticking to it even now that Pete’s bump is basically the size of a small plane. Like he doesn’t want to let anyone forget that before this, Pete was a pilot with a callsign and a career ahead of him, as if saying it enough times will get the Navy to change their minds and reinstate him.

It’s dumb, but Pete likes it. He likes everything about Ice, and god did he forget that Ice could get him aroused with just a look. That’s one of things Pete likes most.

“Uh.” Pete clears his throat. “Apologies. It’s just the weeklys, Commander.”

Commander. He wonders how much Ice likes being called that. If he likes the way Pete says it, if he’d like it more if Pete moaned it at the top of his lungs.

He hands off the report, and hopes he’s not blushing.

“What kind of name is Maverick for a pregnant guy?” One of the students (is that the one called Crook or is it Kraken?) pipes up, voice derisive.

Ice’s eyes snap to him immediately. “You refer to him as ‘Mr Mitchell’ or ‘Sir’, or do you need a reminder on how to properly address civilian staff?”

“I didn’t mean it like -” The student huffs. “Commander. I just meant I didn’t think civs were given callsigns. Especially not, yknow. People like Mr Mitchell.”

Ice slaps the reports onto his desk and folds his arms. Pete takes a second to appreciate his hands. He wants them gripping his body, maybe one on his thigh and the other on his nape.

“Do you want to clarify that, Kraken?” Ice’s eyes narrow, tone just a few shades shy of chilling.

“Um.” Kraken hesitates, glancing at Pete. “Just… The type of guy who wouldn’t know a F-14 from an A-4. Don’t get me wrong, Mr Mitchell, I’m sure you know plenty about, uh… I don’t know, handbags? But not really Navy stuff.”

Pete can’t help but snort. “Right. Sure.”

“Hm.” Ice doesn’t smirk even a little bit. “Mav, take a seat.”

“What?” Pete’s amusement is swiftly replaced by intrigue, a curiosity that’s sharpened by how attractive Ice’s thinking face is.

“Let’s call it an education piece. A pop quiz for everyone.”

“Viper’s got a meeting in twenty minutes, I’m meant to be -”

“Tell him it’s my fault you got waylaid. Take a seat.” Ice gestures to an empty seat at the end of the first row, beside a brown-haired pilot who might be named Moonman.

With a raised brow, Pete waddles over, and suppresses the embarrassment when the chair creaks under him and causes a few titters.

“Alright.” Ice sits back against his desk, and again the sun hits him just right. Pete allows himself a second to think about sucking a hickey above the collar, where everyone can see it. “We’re doing true or false. We’ll start easy. The F-14 is longer than an A-4. Raise hands for true?”

Oh. Pete sends Ice another questioning look as he raises his hand, along with the rest of the class.

Ice nods. “Good. The A-4 only has one gun.”

No hands raise.

Another nod. “F-14’s use AIM-52 Phoenix missiles.”

Pete rolls his eyes at the obvious ploy, only for three hands around him to raise. Ice clicks his tongue.

“False. It’s AIM-54, Lieutenants. Focus, please.” Ice shakes his head. “The P-51 has a max speed of 440.”

Four hands go up alongside Pete’s own. Ice nods again.

“F-14’s have a wingspan of 64 feet.”

Most hands go up, but Pete stays his. Ice sends him a brief and slightly concerned look, as he nods.

“The-”

“Sorry, Commander Kazansky.” Pete interrupts. “I assumed we were being a little more accurate than that. It’s 64 feet, 1.5 inches, sir.”

A murmur ripples through the room as Ice’s eyes brighten.

“You’re correct, Mav. I suppose I’m going easy on the learners in the room.” He smiles wolfishly. “Can we keep you for a few more?”

“I’m sure Viper’ll be fine with it.” Pete folds both his hands over his bump, and decides to read a desire in Ice’s face that matches his own. They’ve always been competitive after all, and it’s exciting to be working together on making fools out of others.

“Great. The closest range any aviator’s had with MiG 28 is 2 metres above them.”

A few hesitant hands.

“One and a half.” Pete corrects.

“Allegedly, yes.” Ice smirks. “This close contact was when performing a 4G inverted dive. True?”

Pete raises his hand, the only one.

“Not possible, MiG 28s can’t-”

“I suggest you brush up on your studies, Kraken.” Ice shakes his head. “The pilot saw it with his own eyes.”

“From above the MiG? How is that possible?”

“He was inverted, Lieutenant.” Ice flips his hands to demonstrate, exactly as Pete had all those many, many months ago. 

“Bullshit.” Kraken frowns.

“I thought the same. But there’s photographic evidence, we should have it around somewhere.” Ice tilts his head, and god, his smirk is so infuriatingly sexy. “Last one, shall we? My RIO and I were completely uncontested as the highest point scorers throughout the entirety of our Top Gun season.”

All hands raise, except Pete. Ice’s smirk grows.

“An issue with that, Mav?”

“I’d argue it was very contested until about three weeks before graduation.” Pete stands, a hand on his belly to support himself as he does. “I remember you being, what, five points behind before my resignation?”

“It was only four.” Ice smiles at him, and glances back at the class. “You still keep that MiG photo on you? They might want to see what it looks like when a real maverick takes to the air.”

Pete sort of wants to kiss him very badly, a deep pride settling in his chest in a way that hasn’t in a while. Sure, maybe it’s just showing off to a bunch of kids, but it feels like more, like he’s in the cockpit again for a few minutes.

He fishes Goose’s polaroid out of his wallet and passes it to Ice, who holds it carefully.

“Give it back at lunch, yeah?”

“Mhm. Thanks for dropping by Mav.” Ice nods. “See you at lunch.”

And even by the time Pete gets back to Viper’s office, his want is still burning, kindled only by the thought of Ice’s pretty eyes.

Libido’s definitely back, and clearly eager to make up for lost time.

“You okay? You look a bit flushed.” Ice glances at the closed blinds of his office window, and leans in to press his palm to Pete’s forehead.

The closeness does nothing to tamp down the lust that’s been simmering over the few hours since the pop quiz. Pete can only lean into his touch, and stare at his lips.

As students, they agreed they’d never fuck on the base. It’s too risky, even the tempting thrill of getting it on in an abandoned storage closet wasn’t worth the consequences of being found out.

That being said, Pete wonders if maybe Ice’s office with privacy blinds and a lockable door could become an exception to that rule. Wonders if maybe Ice would fuck him on the desk if he asked. Can he even get fucked on the desk, with his baby bump the size it is? Seems like it could hurt his back.

“Pete?”

Oh. Seems he got a little too distracted thinking about office sex. Ice has got concern written all over his face. Seeing Ice’s face when he came yesterday was great, the bliss in his eyes and how he’d thrown his head back. Thank god Pete’s sex drive is back, because he wants to see that a dozen more times by next week.

“Lock your door.”

Ice frowns at him. “What? Are you alright?”

“Lock the door and take your pants off.” Pete demands. There’s no reason for any delay, no time to pussyfoot around it.

“Mav, what are you talking about?”

Pete huffs. “Hurry up and fuck me, Kazansky.”

Ice’s eyes brighten immediately, and he moves faster than Pete’s ever seen him, darting to the door and checking the blinds with the determination of a man on a mission.

Then he’s leaning over Pete, one hand on the back of his chair, the other cradling Pete’s cheek, and kissing him ferociously.

All their kisses are good, but there’s something extra incredible about this one. The firmness, the desire, the hunger that can only come from a long, long time of want.

Pete rakes his hand through Ice’s hair, licking into him fiercely, every nerve in his body aching for him. God he needs Ice. Needs his boyfriend so fucking bad, he hasn’t been fucked in so long, and now he’s desperate.

“Pete.” Ice murmurs, and his words are continuously cut off by more kisses. “Pete. God. Promise you want this? Not just doing this for me?”

“I have never been so horny in my fucking life.” Pete is unable to get his own sentence out without punctuating it with needy pecks to Ice’s lips.

Ice lets out a quiet moan, and both his hands are on Pete’s back, fingers dragging along his shirt.

“Let’s get you out of this.” Ice nips Pete’s lower lip, then his jaw, as he starts unbuttoning the shirt. “Before we make a mess.”

“Yes, Commander.”

“Mm. Can’t do that, it’ll get me going every time you say it.”

“You don’t want that, Commander? Even if I’ve been… disrespectful, sir?”

“You’re always disrespectful.” Ice grunts, then swears once he has enough of Pete’s shirt undone to see his plump chest, shape further defined by the bra. “Your tits, Mav, my god.”

“Sounds like you’re the straightest man in the Navy.”

Ice tuts, and bows his head to kiss Pete’s breasts, making him shiver, before resuming his undressing, mouth following his hands.

“You’re so big now.” He mumbles as he plants kisses over the curve of Pete’s bump, lingering at his navel and tonguing his belly button. It’s sort of ridiculous, but Pete writhes at the attention anyway, because shit, he’s so sensitive everywhere. “You’re really fucking pregnant.”

“And who’s fault is that?” Pete cards through Ice’s hair.

“All mine.” The pride in Ice’s voice is impossible to miss, and he moves on to Pete’s pants, unzipping his fly and peeling them down.

This is where it gets difficult, Pete knows. He hasn’t seen his own dick in a while, it’s hidden beneath his bump, and finding an angle for Ice to access it is probably impossible in this chair.

Ice pulls back, assessing his office. His gaze lingers on his desk, but then moves on, and Pete is going to be so fucking mad if they’ve gotten to this point just for his reborn sex drive to be ignored. Maybe all offices should just come with beds.

“Ice.” Pete lets himself whine after a minute of no attention.

“You’re going to sit on my lap.” Ice decides, and tugs his own uniform off.

Then in one quick swoop, Pete is lifted into his arms. Ice grunts a little, and Pete pretends that it’s nothing to do with how heavy he is. Ice takes the chair, and Pete settles on his lap, back to chest.

“Are you sure this will work?”

“Yes.” Ice pulls at Pete’s hips, manoeuvring him into a slightly different angle, and Pete feels a rockhard dick pressing into him. It’s definitely been too long, if Ice is fully erect already. Not that Pete can judge; he feels only a few strokes away from bursting, and nothing’s even happened yet.

From this position, Pete has to crane his neck to look at Ice, let alone to kiss him, but it’ll have to do until they get home.

Ice spits in his hand, and winds his arm round to palm at Pete’s dick, while the fingers of his other hand brush against Pete’s lips.

Obligingly, Pete opens wide, and takes three digits into his mouth. He licks them, sucks them, swallows them just past the knuckles, the moans caused by the ministrations to his dick muffled as his tongue slides up and down Ice’s fingers. Every time he feels as though he could reach climax, Ice stops stroking him, and all the while Pete’s thighs twitch in anticipation with Ice’s dick throbbing against the crack of his ass, a few dribbles of pre-cum against his skin.

Pete grinds into Ice’s lap in hopes of more, but Ice doesn’t buck into him, even though his breath hitches. Instead, he’s more focused on gathering up every bit of Pete’s own pre-cum, and presses his fingers harder into Pete’s tongue.

He chokes a little, half from the fingers, and half from the saliva.

“Just a little bit more slick.” Ice croons into his ear. “Don’t wanna hurt you.”

Pete wants to groan at him, but his mouth is full, so he just makes another whining noise instead, and Ice’s cock digs into him.

“Such pretty noises.” Ice purrs. “But you’re gonna have to be quiet for me here.”

“Mmf.” Pete replies, writhing when Ice squeezes the base of his dick.

Finally, he removes his fingers, glistening with spit, and gently tilts Pete forward a bit.

“I suppose I’ll have to stash some lube here.” Ice says, tone lazy as he probes Pete with his first finger, making him hiss. “Your hole must be so tight right now, been so long since you’ve had a dick in you. Gotta loosen you up, don’t I? I’ll fuck you enough times to keep you gaping, yeah?”

Pete moans, and Ice shushes him.

“Quiet, you. You’re going to get us in trouble. You dangerous, dangerous man.”

“That’s me.” Pete grits out, fighting the burn of Ice’s finger. Compared to being fully lubed up, a bit of spit is no help at all, and being on base is the only reason he doesn’t yelp.

“Let me know when you’re ready for two.” Ice whispers in his ear, nipping his lobe.

“‘M ready.” Pete pants, even though he’s probably not. “More. More, Ice, want you now.”

“You have me, you’ve got me.” Ice’s middle finger starts easing in, and tears prick in Pete’s eyes, biting his lips to stop from crying out.

Ice leans forward and captures Pete’s lips, the kiss hot and tender. Their tongues stay curled around each other as Ice’s second finger burrows deeper, as he scissors them inside Pete, as the pain blurs with pleasure.

“Three?” Ice murmurs against Pete’s lips.

Pete wants to say no, wants the prep over, wants to be speared on Ice’s dick right fucking now, but the ache of the stretch right now says otherwise.

He nods, wordless, and Ice holds him tighter as the final finger ekes in, once again muffling Pete’s moan with a firm kiss.

“Doing so well, Pete.” Ice whispers, his free hand skittering up Pete’s body to tweak his nipple. “Doing so good for me.”

Pete just pulls him in for another kiss, rocking into Ice’s fingers a little more with every second that passes without pain.

After what could be minutes or what could be years, once the sting dulls, Ice withdraws his fingers, and the tip of his dick finally nudges into Pete’s ass. 

Pete groans, and Ice does the same, moving his fist back to Pete’s dick after he’s guided himself in.

“Feels so good.” Pete pants as Ice buries deeper and deeper. “So hot.”

“You feel amazing.” Ice murmurs back, pumping Pete’s dick gently. “Missed this. Missed your greedy, greedy hole, you always take me so fucking good.”

“Yes.” Pete hisses. “Yes, need you, need your dick.”

He squirms as Ice waits for a few seconds before moving. The thrusts are slow, gentle, and ordinarily Pete would beg for something more, something harder, but after so many months apart, it’s beyond intoxicating. His hands scrabble along Ice’s arms, nails digging into him with every rock of the hips, and meets his mouth clumsily as he moans and moans and moans.

Ice moans too, pumping Pete’s dick faster and faster, bucking into him with a little more ferocity.

It doesn’t take very long at all for Pete to cum; it’s been a long time, after all, and after only a handful of those rougher thrusts, he’s shooting out all over Ice’s hand, insides mush and bones jelly.

“Fuck, Mav.” Ice’s voice is gruff. “Fuck.”

“Mmm.” Pete grunts in response, melting into him, eyes drooping in his bliss. Fuck, he forgot how good it feels. They should just be doing this all the time, who even needs a job?

“You’re so perfect.” Ice mumbles. “So perfect for me, Pete, I - I’m nearly there.”

Pete squeezes his thighs together, and Ice clutches him tighter.

“God, honey, I love you so much.” He pants, and then he’s cumming inside, as Pete’s mind puts an immediate halt in revelling from his orgasm.

He says nothing for a moment, he can only lounge in Ice’s lap as Ice holds him close, pressing soft kisses on Pete’s shoulder as they both recover.

He lets his body stay limp when Ice lifts him off of his dick and rests him in the chair alone, just watches his boyfriend dig through the drawers of his desk and then the cabinets, keeping the hand that’s coated in Pete’s cum aloft.

Finally, Ice seems to decide that the roll of paper towels is the closest thing they’ve got for a good clean-up, and gets a start on tidying. His own hand is first, of course, but then Pete comes next, even though Ice’s dick is still dribbling down his leg.

Ice gets on his knees, and wipes Pete down tenderly. All the while, Pete’s mind spins and spins, heart fluttering madly.

“You okay?” Ice asks, gentle. “Was I too rough? I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“You love me.”

A pause, Ice’s paper towel going still.

“What?”

“You love me. You called me honey.” Pete repeats, and now that he’s said it out loud he can’t stop smiling. “You love me ‘so much’.”

“I - Pete.” Ice’s cheeks go pink. “C’mon, don’t… I thought - Pete, you’re my boyfriend.”

“And you’re mine.” Pete cradles his bump. “My boyfriend who loves me.”

“Don’t tease me.” Ice grumbles. “It’s fine, if you’re not there yet, I won’t say it again, but don’t be an ass.”

“What?” That cuts through the euphoria a bit. “I love you too, obviously. Are you stupid?”

Ice squeezes Pete’s knee. “You don’t have to-”

“I’m in love with you, Tom. I’m having your baby, idiot, I told you I kept her because she’s yours.” Pete smiles at him. “And you tell me I’m a bad listener.”

“Oh.” It takes a second, and then Ice is beaming at him. “You’re going to get sick of hearing me say it. Because Pete Mitchell, I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you.”

Pete melts, feeling a bit stupid for getting so affected by all this, puckering his lips to make Ice rise from the floor to kiss him.

“I hope one day you’ll get to call me Pete Kazansky.” He mumbles, and Ice brushes their noses together.

“Keep talking like that, and I’ll keep us locked in here the rest of the day.”

As much as Pete loves the idea, the lunch hour is only so long, and they’re going to have to use the rest of it to make themselves presentable again.

If anyone sees him walking funny, hopefully they’ll think it’s because of nothing but the baby bump.

“You’re doing it wrong.”

Ice looks at the paintbrush he’s holding, then back at Pete. “No I’m not.”

“You’re going to make it stripey and bad. Give it here.”

“I am not doing it wrong, you’re meant to paint vertically, it’s all going to dry the same colour, there won’t be any stripes.” Ice waves the paintbrush at him, brow furrowed. “Sit back down.”

Pete rolls his eyes. “Just let me-”

“No.” Ice dips the brush back into the bucket, and makes another streaky purple line on the wall. “I told you, you’re not lifting a finger.”

Grumbling, Pete eases himself back into the rocking chair. Ice does have a point, unfortunately; his bump is far too big for him to do anything actually useful for the nursery, even if he did sneak in and do the painting himself, he might not even be able to reach the wall, blocked by his own belly.

Their daughter just doesn’t seem to stop growing, and Pete’s paying the price.

He settles a hand on his bump, caressing it as she rolls inside him, kicking at his diaphragm, like breathing isn’t hard enough as it is.

“Your baby is trying to suffocate me.” Pete huffs, glaring when Ice makes another stripe of purple. “She’s suffocating me because you’re making her room ugly.”

“Baby, stop suffocating mama.” Ice says unhelpfully.

“She can’t hear you from over there, and even if she could, she’s busy being upset that she’s getting the worst nursery in the world.”

“Maverick.” Ice’s voice is flat. “You said you trusted me to do this. You don’t have to sit here and commentate, go watch TV or something. Read a baby name book.”

Pete pouts at the back of Ice’s head. “I trusted you until I saw what a shit job you’re doing.”

“It’s going to dry fine! And she’s a baby, she’s not going to care if her walls are a bit splotchy.”

“I’ll care.” Pete grunts back. “I’m going to call Carole and make her come and do it, Brad’s nursery was so cute.”

“I’m sure Carole would love to see you, but you told her last week that you’re not accepting visitors until after the baby comes.”

“That was last week, things change.” Pete waves it off, then winces when the baby jabs him sharply. “Easy in there, sweetheart, c’mon.”

“Are you hurting?” Ice straightens up at that, lowering his brush as he studies Pete’s face. “Is everything-”

“Everything’s fine.” Pete shakes his head, and glowers at the glob of paint that drips onto the floor, rather than the stupidly small square of plastic sheeting Ice had put down. “I think I’m just tired.”

“I bet.” Ice says gently, setting down the paintbrush before approaching, pecking a kiss to his forehead. “Only like, seven more weeks, alright?”

“That’s not enough time.” Pete shuts his eyes, leaning his head against the back of his chair. “It’s not enough and it’s too much.”

Ice hums and squeezes Pete’s shoulder. “I know, babe. I know.”

“I can’t believe she’s still going to grow.” Pete adds, pinching his brow. “I don’t have room to grow, I’m barely walking as it is. And what if she’s too big, and she can’t come out?”

“Your body will make room.” Ice soothes. “If moving around gets too much, you can go on maternity early. And she’ll come out fine, Mav, once she’s out here, we’ll think she’s tiny.”

“Mm.” Pete huffs again. “... She’s just so heavy, Ice.”

“I know, baby.” Ice kisses him again, cradling Pete’s belly with his own palm. “I know she is. You’re doing so well, there’s just a bit longer.”

Pete hangs his head and sighs. “And her nursery’s going to be horrible.”

“It is not.” Ice flicks his shoulder. “Let me handle it, okay? You focus on resting, on cooking her up, and then if you think it looks bad once I finish it, then you can take over.”

It doesn’t take much more for Pete to acquiesce, particularly as Ice gives him another tender kiss.

At the gentle suggestion from Dr Bardo following the week thirty-three appointment, Pete gives in and requests to start his maternity leave.

Viper grants it, obviously, and Pete’s expecting that to be the end of the matter, only to be called to the landing strip on the last hour of his final day.

He hasn’t been to the landing strip in a long time - not a lot of admin happens there, after all - so his legs feel a little shaky as he makes his way there. His mind jumps to the worst; Ice was running a hop today. What if something’s happened? He couldn’t handle it. Losing Ice would destroy him in ways that Pete can’t imagine coming back from.

He does his best to keep his expression schooled as he walks through the suspiciously empty hangar, and scrabbles to think of a less distressing reason he’d be called out here. For a brief second, he entertains the thought they’re letting him back in a plane.

He steps out, readying for the worst.

“Oh god.” Pete groans.

“Surprise!” It looks like half of fucking Top Gun are crowded out here, officers, students and support staff alike, most of them grinning like idiots.

Ice looks particularly self-satisfied, a glint in his eyes and a smirk on his face. It was probably his idea. What a bastard.

There’s a banner strung across an F-14 with Best Wishes! painted on it, several bunches of balloons strewn about, and a table with a few wrapped presents on it, alongside some blue and pink cupcakes. A handful of chairs have been dragged out too, the uncomfortable folding plastic ones, with only one having a seat cushion.

“What am I looking at here?” Pete can’t help the bemused smile on his face, resting his hands on his hips as he surveys the tiny mob.

“It’s your going away party.” Viper gestures to the cushioned chair. “Take a seat Mitchell. You’re a damn good secretary, and god knows I’m gonna struggle keeping my schedule straight til you come back.”

“This is a little much.” Pete snorts, but obliges. “It’s just a few months.”

“We’ll have to hope Top Gun can keep itself together that long.” Ice pats Pete on the back once, hand not lingering as it would if they were in private.

“Can’t believe you didn’t warn me about this.” Pete tuts at him. “What happened to being wingmen?”

“As if you’d return the favour.” Ice looks at Viper. “Besides, I didn’t know about it until this morning.”

“Didn’t want you to ruin the surprise.” Viper shakes his head. “It’s just something small we threw together for you, Maverick. Wanted us all to pitch in and get a few things, show you our appreciation.”

“Well. Thank you everyone.” Pete smiles. “If I’d known it comes with a party and presents, I’d have gotten myself knocked up much sooner.”

There are a few laughs, and then one of the gifts is pressed into Pete’s hands, then another, then another, wrapping paper getting thrown across the tarmac.

Someone gets out a bottle of champagne, most of the students grabbing a drink, while Pete is stuck nursing a lemonade, and Ice has water out of solidarity. The focus drifts away from him, which he’s thankful for, and instead people break out into the own conversations.

Viper, Ice and Jester do not, sticking to Pete like glue, and it’s all light-hearted until Kraken strides up to him, looking far too bold.

“So. We’ve all been wondering. Is the father someone from your Top Gun cohort?”

Pete coughs around his swallow of lemonade, and Ice’s jaw squares.

“Excuse me?” Pete frowns at the gall, tries to keep himself from looking guilty.

“The father of your baby.” Kraken’s eyes slide towards Ice’s face. “Someone who took a grounded position for you, maybe?”

“Not that it’s any of your concern, Lieutenant, but it was a one night stand.” Pete sips his lemonade. “At a bar you’re probably familiar with.”

Kraken scowls. “Why would I go to a gay bar?”

“I don’t know, why would you care who the father of my baby is?”

Kraken looks at Ice again. Ice stares back at him, folding his arms.

“Is there something you’d like to say, Kraken?” Ice’s question is dripping with hostility.

“It’s you, isn’t it? You’re-”

“Now that’s enough.” Viper barks. “That is your superior officer, Lieutenant. And as you can clearly see, after an initial investigation, Maverick was the only member of his Top Gun cohort found to be involved in that sort of thing. You think Iceman would be a Commander here if he was too?”

Kraken’s brow furrows, as if he’d never considered that.

“But…” He frowns hard. “But you’re both so… I’ve seen the ultrasound in your wallet. Sir.”

Ice doesn’t blink, even as Pete feels a jolt of panic.

“Yeah.” He tilts his head. “If some guy who knocked up your best friend then abandoned him, wouldn't you step in to help out? That baby’s gonna need a father figure, what sort of man am I if I don’t give him a hand?”

Pete winces internally. It sounds ridiculous. No one in their right mind would buy that.

“I want kids but I haven’t found a good wife yet. Don’t see a problem filling the gap in the meantime, do you?”

But maybe it’s the way Ice speaks, as if it’s all so obvious, like anyone would do the same, it’s oddly compelling. Kraken even looks a little ashamed.

Pete risks a glance at Viper, and sees him struggling to keep his face schooled. To his left, Jester looks a bit like he’s trying not to laugh.

“Of course. Sorry sir.” Kraken looks down at his shoes, and Ice clicks his tongue.

“Dismissed.” Ice waves him off, then claps his hand back on Pete’s shoulder. “You okay, Mav?”

“I think bewildered’s probably a good word for whatever it is I’m feeling right now.” Pete scoffs. “Uh. Thank you again, for helping me with all this. I’m kind of glad the dad walked out on us.”

“He’s missing out, Pete. But you’ll make another man very lucky some day.” Ice pats him again, and returns to the table to get another water.

Not for the first time, Pete finds himself in awe of Ice’s unwaveringly cool approach to challenges, how devastatingly calm he can be.

If anyone’s the lucky man here, it’s definitely Pete.

Since beginning maternity leave, Pete is finding it increasingly more difficult to sleep. It must be some combination of not getting enough simulation during the day, the baby’s restlessness, and the growing realisation that next month there’s going to be a brand new human being in this house.

An actual human being who will need lots of care, lots of attention and lots of love. A real person, not just some distant idea concept.

Pete stares at the wall, though he can’t see very much of it in the dark. Ice’s arms are wrapped around him snugly, his sleeping breaths tickling the back of Pete’s neck. With the bump as big as it is now, spooning’s been the only position that’s comfortable for both of them. It’s not Pete’s favourite, but it’ll have to do until she’s here.

One more month.

And she still doesn’t have a name.

The baby must sense that he’s thinking about her, because she kicks him, a firm strike right where Ice’s palm is. Pete feels Ice’s hand twitch, then a caress from the pad of his thumb.

It’s cute that even in sleep, Ice is still utterly obsessed with responding to all of their daughter’s movements. Sometimes Pete thinks that deep down, Ice was made to be a dad, not a pilot. It’s impossible to imagine laying here with anyone else.

Another wiggle from the baby, but this time it’s one of those that’s too soft to be felt anywhere but the inside. Pete strokes his belly.

He remains awake for a while, patting his bump, all while Ice stays snoozing. Save for those huffs of breath, it’s quiet.

Pete’s never liked when things are too quiet. It doesn’t sit right with him, and yet here, cradled in the arms of a boyfriend who loves him, with each minute ticking closer to the day their daughter will join them, he feels it’s not too bad.

Once he hits week thirty-seven, Pete finds that he’s too tired to be panicked or worried about the imminent arrival of their baby girl.

Ice, on the other hand, is spiralling out of control. Every day, he seems more and more uncomposed. The unflappable Iceman is nowhere to be seen in their home, replaced by an increasingly nervous father-to-be.

It’s endearing, apart from when all that fretting gets aimed at Pete.

“You’re going to be late for work.” Pete grumbles at him. It’s ridiculous he’s saying these words to Iceman. Ice is never late for anything.

Ice doesn’t reply, instead fluffing Pete’s pillow for the third time this morning, and retucking the blankets around him. Pete knows the stress is bad today, because Ice then runs his hand through ungelled hair, messing it up even more like he doesn’t care about it.

“I can call in sick.” Ice says after an aimless lap around the room, as if he hasn’t made this suggestion a million times this morning already. “If you’re in labour…”

“I’m not in labour.” Pete huffs, also for the millionth time this morning. “It was just braxton-hicks.”

“But you don’t know for sure -”

“I do know.” Pete rolls his eyes. “It goes away when I move.”

Ice bites his lip, and drags his hand through his hair again. “If it is labour-”

“- It’s not -”

“- Then… God, Pete. We don’t even have a photo album.”

Ice’s stress has also involved inventing various ‘necessities’ that must be acquired before the baby arrives. It started normal, with a box of baby formula just in case breastfeeding doesn’t go well, but then spiralled out of control. A tiny toothbrush, even though she won’t have teeth for months. A ‘baby food cook book’, despite the fact she’ll be living off milk for a while. Three pairs of the exact same baby shoes ‘just in case’, as if her feet won’t outgrow them quicker than she’ll wear them out. It’s bizarre.

“We don’t need an album right now.”

“I should have taken more pictures.” Ice frets, as if Pete never even spoke. “Ugh, I knew I’d miss something, dammit.

“You’re fine.” Pete tuts. “I don’t want any pictures of me looking like a whale anyway. Now quit fussing and go do your job, idiot.”

Another mess of the hair, and then Ice sighs. He nods, even as his hands twitch at his sides.

“I know. I know, I’m being overbearing, I know.” He pauses. “You don’t look like a whale, babe.”

Pete gestures wordlessly to his spherical, raising a brow.

“You look like the beautiful man carrying my beautiful baby.” Ice leans in and kisses him softly, which almost makes up for how ridiculous he’s being. “Are you sure you don’t want me to-”

“I love you, but I need you to get out of this house before I rip your balls off.”

Ice chuckles and salutes. “Message received loud and clear, Mav. Give my office a call if you need anything.”

“Yeah, yeah, just get that fine ass of yours out the door.”

Ice wiggles his hips as he leaves. Pete takes it as permission to admire and ogle at said ass, which he does.

That’s their routine for what feels like forever, until the night Pete wakes up to agony crawling up his spine.

It doesn’t last long, a minute at most, but each second is torture, pain that doesn’t ebb even though he musters up the strength to shift position.

His breath catches, hand darting to his belly on instinct. Maybe he was just imagining it. It’s only March 2nd, and baby girl’s not due until the 9th, that’s an entire week. Probably just normal muscle cramp, that’s all, and it’s gone now.

In fact, it doesn’t come back until he’s almost back to sleep, and this time it feels like the ache is seizing him everywhere, and oh shit, he’s actually having a baby.

“Tom.” Pete grunts, screwing his eyes shut at the tension in his body. “Tom. Wake up.”

There’s no response, so when the pain fades again, Pete shoves Ice’s shoulder.

“Mmgh?” Ice makes a muffled groan. “Pete?”

“Tom-” His breath hitches, words constricting in his throat. “Tom.”

The tightness of his words seems to wake Ice properly.

“Hey. Hey, I’m here, I’m awake, what’s up?” The grogginess is gone, pushed out in a single yawn, and Ice props himself up on an elbow, smoothing over Pete’s brow.

“We’re having a baby.” Pete murmurs.

“I know, and it’s going to be -”

“Today.” Pete cuts him off. “We’re having her today, I just had - I’m in labour. Ice, I’m in labour, we’re having a baby today, I don’t know what… Shit, she’s going to be here. Today.”

He waits for Ice to panic too, for all the stress that’s been building to explode everywhere. For a moment, he can see it in the widening of his eyes in the dark, but no freak out happens.

Instead, Ice takes a single deep breath, then takes Pete’s hand.

“Okay.”

“What do you mean okay, we’re having a fucking baby today, we never got the photo album, we-!”

“Mav.” Ice’s voice is steady, calm, with all the composure he usually brings to the air. “It’s going to be alright. We’re ready, you’ve been saying that yourself for weeks, so don’t worry about that bit. Talk me through it, babe, how many contractions have you had, how long they’ve lasted, all of that. Have your waters broken?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Then we’ve got time. Plenty of time, Pete. We’re prepared for this, remember?” He runs his thumb in a gentle circle on Pete’s hand. “Breathe, honey.”

Pete swallows thickly and nods, gripping Ice’s hand tightly.

At Ice’s insistence, Pete manages to get back to sleep for a few hours, even if he wakes up a handful of times in between.

Every contraction that jolts him out of sleep feels like it hurts more and hurts longer, though he could be imagining it. One is bad enough to make him groan aloud, and Ice kisses his cheek and rubs his back and holds him through it.

By the morning, he’s had a fitful rest, while Ice has been up calling in sick to Top Gun and bombarding Bardo’s with a dozen messages.

By the afternoon, Pete’s in a hospital bed crying, while Ice tries to soothe him, and Dr Emmett Bardo checks the dilation of the birthing slit.

“Please, please, fucking god, I can push now?” He sobs. “I can’t do this anymore, I can’t.”

“You’re only six centimetres, not yet.” Emmett has the decency to sound sympathetic about it, but sympathy doesn’t help much when his insides are burning.

“Fuck this.” Pete’s head spins as he chokes out more tears, and Ice runs his hand up and down his back.

“You’re doing amazing, honey.” Ice says soothingly. “Really well. Getting closer, Pete, you’re doing great.”

“Shut up.” Pete shakes his head as pain zigzags through him, like he’s being split open. “Shut up, shut up, this is all your fault, I hate this. Tom, I hate this, please let it be over.”

“I know.” Ice sits on the edge of the hospital bed, combing Pete’s hair with his fingers. “I know, I wish I could make it stop right now. But our baby needs a bit longer, Mav. Just a bit longer, you can do it.”

Pete cries at him harder.

When Bardo finally tells him it’s time to push, Pete is relieved.

The relief is quickly replaced by yet more agony. The contractions were bad, sure, but this? Pushing a baby out?

This is hell. This is real life hell.

“Can’t do it.” He rasps at some point, collapsing against Ice’s chest. “Can’t.”

“You can.” Ice whispers in his ear. “You can, you definitely can. You’re Maverick Mitchell, you can do anything. Only a few more, Pete. She’s nearly here.”

More tears. Pete’s probably lost all the moisture in his body, between the sweat and the tears. Likely blood too, but he can’t see beyond his middle, which has become a strange combination of swollen and deflated as their daughter’s moved down.

“I can’t do this.” Pete chokes out. His body is on fire and ripping apart, his spine contorting, his muscles torn. “Please.”

He doesn’t know what he’s begging for, knows that there’s no escaping this.

Ice wipes his brow with a cloth, pleasantly cold, and rubs his back.

“You can do it, Pete. Another big push.” Emmett says, awfully composed for a man between his legs. “She’s almost crowning.”

Pete huffs and puffs as he scrabbles for Ice’s hand, gripping it for dear life as he pushes again.

“So well, baby, you’re doing so well.” Ice murmurs through it. “Really good, Pete, just hold on a little longer.”

Pete shakes his head, panting, and screws his eyes shut as though that would do any good making him feel better.

The cool cloth is wiped to his forehead again, and Pete can only let out a strangled moan as he forces himself to keep going.

And going.

And going.

“Here’s the head.” Emmett announces after an eternity, and Ice squeezes Pete’s hand.

“She’s got a head, Mav.”

Despite himself, he manages a shallow chuckle, his reply broken up with groans. “Of course she - does, you - idiot.”

“Just a bit more, babe, and she’s going to have a whole body.” Ice strokes Pete’s cheek. “You got this, mama.”

Pete sniffs, and musters all his remaining energy for this last stretch. It certainly feels more than ‘a bit’, he’s drained and tired and so sick of being in pain, it hurts so much, too much, and -

And then the pressure is gone, just like that, as the room fills with tiny cries. Pete’s head is fuzzy when he reaches out towards the sound, every residual ache in him muted the moment the most beautiful person he’s ever seen is placed into his arms, he’s numb to the whole world, even Ice moving forward to cut the umbilical cord doesn’t really register in his mind.

The baby is tiny and red and wrinkly, splotched with all sorts of bodily fluid, face scrunched as she sobs, and shit, for a second Pete thinks he might have died and gone to heaven, because no way should it be possible to feel this much ecstasy.

“I love you.” Pete coos instinctually, cradling her close. “Shh, shh, shh, you’re okay. You’re okay, mommy’s got you, mommy loves you, mommy’s so happy you’re here. Hi. Shh, mama’s here.”

He’ll never know if it’s his voice or the warmth of his body that does it, but her cries dwindle to sniffles as she stares up at him with big blue eyes.

The sniffles sound a bit loud for a baby. Pete glances at Ice to say as much, only to find the cause of the volume gazing at their daughter with tears rolling down his cheeks.

Wordless, Ice caresses her cheek with a shaking finger, smile wide enough to rival Pete’s own.

“Oh, my baby girl. I love you so much, look at you, I’ve been so excited to meet you, I -” His voice cracks. “I’m your daddy. I’m your dad, and… God, I love you.”

Pete clutches her tight, staring at her to commit every inch of her gorgeous face to memory. She’s absolutely perfect, with a few tufts of fuzzy brown hair on her head, and the cutest chubby cheeks. Her nose is all Pete, but her lips and her eyes are definitely from the Kazansky family tree.

Ice presses his lips to Pete’s temple with another sniffle, and when Bardo scoops the baby back to give her some vaccinations, Pete gets a proper kiss from his boyfriend.

“I love you.” Ice murmurs. “You did so good. She’s incredible, Pete, she’s the best, and you - you made her.”

“I love you too.” Pete hums, pulling away from Ice to keep a better eye on the baby as she cries from the injection, his heart panging. “She’s ours. We have a baby.”

“We have a baby.” Ice repeats, brushing his hand through Pete’s hair, pecking another few kisses to the top of his head. “We’re her mom and dad.”

“All done.” Emmett announces, cooing at the baby himself. “Let’s get you back to your mama, hm?”

The moment she’s back in his arms, Pete has never felt more content. He could gaze at his little one forever, with Ice’s arm around him, the three of them snuggled close together. All that’s missing is a name.

It sucks she can’t be a Kazansky, but maybe one day, in a decade or two… Maybe one day both her and Pete will be able to change their last names.

Eva Mitchell is brought home after only a day in hospital, with a clean bill of health and an appropriate amount of cooing from the various nurses that check up on her and Pete.

Pete feels rough - so fucking rough - so he’s happy to lounge on the couch the moment they’re through the doors, happy as Ice fusses over him.

Maybe it’s all the post-pregnancy endorphins or something, but Pete can’t imagine not being happy as long as he’s got Eva in his arms. She’s the best thing to ever happen to him.

He lays back as Ice makes phone calls to Carole and Viper; he’d grab the receiver to butt into both conversations, but he’s still learning the whole nursing thing. Even then, Pete’s not sure he could muster the willpower to draw his attention away from Eva.

Every time she blinks, his love for her grows.

She looks so cute, latched onto his chest. It feels weird, the suckling and the way milk beads at his nipple, but Pete can’t even consider using formula instead, not when her tiny hand curls against his breast.

Pete hums as she feeds, making up the tune as he goes, cradling the back of her head protectively.

By the time Ice puts the phone down, Eva’s still at it, though not as hungrily, pace slowed. She’s looking sleepy again; Pete can hardly blame her. It must be pretty exhausting, going from curled up in his belly to out in the big wide world.

“Viper’s managed to get me a week off.” Ice says softly, settling beside the two of them. “And Carole says she’s proud of you. Says… Says Goose is proud of you too.”

It doesn’t make Pete ache the way he thought it might. He smiles thinking of his best friend, his brother in all but name.

“Goose would love you.” Pete coos to Eva. “Almost as much as mommy and daddy love you.”

She pulls away from his chest, milk dribbling from both her mouth and Pete’s nipple, and blinks at him slowly.

“Can I?” Ice reaches to take her.

“You’re her dad, idiot, of course you can.”

“I’m her dad.” Ice echoes with a little grin, and gently lifts her into his arms.

Eva whines at the movement, but settles once Ice kisses her forehead. He wipes the remaining milk from her lips with his thumb, and pecks another kiss to her nose, beaming all the while.

Pete rests his head on Ice’s shoulder. It’s impossible to think that there was ever a future where he wouldn’t have this, that he was going to resign himself to the life of a single parent, that he was going to hide her away from Ice forever.

Eva yawns, and Ice rocks her gently. Pete yawns too.

“Nap time again? I bet, księżniczko. I always feel tired after a good meal.” He coos. “Daddy will look after you while you sleep. You and mommy. You should get some rest too, Mav.”

“Don’t wanna move.” Pete mumbles.

“Then sleep here.” Ice shifts his cradle into one arm to wrap his other arm around Pete’s waist, tilting his head to allow him to properly nestle into his neck.

Pete does, and while Ice’s shoulder isn’t the most comfortable pillow in the world, it feels like home. He allows his eyes to flutter closed, allows himself to look away from Eva.

A peaceful quiet settles over them as Pete reaches round to take Eva’s little hand in his. Ice hums, Eva makes a tiny snuffling sound.

“Thank you.” Ice whispers into the silence, kissing the crown of Pete’s head. “For making her. For letting me stay.”

“Wouldn’t want it any other way.” Pete murmurs in reply.

And nuzzled with his family, Pete’s content drifting off to sleep.