pre-transition + icemav - pete mitchell
maverick is exhausted. sitting with a cold drink in his hands, ice freezes the soft layer of skin covering his shaking fingers.
“it can’t be.” he says to himself, mind drifting to his weekend.
they were all playing some stupid board game and maverick went straight for the male character, forcing goose to be the woman. it’s as it’s always been. his best friend didn’t push back, but instead gently chuckled, “he suits you, mav. maybe you’re destined to be a guy.”
the rest of the time, the group all referred to maverick as a man. they were joking, of course, poking fun at “mother” goose in equal measure. but, it made mav’s heart leap into his chest. it’s the same feeling he gets every time ice calls his name.
maverick’s elbows sit upon the sticky bar table, his shoulders hunched, chest minimized. it’s not a behavior he’s picked up on, but goose and ice have.
so, when he spotted maverick drowning in his own thoughts, completely curled over; he easily guessed what was on his mind.
“mav?” ice’s statement was far too quiet for maverick’s hazy mind to pick up on. instead, he slid his hand over maverick’s trembling.
maverick’s eyes snapped to ice’s, his fingers flexing under his gentle yet unwavering touch.
“ice?” he scans his blonde counterpart’s expression, searching for understanding.
“hey, man. you look really… off.”
man. every time ice talks to him, without fail, he uses some form of masc terminology; whether it be bro, dude, or man - he always makes a concerted effort to do so.
and maverick’s only just noticing.
“oh, no, just thinking. i’m fine.”
ice doesn’t buy it. he calls out maverick’s bullshit constantly, in the air and when he’s being a little shit. but this is different. far, far different. that troubled look in his eyes is something he’s only seen once before, and that was when maverick got so wasted he spoke about his father.
“mitchell, you’re a piss poor liar.”
he winces. sometimes, he forgets people genuinely understand and watch for his emotions.
“i can’t… i can’t talk about it with you, dude- i think, i think i’m fucked. fucked up. like, there’s something so goddamn wrong about me, i don’t know how to explain this without sounding fucking insane.”
ice’s fingers lace between mav’s. he’s never heard mitchell so shaken, his own heart is racing.
“breathe, mitchell. you can talk to me, i promise i won’t judge. no matter what you think it is that’s so wrong.”
“no, tom, you don’t understand. i could get fucking dishonorably discharged. i can’t- oh my god, i… what kind of woman…”
“maverick. baby, please, breathe.”
the endearment slips out before he can stop it. but lord, it doesn’t matter. not when maverick’s tears have escaped the confines of his eyes and dripped down his many-size too large t-shirt.
his watercolor eyes evade ice’s as the words spill from his lips, his tone pure terror.
“what kind of woman wants to be a man?”
it’s been like a year since i’ve written ANYTHING but jesus christ it’s been forever since i’ve hyper fixated like this AAHSJDOCPDKSKDLDL
i mean i now go to flight school because of these stupid movies and maverick is my biggest kin
anyways i’m probably going to write multiple parts of this even though there is no plan and the writing is poor quality but idc transmav + icemav makes me tweak