not enough

3 - not his choice

Iceman takes another sip of the vodka rocks.
It was loud and full of the smells of various types of alcohol in the bar, in this Officers Club his best friend and RIO, Slider, had made him come to on the very first day of Top Gun.
Woah. He inhales. Top Gun.
He was twenty three, in dress whites, gold wings on his chest and stripes on his shoulders, beginning his five week evaluation and improvement of his skills at none other than Top Gun. Or, the US Navy Fighter Weapons School based in Miramar, California. A hundred thousand miles away from where he'd started.
He hasn't spoken to his parents in years, and he doesn't want to change that any time soon. His sister had published her first book, he had a copy of it ready to read back at the house he and Slider were sharing accommodation for. And Slider, god, the best radar intercept officer and friend Ice could have asked for.
He was taller than he was, strong, has the outer personality of the most annoying person ever, but in reality, he was soft, cared deeply about him, and Ice had more than once called him a teddy bear. He and Slider met rather early on in flight school, he was just nineteen, and had recently earned his callsign, Iceman, thanks to the personality he'd worked years on crafting. Slider had been following him about, walked into a glass door, earned himself his callsign, and then Ice had said why not. And that was it.
Sli didn't mind about Ice's sexuality. He'd even taught him how to go round it, how to act with women. Now it was Sarah, and Slider that knew. Well, so did Goose.

Goose, Nick Bradshaw if he was going the formal route, was one of the nicest people Ice had ever met. Mother Goose, as he had called him, earning him the callsign. Most people thought it was because of his honking laugh or silly goose personality, but the Goose in flight school would stop fights and incessantly mother everyone and anyone he could.
Apparently Goose, being a RIO like Slider, had acquired his own pilot a year or so ago, maybe more, by the name of Maverick Mitchell. Huh.

He draws himself gently out of the memories by taking another sip of the vodka rocks in his right hand, it was nice, watered down by the sheer amount of ice-cubes inside the glass, but elegant, like he'd become. If he could even say that.
He doesn't care. He was elegant. Especially as he wore his aviators. He was inside, it was dark out, but if those electric lights weren't bright he doesn't know what was.
And, no one would dare mention it, anyone who was anyone in the US Navy knew about Iceman Kazansky.
He was determined to make his surname his own, as opposed to his fathers. He'd done everything in his power to keep away from his fathers vile and abusive personality, and thank god, because he'd done it. Turning his anger into frozen nothingness as opposed to red hot violence, shoving down all the emotions he hated feeling. The one thing he'd taken with him was his sniffing he couldn't stop whenever anxiety or nervousness showed up.
Oh well.

Now where the hell was Slider.
Ice scans the rest of the bar, and in amongst the small ocean of dress-white clad pilots, he could just about see his curly-haired brunet RIO. He sighs through his nose and begins weaving his way through everyone to get to him. It looked like he was talking to someone. He takes off his aviators, not wanting to make an impression that he completely hated the idea that he was there.
"That's Mister Iceman to you," Slider says, gesturing to Ice now that he was there.
"Hey, Mother Goose, how's it going?" He says, smiling at his friend standing opposite Slider. So he was here, good to know.
"Aha, it's good," Goose replies, shaking Ice's hand that he offered him. "Tom, this is Pete Mitchell, Tom Kazansky,"

Ice turns his head to the short pilot next to Goose who had been silent as of until now, and offers his hand. Oh. This was Maverick Mitchell.
Maverick takes his hand and shakes it, smirking just a little.
"Congratulations on Top Gun," Ice says smoothly, casting his eyes over him.
"Thank you," he replies, having to look upwards at him.
"Sorry to hear about Cougar, he was a good man," He says, reaching around him to get a handful of bar nuts from where they were sat on the bar top just behind him.
"Still is a good man," he says, a frown just appearing on his face.
"Yeah that's what I meant,"
"Thought so," Maverick says as he looks to his right for a moment.
"Say, you need any help?" Ice asks him, putting his hands on his hips. He was getting a little close to him, but he didn't really care, intimidation was his thing after all.
Maverick sips a little from his Budweiser he was holding, continuing to avoid Ice's eyes. "With what?"
"Figured it out yet?" He'd overheard he was wondering who the 'best' pilot was earlier in the lesson, so he decided to bring it up, wanting to continue the conversation as long as he could.
"What's that?" This guy was good.
Ice smirks. "Who's the best pilot?"
"No I think I can figure that one out on my own,"
He nods a little. "I heard that about you," Then he looks at his striking bottle-green eyes again, as opposed to his lips. "You like to work alone,"
He stares at him then, and he does back, testing each other, Ice asking a hundred different questions a second.