Work Text:
The transfer file sat on Tom’s desk, tucked under a stack of paperwork he had yet to start on, but called his attention like a siren.
It was a formality, technically. Lateral transfers rarely made their way up to him, but the move from under his command to the command of his copart, Commander of the U.S. Fleet Forces, was an atypical enough move that not only had Admiral Simpson needed to approve it, but it had been passed up to him for finalization.
That was the only reason it caught his attention. Certainly not the words ‘CPT. PETE MITCHELL’ emblazoned across the top of the form.
He hadn’t spoken to Pete in a few days, their respective schedules keeping them from their normal phone call, but Tom vowed to change that.
***
“I’m not sure why now, honestly. I know there’s been rumblings of Commander Richards’ retirement, but I didn’t think it was soon. Ron hasn’t mentioned anything, at least.” Pete’s voice was a soothing presence, even from the other side of the phone. “I’d sort of hoped you’d have an idea.”
“Unfortunately not,” Tom said, and rolled his pen between his fingers idly. When he’d badgered Slider, now Captain Ron Kerner, Commander of NAS Oceana, he hadn’t mentioned anything besides getting the request from higher up the chain. He’d have to reapply pressure and see if he couldn’t get a bit more information.
“I think it’s technically a demotion, realistically. I’m serving as an advisor to the Commander of the Strike Fighter school, but I’m supposed to be working for SFWL,” Pete continued, and Tom could hear him shuffling something on the other end of the line. “Yeah, Christ, we report directly to the AIRLANT.”
Tom knew all of this already, had looked into the specifics after he’d finally broken down and poured over the transfer file. He felt an uncomfortable prickling in the back of his neck, but pushed it down. “You’ll be dealing with Slider instead of me”
Pete snorted from the other end of the phone. “Like I ever dealt with you. Ron will be ready to skin me in a month, the only reason we get along now is the fact that we only see each other when you’re around.” His voice was affectionate, but Pete was probably right.
Ron, however, was the least of Tom’s worries. He paused for a moment, trying to figure out how to bring up what he really wanted to discuss, when Pete misunderstood his silence.
“I know it’ll be farther away, but we’ve dealt with distances like this before,” Pete said, and Tom savored the softness to his voice that only seemed to come out around him, like this, speaking softly over a telephone line or tucked away in bed together, where it was meant for Tom and Tom alone. “It’ll be like when I was at Pax River. The time difference isn’t that bad, unless you’re in Hawaii.”
“Not usually,” Tom hedged, and Pete pressed on.
“So three hours. I can call you at work when I get home, and interrupt whatever afternoon meetings you have.” Tom could hear Pete’s grin through the phone. “I’ve never had phone sex with an admiral before-”
“-And never will if you keep that up.” Tom cut him off, but couldn’t keep up the faux bluster. He had his suspicions, wasn’t happy to let Pete move from under his command, but couldn’t refuse it without drawing unwanted attention. He had to trust Pete, and keep an eye on those he didn’t trust so fully.
***
Still, he delayed signing the paperwork. He would, eventually, but busied himself with nearly every other task until he couldn’t avoid it anymore. It wasn’t fast enough for some.
He wasn’t shocked when his phone rang, call pushed through from his assistant after she confirmed he was available to take it. Tom took a steadying breath before picking up. “Admiral Kazansky.”
“Admiral, a pleasure.” The oily voice of one Admiral Anthony Holmes came through the line, and Tom fought the instinctive clench of his jaw. “I’m sure you know why I’m calling.”
“Admiral Holmes, it’s been too long.” Never long enough. “I assume it’s about the transfer for Captain Mitchell.” Tom pressed to keep his voice light.
“So you do know. I’d like to make sure the transfer is as easy as possible, make sure all the pieces are in place for some structural reorganizing. Captain Mitchell’s presence here would ease that considerably.” The other admiral’s tone brokered no argument, and Tom balked slightly at the unspoken rebuke. They were equal rank, and he hadn’t gotten to where he was by rolling over.
“I’m not sure most people would agree with you, I’ve heard him described as having the opposite effect more often than not,” Tom said, letting some of the cold steel of his voice through. “I won’t deny the transfer, but you are taking one of my training assets.” And his best friend, and his husband -
“Exactly! I’ve heard how… effusively you speak of Captain Mitchell’s skills. The Atlantic forces could certainly benefit from his specific talents, don’t you agree?” Admiral Holmes’ voice held only cheer, but Tom could feel the tension creep up his shoulders, and forced himself to unclench his jaw. Before he could respond, Holmes continued. “We need him to come help to shape up some of these aviators. Maybe some of those talents will rub off on the rest of us, eh?”
Tom inhaled suddenly, knowing he wasn’t mishearing the double entendre in the other Admiral’s words. “I wouldn’t want the Atlantic fleet to be so easily surpassed by the Pacific, so I suppose I can approve his move to Oceana.”
“I’m glad we agree. I’ll keep an eye out for the paperwork.” And with a click, Tom was left listening to the dead air of the line and the distinct sense he’d lost some sort of game.
***
The transfer happened shockingly quickly. Pete was long used to the process, and could pack up and move the essentials with an ease Tom envied. They hadn’t seen each other often as of late, but his relocation to the east coast made Tom acutely aware of the distance between them.
Pete lived up to his word, calling with a frequency that Tom would be embarrassed of if not for the quiet relief he could hear in Pete’s voice when they spoke, how on their facetime calls he could watch the tension around his eyes slowly relax. It was a new role for Pete, being more directly tasked with command, something he’d worked to avoid for years.
“At least when I was doing test flights I was flying , now I feel like I’m living in meeting rooms most days,” Pete complained one day, a few months into his posting. “Hell, I thought I’d be talking to Slider and Admiral McLeod, but I see Holmes at least once a week.”
Tom choked on air, causing a coughing fit that had Pete nearly frantic. The concern over the state of his throat was normally sweet, but Tom ignored it this time.
When he finally got his breath back, he spoke. “You’re meeting with Admiral Holmes?”
“Yeah, he’s not too far away so he stops by the base fairly often.” His voice still sounded worried, but he pressed on. “Do you stress all your underlings this much? People scuttle like roaches when the light comes on when he shows up, it’s honestly a sight to see.” Pete laughed, but did nothing to assuage Tom’s concerns. “He’s got a hard on for you, by the way. He’s constantly mentioning you and the Pacific fleet, wants to know my opinions on you and your ‘leadership’ ,” Pete said. “I feel like I’m being quizzed half the time. Good thing I like talking about you.”
“All PG, I hope,” Tom added, mind reeling.
“Unfortunately so. No one seems to ask about if you have any other moles where the uniform covers, despite my hopes.” Pete’s voice turned wistful at that, and made a soft ache open in Tom’s chest. “Do you think I should bring it up to Holmes next time I see him?”
Ice water couldn’t have been more effective at killing the mood. “Maybe not.” Tom’s voice was dry. “Let me know the next time he comes to see you, alright?”
“Why?” Pete asked, as his voice turned defensive. “It’s not an issue, it seems like he likes me, bizarrely.”
“I just-” Tom sighed, and rubbed a hand over his face. “I just don’t trust him. You don’t get to his position by being friendly.”
“You’re in the same position as he is!” Pete snapped, and Tom wished desperately he could back track to the fondness of a few moments ago. “Honestly, Tom, I know you’d rather me be close by, but I’m here. You could have kept me at North Island, denied the transfer, but you didn’t. So I’m going to keep doing my job.”
“I know,” Tom said, quiet in the face of Pete’s frustration. “I know. If I could have done so without making a magnifying glass come down on you, I probably would have.” But I couldn’t, hanging unsaid between them. “I should be in DC for a meeting next week. Can I come see you?”
“Do you honestly expect me to say no?” Pete’s voice mirrors the exhaustion Tom suddenly feels. “I want to see you even when you’re being twice as stupid as you are now.”
Tom laughed, and felt something relax in his chest. “I’ll work on it, I promise. Same time tomorrow?” He asked, knowing the answer already.
“It’s a date, Admiral.”
***
The meeting with assorted military brass had pulled Tom to Virginia, shuttled between the Pentagon and meeting rooms at Joint Base Andrews. It was meant to be a single day, but had bled into the next day with an ease that shouldn’t have surprised Tom. It meant that instead of his scheduled flight, he had to attempt to get a space-A flight down to Oceana. He quietly thanked the privilege his rank provided him as it pushed him to the top of the list, and within a few hours, was on his way south.
When the C-17 landed, Tom was greeted on the tarmac by Ron himself. Tom schooled his expression into a cool frown, watching the various enlisted sailors salute Ron as he passed, stiffness apparent at the unexpected greeting crew. When Ron stopped before the admiral, he snapped into a crisp salute, eyes fixed somewhere just over Tom’s shoulder.
“Admiral.” He said, expression unreadable.
“Captain.” Ice returned the salute, and nodded once. “At ease.”
Ron dropped his hand, but it wasn’t until Tom grinned at him widely that he finally let that cool veneer drop. They shook hands, and if they weren’t under the scrutiny of several assorted base personnel, Tom would have hugged the man.
“C’mon. Not often do I get the Commander of the Pacific Fleet darkening my doorstep.” Ron led him inside, deep into the hallways of the base.
Tom waited until they were sitting in Ron’s office, the door safely shut behind them before he spoke again. “I have heard that you’ve had the Commander of the Fleet Forces here more often than not.”
Ron snorted, leaning back in his chair. “Christ, tell me about it. He’s been here often enough that we’ve set up an office for him. My whole day shuts down when he decides he needs to talk to me about the readiness of the SFWL.” He shook his head, and glanced towards the large windows, overlooking the herd of F-18s parked on the ground just below. “I don’t mean to blame you for it, but Maverick showed up and suddenly I can’t get Holmes out of my hair.”
Something cold settled in the pit of Tom’s stomach, Ron’s words unintentionally confirming his fears. Some of it must have shown on his face, because Ron stilled, expression shuttering.
“Is there something going on?” His voice was soft, but Tom appreciated the steel he could hear underneath it all. He wasn’t sure what he did to deserve a friend like Ron, but Tom appreciated it every day.
“Not that I know of. I just-” He sighed heavily, as he searched for a way to vocalize his concerns without sounding like a lunatic. “There’s something about his interest in Pete that puts me off. At first I thought he was going to report us, but it almost-” He cut himself off again with a frustrated noise.
“Almost what?” Ron asked, genuine confusion on his face. “He loves him, for whatever reason. Captain Kahan is in here complaining every time Pete gets pulled for some one on one with the Admiral.”
“Exactly!” Tom finally bursts out. “He looks at Pete like he’s a steak, and he plucked him personally to stick here, right under his nose, and now he’s here constantly, pulling Pete aside,” Tom trailed off, swallowing before his head dropped back against the chair behind him with a groan. “I sound insane.”
“You do,” Ron agreed, amusement sparking in his eyes. “Tom. The guy is doing his job. He probably got some ass ripping from NAVSEC, and now he’s trying to get the fleet up to par. You know how it goes.”
Tom sighed at that, and nodded. “I do. And you’re probably right, but it just-”
“Look,” Ron interjected. “Do you trust Pete?” Tom nodded instantly. “Then trust he’s keeping Holmes in line. He’s not exactly helpless.”
Tom wished he could have Ron’s confidence, but nodded anyway. “Fair enough. Mind pointing out where I can track down Captain Mitchell?”
***
The reunion with Pete was sweet, but limited by the inherent public nature of being on base. Behind Pete’s closed office door, Tom could only content himself with a kiss, one hand settled on the small of Pete’s waist, tugging him closer until his compact form was flush against his own. Later, once they were at Pete’s house, a small one story bungalow that was blessedly off-base, Tom could reacquaint himself with his husband in the way they deserved.
Here, with Pete’s head pillowed on his chest, and their legs tangled together, it was hard to believe the same anxieties he’d been plagued by earlier about Admiral Holmes. Ron was right, Pete wasn’t helpless, and could deal with whatever Holmes could throw his way. After all, he’d dealt with Tom for far longer and with devastating effects.
***
That confidence he’d felt when he was with Pete lasted until tires made contact with the ground back in California. He longed to push into the cockpit, force the pilots to turn back, or hell, fly the plane back himself and bring his wingman back under his command.
If he suddenly found himself desperately needed for in person meetings in D.C. and Virginia, well. He didn’t work especially hard to get out of them, either.
Pete only raised his eyebrows when Tom told him he was coming back out for another meeting when they facetimed that evening, a few weeks later. He had refrained from commenting on Tom’s sudden importance in D.C., but he wasn’t an idiot.
“I take it you’ll swing by Oceana while you’re here?” He asked dryly, staring unblinkingly at the camera.
“It seems prudent.” Tom stared right back, daring Pete to say something. Instead, he just huffed out a laugh.
“I ought to get your name on the lease, given how often you’re here.” He shook his head, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. When he finally looked back to the camera, he couldn’t hide his apparent fondness. “I guess I can’t exactly complain that you’re the one doing the cross country commuting, if it leads to me seeing you.”
Tom laughed at that. “Glad you’re so pragmatic about it all.”
“Well, one of us has to be the level headed one in this relationship.” Pete smirked down at the camera, and Tom wished desperately that he was there and able to kiss it off his lips. Soon , he thought, and pressed that fluttering anticipation into his heart until he could see Pete again.
***
Once Tom actually got to Oceana, things very quickly went to hell.
He’d managed to actually arrange a flight beforehand this time, and was able to go from the terminal to the building that held the offices for the commissioned officers. He responded appropriately to the staff who greeted him, some of the surprise at having COMPACFLT gone after his semi-frequent visits. He wondered idly what they thought, knew he should make a more careful effort to not see Pete so often, but let himself tuck that worry away for a later day.
He paused briefly before Pete’s office door, and knocked twice.
“Come in,” Pete’s voice carried through the door, and Tom pushed inside, a smile already blooming across his face. He processed first Pete’s expression, sheepish and slightly defensive, before he realized the other body in the room was Admiral Holmes, lounging in the chair across from Pete’s desk with a casualness that made Tom bristle.
“Admiral Holmes. Captain Mitchell.” Tom greeted them both, managing to keep his voice flat. Holmes stood, returning Tom’s salute, before stepping forward to shake his hand.
“Admiral Kazansky, how nice to see you.” He smiled, and Tom forced himself to return one in kind. He guessed it looked more like a grimace.
“Likewise. I didn’t mean to interrupt whatever meeting you and Captain Mitchell were having, forgive me.” Tom glanced between the two men, trying to intuit Pete’s mood. If it were anyone else, he would bow out respectfully, and leave them to it. Somehow, he couldn’t stomach the thought with Holmes.
“No, please. This is a pleasant surprise. You might have some input that proves helpful,” he said, eyes flashing at Tom.
“I’ll do my best,” Tom returned, keeping his gaze on Holmes.
“We were just discussing some of the curriculum of the weapons school, and Captain Mitchell’s own experiences with Top Gun. You flew there together, didn’t you?” Holmes knew the answer already, hell, there was a photo of him and Pete on the deck of the Enterprise framed two feet to his left, and Tom felt his jaw click shut.
“We did. I’m sure Captain Mitchell’s expertise in the field will prove well beyond mine, given how I haven’t had the same instruction career he has.” He shot a look at Pete, who looked vaguely embarrassed to have been mentioned. There was something happening here that Tom didn’t know about, and it set him on edge. That was the only excuse he’d have, when asked about this meeting later.
“Exactly. I thought he’d be especially suited to some instruction for the school, but he declined.”
Tom couldn’t help the huff of a snort that escaped him before he clamped down on the response. “I don’t blame him.”
“Is that so?” Holmes’ voice had lost that oily quality that Tom despised so thoroughly, and had a hardened edge he was less familiar with. Tom pressed on anyway.
“He’s an ace, quite literally. He’s wasted in front of a classroom, and anyone who’s not an idiot would put him in a cockpit and show them exactly how to fly like an ace.”
Pete looked like he wanted the floor to open beneath him, and Admiral Holmes was beginning to draw in a breath to respond. The insult hadn’t slipped past him.
“I won’t intrude on your meeting any longer. Excuse me.” Tom turned on his heel and made a fast escape into the hall.
***
“You said what?!” Ron’s voice had a frantic edge he’d rarely heard from his friend.
“I’m not repeating it,” Tom grumbled, pacing in the other man’s office. He was embarrassed, both at his own stupidity and how he’d dumped a furious admiral with Pete, and wished he’d thought for a second before he’d spoken.
“I can’t believe you just called him an idiot! He’s the Commander of the Atlantic Fleet! He’s your coworker !” Ron ran a hand through his hair, making it stand up in tufts as he stared at Tom, mouth agape.
“I didn’t call him an idiot, I just said anyone who wasn’t an idiot would make better use of Pete,” Tom said, and had to ignore how hollow his protests rang even to his own ears.
Ron snorted out a laugh, and shook his head. “I hate to say it, Tom, but I think Pete has rubbed off on you.” Tom opened his mouth to respond, but Ron cut him off. “C’mon, you’ve got to admit that’s snark worthy of Maverick.”
Before he could reply, there was a fast knock on the office door as it was pushed open, not waiting for a response. Pete walked in, a curiously flat expression on his face.
“Ron. Uh, mind if I borrow the admiral for a second? And your office?” Pete didn’t bother with formalities, eyes fixed on Tom.
Ron, for his part, stood with a nod. He shot a look at Tom that was equal parts reproach and sympathy, and shut the door behind himself with a click that echoed in the otherwise silent office.
Tom sat in the chair vacated by Ron, eyes fixed on Pete. He was quiet, and in the silence of the room the soft gust of the air coming on sounded like a gunshot.
“Care to explain what the hell that was about?” Pete’s voice was light, but Tom knew better to assume anything.
“He asked for my opinion, I gave it.” Tom responded, trying to match the level tone Pete used.
“No, I got that. I meant more the way you and Holmes seem to be two seconds away from pissing on my leg like a fire hydrant every time you’re around each other.” Pete’s voice turned to ice as he spoke, and turned to glare down at Tom, arms crossed over his chest. “I swear, Tom, I don’t know what to do about this.”
Tom opened his mouth to reply, but paused, struck speechless as he searched for a response. Because Pete was right, Tom had overstepped, had let his own insecurities affect Pete at his job. It was a gross misstep, and the only appropriate response was to apologize. Easier said than done.
Pete stared down at him for a moment more, before letting out a sigh and sitting on the edge of Ron’s desk, knee bumping into Tom’s gently. “You might have been right,” he conceded after a beat.
“What?” Tom’s voice was rough, and he swallowed against the sudden dryness. “What do you mean?”
“He may have pinched my ass after you left,” Pete shrugged, and Tom’s vision tunneled.
“Christ, sit down!” Pete pushed down on Tom’s shoulder, a humorless laugh escaping him. “He didn’t, not actually. He might as well have.” He shrugged, his hand still resting on Tom’s shoulder. “He has been a little… forward since I’ve been here.”
Tom opened his mouth, but wasn’t sure if it was to crow victory or press for more details. Pete cut him off before he could respond. “I know, I should have told you. But-” Pete tipped his head back and sighed at the ceiling before looking down to meet Tom’s gaze again. “I needed you to let me do my job. And you would have come blazing in here, white knight on a horse, and tried to fix it. And I just needed to do this on my own. I can handle myself on my own.” His voice had softened, but his gaze hardened, and Tom knew that strength, that pigheaded stubbornness that was both a blessing and a curse.
“I know you can,” Tom conceded, gaze flicking between Maverick’s eyes. “But believe it or not, I like taking care of you.”
“I know you do,” Pete replied, and tilted his head as he considered something. “But that wasn’t all of it.” He leaned down into Tom’s space, face a scant few inches from him. “Jealousy doesn’t suit you, Admiral.”
The flush that crept up his neck was uncomfortable, but he held Pete’s gaze. He held that stare, let the other man’s reproach wash over him, before he nodded once.
Pete relaxed visibly at that, and with a glance over his shoulder to make sure the office door was shut, he dropped into Tom’s lap. It forced a grunt out of Tom, who shuffled to make room for Pete’s legs as they bracketed his own. The chair wasn’t exactly built for two grown men, but Pete shifted closer, the frustration in his gaze melting into a playful smirk that Tom knew never bode well.
“Plus, if I married Holmes, I’d have to live on the east coast, which, ugh.” He shook his head, and laughed when Tom’s hands moved to his hips in a possessive grip.
“Not funny,” Tom grumbled, and pressed his forehead into the soft curve of Pete’s neck. The other man ran his fingers up into Tom’s hair, and held the man against him.
“How mad do you think Slider would be if we had sex in his office?” Pete mused, a smirk coloring his voice.
“Too mad, and I’m the one who’d have to deal with him.” Tom replied, and pulled back to look Pete in the eyes. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”
Pete held his gaze for a beat, before shrugging. “I’d say don’t do it again, but I know you. Refrain from pissing on my leg and we’ll call it even.”
“Deal.”