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It’s difficult, the first few days, at least. Mostly because it doesn’t feel real —it’s a dream within a dream. He’s somewhere, visiting his kids and Sarah. Out with his friends. He’s stuck at the office, thinking about paperwork and how he’s eager to get back home and cuddle with him, as he’s texted Pete so many times before.
Pete takes another look at his phone; its mocking, unblinking screen staring back at him. He unlocks it, checks the notification bar, and finds nothing. It’s been a few days since the last message. He opens the chat, and —still nothing.
Maverick had sent a few texts since he found out, but there’s been no answer. He knows he won’t get one ever again, but he doesn’t lose hope. It’s the only thing keeping him sane right now.
Maybe it’s because he doesn’t have anyone left. Maybe because acknowledging he’s gone makes his skin crawl and his guts twist and it makes him break into a cold sweat —Jesus. He’s nauseous. He hasn’t been able to eat anything without gagging. It’s as bad as it was when he lost Nick, if not worse, because this time, he doesn’t even have Carole or Bradley by his side to ease the pain.
He sends a text. Maybe this time it won’t even get delivered. Maybe he’ll get a reply. Maybe, just maybe, this is nothing but a nightmare.
…
He wakes up covered in sweat. His heart squeezes his chest, compressing his lungs, and he can’t even breathe. He remembers, God, he remembers . He pats his side of the bed, and his eyes well with tears.
Pete remembers, just a few years back. Ice’s voice mumbling a Doors song while he’s making him breakfast. He loses himself in the memory, desperately grasping at every flash of it. It’s not enough. It’ll never be enough. He gags again, not even sure why, and squeezes his eyes shut.
“Scrambled or sunny-side up?”
“Excuse me?”
Pete blinks. He’s not on his bed anymore. He’s sitting in a chair in what he now recognizes is his old unit back on base. Ice gives him a funny look. Pete blinks again.
“Someone’s still asleep, huh.”
“Ice,” Pete chokes out. He’s too shocked to even cry. Ice looks so healthy. So damn full of life and real and Pete knows it’s atrocious to indulge, but he feels like a moth, trapped, following a light mindlessly. “Tom.”
“Yeah, that’s indeed my name.” Ice raises an eyebrow. “I’m scrambling them.”
Pete’s shaking, as if he were dying of hypothermia. God, he missed his voice so damn much. He closes his eyes again, praying to whatever’s up there the dream —hallucination, whatever it is —doesn’t ever end.
“You look terrible.”
“You look perfect,” Pete replies. It comes deep from within his soul. He fights back tears and fixes his gaze on the table. There’s a newspaper on it. January, 2001. He feels both pathetic and helpless and terrified of screwing everything up.
Ice turns around; he’s wearing a stupid apron, looking as stunning as life itself, and softens his expression.
“Baby?”
God, it destroys him. Just a word, a pet name he hadn’t heard in years (and would never hear again in this lifetime), and Pete starts tearing up in its fullness—a thread away from breaking into a sobbing fit. He turns off the stove and hurries to his side. Pete can’t stop crying, no matter how hard he tries. This whole pretend it’s not happening thing is just blowing up in his face at full force.
“Shh. Come here,” Ice whispers, pulling him into a hug. Pete grabs him tightly, trying to see if he doesn't fade into ashes —he stays. He's here, staring at him with worried blue eyes. Pete still has an irrational fear of him just disappearing beneath his fingers, so he doesn't take them away. He doesn't move, and he's never letting go again.
Having Ice so close feels like home, despite the underlying bitterness of the whole encounter.
Ice kisses the top of his head and rubs his back soothingly. It’s terrifying. Pete feels like dying right then and there, because there’s no way he can just wake up again in an empty bed with only the memory of Tom’s warmth and his aching heart. He’ll never get to experience this again. Tom’s gone, and this time, he’s not coming back.
“Why did you leave me?”
It’s a shitty thing to say, Pete knows, but he can’t think rationally when his whole life has just vanished between his fingers. He hates it. He hates him.
Tom doesn’t even look fazed.
“You know I had to.”
His tone is soft, practiced. Pete sinks even further into despair as he realizes what Ice might be referring to. They had this exact conversation before. It triggers every memory of every little piece of heartbreak —how Pete kept hurting himself again and again, just trying to make him stay.
The thing is — he did understand, eventually. They would’ve been perfect in another lifetime, if the circumstances had been right. With the passing of the years, though, Pete learned they weren't meant to be in this one.
“Stay tonight. Please.”
Ice hums in response and presses another kiss, this time on his cheek.
“You know I love you, right?” Ice whispers again. Pete’s heart breaks into a million pieces. “You know I’d never stay away from you.”
“Please don’t say that.”
“The I love you part? You knew that already.”
“No, that’s okay,” Pete says. “The other. Just… don’t, alright?”
“Okay.”
“Thank you.” Pete tries to smile.
It hurts to breathe―to be alive. It starts all over again, and Ice holds him this time, helping him with the breathing exercises the doctor had taught them some time ago. Having him there feels too real for his own good, and he despises himself for not being able to enjoy it as much as he would like to.
“I love you,” Ice repeats in such a tender tone. He wasn’t usually an affectionate man. Pete basks in every word, dying inside and out.
“Don’t leave me. Please? I’ll do anything.”
He’s not making any sense; his voice is all small and crackly. Ice wipes away his tears with the pad of his thumb and lets him cry his heart out.
“Are you sure?”
“Please.” Pete grabs him by the shirt and pulls him closer ―closer than he already is―and crashes their lips together in the saddest attempt of a kiss he’s ever made. Ice takes pity on him and follows it. “Stay with me,” Pete repeats against his mouth, in an agonizing whisper.
Ice puts some space between them and resumes wiping his tears. Pete can taste the salt and the pain. He knows Ice does, too.
“We can start over, darling.”
Pete lets out a shocked, humorless giggle. His throat is dry. His head hurts. Ice grabs his hand and kisses it.
“I just… dream about us growing old together, you know?” Pete starts quietly. “A house with a big garden, two pets. Hell, anything, literally anything, if it’s with you.”
“That sounds really nice.”
A lump forms in his throat. The pain is suffocating. Tom kisses him through it.
“We got one last chance,” Ice mumbles. “Just close your eyes. I promise you everything will be alright.”
…
He wakes up in a cold sweat. He feels around, but there’s nothing. He glances at the clock —five-thirty AM. Oh, he’s just in the bathroom, but the lights are turned off, and that side of the bed is cold and it probably has been for a while.
Pete lets out a shaky sigh as it sinks in. He’s pretty sure the pain will never go away. The initial shock always helps at first, but it makes everything worse once it wears off.
His eyes prickle with tears, and he doesn’t fight them this time around. He’s in ruins. A shell, a living corpse. He turns onto his side and forces himself to stop his train of thought.
He knows, deep down, that this is all he will ever have. That the dream is over, and he’s left with nothing but the pieces of it
His phone vibrates. Pete picks it up from the bedside table, his hands shaking. A sudden smell of coffee coming from outside the room drowns his senses. Pete turns on the screen. It’s a single text from the chat he's been stuck on ever since time froze for him. How do you want your eggs?