Chapter Text
“Mav– dude, pay attention you’re on the clock.” A voice shakes Pete “Maverick” Mitchell out of his daydream in his little office. Hondo casts him a fond, annoyed glance, tossing him a letter. Mav catches it with little issue, not even having to move from his chair.
“What’s this, Hondo? A gift for me?” he teases as he opens up the letter. “Also, we co-own the place, I can space out in here if I want.”
It was a contract. Mav’s eyes glance over the written digits on the paper before anything else out of habit.
“Seven thousand a week ?”
Sitting up in his chair, he looks back up at Hondo. “Who the hell is offering this? Secret Service? Who needs this kind of protection?”
“You’re not gonna believe me man, but it’s the fucking Iceman himself–Tom Kazansky.” Hondo shakes his head, watching Mav raise an eyebrow in response. “You missed his manager coming in yesterday, uptight bastard by the name of Beau Simpson. Sounds like someone’s been stalking him, making threats. They heard good things about you and gave you this offer.”
A pause hangs in the air for a moment before Hondo speaks again, “Beau said he’ll be difficult, hence why we’re getting paid that much. But they want you to meet him soon– today soon.”
“They better be paying well, everyone says he’s an asshole,” Goose yells out from the other room, leaning back on his chair to look past Hondo and at Mav. He looks dangerously close to falling over.
Holding his hands up like he was framing a headline, Goose continues, “Tom Kazansky, heartthrob to the masses–asshole to press and paparazzi alike. Difficult to work with. Fired from multiple sets. Party boy with multiple scandals.” He shakes his head. “Sounds like a perfect match for you, Mav. It’ll be like we never left the Navy.”
“Goose you’re a dickhead,” Mav shoots back, looking down at the contract. Round-the-clock security. Full time. For an indeterminate amount of time. “Christ, who’s after him that he needs twenty-four-seven protection? I mean, Goose can attest to the fact that I am not a great babysitter. How’d he even hear of us?”
“Remember when you did that escort job with Penny Benjamin? Helped scare off her ex?” Hondo asks.
Mav nods, smiling fondly. Oh, he remembers Penny – especially the reckless shit they talked each other into.
“Yeah, well, turns out she gave you a glowing review of your performance to her dad – who happens to be good friends with his old Navy buddy–Simpson. Apparently, they flew together briefly before Beau left for greener pastures in celeb management. Either way, they came to you. According to the brief I was given, someone’s sending threats, and it’s escalated to some freaky shit.”
Mav glances at Goose as the other man finally gets up from his desk, leaning against the doorframe of the office, eyebrow raised.
“Soo, are you going to take it?” Goose grins, teasing. “I mean– c’mon, he’s Iceman, and we all know you love his movies.” He winks playfully at Mav who groans in response.
“I do not like his movies, thank you very much. Did you even see that one with the– some magic shit? Not my speed,” Mav insists, rolling his eyes. “Shocked he didn’t get fired from that one– the hair and makeup probably took too long for someone spoiled like him. And don’t even get me started on the Navy one.”
“No, I didn’t, Mav, but it sure sounds like you did,” Goose pesters, laughing. “You don’t want to try that famous Mitchell charm on a celebrity?”
That got a laugh out of Hondo, who looks back at Goose and shakes his head. “Yeah? And lose us the best contract we’ve gotten since we opened the place? I mean– Mav didn’t read the rest but they’ll let us take full control, all the cams, everything they need. And the seven thousand a week– that’d set us up nice for the long term.”
“Sounds like an offer we can’t refuse,” Goose gives everyone his absolute worst Marlon Brando impression. Mav cackles in response, shaking his head as he expertly flicks a paperclip at Goose for the terrible joke, only making Goose giggle more. Hondo glances at the ceiling in fond exasperation, a grin on his face.
“Fine, okay, I’ll meet with Kazansky and his team, but don’t expect too much from me, I’m not expecting a celebrity to be a good client,” Mav acquiesces, glancing back at the contract. “God knows we need the money, the starting funds Viper gave us as a going away present are gonna run dry soon if we don’t get some better clientele.”
“Are you speaking poorly about Mrs. Pawlak’s tenure as a client?” Goose gasps, clutching his chest in mock offense. “I’ll have you know that just yesterday she called to report a serious break-in.”
“Oh yeah, and did the cameras catch the perpetrators?” Mav shoots back.
“Of course, the raccoon responsible for stealing her garbage was caught red-handed. I reported him to the police immediately.”
Mav snorts in laughter, looking over at Hondo, seeking a more serious and steady voice in the situation. “Simpson says you can come over this afternoon, around 3, to meet Mr. Kazansky, and get a lay of the land. They’re sending the floorplans of his mansion over today, so Goose and I can get to work on the security system layout. You just have to make sure you can tolerate hanging out with the guy.”
“I’m a professional, you two, promise. I will be able to handle one spoiled celebrity and their ego,” he assures, pressing his palms together in mock prayer. “Guess I should get dressed up though, right?”
Mav practices his best professional smile as he hops up to grab his blazer from the coat rack, along with his spare tie. If he was going to have to deal with a spoiled celebrity–he might as well look professional for the occasion. Then, it was off to the Hollywood Hills, and time to meet the Iceman.
When Maverick arrives at the address that had been provided, he parks for a moment outside to take in the size of it. The huge mid-century modern mansion, beautiful with its stunning floor-to-ceiling windows and wooden accents– and a security nightmare. Too many vantage points, easy to see where people were or weren't, glass that could be broken or shot –but Mav could handle it. He’s the best at what he does , he reminds himself. No mansion–no celebrity– would prove him wrong.
Buzzing the intercom of the gated driveway, Mav slowly pulls past the gate, and heads to the front door. Taking a moment, he glances around, noting the front lawn’s layout – the height of the fence, trying to anticipate what Goose and Hondo would do to the place.
A housekeeper swings the door open before he even has the chance to press the doorbell. She’s an older woman with a kind smile – and the distinct look of someone relieved to have a new face at the house.
“Mr. Kazansky and his manager and publicist are in the other room, sir, you’ll find them down that hallway,” she directs him –but, as Mav notes to himself, absolutely refuses to follow him in that direction.
It didn’t take long to hear why, he could hear the raised voices from ten yards away. Mav quietly steps into the kitchen and dining room, taking in the sight of a man about his age, throwing a temper tantrum.
“Absolutely not. I’m not having another goddamn babysitter, Beau,” Tom Kazansky spits at his manager.
“I don’t need one. I don’t know why you and Warlock are both so worried about some dumb letters and some phone calls.” He gestures at the stack of letters on his kitchen table, while the man who must’ve been Beau Simpson looks at them, casting a wary glance at the man seated next to him.
“Tom, you are one of the most famous men on the planet right now, and whoever this person is– they’re not stopping. Alma caught someone snooping in your garden when she came to work last week,” Warlock states gently, working to calm down the agitated celebrity. “Breaking past the gate? Leaving blood-soaked roses on your doorstep? Anyone sane would call that a serious and rapidly escalating situation. Just consider your own safety, please.” Jesus. And Kazansky just wants to brush that off?
Maverick watches the scene silently — eyes fixed on Ice’s movements around the room. The actor paces around the table, running his fingers back through his long, light brown hair– taking off his glasses for dramatic effect. God, he was beautiful. Maybe even more so in person.
Finally, Ice stops pacing, noticing Mav’s presence with a glare only partially obscured by his eyewear.
“You must be the guy they hired to nanny me.” The actor pauses his tirade, shooting a deadly look at his management team. “Tom Kazansky but everyone and their mother calls me Ice, so I guess you can too.”
Maverick decides that is his signal to take the initiative and walk up to shake his hand.
“Pete Mitchell– but everyone on my team calls me Maverick, I’ll respond to both,” Mav replies, politely smiling up at the man, noting just how much taller Ice was than him. “You’ll meet the rest of the team later– they’re back at our offices looking over the blueprints that your people provided us.”
Iceman scoffs at that, rolling his eyes, letting go of the other’s hand. “Listen, I’ll be straight with you – I don’t want you here. I don’t think you need to be here. I don’t want you interrupting my daily life with this. So, just…stay out of my way please, and we shouldn’t have that many issues.” He wanders away from his new guard and flops down with a huff on the nearest chair. “Cyclone hired you, not me, so it’s not like I have the ability to tell you to leave me alone. He’d tell you to come bother me anyway.”
Maverick can’t help but smile at just how blatant the man’s distaste was – at least it was better than pretending to be kind. If anything, it makes Maverick want to prove something to the actor. What that is he doesn’t know yet, but he’ll figure it out. He always did, after all.
“Cyclone?” he asks, walking over to look at the two other men at the table, peering over their shoulders to look at the fan letters they were sorting through.
“I know how Ice got his nickname, but–you two?” Mav picks up one of the letters, glancing at the carefully typed-out threat.
…You look so safe in your home. Is this where you get away from all of those crowds? Your fans who adore you? Well, you’re not as safe as you think. I can get you at any time, I know how...Your life is in my hands and you don’t even know it. I know when you go out, where you go….
Mav frowns, tossing the letter back on the table.
“It was my call sign before I left the Navy,” Simpson explains, looking up at Maverick. “Warlock – Solomon, here and I were coworkers, and technical advisors on Passion with Ice there – and we struck up a friendship, enough that he asked us to take over his management and publicity.”
He stares past Maverick, towards Ice. Mav turns his head too, seeing that the actor had gotten up from his chair to walk to the fridge, swinging it open with a scowl on his face.
“Alma,” Ice calls out, looking back towards the hallway where the housekeeper suddenly appeared. “Did you get those Voss waters I asked for?” he spoke with a gentle frustration in his tone. “We’re out.”
“I’m sorry, Thomas, the store was out when I went yesterday. I didn’t have the time to run back today.” The housekeeper looks apologetic, but not worried– she isn’t scared of her boss.
“It’s okay–” he clarifies quickly, tone softening in an instant, “can you just call for someone to deliver some more before you go today? I don’t want you to have to run back this late, I know your daughter’s in town.”
“I’ll call,” she replies, pulling out one of the two phones Mav notices in her belt. Must be one for work and for home. “I’ll see if we can’t get some brought over soon for you. Is everything else good?”
Ice nods at her and smiles brightly, letting the woman get back to whatever her duties were outside of dealing with the actor directly.
“I’ll need a list of everyone who works here or comes through regularly. Your close friends, your housekeeper, gardeners, pool guys, trainers, personal chef– everyone,” Mav begins, trying to read Ice’s reaction to someone trying to boss him around for a change. Unsurprisingly, the actor looks extremely offended, balking at the bodyguard.
However – the moment Ice talks back, Maverick gets thrown a slight curveball.
“ Personal chef? You think I need a personal chef. ” Ice’s indignation echoes in the room. The actor shuts the fridge with more force than necessary, dramatically throwing himself back onto the nearest living room chair.
Maverick smirks at that, enjoying that reaction maybe a little too much. “Apologies, Mr. Kazansky, just– most rich guys, well, they don’t know how to take care of themselves. Hire someone for everything– cleaning their house, cooking their food, even getting dressed,” he needles the celebrity. It was worth it for the way Ice’s attention narrows in on Mav.
“I don’t need babysitting, Mr. Mitchell, and I resent the implication. You’re here to placate the overblown concerns of my manager and publicist, not judge me,” he huffs in response, waving his hand dismissively before reaching for a book that’d been placed on the coffee table– almost definitely for decoration more than reading. Maverick couldn’t help but smile; it was almost cute just how petulant the other man was.
“I don’t think you do, sir,” Maverick replies, dropping the smug tone for just a moment. “I’m just going to make sure whoever is sending these letters and scaring your housekeeper doesn’t get near you. I’m sure we’ll get used to one another soon enough.”
The actor only snorts derisively in response.
“The only people who come here regularly are Alma – who you’ve met – Warlock and Cyclone there,” he waved his hand at his management team who were still sitting at the table, reading letters and trying hard to pretend they weren’t listening to the whole exchange. Maverick gets the distinct sense that Ice’s behavior was not new to either of them. “And Slider, my best friend from high school. Ron Kerner is his actual name, if you need that for some reason– oh, and Mitchell? Don’t call me Mr. Kazansky. I hate when people do that. Just call me Ice, for the love of God.”
“Alright, Ice, then I’d like if you’d call me Mav or Maverick– Mitchell’s a little impersonal, you know?” Maverick replies, noting that Cyclone silently braced himself in his seat– probably waiting for a blow-up from the temperamental actor.
Shockingly, Ice only scoffs again, looking up from the book he pretends to read. Maverick notes that Ice’s gaze was far more intense in person than it had ever been on the screen.
“Alright, Mav,” Ice echoes with a playful tone, putting the book down and standing up. “Since I’m stuck with you –and they’ve already made it painfully clear that you’re going to be here round the clock– I suppose I ought to show you around. Your home is my home, at least until this bored letter writer is caught.”
Without indicating for Mav to follow, he begins down the hallway.
Oh– this could be fun . Maverick quickly follows after him, noting the rooms– doorways, the far too many windows, and how Ice repeatedly ran his fingers through his hair when he got frustrated. He observes how empty the place is, except for the odd work of art, a mounted guitar, old movie posters.
“I sleep in the bedroom at the end of this hallway – I’m assuming you’re going to at least give me that privacy? Or should I call for bunk beds to be put in? I could put a yoga mat under the bed, you’re small enough to fit under there,” the star huffs, looking back at Mav with disdain.
“No, I don’t need to stay in the room with you– is this bedroom empty?” Mav asks, looking around the doorframe into a stunningly tidy room, plenty of space, and a built-in desk. He could do some work there at night after Ice went to bed and still be close enough to hear anything that might happen in the other room.
“Yes, it is– you’re welcome to take it over, I suppose,” Ice replies, looking out towards the pool.
“Here, this way, I’ll show you the pool, and the gym. You can use both while you’re here,” he waves dismissively, as if chasing away the concept of a kind gesture. It isn’t particularly kind, but Mav got the impression that Ice didn’t really let people spend much time here. It’d be interesting to see what happened with someone glued to him 24/7.
Following Ice outside, Mav was dismayed at the fact there were no decent fences, only bushes that anyone could easily push through if they were properly motivated–and some waist-high concrete firebreak wall.
Ice shows him through the rest of the house: the library, living room, the spare bedrooms – far too many of them – gym, and the home theater. Mav notes how empty much of the space felt, like Ice rarely went to most rooms. Eventually, Ice brings him to the garage, opening the door and letting Maverick take a look.
“Could fit a nice selection of cars here–but it looks like you only have the town car?” Mav asks, noting that the garage was largely empty. Most richer clients he’d met so far –the ones that kept him past the first hour– usually had a few luxury cars.
“Not my thing, besides, I doubt you’d let me drive around by myself,” Ice replies, arms crossed as he watches his bodyguard.
“Alright, let’s go back to the mother hens in the kitchen – they’ll probably think that I’ve been kidnapped or something ridiculous.”
The loop they’d made through the backyard gives Mav a full picture of the house as they walk back into the kitchen and living room area from the other side.
“I gave him the house tour – he’s even picked out his bedroom. Now, are you both proud of me?” Ice declared dramatically.
Cyclone lets out a sigh and looks over at Warlock, exhausted.
“Well, you’re still not taking these threats seriously – and if you don’t put yourself together soon, you’re going to be late for your interview tonight,” Warlock shoots back at Ice. “Remember the rules? No biting off the reporter’s heads, and no mentioning of how much you don’t want to be there. I’m not a miracle worker.”
Warlock gets up to hand Ice a stack of papers, which the actor starts glancing through, groaning.
“But, Warlock, darling, you’ve worked so many miracles before,” Ice pouts at the man, before going back to reading the interview prep booklet.
“Ugh,” he groans, rolling his eyes as he leafed through the pages. “Really? I’ve got to talk about how nice it was working on this military film? Everyone knows I did it because the studio wouldn’t let me say no–”
“Yeah, well, that movie paid for your new home projector so just try to pretend you enjoyed the experience,” Cyclone replies, shaking his head as he starts packing up his things. “Maverick, here are all the letters that seem to be from Ice’s secret admirer. Hopefully, they’ll be of some help.” The manager points to a manila folder filled with opened letters and what looked like some photos.
Mav grabs it, nodding. “I’ll start full-time tomorrow, I just need to get everything prepped on my end at the office,” he hums, leafing through the increasingly threatening letters.