"So, what's your number?"

Iceman gave the woman clinging drunkenly to his side a brief glance and replied, "867-5309."

"Ooh," she giggled. "Is that local?"

Slider let out a little bark of a laugh.

"Look who it is," he said, motioning with the hand holding his shot glass. "Goose and Maverick."

Iceman's ears pricked up and he zoned in on Maverick through a crowd of sweaty, listless officers and the women desperately following them around.

"Yeah, I'm going to go say hey," Slider said, strutting off.

Iceman gave him a tiny nod. It wouldn't look prudent to ditch the girl immediately to go lock horns with Maverick, but then again...

A shrill giggle pierced his ears again, and there was a painful tugging at his arm.

"I'll be back," he said suavely, lying through his teeth, and followed Slider.

"... Mr. Iceman to you," he picked up on as he sidled up to the foursome by the bar.

Iceman grinned to himself. That was Slider; his ever faithful, true-blue bottom.

"Hey, Mother Goose, how's it going?" he said, offering a casual handshake. He knew Goose well enough through Slider, knew he wasn't exactly a threat.

This Maverick, on the other hand. He had balls the size of his ego, and Iceman knew it was going to take more than subtle digs to undermine his confidence.

If he could at all.

"Tom, this is Pete Mitchell, Pete, this is Tom Kazansky."

"Congratulations on Top Gun. Sorry to hear about Cougar, we were like brothers back in flight school. He was a good man."

"Still is a good man," Maverick replied evenly.

Well, look at Mr. Semantics, Iceman thought, showing no outward signs of irritation. "Yeah, that's what I meant."

He leaned in closer, wondering how far he could get before Maverick would squirm. "You need any help?"

"With what?" Maverick said, taking a sip of his beer.

"You figured it out yet?" Iceman said, smiling like he was fucking the Chesire Cat.

"What's that?"

"Who's the best pilot," Iceman replied, studying Maverick's face, watching for classic tells.

"I think I can figure that one out on my own," Maverick said smoothly, looking up at Iceman. The meaning was clear.

I've played this game before.

"I heard that about you," Iceman said, straightening up a little, but still looking at Maverick hawk-like. "You like to work alone."

Maverick gave him a half-smile that hardened into something a little more sexual and sinister.

"You're lucky," Slider said, picking up on Iceman's vibe and riding it out. "First the MiG and then you slide into Cougar's spot."

"Okay, we didn't slide into Cougar's spot, man," Goose replied, a bit overly cocky and surefire. Maverick said nothing. "We had it in the bag."

"Still, some pilots wait a whole career to see a MiG up close," Slider said, nudging Iceman a tiny bit. Their own private joke. "You're lucky and famous."

Iceman let out a chuckle. "I think you mean notorious," he said, his voice deepening a purposeful octave. He looked at Maverick openly and Maverick looked back. They held each other's gazes for a moment, then Iceman brushed Slider with his elbow. "See you later."

"You can count on it," Maverick replied, and Iceman felt a hot gaze on his back as they departed.