Work Text:
It was raining the day he finally met her. Sheets of water had been pouring down all morning, as if the skies were mourning the loss of an unknown heavenly body, and as the clock struck one, in she walked from the misery like a prestige presented by the worlds worst magician.
He watched from a safe distance while she scanned the near empty studio apprehensively, eyes as blue as a tropical ocean carefully surveying the space as if she could intuitively sense there was more missing than could be seen. The new tenants were due to move in at the end of the week, their slowly approaching arrival date hanging heavier than the clouds. Still, it hadn't been until that very morning that he had finally found enough courage to pack up the memories of his mother, long dead despite the abundance of her paintings that had lined the walls of the beach front studio as vibrant as ever.
Remaining oblivious to his presence, the girl in the doorway stepped out of the shadows and headed closer to where the ghosts of frames were still haunting surfaces, a path of puddles, like breadcrumbs in a fairytale, forming behind her. Once upon a time, he would have thought she was possibly the most unfortunate creature he had ever lain eyes on, 'The Beauty' her false friends had mockingly christened her, but that version of himself had been an entire lifetime ago. That was years before the accident which had taken his right hand and all but ended his promising career in the arts, following in his mothers footsteps, choices which had cut him off from most of the rest of his family.
His brother had reached out to her when the darkness had threatened at becoming his entire existence. She was a giant of a girl, who propagated an air of no nonsense, though, with enough time, he'd come to find a soft centre hidden appealingly behind her defences. Working in physical therapy at the Stormlands veterans' hospital, she was also based hundreds of miles away from Casterly. But he was promised she was among the best in her field, despite being barely old enough to hold a medical degree, and reiterating that any kind of therapist was the last thing he needed dissipated into the air unheard. So, for a trial period at least, he was stuck with a 'trauma sponsor', who seemed to simply be another demanding voice belonging to someone far away, dictating and pushing and infuriating.
It hadn't taken long for him to come to hate the false title almost as much as the faceless girl on the other end of the computer screen. As it was, long weeks passed by before he decided to send a serious reply to one of her concisely pointed emails, preferring to counter her professionalism by falling back on witty insults and casual flirtations as a way of keeping her at arm's length. Even so, with his attempts to rile her into anger only occasionally more than half realised, she didn't ask him to spill a single one of his secrets. The world already knew simple, shallow, surface details about the prolonged affair with his cousin and the manslaughter charge he'd served just enough time for, but as the days dragged on, it was clear she may not require him to confide in her, but she did expect him to stop wallowing in self pity.
Are you really going to whine and cry and quit like a coward? he had read one exasperated morning, irritation bleeding through her words in the same crimson hues he had chosen to lock away, bringing colour to the wintery grey skies outside his bedroom window. Don't think I won't come over there and drag you out of your hole if you're going to continue like this.
You shouldn't promise things you can't deliver, wench.
He assumed that whatever information she needed, personal details which couldn't be readily gleaned from court reports and sensationalised tabloid column inches, had been passed on by his over eager brother. There were times when he wondered if she would be trying so hard if unshared truths ever came to light, though she knew there were things buried in his past that he never spoke of, not to his family and not even when questioned in court almost two decades earlier, the outside world having already condemned him well before the appointed jury could utter a single word.
Why don't you say that to my face, killer?
Blood had roared to life in his ears as he took a second to consider what right she had to judge him like all the rest, too young to have witnessed his misdemeanours first hand and still too much of a stranger to really care. Just because she'd refused to take the money his brother had thrown at his problems didn't automatically grant her permission to prod and poke until his self built cage started to feel too small. It wasn't even as if the blows she was trying to land were novel ideas, circling around his head like an unkindness of ravens, but still, somehow, the palpable air of honourable intent was affecting him more than any one of his real doctors could have hoped to.
Oh I will.
You have my Skype address, her reply came, echoing through his empty apartment louder than he thought virtual communication could, a gauntlet being thrown down across the airwaves. For whenever you're feeling brave enough to repeat that sentiment.
You have no idea what you're asking for.
Don't flatter yourself. I've handled worse than you.
No doubt. But that still doesn't mean you could handle me.
Leaning back against the oversized artist's sink in his concealed alcove, he remembered how close he'd been that day to booking a flight to Storm's End, trading endless drizzle for the welcome extremity of the east, studying her professionally polite hospital biography for any snippet he could use when they eventually met face to face. It had taken minutes to find that, despite hiding her unattractive face from the spotlight wherever she could, between wheelchair basketball leagues and family coffee mornings, she was nearly as fucking good as had been promised.
Though, from what I've seen, I'd bet it's been a while since anyone has handled you properly. Just say the word, wench, you know I'd be strong enough.
Not interested.
But, later that evening, after the grey gave way to black and fury became cloudy, confused intoxication, he found little reason not to call the absurd child to put an end to what they had started. And as the most astonishing eyes he'd ever seen widened from across their electronic wall, noticing how she immediately curled her too large, too broad frame in on itself as if her striped pyjamas had melted away to nothing under his eyes, he continued to berate her youth and inexperience for being the reasons why she didn't know how to deal with her most recent patient.
"There are no men like me", he'd bragged, letting his tongue take him into uncharted waters as she glared into the camera from her invaded sanctuary, all the while attempting to parry arrogance with the same reasoning which must have helped her out of half a hundred different situations in the past. With every reply, she was proving herself smarter than he'd thought to give her credit for, perched awkwardly on the edge of her bed as he lounged on his, but those moments of realisation couldn't prevent their frenetically frustrated conversation from eventually devolving into petty name calling. It was beyond unprofessional, opening doors into intimacy which couldn't be closed again, but she seemed willing to overlook a few indiscretions if it meant they would be rid of each other sooner.
It took eighteen months of late night calls and progress reports and regularly scheduled emails to become a friendship unlike anything he'd experienced before; reading every one of her journal articles, even though they could have been in Swedish for how little he understood. She took up knitting in an attempt to find some peace during her working day and sent him a fumbled red and gold scarf for Christmas which he wore every day until the spring warmly bloomed. Their conversation battles settled closer to being equal parts fight and flirt as he began to feel the near debilitating weight lift off his chest, leaving him to wonder if being irreparably stuck together for the rest of their lives would be any worse than slipping back into routines which no longer made much sense.
They were too close now, too familiar, but if they ever forgot the reasons why the ruins of well built walls lying between them had been erected in the first place, then her cresting guilt over breaking so many rules never failed to bring them back to the forefront.
"You don't need me anymore", she had told him three nights earlier, her laptop nestled in its usual position in bed next to her as the early hours of the day took their toll, allowing him closer even as she tried to push for some distance. "You need a regular appointment in an actual office with somebody who won't..."
"Instigate pillow talk?"
The blush spread across her speckled skin in slow motion, and his missing fingers itched for the opportunity to immortalise her discomfort in all the warmth he could find. With her broad features and swirling myriad of freckles, she would never be beautiful, unlike the one he had loved and lived for and ultimately lost to another. But what he'd perceived as perfection came with a price and this unlikely friendship had rarely demanded more than he was willing to give.
"I've never..." she stuttered, shock countering her fatigue, like the suggestion had been a sucker punch rather than just another joke. "We haven't... I don't know if I... it's against everything..."
"I know", he soothed, wondering why, if there hadn't been two screens and an insurmountable distance between them, he would have considered burning his lips on her flushed cheeks. "Though you'll understand why I could get the wrong impression", he gestured wildly and she slipped her distractingly long and toned bare legs back under her blanket. "What with you swapping your pyjama pants for shorts."
She rolled her eyes, though her blush deepened like a slowly setting sun. "That's because it's getting warmer."
"Not here. It just keeps raining."
"Is this what I have to look forward to now?" she asked solemnly, although the playful quiver which seemed to caress every other syllable sent a thrillingly unfamiliar jolt of longing through him. "Weather reports?"
"Mmmmm. If you ever wanted to visit Casterly, after I become someone else's problem, you'll need to know when to bring a coat. And those shorts." He winked and delighted in how she shifted a little with the attention, modestly pulling the blanket up to her hips.
"I'll get those names to you first thing tomorrow."
"See that you do."
He had signed off promisingly but hadn't heard from her again since she'd sent through the recommendations, three names which could break one important bond. The silent nights led him to believe her work had become overwhelming again, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't stop dreaming of how it would feel to have her beside him instead of half a world away.
Judging by the only disciplinary note she had on file, proving beyond the shadow of a doubt that she could take care of herself when faced with more than just immature cruelty, he could likely end up with bruises or broken bones should circumstances ever allow the dreams she was now wrapped around to move beyond crystal clear visions. But still, if meeting the elements and running along the sandy cliffs, which dwarfed the row of houses and shops that the studio was nestled among, temporarily quietened his restless mind, then sight of her there and the slow realisation that his best friend was beginning to take the place of his former lover in comfortably challenging fantasies, warm and commanding and unassumingly fearless, set his thoughts and reckless heart racing all over again.
"I would have liked to have seen it before you took all the paintings down", she called out unexpectedly, fantasy no longer, knowing exactly where he'd been hiding without needing to chance more than a single furtive glance. Her fingers ran over the patterns of monochrome simplicity that love and grief and time had left behind, turning to allow him to take her in as she studied what had been missing from their interactions. "It must have been beautiful."
"It was until you turned up." Why didn't you tell me you were coming?
Though the reflexes he had only just started to break through meant she narrowed her eyes almost immediately, there was little more than a flicker across the remarkably calm surface of her face to signal his remark had perfectly pierced its target. "Just because you look like some kind of golden demigod..." she muttered, all courage lost to the very seas she chose to focus on, as if regret was finally flooding through daring, sparking sapphire flames in her eyes, leaving forests of green to abscise in isolation.
"What did you just say?" he grinned, taking a step forward even as she shrank back, the girl he had come to know and respect and love becoming trapped behind freezing insecurities.
"I said I can't imagine how hard it must have been", she began again, watching the ways in which his world went by out of the giant doors of glass he'd seldom opened ever since his mother had closed them for a final time years earlier. "To know she would always be here in spirit, but never again in body. That letting go of this place might mean forgetting all the love and acceptance you found here. From both... all of them. I-I'm sorry..."
"I've never asked for your pity."
"You didn't ask for my friendship either, but here I am." A wry smile twitched at her lips, a trait he more often noticed in himself instead of mirrored in her reflection, all the time spent together allowing his bad habits to rub off on her as he drank in the heady elixir of morality. "I only had to mention 'Joanna' once and the flight crew were falling over themselves to give me directions."
He forced his eyes to follow her gaze out into the promise of the horizon, shocked by how raw his voice sounded. "I would have picked you up if I'd known you were coming."
"I didn't even know myself until this morning. I-I nearly bought one of your paintings yesterday and I couldn't stop thinking..." she cocked her head, no falsehoods hiding in her shyness, the tiny spectrums illuminated in the droplets desperately clinging to sodden strands of straw catching his eye. "About everything you said, Jaime", she paused, chewing at her lip as the shared realisation that she, Brienne, Brienne, Brienne, had never uttered his name so freely washed over them. "Would you really have answered if I'd called?"
Always "What made you think I wouldn't?"
She audibly swallowed a single breath like she needed to find salvation in the air. "I don't know. I've never had a friend like you before."
"I'd say that was a good thing", he attempted a smile at the escaping earnestness, feeling like a teenager all over again as he accidentally grazed her fingers, shuffling closer towards familiarity and further away from the painful path she was laying into his past. "I'd hate to think you've been showing off your magnificent thighs to the rest of your friends."
"Jaime", she near growled, the chastisement acting like an accompanying clash of thunder to the continuing rain outside, fiercely threading her fingers through his to offer up the same strength and support she kept providing, despite being given enough opportunities to run in the opposite direction. Unable to look her in the eye for a heartbeat and stop the pretence, he simply squeezed her hand and felt the shiver transfer from pale to tanned skin, the physical void between them disappearing to nothing.
"If you still wanted a painting, I've probably got a few lying around", he mused, blazing forward to bring up another shield of mocking suggestion as she blinked, her face lighting up like he'd set off scarlet fireworks beneath her freckles. "Let me help you out of those wet clothes and we can spend the afternoon finding out what you might like to take back home with you."
"Aren't you supposed to be moving out of here in a few days?" she murmured sensibly, thinking out loud, and, to his immense surprise, pulled away only to spin around to face his issues head on. Embarrassment still twinged at the periphery of her actions, although the refusal to break their strengthening connection remained her overwhelming motive, a soft gasp of unreserved laughter parting her full lips as he nuzzled into the healing hand coming up to rest on his shoulder, falling in love with how she knew what he needed before he'd figured it out himself. "Why don't we go and get some lunch and then you can let me help you pack up whatever's left upstairs?"
A thousand questions burst into existence beneath the gentle honesty ebbing out of undiscovered oceans in her eyes, laughter metamorphosing into an undeniably feminine sigh as he wilfully moved to kiss her wrist, drowning in the revelatory instinct that slid her palm up to cradle his cheek and jaw, the hows and whats and whys in his head opening up future scenarios that both scared and excited him.
"Brienne", he teased, her fingers mapping out his face as if she needed the touches to remember everything about him later. "Now that I'm supposed to be out of your hands..." he smiled as she blushed, dropping her beautifully bright eyes to the memory stained wooden floor. "Did you come all this way just to ask me out?"
"Gods, no", she breathed, time ticking backwards as any relevant experience that could have helped in such circumstances seemed to fall off her face, realising that, as she began to nervously play with the short strands of hair at the nape of his neck and his arm possessively encircled her waist like they were about to waltz off into the sunset, more than just fond reassurances were being given as willingly as they were received. "There's a medical conference in Lannisport that starts tomorrow, I-I wasn't supposed... someone dropped out and I..."
"Thank you."
The lack of scornful bite in his tone roused her from the tension which was blanketing them both in disbelieving desire, meeting his eyes as a fight or flight response gleamed in her dilating pupils. "I've never had a friend like you before either."
He felt the rarity of her smile against his cheek as she enveloped him in her arms, the intended warmly platonic gesture over the second he nudged his nose into her curling hair and she responded with a sweet noise of contentment. The loneliness she never spoke of, but was all too apparent at times, rose to seek out solid but silent truths as he wished her business in Lannisport would never end, recognising how much harder it would be to go back to virtual reality now that they'd found and accepted each other in the flesh. It would take no effort at all to turn his head and kiss her, to make one last good memory in the hauntingly beloved space, but something stopped him before he could discover what she tasted like behind her bitten lips.
"I made a call to the first name on your list yesterday", he announced as their embrace came to a natural end, breaking apart only to come back together for a beat due to a deafening roll of thunder which rattled every window. "So, once you've stopped trying to impress me with your ability to bring the weather of Storm's End to Casterly, you should finish writing up your notes. Qyburn's seeing me first thing Friday morning."
She crinkled her brow but the expression it produced was as guile free as ever. "I fly back on Thursday. But... your brother stopped asking for reports weeks ago, months maybe. I thought he'd discussed it with you."
How did he know before I did?. "It must have slipped his mind." He wasn't sure she would believe him, but the badly thought out explanation at least prevented her from asking any further questions he didn't want to answer. "I guess that means you're going to have a lot of free time on your hands then."
"I am here to work", she countered firmly, although the twinkle in her eyes didn't feel like a figment of his imagination. "But I'll be happy to skip some of the awful networking events if you can find a need for me here."
I don't need you here, I want you here, he thought but, there was no necessity to rush to the end with her, to steal moments where they could and part before the sun could rise, to live one life behind closed doors and another where watchful eyes judged. Time, for once, was on his side and he could enjoy every second. "Let me get my coat and you can buy me lunch."
"I thought we'd just discussed this", she called out as he took the stairs two at a time, appearing to stay impassive if only he hadn't known her well enough to notice the slight pause between each word, the spacing significant enough to give away her exasperated internal monologue. "Five minutes ago."
"And yet you keep coming back to it. Maybe all those protestations about how uninterested you are were more for your benefit than for mine", he retorted, running his fingers through his tangled mane while she remained out of sight, talking but not thinking as he collected weighty wet weather protection. "I've always been far too old for you, darling, and you're too good for me, but if I am going to be acting as your tour guide for the next couple of days, it should at least come with some perks."
He heard her mumble something that sounded like, 'you're not that old, Jaime', biting his tongue in order to stop himself from goading her into wanted repetition, choosing to store the sentiment away for a more appropriate time. It was just another spiral of their connection, their every day interactions making and breaking and reforging a bond stronger than steel.
"When I come to Storm's End, I expect the same treatment from you."
"Fine", she acquiesced gently, initiating a less than graceful spin as he silently stepped back into the studio, matching his relaxed smile as green swam into blue. "The hospital owes me weeks of holiday anyway", her voice dropped, a blush caressing along a freckled yellow brick road. "It'll be nice to have someone to share it with."
"That it will."
On a whim he held out his hand and she took it without hesitation, whispers winding their way past her lips as if it would do a disservice to the ghosts being left behind to speak out loud. "Are you ready to go?"
"Yes", he replied, answering for friendship, for love, for whatever the future may bring. "I think I am."