Archive of Our Own

It was borderline ridiculous to be bringing in the New Year this way, Brienne thought, scowling at the firepit as everyone began situating themselves around it. She’d be the first to admit that less than an hour ago, she’d been excited about the prospect, enthusiastic even. She’d been away from home long enough that catching up with all of her old friends at one of Margaery’s famous themed parties had seemed like the perfect way to reminisce, and reforge some of those bonds that had been strained by time and distance. When she’d found out the theme was Years Gone By, revolving around youthful nostalgia, it’d felt like fate.

And she’d been right–at first. There was something freeing about being so silly with people she’d known since she was a kid, in listening to music that they’d listened to in high school, in playing those childhood games with fun adult twists. It felt like the years that she’d been gone had fallen away, like no time had passed since they were racing each other on the playground, or sitting in the Stark family basement, or piling into the diner, hungover and exhausted. 

She’d played Twister against Jon, and MASH with Sansa, had laughed so hard when Arya had tried to convince her to be the wheelbarrow in the race that they’d ended up in a heap on the ground. She’d been having fun , damn it, and had even felt a small surge of pleasure rush through her when she first heard his voice as he’d entered the room late, foolishly hoping that the distance between them would wash away as magically as it had with everyone else. 

It had not. Instead that hope had died a quick and vicious death as they stared at each other for a moment before Jaime’s face had twisted in a sneer that she remembered very well.

Brienne knew in her gut that letting Margaery and Addam herd them all around the fire for a game of Truth, Dare, or Consequences was a bad idea. She’d started to decline, planning to slip inside and wait them out, but she’d felt Jaime’s eyes on her, and when she’d turned to look at him, the challenge on his face had been clear. She’d wavered, trying to remember that she was an adult rather than the kid she felt like tonight, and then failed completely when he’d slipped past her with a murmured, “Running away again, Tarth? I guess some things don’t change.”

Well he was right that some things didn’t change, Brienne thought. She still couldn’t resist picking up a gauntlet when it was thrown at her feet.

She glanced at him now, seated across from her, refusing to look away when his eyes moved from the fire to find her own. Five years had passed since she’d last seen him from more than a distance,  and yet his face was as familiar to her as it had always been. He hadn't changed that much, not really. His hair was shorter than it had been when she'd known him, though still not short enough to match the life his father had tried to push on him, and he had a beard now where before he hadn’t. It aged him, roughened up the face that was often too pretty, highlighted the sharp line of his jaw. She wished it made him less handsome, which was stupid since she knew good and well that nothing had ever made Jaime Lannister less handsome.

Even the unfriendly look he was leveling at her did nothing to mar his good looks. If anything, it made him even more appealing because it was so familiar, so intimate. It wasn’t a look that you’d give a stranger, or even a casual acquaintance. It was a look that was fueled by their history, a decade’s worth of rivalry and camaraderie and friendship twisting his features into a scowl and reminding her of what they’d once been to each other.

She’d hated that scowl for so long– it had been her constant companion all through the last two years of high school. She’d seen it on the baseball field after she’d crowded the plate, forcing him to ram into her as he tried to steal home; had seen it daily in the gym as he’d sneered at her when she’d tried out for the wrestling team, fighting the school board and the coach and most of the boys until she’d been allowed to suit up. She couldn’t even escape him on weekends when she’d spend her evening hours working as an usher in the local cinema, forced to watch Jaime Lannister and his rotating line of blonde girlfriends make out in the seats before they’d finally leave, scattering popcorn across the floor as he smirked at her. 

It wasn't until college that she’d finally seen a different side of him. They'd been in the same dorm freshman year, which hadn’t seemed like a long shot since there were only five freshman dorms. And then they’d shared two classes that first semester, which again wasn't unlikely, not when his public relations major walked hand in hand with her human resources path. When they'd ended up using the same gym, she'd been a bit suspicious that the gods were fucking with her. When they'd been randomly assigned as partners in a class of over five hundred, it felt like confirmation that they were. 

The first week had been typical for them--he was insulting and she was defensive. They'd gotten kicked out of the library for shouting at each other, and had nearly come to blows when she’d followed Jaime into the locker room at the gym, so intent on telling him why he was wrong that she didn't pay attention to where they were going. She didn't know if they would've ever gotten past their animosity if it hadn't been for that, though. All it had taken was for some guy asking if she was a man or a woman before reaching out to run his fingers across her flat chest, and Jaime had switched all of his rage onto him.

They still fought after that, and they still bickered, but now it was with a sense of kinship, an appreciation that came with him beating the shit out of some idiot in the gym and her leveling the idiot's friend when he ran over to help. They'd cleaned up their knuckles over beer, and settled on a tentative truce for the duration of the project, neither wanting to risk their grade with their constant fighting. And somehow that truce had snowballed until he was the best friend she'd ever had.

They’d been inseparable for the remainder of their time in college. Jaime had even talked about them working together as they sat on the floor of their apartment at the start of their senior year, spinning a fantasy of the two of them joining Lannister Holdings and combining their skills for the power of good. It had been tempting, but she’d only smiled at him, laughing as he’d gotten more and more ridiculous. It shouldn’t have surprised her that her feelings for him had snowballed as surely as their truce had. There was no middle ground with Jaime–people either hated him or they loved him, and somehow she’d managed to do both. She would have loved working with him, and living with him, loved building her life around him, really. But she’d known she had to leave or she’d spend the rest of her life pining for her best friend, and that wouldn’t do. Distance would be good for her, personally, and she’d been naive enough to think that nothing between them would have to change, at least not emotionally. They would still be best friends, still talk all the time, still see each other all the time, even if it was through an app. She’d been confident in their bond being able to withstand the distance.

In reality, it’d never had a chance to even try, not when there apparently hadn’t been anything to kill, just an illusion that had shattered once their proximity to each other had been jeopardized. Everything had changed from the moment she’d told him that she was leaving, and she’d spent more time than she cared to remember, sitting in their silent apartment, wondering if she’d ever been more than a fun diversion for him, questioning every interaction, every smile. He started going out more without her, started making one-serving meals, or asking friends about single women in the city. He’d started withdrawing from her as if he didn’t see the point in lingering over a goodbye that hadn’t meant anything to him. 

The last month before she’d left home had been difficult in a number of ways, but the hardest had been, without a doubt, losing Jaime in small, defined pieces until they hadn’t even said goodbye at all.

“I know you all remember the rules,” Margaery called out now, pitching her voice so that it carried slightly above the chatter of the group. “So I’m just going to get us started.” Her eyes roamed around the fire, mischievously assessing each one of them. “Addam,” she said finally, and Brienne watched as the man grinned, no sign of trepidation on his face. “Truth or Dare?”

“Dare, of course,” Addam answered.

“Why am I not surprised?” Margaery hummed, amusement clear in her voice. “I dare you to sit on Jaime’s lap and play with his hair while giving him your dirtiest come-on looks for three minutes.”

“Too easy,” Addam snorted, getting to his feet. “Scoot back, pretty boy, and let me tell you how handsome you are.”

Everyone laughed, Jaime included, as Addam draped himself across the other man’s lap, slinging one arm around his neck so he could dance his fingers along the curls there, but Brienne felt a surge of alarm. Playing any game with Jaime in the room was dangerous, but playing one where she might be asked to sit in his lap seemed like a blueprint for disaster. She wondered if she could slip away without anyone noticing, anyone but him at least, but knew it wasn’t possible. Sansa was leaning against her, warm and drunk and happy, and Jon kept glancing at her, grinning, pleased to have his stoic companion in their group again. There was no way they’d let her disappear.

“With looks like that, it’s a wonder you ever get laid,” Jaime was saying, chuckling as Addam got more and more ridiculous with each passing moment, wiggling his eyebrows and licking his lips.

“Worked on plenty of your girlfriends,” Addam shot back, tightening his arm around Jaime’s neck so that he was squeezing him in a light chokehold. 

“I’m not known for dating smart women,” Jaime said, elbowing his friend in the ribs.

Brienne looked away from the sight, not sure if the pang in her heart was due to seeing Jaime relaxed and playful, or to the thought of him dating a string of women, all beautiful and somehow still bland. He’d dated a lot when they’d first become friends, but over time it seemed like those dates had slowly fallen away, turning into nights of them going for runs in the park, or making dinner and curling up on the couch with a movie. She’d always felt torn between wanting him to find someone he could love with abandon like he so clearly wanted, and selfishly wanting to keep him to herself.

He’d been her best friend, and hands-down the most important person in her life. She still wasn’t sure if she’d held on too tightly, or not tightly enough, but she supposed in the end, it didn’t matter. She didn’t have him at all now.

The game continued, moving around the firepit in no discernible pattern, and Brienne found herself relaxing as she watched Loras impersonate his grandmother, Robb streak naked around the garden, and Arya smirk as she confessed that yes she had been the one who had hacked into the school’s website their sophomore year of college and posted all of those disturbing pictures and emails from Professor Baelish. The dares were a little out there, and the truths were a little revealing, but it was all in good fun, at least. Brienne could handle it.

Naturally, that’s when Margaery pounced, and the gleam in her friend’s eyes told her it was absolutely done with intention. “Brienne, truth or dare?”

Brienne stilled, her eyes searching her friend’s face for some hint of which one Margaery was hoping she’d be foolish enough to choose, and felt her dread grow when Margaery’s eyes flicked over to Jaime. Neither option seemed like a good one. She didn’t know why they had to play silly games anyway, or why Margaery always had to have a damn theme for her parties. They were adults! Why couldn’t they just sit around and have a few drinks and discuss current events or something? She should’ve launched a protest when Bronn had shoved a Jello shot in her hand, should’ve asked for a glass of wine and let everyone know that Brienne Tarth had returned to Westeros a woman of sophistication and maturity.

“Stop stalling, Tarth,” Jaime said irritably. “ You might not care if we have to wait on you, but that doesn’t mean the rest of us don’t.”

Brienne sucked in a breath, her own irritation surging up even as an awkward tension settled on the group. She should’ve known that Jaime wouldn’t bother pretending at cool neutrality. Where other people would feign politeness and ignore the elephant in the room, Jaime was far too secure in himself to stay silent. He’d always been fine dumping all of his issues on the table for the crowd to see, uncaring of what they thought about them or him. 

“I didn’t realize I’d ever asked anyone to,” Brienne said tightly, trying to adopt the uncaring drawl she’d heard him use so many times, and painfully aware that she was failing. 

“Oh I think you made it very clear you didn’t care whether or not anyone waited for you,” Jaime agreed, his glare far louder than his voice. “After all, we’re only here to have a good time, right?”

She was reminded why she’d spent the last several weeks before leaving either in tears or fighting the urge to punch him. But even after all this time, Brienne couldn’t believe his audacity. She didn’t know why he thought it was okay to remind her, constantly, that their friendship had meant far more to her than to him, and yet still have the nerve to act like a petulant, pissy child with her, like she was the one who’d done something wrong.

“Don’t worry, Lannister, I remember,” she said, and she was almost successful in keeping the bitterness out of her voice. She tore her eyes away from him to settle back on Margaery, who was looking between the two of them with an exasperated expression. Brienne didn’t think she could handle a dare, not from Margaery of all people. If she asked Brienne to sit on Jaime’s lap and snuggle him, there was a good chance that violence would follow. “Truth.”

Margaery hummed, and Brienne got the impression that she’d surprised her. Which she supposed was fair–when they were younger, Brienne had invariably chosen dare. She’d trusted the group enough to not make her do anything foolish, even if she hadn’t trusted them with the most tender, truthful parts of herself. 

Jaime had eventually gotten to see those–most of them at least–but it hadn’t stopped him from breaking her heart.

He was watching her too, but warily now, as if he just realized he didn’t know every single thing about her anymore. It had been five years since she’d left their apartment, still foolishly hoping that he’d appear from his bedroom, or come running down the hall to tell her he was sorry for being an asshole. When she’d shut the door to their place, she’d shut the door on him, refusing to let herself break for someone who couldn’t even be bothered to tell her goodbye.

“Okay, Truth,” Margaery said, and Brienne made sure her face remained impassive despite the sudden certainty that she’d fucked up. “Brienne Tarth, our prodigal daughter, what is your absolute biggest regret in life so far?”

Fuck . Why had she thought Margaery would ask her something simple like how many lovers she’d had or what the riskiest thing she’d ever done was? She knew better. Brienne may have been gone for the past five years, but Margaery hadn’t changed since birth as far as she knew. If there was one thing Brienne knew for sure about her friend, it was that Margaery was always, always three steps ahead of everyone else, and she always knew the answer before she asked the question. Which meant that she knew what Brienne’s biggest regret was, or at least had an idea.

It wasn’t anything that Brienne intended to confirm.

“Actually how about I go with Dare instead, for old times sake?” Brienne said, cursing herself for the way her voice trembled slightly. “I thought I may need one or two more drinks to get to the dares, but it’s about nostalgia, right? Gotta go with Dare.”

Margaery tutted, shaking her head with a smirk. “You can choose dare next time then,” she told her. “You’ve already picked Truth and you know that once you pick, you have to follow through. So go on, Brienne–what’s your biggest regret?”

Brienne kept her eyes trained on her friend, no matter how they wanted to stray to glance at Jaime. It would be easy to pick something, anything really. Nobody made it to their age without regrets, after all. But Margaery had asked what her biggest one was, and Brienne didn’t lie, not about small things, and not about big. She didn’t lie to her friends either, and she wasn’t going to start now.

Besides, Margaery would bust her out immediately and that would be far more embarrassing.

“I think I’ll pass,” Brienne said with a shake of her head. 

“So you choose Consequence?”

Brienne hesitated for just a moment, and then nodded. Margaery’s smile told her that she’d once again walked right towards the end goal her friend had in mind.

“Wonderful,” Margaery hummed, grinning. “Since you’ve refused to be honest, I think the clear consequence should be that you have no choice but to be forced to answer different questions. But I know you’ve never liked opening up to a group, B, so don’t worry–this will be one-on-one.” Brienne had less than three seconds to feel a surge of relief before Margaery continued. “I’ll whisper a number to someone, and then everyone will guess a number. Whoever gets closest to the number, will be the one who gets to ask you questions. Actually, Brienne–why don’t you tell me a number? Between one and fifty? That seems more fair doesn’t it? Let me just get everyone’s guesses and we’ll go from there.”

Margaery’s placid smile as she made her way around the fire, bending down to listen to each person, told Brienne very clearly that this was a trap, but one she wasn’t able to see clearly. Her mind raced as Margaery made her way over to her, trying to see what the other woman saw. Her first instinct was to say thirteen, which she realized Margaery would know. That had been the number she’d worn in baseball, and the number Jaime had worn in wrestling, a number they’d fought over viciously before he’d won with his seniority on the team. It had become a go-to number for them anytime they needed one. Video games and arm wrestling matches turned into ‘the best of thirteen’, or Jaime would come home with thirteen donuts when Brienne was beaten down, or feeling homesick. They’d even gotten their apartment versus the bigger one on the corner because it was number thirteen and Jaime had insisted it was good luck. It was their number, and Margaery knew that, had teased them both about it. She probably expected them both to pick it, which probably meant Brienne shouldn’t choose it just in case Jaime did.

Unless. Well. Surely he wouldn’t pick thirteen, though? Maybe Margaery was thinking they’d both go with their standard number out of some sense of fondness or nostalgia or even habit, but Margaery was underestimating how contrary Jaime could be. Out of all the numbers he could go for, he’d probably get as far away as possible from the one that had become like a talisman for them. Of course he would. And that meant that thirteen was the only safe option.

Confident in her decision, and thrilled about having out-maneuvered Margaery, Brienne leaned forward to whisper her choice in her friend’s ear. The grin that spread across her face told Brienne all she needed to know. 

***

The pool deck bathroom that Margaery herded them into was painted a soft green that made Brienne think of the meadows back home, and yet somehow she felt like she had descended into one of the levels of hell. Maybe not one of the really bad levels, the ones reserved for murderers or scammers or people who humblebragged, but definitely lower than she thought she deserved. Five years ago, being trapped in a tiny room with Jaime Lannister would’ve been the opposite of hell, but life was constantly a surprise. 

She didn’t want to look at him. When Margaery had announced that Jaime had won the right to interrogate Brienne and had “even guessed the exact number , isn’t that an amazing coincidence ?” Brienne had looked at him just in time to see his head jerk up, the look on his face such a mixture of emotions that she couldn’t even begin to untangle them. Hell, she couldn’t even untangle her own.

She wished the room were bigger, or that it had windows, or a fan maybe. It felt too small with him in it, as if his presence was sucking up every bit of air available until it seemed like her lungs were too small. Jaime had always been compelling–even when she’d hated him, she’d been aware of how much everyone else gravitated to him, of how he changed the energy of a place. He was magnetic in a way that very few people were, and she’d watched teachers, women, and random people and animals fall under his spell for years. She’d prided herself on not being one of them, on being someone who could see him for who he really was.

Of course, then she had really seen him, and he was so much better than anyone even realized. How could she not fall in love with him?

Remembering that, knowing it was inevitable, didn’t make this any easier, though. Brienne finally forced her eyes up to look at him, her entire body tensing when she realized he was watching her already. She still couldn’t get a read on his expression, couldn’t figure out what he was thinking or feeling as he studied her. It was hard to not fidget, to not shift on her feet or smooth down her hair or tug down her shirt. Jaime had always liked making her squirm, especially the times when she’d tried so hard not to. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction tonight. Not after everything.

“Well?” she asked finally, and was pleased by how indifferent her voice came out. “Are you going to ask me some stupid questions, or what?”

Jaime arched a brow, leaning back against the door, completely unhurried. Where before his face had been a puzzle she couldn’t work out, now it was one she remembered well. It was the look he’d worn every single time they’d faced each other in a competition, whether it was a home run derby in high school, or a marshmallow eating contest in college. It was the look he wore when he was studying her, trying to decide which of her weak spots he could aim for and get the upper hand. She’d hated that look and had become terribly fond of that look, but right now it only made her feel exposed in a way she didn’t care for.

“If you insist,” he said glibly, and his easy tone did nothing to calm the dread curling through her. “Tenth grade, that poem that was in Renly’s locker–was that you?”

Brienne glared at him, crossing her arms over her chest. She knew that he already knew this, and he knew that she knew it because she’d confessed to it once when they were drunk in college. “Yes.”

“And the name of your stuffed dragon that you used to snuggle with? The purple one with the crown?”

She absolutely loathed him. “Ser Renly.”

He smirked, tilting his head a little. “And that time in our second year of college, someone puked in the dishwasher at Dany’s party, and then tried to run it–who was that, Tarth?”

Brienne didn’t know why they’d ever been friends in the first place. He was clearly an asshole. “Me.”

“And you tried to run it, why?”

He knew that she’d been mortified the next day. “Because I thought it would clean the dishes that were in it.” Jaime chuckled and Brienne nearly smiled at the sound before she remembered how much she detested him. “Come on, Lannister. You already know all this.”

His laughter died away and she wanted to kick herself for killing the sound. “Okay,” he agreed. “Who was your first kiss? And why have you never owned up to it?”

Brienne felt her face burn as she glanced down. “Oh come on,” she muttered. “We’re adults, not teenagers.”

“And yet you still refuse to tell me, which means I definitely want to know,” Jaime shot back.

She hated this game. She hated theme parties, and bathrooms, and friendships that weren’t as genuine as they appeared, and being incapable of lying. “Fine. My first kiss was with Loras, are you happy? And I never told you because it’s embarrassing because we both had a crush on Renly and were trying to make him jealous.”

“The dragon or the guy?”

Brienne shot him an irritable glare, her scowl only deepening when he burst into laughter. She’d never told anyone who her first kiss was because she was extremely aware of how pathetic it was to admit that it was spurred on by jealousy and obliviousness, not to mention how it had ended with Renly and Loras making out behind the bleachers within the hour. It wasn’t exactly a highlight of her youth. And it irritated her that of all the people to learn that mortifying little detail about her, it had to be him. She knew how skilled Jaime was at collecting those pieces of ammunition, and then flicking verbal bombs at people. She’d often thought that one of the reasons he was destined to succeed at public relations was because he’d spent most of his life learning to evicerserate people with his words.

“Are you done?” she asked after a moment, irritation still clear in her voice.

“Oh, not on your life, Tarth,” Jaime said, and the amusement was still just as strong in his. “They gave us ten minutes, and we haven’t even used half of that.” She huffed out a breath, impatient, only for him to narrow his eyes at her. “Didn’t think you’d be so eager to bare your soul to me, I gotta admit.”

“I’m eager to get out of this bathroom, and get home.”

“Where’s home?” Jaime asked quietly. When she stared at him, he tipped his head towards her. “Still part of the game, Tarth. That’s a question, you have to answer.”

Fuck him so much. “About ten minutes from here.”

“So it’s true then? You moved back?” She nodded curtly, ignoring the way his eyes roamed over her face. “Did you come back alone?”

“As opposed to what?”

“Three dogs? A tank of fish? A boyfriend? Husband? Two children and a life insurance policy?”

“I have a dog,” she said slowly, leaning back against the counter. “No other animals. Or humans.”

“Left your boyfriend behind then?” His voice was too calm, too steady. It was the one he used when he wanted to act like he didn’t care about the answer. 

“What boyfriend?”

“Sansa said you were with some guy,” Jaime answered with a jerk of his shoulder. “She said he sounded pretty great, that you sounded like you liked him a lot.”

Brienne racked her brain as she stared at him, trying to figure out who in the world he could be talking about. She had dated in her time away–locals, other volunteers, travelers even. But she’d never dated any of them seriously, and she didn’t remember ever telling Sansa about any of them in any sort of detail. “Did she say anything else about him?”

“Were there a lot to choose from?” Jaime snapped, his voice tense and his jaw tight. “Can’t keep them all straight?”

Brienne rolled her eyes, well aware that the idea of her being a serial dater was probably hilarious to him. He’d tried to push her into dating when they’d first become friends, though it had only taken about six months for him to give it up and accept that she was happiest when it was just them, or a small group. “I didn’t leave anyone behind,” she told him, ignoring his implications.

“Not this time huh?”

“What?”

Jaime smiled at her, a false one that looked wrong on his face, though she’d seen it more than she’d cared to near the end. “Break lots of hearts while you were out saving the world, Tarth?”

“Yeah, that’s what I do,” Brienne said dryly. “Sign up for humanitarian work, and just leave a trail of devastated men all across my travels.” She couldn’t help but snort despite herself. 

Jaime continued to smile at her, that fake, forced smile that she hated so much. “So just the one then?”

She still had no idea who he was talking about. She wondered what Sansa had told him, or if he was just fishing for information to use against her. “Still don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Jaime winced dramatically. “Ouch, poor guy. I wish I could remember his name–Patrick, Roderick. Something like that. He’s probably trying not to cry himself to sleep, and you can’t even remember him.”

Did he mean Podrick? What in the world had Sansa told him that made him think she was ever dating Pod? He reminded her very strongly of an overeager puppy despite their similar age, and the idea of them being together in a romantic sense was laughable. Not that it was any of his business. “Can we move on?”

“I thought we could when I heard you were going to be here tonight,” Jaime said quietly. “But then I saw you, and I don’t know. It isn’t as easy as I thought.”

Brienne swallowed, unprepared for the turn towards the elephant in the room. “I meant with the game.”

“Oh,” he answered. “We can do that, I guess. Did you fall in love while you were gone?”

“What?” Brienne exclaimed, feeling off balance yet again. 

“Simple question,” Jaime shrugged. “Did you fall in love in the five years you were gone?”

Brienne stared at him, trying to figure out what the point of his question was. What the point of any of his questions were. “No,” she said finally. “I didn’t fall in love while I was gone.” She’d only really been in love once in her life, and it had happened well before she’d gotten on that first plane to Pentos.

They stared at each other for a moment, neither of them speaking, and Brienne found herself tapping her foot just to break the tension. Jaime’s eyes flicked down to it and then meandered back up in a slow pace that had her flushing. The silence held between them, seeming to grow louder as the moments ticked by, and she just wanted it to be over. She wanted someone to knock on the door, to laugh and tell them time was up, for Jaime to turn around and walk away. Anything to end this suspended state they were in.

“Why didn’t you ever contact me?” he asked finally, and she’d changed her mind, wanted to rewind them back into silence where it was safe, because even if it hurt, it didn’t hurt as badly as this was bound to.

“What?” she managed to stammer.

“When you left,” he continued. “You never contacted me. Not right after, not when you landed, not even when you came back home for visits. Not once in five years. Why not?”

She didn’t want to do this, maybe not ever, but definitely not here. “Why didn’t you contact me?”

“You’re the one that’s supposed to be answering questions, Tarth,” he said. “I’m not the one who owes an explanation to anyone here.”

“And I do?” she shot back angrily.

“Hell yes you do,” he snapped. “You owe me one, if nothing else. Maybe you owe a few others one too, I don’t know, but at least you talked to them. At least they got a postcard or a phone call or a visit. I didn’t get anything from you but silence, so I’ll damn well take an explanation now. I deserve that.”

“You think so?”

“Are you saying I don’t?” Brienne stared at him in disbelief. She’d always known that Jaime was fairly shameless, but she was still amazed at his audacity. “Are you serious right now, Brienne?” She was so startled by the use of her name after so long that she nearly missed the hurt look that flashed across his face. “Really? Okay, you don’t want to answer that one, how about this one? Do you ever think about me? Or did you before tonight?”

Brienne recoiled slightly, and Jaime took a step forward, purposeful now, even if he was slightly agitated. “Did you miss me at all? Did you ever wonder what I was doing? Or ask about me? Even once? Or did you just shrug me off and find a new roommate, a new best friend? Is that what it is? You just found someone else to take my spot? Someone who knows you as well as I do?” 

“As well as you did ,” Brienne corrected. “You don’t know me anymore, Jaime.”

“Bullshit.” He took two quick steps towards her so that he was mere inches away, and his face was furious now. “You think I don’t know you anymore just because I haven’t seen you in a few years? I knew you better than I knew myself, Brienne. That sort of thing doesn’t just go away.”

“It isn’t just that you haven’t seen me in years, Jaime! We haven’t even talked to each other. We don’t know each other anymore.”

“I don’t believe that,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t. I might not know what your work schedule is, or what you’re watching on tv, or which gym you use, but none of that matters because I know you . You’re still Brienne Tarth, the most stubborn, righteous, pain in the ass I’ve ever known. You’re still argumentative, and unwilling to back down, and you’ve never met a challenge that you’ll pass by without trying to break it to the ground. I’d bet money that you still volunteer on weekends now that you’re home, even though you spent five years doing more than most people do in a lifetime. I bet your dog is a rescue–some poor, pitiful thing that nobody saw the worth in, but that you took in and loved to life. Because that’s you , Brienne, and people don’t change like that.”

“Jaime.”

“I’ve thought of you every single day since the last time I saw you. Literally every day. I think of you every time I eat cold spaghetti in my kitchen, and I think of you when I hear that stupid song about Santa being on the roof because I still can’t make that popping sound like you could. I think of you when I pass by The Bear Den, even though I haven’t stepped foot in there for a drink in five years. I think of you every June when the anniversary of your dad’s death passes and I wonder if you’re letting anyone hug you like you used to let me.” 

She didn’t know what to do with her hands, or with the horrible tightness in her chest. Jaime was staring at her so intensely, his eyes burning into hers, his own hands trembling slightly as he threw them around. She wondered how she could have ever believed he simply didn’t care when the problem was that he so clearly cared too much.

“If you’re too stubborn to answer my questions, then I’ll answer them instead,” he continued, his voice still just as fierce. “Yes, I thought about you. Yes, I missed you. Losing you felt like losing a piece of myself, like losing my godsdamned hand. I had to re-learn how to live without you, how to even function without you. It was like having a hole punched into my entire fucking life, this huge, glaring Brienne-shaped hole that nobody else could even begin to fill because there’s nobody in the world like you. There’s nobody else like you, Brienne, and I know that’s one of the things you’ve always hated about yourself, but it’s always been one of the things I’ve loved. It’s one of the best things about you, that you’re just who you are, that you go around being all you , and you don’t even realize what a fucking miracle you are.”

Brienne was vaguely aware that she was staring at him like an idiot, her mouth gaping open and her eyes wide. She’d imagined Jaime spilling his heart out to her dozens of times, but never like this. She’d pictured it on their couch, or walking through the park, or on a sailboat at sunset even, but never once had she pictured him doing so after they’d been forced into a bathroom by their friends. She’d never thought he’d do it like this, with his eyes slightly wild and his voice growing louder, and comparing her to an amputated hand. 

It was nothing like what she’d dreamed about, and that’s what made it so perfect.

“Say something,” he pleaded. “Brienne, just talk to me. Please.”

Brienne nodded, trying to formulate words. “Jaime,” she managed. “I didn’t–”

There were three loud raps on the door, causing them to spring apart moments before it flew open and Bronn appeared. “Out, out,” he yelled, his hands fumbling at his belt. “Enough yelling at the girl, Lannister, get the fuck out.” He brushed past them to the toilet, the urgency on his face sending the two of them moving swiftly out the room, the moment shattered.

Brienne found herself disoriented as they stood outside the poolhouse, blinking as the sights and sounds of the party came rushing back to her. There were a couple of people by the fire still, their laughing faces illuminated by the flames, and she could see Tyrion and Arya talking quietly, the smirks on their faces nearly guaranteeing that they were devising some scheme. Music was playing as a handful of people danced on the grass, a ballad that Brienne remembered from high school, one of those songs that was played at dances and on car rides, and always carried the taste of youth. Normally it was a song that would make Brienne smile and sing, letting herself feel the freedom that she hadn’t allowed herself as a teenager, but now it just made her feel unbearably old and weary.

It felt like a lifetime had passed since she and Jaime had entered the bathroom, much less since they’d glared at each other from across the gym during their high school prom. He had been her worst enemy and her best friend and her biggest heartbreak, and she was starting to realize that he might just be the love of her life. More importantly, she was starting to realize that she might be his too.

She glanced over at him, and found he was looking at her with that same desperate expression on his face, as if he could feel time slipping away, too. They’d already wasted so much of it before tonight, and there was still so much to say. She wondered if it would be considered rude to drag him around the pool house so they could just finish ripping the bandaid off. 

“I asked you to dance once,” he said softly, still staring at her. “Do you remember?”

“I remember,” Brienne nodded. It had been at another party that she’d been dragged to, at a sorority house.

“You didn’t even answer me,” Jaime continued ruefully. You just stared at me like you’d never seen me before, and then turned around and walked away. I felt like a jackass.”

“I thought you were joking,” Brienne admitted, glancing away from him for a moment. She’d been so hurt and embarrassed at that moment. Jaime had asked her to dance, yes, but with a smirk and a laugh in his voice that had covered up his sincerity. Neither of them had been confident enough to be transparent, not completely.

“I wasn’t.”

Brienne nodded, and looked back at him. She could still see some of that boy in him, that smirking, brash young man who had been so cocky and sure of himself in all the things that hadn’t necessarily mattered, and so quietly vulnerable with the ones that did.

“Dance with me,” Jaime said, jerking his chin toward the yard. 

“What?”

“I want to dance with you,” he told her, holding out his hand. She stared at it for a moment, wondering if his fingers would still feel the same curled against hers, smiling a little at the small white scar that stretched across his knuckle from that day at the gym when everything had changed. She’d taken his hand then, she remembered, sitting in the booth and dabbing the blood away. She’d taken his hand, and taken a chance, and even when she’d left five years ago, swallowing back tears, she’d never regretted it, not really.

She kept her eyes on his as she reached out and slid her hand into his own. His hand still felt right in hers, his palm broader than her own, her fingers longer than his, but locking together without any of the awkward fumbling that she’d found in other grips. Jaime had always held her hand like he knew exactly what to do with her, as if she weren’t too much for him to navigate. 

There was a moment of fumbling when they stepped onto the grass, but Brienne was willing to blame it on the fact that she was glaring at Margaery’s satisfied grin and therefore not paying attention to Jaime stopping to face her. Their hands lifted and retreated once, twice, until they finally settled, his on the slight dip of her waist, hers resting on his shoulders. This was new for them. Not the touching–Jaime had always been a tactile person, and she’d had to grow used to his hands early on in their friendship. But touching while staring at each other, trying to find the rhythm of the music and the other person–that was new.

Brienne let him lead her in silence for a moment, their bodies slowly relaxing as they grew used to being near each other, and she wondered if his heart and brain were racing as quickly as hers were. She replayed the words he’d spilled over her in the bathroom, and wondered how to bridge the gap from that to where she hoped they could go next.

Jaime made an opening for her. Of course he did.

“So since you never answered my questions, I think you either have to answer them, or you have to answer the original question,” he said finally, putting just enough pressure on the small of her back to guide her forward so that his temple could rest against her own, eliciting a small shiver from her. He would know that she’d be able to say it easier without looking at him.

Brienne smiled a little, breathing in the scent of him. His shampoo had changed, and his cologne, but he still smelled like Jaime despite that, still smelled like home, and the familiarity of it had the knots in her belly untangling. Their last month together had been so devastating that she’d let herself forget what she deep-down knew about Jaime: that she was safe with him, and that he had her. Being this close to him and letting the rest of the world fall away had that knowledge come rushing back. She wanted to kick herself for focusing on her hurt and anger, for letting his cold and dismissive demeanor fool her into thinking she didn’t really know him. They’d lost so much time over a stupid misunderstanding. Not just lost it, but threw it away like it didn’t mean anything. 

She couldn’t get that time back, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t learn from it.

“The summer before college, I did some volunteering North of the Wall. It was really eye-opening for me, to see how differently other people lived, people only a few hours away by plane, really. It’s one of the reasons I went into human resources. One of the older volunteers there, Goodwin, he’s the one who talked to me about the difference between saying the right things and doing the right things. He told me all about his time doing humanitarian work, all the trips he’d taken, the lives he’d changed. We were only there for two weeks, but by the time we left to go back home, I’d signed the paperwork to join them after college in exchange for a stipend. I didn’t have anything here for me anymore anyway. Not back then.”

“You had friends,” Jaime said softly.

“I did,” Brienne agreed. “But I was still alone. My dad had just died and I didn’t even know where I’d be going home during breaks, so it seemed like a good idea. I had friends, but I couldn’t really see them clearly at the time, not when I was hurting like I was. And even then, those friendships weren’t the kind that you made plans around. I never expected to find that.”

“Did you?” he whispered, and she didn’t know how he could sound so unsure when she felt like she was bleeding all over him.

“You know I did, Jaime,” she whispered back.

“You didn’t make plans around me.”

“I would’ve. I wanted to. The closer graduation came, the more I dreaded leaving. I could barely go a day without seeing you, I couldn’t even think about going weeks or months. It made me sick to my stomach so I kept not thinking about it. And then when I finally told you about it, you got so weird.”

“ I got weird?” Jaime asked incredulously. 

“ Yes ,” Brienne insisted. “You were so excited about graduation, and you kept talking about all of the fun stuff you had planned. Trips to the beach, and that hike through the Riverlands, and maybe finding an apartment with Addam. If I brought up my plans, you immediately started talking about your own, and everything sounded amazing. How could I tell you that I was scared and sad and anxious? You were very clearly looking at post-school life like this big adventure, and it made me realize that I’d put more stock into our friendship than you had.”

She felt him stiffen in her arms, his muscles momentarily going rigid underneath her palms. She shook her head, her cheek brushing his, and continued on before he could speak. “It made me even more miserable, thinking that way, but I couldn’t stop because you never shut up about your plans, like you wanted to make sure that I knew that you wouldn’t miss me at all. And I didn’t want to be sad because it meant I walked around wanting to cry, so I got mad instead. Why would I waste my time missing someone who wasn’t going to miss me? I couldn’t picture life without you, and every single one of your plans made it obvious that you were never going to include me anyway. I got angry, and snappy, and defensive and you got smug, and arrogant, and condescending. Like we reverted back to our high school selves, and erased all those years between us. By the time I left, we were barely speaking. You didn’t even come home that last night.”

Jaime drew in a shaky breath, his arms tightening around her waist, so Brienne made herself finish it out. “By the time I realized that maybe you were just as scared and sad and worried as I was, it had been too long, I’d been too stubborn. Months had gone by and it felt weird to reach out so I just…didn’t. I kept telling myself that if you didn’t want to talk to me, then I needed to let go and move on, and the next thing I knew it had been six months, then a year. And then it was too late.”

“Brienne,” Jaime said, his voice unbearably soft.

“That’s why I never contacted you. That’s what you asked, right? What else was there? You wanted to know if I ever thought about you. No, I didn’t. I don’t.” She felt him start to jerk away, and simply held him tighter. “I actively do not think about you every day. Because if I let myself think about you, I miss you so much that I can barely stand it. When I thought about you, I wanted to leave everything behind and come back home, and beg you to be my friend again. I don’t know if you can understand how much you meant to me, what it felt like to be so close to someone after a lifetime of feeling alone. The end of our friendship felt like a death, and I couldn’t let myself think about it because then I’d remember that you were alive and simply didn’t want me anymore.” She took in a shaky breath. “So no, I didn’t ask about you, and I didn’t wonder what you were doing because I couldn’t bear to hear the answer, to know that you were fine. Is that all of them?”

“No,” he whispered. “I asked you if you’d found someone else to take my spot.”

“That’s right,” Brienne nodded, chuckling even as tears sprang to her eyes. “You wanted to know if I’d fallen in love while I was gone, and if I’d found anyone else to take your spot.” She inhaled slowly, trying to calm her racing heart and grab for the courage that she’d lacked in their youth. “And the answer is of course I haven’t. There’s only ever been you, Jaime.”

“For the best friend spot or the falling in love spot?” he asked on a shaky breath. 

She couldn’t even be irritated that he was going to make her spell it out–not after the time they’d spent not understanding each other. “Both,” she whispered. “It’s always been you.”

Brienne started to loosen her hold as the song faded, exhausted and overloaded and unable to take any more, but Jaime just held her tighter, firming his grip and tugging her towards him until their bodies were brushing. “No, we’re gonna finish this,” he said simply, and reached up to slide her hands from his shoulders to behind his neck, silently instructing her to hold him closer, then wrapping his arms around her when she did so.

“You still never told me your biggest regret,” he said after a moment of silence, swaying them in place. Brienne could dimly feel the eyes of their friends on them, but couldn’t bring herself to care, not with their bodies nearly pressed together. “But since you were so honest and open, finally, I’m not going to ask you what it is. Instead I’m going to tell you what mine was, okay?” 

Brienne nodded, shutting her eyes and leaning her head against his own. “Okay.”

“My number one regret is how young I was when you left,” he told her. “Not my age, but my emotions, I guess. You’ve heard stories about my dad, how he basically just checked out when my mom died. Like he was a machine instead of a man. Impossible to please, demanding, rigid.” He sounded so much older than the boy she’d known, Brienne thought as they danced. Older and more thoughtful, and a little sad. “It took me a long time to realize that it didn’t matter what I did or how well I did it, he wouldn’t ever be able to be like one of those dads I’d seen around town, or on tv. And when I realized that, I realized I shouldn’t ever depend on anyone, not for any sort of emotional care. Because what was the point in needing people who weren’t gonna give a shit anyway?”

She’d always known that being Tywin’s son wasn’t as easy as it looked on paper, but she hadn’t realized it had marked him so deeply. It hadn’t been immediate, but he’d let her see those soft parts of himself eventually, let her witness his vulnerability. Not often, but often enough that she felt like he’d let her see all of him, that he’d let her see the truth of him. Which was probably why she hadn’t questioned his behavior in the weeks leading up to her departure. It never dawned on her that he’d hold back.

“When you told me you were leaving, I was devastated. I was worried about you moving to another city, that was already unbearable enough. But then you said you’d be leaving the country, and only coming back occasionally, and that you didn’t know how often you’d be able to call, and gods, Brienne. It hurt . And it made me realize what a fool I was, because the whole time I’d been telling myself I didn’t need anyone, I was full of shit. I needed you . I had for years by then. You were everything to me, and you were leaving. And I didn’t want to be the loser who was heartbroken when you seemed so stoic about it, so instead I talked about all of the things I had planned because I didn’t want you to know that I was barely hanging onto my self-control.” He laughed then, a low, mirthless sound that seemed to land in her chest. “I was full of shit about that too. You know how I spent the summer after graduation? I drank a lot, and sat in the apartment sulking. That’s basically it. I was miserable knowing I was losing you, and I ended up just shoving you out my life, and losing you even sooner. That’s my biggest regret. That I didn’t just tell you.” She felt him press his nose against her temple, brushing against her hair. “If you’d asked me to go with you, I would have. In a heartbeat.”

Brienne swallowed back the laughing sob that wanted to spill out into his ear, squeezing her eyes more tightly closed. “If you would’ve asked me to stay, I would have.”

“No you wouldn’t have,” he corrected, keeping their bodies swaying. “Brienne Tarth, break her word? Not in a million years.”

Brienne pulled back to look at him, needing him to see her, to believe her. To understand just what he meant to her, then and now. He still looked sad, a wistfulness in his eyes that made her heart ache. “I would have,” she said slowly, making sure she kept her eyes trained on his. “If it meant that I got to keep you, I’d break my word. You were worth way more than a commitment I made before I knew what else I could have. You’re worth so much more than that, Jaime.”

Jaime inhaled sharply as they slowed to a stop, his eyes intent on hers. She stood still, her hands still linked around his neck, wanting him to hear the honesty in her words, to see it in her eyes. They’d both carried so many years of hurt and disappointment into their friendship, both too busy being ready to defend themselves that they hadn’t seen the truth even when it was so clear. She didn’t want to make that mistake again. Not this time.

The smile that bloomed over his face told her they wouldn’t.

“Brienne, I–” Jaime started to say, only to jerk backwards as Robb’s voice rang out nearby.

“Sixty seconds!” he called out, blasting a small air horn for good measure. “Come on everyone! Get your drinks, get your poppers, get your hands off my sister, Bronn.” Brienne glanced around, suddenly very aware of how closely she’d been dancing with Jaime for everyone to see.

“I just wanted a midnight kiss,” Bronn complained good-naturedly as everyone laughed and Sansa danced away from him. “Theon isn’t even here, who’s she gonna kiss?”

“Not you,” Robb grinned. “Someone start the countdown! Let’s end this year properly.”

Jaime and Brienne were jostled slightly as their friends began gathering in, a knot of people forming on the grass while the music played on. She glanced at him again and the look in his eyes steadied her, bracing her feet to hold them in place. He was looking at her like she was the sun, like of all the good things he’d seen in the world, she was by far the best. He was looking at her like–well, like he always had, she realized. Or at least like he always had before that last month when they’d both been hurt and scared and not sure what to do about it. 

She knew what to do about it now.

“Ten! Nine! Eight!” 

Their friends began counting as one, a loud, harmonious shout, but Brienne only locked her arms tighter around Jaime’s neck, reeling him in until their bodies were pressed against each other. He was tense, she noted, with nerves or excitement or the same giddy disbelief she felt, but not in a bad way. There wasn’t anything bad about the way he wrapped his arms around her waist, or pressed his forehead against hers.

“Seven! Six! Five!”

Brienne took a deep breath, well aware of how much her life was about to change. There’d be no going back from this. From him. She supposed there never had been.

“Four! Three!”

Jaime took a deep breath, too, his lips curling upward slightly in a smile that seemed to echo inside her heart.

“Two! One! Happy New Year!”

When they’d been in college, Brienne had tried to imagine what kissing Jaime would be like, especially for the first time. There had been quick and furious kisses that came at the heel of an argument, soft and tender kisses that occurred as they said good night, sleepy and absent-minded kisses as they dozed on the couch. They’d all been initiated by him, of course, after he’d realized she was the one for him, and they’d all been excellent. But they still didn’t compare to how it really felt in this moment, with their friends shouting and cat-calling around them, and confetti falling down from the air, and Brienne being the one to close the distance to finally touch her mouth to his. His body was warm and firm against hers, his lips soft and seeking, and she could taste him underneath the beer on his tongue. Some part of her had known it’d be like this, that kissing him would change everything.

If a kiss could be like coming home, then she had.

When they drew away from each other, she was dimly aware of Bronn’s off-key singing, of Margaery’s delighted whooping, of Arya’s laughter. But mostly she was aware of Jaime, of his smile, and his hands, and how he felt in her arms after they’d been empty of him so long.

“I thought of a question I didn’t ask,” he said, grinning against her mouth.

“I think the game’s over, Jaime,” she told him, amused despite herself.

“But this is important!”

Brienne sighed, and tried not to laugh in sheer delight at having him back in her life. “Fine. What is it?”

Jaime’s grin grew impossibly wider, every bit of him practically glowing with his joy. “Can I get your number?”

Brienne rolled her eyes then ran her tongue over her bottom lip where it still tingled from his beard, deeply pleased by the way Jaime’s eyes followed its path, darkening with satisfaction at the sight of her kiss-swollen mouth. 

“How about I give it to you in the morning?” she asked, and the smirk on her face felt like one she’d seen thousands of times on his own. 

“I can wait til then,” he agreed, and his smile was so happy that Brienne couldn’t resist hugging him close. 

“No more waiting,” she told him. “Not for us.”

This time, he kissed her.