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“Jaime. Jaime. Jaime.”
Jaime startled awake so sharply that Brienne jumped back. “What—what—Brienne?”
Brienne squeezed his shoulder again while watching him with concern. “Take your shoes off.”
Jaime wriggled out underneath the blanket and fumbled for his sneakers, realizing he had never taken off his airport chic before face-planting in Brienne’s couch. Idiot. He hadn’t even thought to wash his hands before he came in, even after seeing everybody wearing masks. Brilliant friend he was.
“Jaime, are you alright?” she said, sitting down on the armchair opposite and never taking her eyes off him.
Jaime rubbed his hands across his face for a little time and yawned for good measure.
“All of my dreams have come true, wench.”
You saying my name again and again, specifically. He patted the cushions. On this couch.
Except that he was a guest, and a friend, her best friend, and he’d be damned before he ruined the one good thing going in his life.
Oh, sure, he had fame. Fortune. Shockingly good looks. But what had that gotten him? Not Brienne’s friendship; that was the fruit of years’ mishaps and adventures. Not her heart.
He smiled at Brienne while stretching and then lifted high enough to get his shirt to ride up the teensiest bit. Look, he wasn’t going to put a hatchet through their friendship by proposing to her right now on her crappy shag rug, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t try to…..inspire feelings. Suggest alternative relations. Make her heart beat a fraction of the full Edinburgh tattoo his liked to announce when she sat next to him.
Please, please, Brienne, look at my muscles, he prayed to all Seven while he artfully cricked his neck back and forth. He slyly looked up to see her stretching as well, pushing her hands out while she curled her back, chest heaving as she took in a deep breath—
Well, that backfired.
Also, she doesn’t care about your muscles, said a voice in his head that sounded an awful lot like Tyrion. She’s got bigger ones.
Dammit.
“What’s up, wench?” Jaime said, already enjoying the flush that was rising in Brienne’s cheeks. She ducked her head and stepped around the coffee table, heading for the kitchen. “The shower’s free,” she said over her shoulder.
He was still waking up but twisted so fast around on the couch his neck popped. “What?”
Brienne paused, looking even more concerned than before. “You can go shower now. I put a spare towel on your duffel.”
One of his dreams had started like that too. Seven hells, he was a mess.
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Jaime turned the water off and sighed, somehow more exhausted than when he got in the shower.
He’d been trying for ages. Flowers, coffee, gifts on her desk. Brienne didn’t seem to get that fact, or the hints, or the just plain bold type, italicized, underlined that he wanted to date the fuck out of her. Brienne didn’t see his “plus ones” to gala events as dates. The ice skating rink, the movies, the farmers’ market weren’t enough of a clue; they went as friends, had an excellent spectacular wonderful marvelous time, and then they left as friends.
Jaime was at the end of his rope. As he toweled off he considered the possibility of showing up in the living room wearing nothing but a towel and trying to pretend he forgot his clothes.
At the airport.
Stupid. She had put his duffel bag in the bathroom. But….prancing around in a wet towel….perhaps she’d stop looking at him like he was her smokin’ hot friend and start looking at him like he was smokin’ hot.
Or, just start looking at him, really. That’d be fine, too. Preferably with a smile. And her eyes crinkling at the edges, a shy look up and down before walking over and—
Jaime hit his head against the bathroom door.
“Is everything alright?” Brienne called.
No. “Yes,” Jaime called back.
He’d have to leave in a few hours to beat the evening traffic back to his place on the other side of the city. This was a rare opportunity to let Brienne be in her natural habitat, comfortable with her surroundings, and possibly drop a few hints again. After all, maybe the “outside” dates put her on edge; he knew she was uncomfortable with the way people reacted to her looks. In her apartment, it would be just the two of them. No eyes. Casual environment. He’d cook dinner for her, as thanks for picking him up. They’d sit on the couch, hopefully too close. They’d be the perfect picture of domestic bliss and maybe, just maybe, she would start to realize that he was the kind of guy she wanted around.
(Well, the guy she wanted around. He didn’t want her to get any ideas and then go run off with Hyle Hunt in accounting of all people.)
Yes. Yes, this was a good plan. He had two, three hours max in which to get Brienne to start thinking down the lines of “wow, Jaime is so amazing”, “wow, Jaime’s hair matches with my couch pillows, I better keep him”, “wow, Jaime, do you want to elope instead to avoid your family and extend the honeymoon?”
(Uh, yeah.)
Jaime considered his weapons. The mirror informed him that his pecs were definitely an option. And yet there was no reason for him to go out there if his clothes were in here.
But since when did reason stop him?
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Brienne was sitting on the couch with the blanket curled up in her fists. He could see the boxy television over her shoulders; the news anchor had a giant microphone and a forced smile as he rattled off statistics.
“Jaime, there’s news,” she said, turning over her shoulder. “They say—oh.”
Jaime leaned casually against the counter, beads of water dripping down his chest, flexing his crossed arms. “I forgot some clothes,” he said with a rakish grin.
Brienne blinked. “Clearly.”
They stared at each other.
“What did you forget?” Brienne finally managed.
Jaime’s mind froze. “……Socks.”
“Socks.”
The television blared and they both turned immediately towards the box. Jaime tried not to flush as he rapidly ran through every iteration of sock-based flirting possible. Brienne grabbed the remote and upped the volume.
“I repeat, ladies and gentlemen, I repeat, the governor has just issued a stay-at-home order. A stay-at-home order. Trips out of the house are to be limited to food and exercise only. Any socialization is mandated at an absolute minimum for the state’s safety. A stay-at-home order, effective immediately, to minimize the spread for the state’s safety….”
Oh, thank the Maid. I get another chance.
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Jaime hurriedly put rice and beans in his shopping cart and gestured for another woman to move ahead. Brienne had a similar list and was going to one store while he hit another. He liked that they had both known what they needed to get, and had acted swiftly, decisively. A team. It had been decided in minutes, and they were already out the door when she looked down at his feet.
“Huh,” she said, before quickly getting in her Jeep and setting off.
Jaime had turned all shades of Lannister red before getting into his own car.
“I like your socks,” a kid standing next to his mom’s basket said.
Jaime could feel himself turning red again. “Thanks,” he replied before the kid could elaborate further, and swiftly and decisively moved down the shopping aisle.
Brienne had easily agreed that it was most beneficial for the two of them to stay together. Whose apartment had been another issue, but Jaime was glad it was hers—his felt like a magazine spread, and not in a good way. An empty, only-robots-would-live-here kind of way. He liked her faded chairs and her chipped cups, and, well…her.
Jaime long-sufferingly pressed his fingers against his eyes. Here he was, mooning over Brienne Tarth in the baking aisle. No surprise, really. Everything in here was sweet too.
He grabbed fourteen bags of chocolate chips and went to the next aisle.
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Quarantine, Day 1
Brienne rushed out of her bedroom to the sound of the fire alarm.
“You like your eggs……scrambled?” Jaime said winningly as another cloud of smoke belched from the stovetop.
Brienne grabbed the frying pan from him and pushed him against the sink while simultaneously dumping a water glass over the stove top.
Day 2
He woke up from his excellent dream of her taking the frying pan away from him and kissing him senseless over the sink. He groaned into his pillow.
Day 3
Brienne couldn’t stop drumming her fingers on the table.
“Here,” Jaime said, sliding her a mug of tea across the table.
“Thanks,” she said as she wrapped her hands around it. Jaime tried not to get jealous. “It’s—it’s just so silly. It’s only been three days—three days, and yet I feel like I’d kill a man to get out of this house—”
Jaime, as the only man in said house, felt a little nervous.
“And I just don’t know what to do. I was caught up at work before. Ahead, even. And now they’re pausing most of the projects while they figure out how to do them virtually, and I’m—I’m—I’m just so bored.”
“But stressed,” Jaime added.
Brienne hit the table with one hand. “Yes! I’m stressed and I’m bored, and I’m stressed because I’m bored during a pandemic and yet I don’t have anything to do, and—”
Jaime walked over to the kitchen and took out one bag of chocolate chips. Brienne looked at him and he could tell there was not a single other thought floating through the sky of her mind. Total. Focus.
Like a lion tamer rolling out rare steaks, he slowly reached into the cabinet and pulled out another.
Brienne’s eyes never left his hands.
Jaime reached in, and dragged out another bag—
“How—how many do we have?” Brienne asked with hope and trepidation.
Jaime looked in the closet and then back at her. “Enough that my little stress-baker can make her famous peanut butter chocolate chip cookies twenty-seven times, if she so desires.”
Brienne looked at him funny. “But a recipe is half a bag, how do you figure—”
“And one half goes to the chocolate chip tax. You know, me skimming off the top while I measure.”
Brienne gave a little crooked smile, and Jaime tried not to get too pleased.
“You’ll be measuring. And mixing. And baking. Jaime, we’re stuck together. I’m going to teach you how to bake.”
They both surreptitiously looked up at the scorch marks on the ceiling.
“It might be a while,” Jaime warned as she started pulling out the bowls.
“We’ve got the time,” she said with a playful laugh. “Going anywhere?” Jaime smiled back, heart beating faster. “No, not anytime soon,” he said.
Day 14
“Jaime, I think you did it,” Brienne said with awe.
Jaime glanced at his misshapen cookies. They oozed. Were they supposed to ooze?
“I got the recipe?” he said doubtfully, scanning now the plates and plates of golden (Brienne’s) and charred black (Jaime’s) cookies covering every counter and table in the kitchen.
“You didn’t burn them. You undercooked them,” she said with a gleam in her eye. “Progress!” She hugged him and whooped, spinning him around the kitchen.
“But I still messed up,” Jaime griped as she twirled him around.
“Yeah, but now we just put them back in the oven for—” she dropped his hands and he regretted saying anything, ever. She poked the cookies critically. “Four minutes. And they’ll be perfect!”
“Perfect,” he said, unconvinced.
“Perfect,” she confirmed.
She was right.
Day 15
Jaime woke up on the couch, blearily shifting around on the couch before stiffening at hearing Brienne humming in the kitchen. She was rifling through drawers and would occasionally mutter before starting again.
And that’s why she was singing in my dream.
Jaime wriggled uncomfortably on the couch. Fifteen days, fourteen nights, and coincidentally fourteen dreams of playing some varsity-level tonsil hockey. He sat up and gathered his things for the shower.
When he arrived in the kitchen dressed for the day, he was surprised to find Brienne and twenty wrapped plates of cookies. Brienne’s cookies. His black ones—a nice, smoky, campfire flavor, Brienne had said with a giggle while biting into one and Jaime had wanted to grab her and correct her taste buds—were still sitting forlornly on the baking rack.
“Got some keys?” Brienne said with a bright smile. “We’ve got some visiting to do.”
“I thought we weren’t supposed to visit anyone,” Jaime said while putting on his jacket.
Brienne laughed and shook her head. Jaime was sold. Car chase? Arrest warrant? Holding cells? He’d risk it all for that mischievous smile.
“We’re delivering food,” Brienne said with a glint in her eye. “We could be a bakery with a take-out option.”
“Ahh,” Jaime replied, balancing plate upon plate. “Hence your cookies.”
“We’ll save the ones you made for us to eat later,” Brienne responded. Jaime grimaced and snuck most into a plastic baggie he slipped into his coat pocket before helping her get the door.
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Margaery and Loras smiled and waved at them through their glass door, Margaery giving an extra wink and thumbs-up to Brienne. Jaime agreed; her cookies were amazing.
Renly laughed. Stannis formally thanked them. Robert gestured at them to wait, and then quickly rolled a bottle of wine towards them from his door.
Melisandre considered the plate on her doorstep thoughtfully and then looked straight at Jaime. “I’ll take yours,” she said. Jaime snorted. He swapped her plate out five of his burned biscuits. Brienne looked between them, startled. “Mel, how did—Jaime, you brought yours?” Jaime rolled his eyes and Melisandre smiled.
Sandor Clegane had to hold his rabid dog back from them when the doorbell rang, but Stranger melted in Brienne’s hands as she petted him. “Who’s a good dog?” she asked. Stranger opened his maw and drooled, tail thumping against the floor like a jackhammer. Sandor Clegane had a similar reaction when he bit into his first cookie.
Jon, Sam, and Tormund all got double. Or Sam got six, as he was the one who answered the door. That remained to be seen.
The Starks were thrilled to see them, and Rickon cheered when Brienne pulled out the plates of cookies. If she was generous with Jon, Sam, and Tormund, she was positively indulgent now—each child got their own individual plate of cookies. Ned shook his head and Catelyn good-naturedly scolded Brienne for the impending sugar rush.
Tyrion didn’t answer the doorbell, but it was only one in the afternoon. Jaime fixed the plastic wrap a little tighter and texted him to check outside the door when he got up.
Two plates left; Jaime scowled when he realized where they were. “You have got to be kidding, Brienne.” Brienne frowned but undid her seatbelt anyway. “They’re coworkers of ours,” she said. “Let me get them,” Jaime insisted. Brienne fell back in her seat with undisguised relief.
Jaime slipped inside the apartment building and took the stairs two at a time, remembering the route to Connington and Hunt’s respective apartments easily enough. It was hard to forget the time that Jaime had punched Connington’s lights out at the office party he’d held in his apartment, and how Brienne had fixed him up in Hunt’s kitchen the floor down despite Hunt’s repeated barbs towards her. He was glad he brought his cookies.
Sliding the culinary charcoal onto the plates, he shoved them towards their doors and rang the doorbells with vicious pleasure.
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Brienne looked at the proffered plate in confusion before picking up a cookie. “I thought we gave all of mine!”
Jaime shrugged, his fourth cookie in his mouth. “Must have missed some,” he grinned.
Day 21
“What did you always secretly want for Christmas as kid but never got?” Jaime asked, upside down on the couch.
Brienne, kicking her feet over the loveseat’s armrests, pondered this while drinking her milkshake.
“Dance Dance Revolution,” she finally said. “Everyone talked about it and I played it once at someone’s house, but never got any good. I wanted one but didn’t want to sound like a brat to my dad.”
“You couldn’t sound like a brat if you tried,” Jaime said, shaking his head while his hair dragged on the carpet.
“What did you want most?” Brienne asked. “Oh, another milkshake?”
“Sure,” Jaime said as she passed him the tray they had ordered from GrubHub. “What do you reckon I should try next?”
“The M&M flavor is to die for,” she said. “Absolutely divine.”
“Awesome,” Jaime said as he snagged a Reese’s Pieces one.
“Ouch!” she laughed. “Good to know how much you trust my opinion!”
“No, no,” he said, waving his arms. “Now you can have the last M&M one. I’ll take the Reese’s,” he insisted as he tried to figure out how to sip it upside down.
Brienne got very still in her chair. When Jaime looked up (down?) she had a half-smile on her face. “What did you want for Christmas, then?” she asked.
Jaime sighed and sank further down till his head was directly on the floor. “Love and affection,” he said dramatically.
“Ah,” Brienne said wisely as she took another slurp. “Definitely something you’d never get for Christmas. Your father has millions of dollars but can’t afford for you to know he cares about you.”
Jaime laughed so hysterically he toppled over on the floor, then took a deep breath and laughed some more. Brienne started laughing too and when they finally settled he said, “Well, you know, yours is much easier. It has free shipping.”
Day 22
“You didn’t,” Brienne said when Jaime dragged the box in.
“Oh yes,” Jaime said with an unholy smirk. “I did.”
Day 23
“Best seven out of nine?” Brienne asked.
“Deal,” Jaime said with a grin.
Day 24
“Best nineteen out of twenty-one?” Jaime offered.
“Bring it on,” she said.
Day 25
“Best forty-three out of forty-five?” she said with eyebrows raised.
Jaime tackled her on the way to the sofa. “Hell yes, wench!”
Day 31
Brienne and Jaime lay on the floor, groaning.
“Tie?” Brienne asked, massaging her legs.
“Tie,” Jaime confirmed.
“Ninety to ninety,” she said before he groaned again.
Day 42
They were dancing. On a square, and then together, perfectly choreographed moves that let Jaime advance, advance, advance as Brienne advanced, advanced, advanced, and suddenly her delighted smile was in front of him and he leaned in, still swaying—
“Jaime?”
“Yes,” he said breathlessly, eyes still closed.
“Could you….move?”
Jaime’s eyes popped open and he saw Brienne towering over the couch with a tray of popcorn bags.
“I’m setting up for a movie marathon,” she said with a grin. “But you have to get up first.”
Jaime instantly sat up and started rubbing his neck. “What were you dreaming about?” she asked in the same teasing tone. Jaime froze.
“Uh, you,” he said, glancing at the ground, the popcorn tray, and finally her. “I dreamed of you.”
Brienne tensed, he could see it. “Oh,” she said, finally putting the tray down and backing away to the kitchen. “You just….you looked happy.”
“I was,” Jaime said, turning around on the couch to watch her.
“Oh,” she said again. And then, “Was I happy?”
Jaime thought back to her grabbing his shirt and pulling him closer on the dance floor, effortlessly guiding him around in a circle with her hands on his hips before kissing him and letting her hands move up his sides to his shoulders, neck, hair. “Yeah,” he said. “I hope so.”
“Huh,” Brienne said. She shook her head. “So, movie marathon?”
“Yeah!” Jaime said brightly to dissolve the tension. “Whaddya wanna watch?”
Brienne smiled. “You know how we always say we’re going to choreograph the fight scenes from Kill Bill when we watch it and we never do?”
Jaime grinned so hard he thought he might pull a muscle. “So, it’s like, Quentin Tarantino,” he said, holding his hands up for Brienne to pause. “But like, Tentin Quarantine-o.”
He was gratified that Brienne laughed so hard at the worst joke in the history of all jokes she spilled the popcorn, morning conversation forgotten.
He was not gratified to learn that his heart had not forgotten a single second of it and offered it on constant replay throughout the day.
Day 47
“So, it’s like—” Brienne started, and she quickly parried, thrusted, stepped to the side. Jaime spun around her and began inching his sword near her throat. “And then—” she twisted, kicked back, and Jaime dramatically fell to the ground. “And then—” she sheathed the broom handle in her belt.
Pod clapped over FaceTime. “That’s amazing! Brienne, you’re a natural!”
“She is,” Jaime agreed on the floor. Brienne flushed and lent him a hand, pulling him all the way up easily. Jaime ‘accidentally’ bumped against her while brushing his shirt off, and he quietly smiled when he noticed Brienne hadn’t moved away. Total isolation and constant interaction for the win.
Pod beamed. “That’s awesome, guys! It sounds like you’ve had a really fun quarantine.”
Brienne nodded back, just as happy. “Oh, it’s been fantastic. Like a month vacation. Don’t get me wrong, it’s stressful to check on the stats every morning and the few errands we make feel like post-apocalyptic supply runs, but overall—” she looked over at Jaime with pink cheeks and a smile. “It’s been the best.”
Was that the fire alarm again? Or did his heart just spontaneously combust?
Day 66
“You know what I miss?” Brienne said lazily as she flicked the controller.
Too late. Jamie took the round, waving his controller in the air before typing in his name for the high score. “What?” he said, gleefully throwing himself back on the couch.
“Christmas.”
Jaime hummed. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Let’s have Christmas. Tomorrow.”
Brienne looked at him, a slow smile rising through her face. Jaime’s fingers itched for a camera, but there really wasn’t a way to capture it, the way that her cheeks widened and eyes glimmered more and more each instant. Sunrises, fireworks, and Brienne Tarth. You just had to see them in person.
“Tomorrow,” she said, nodding. “What makes Christmas for Jaime Lannister?”
Jaime closed his eyes and wriggled on the couch. “Mmm. Ski resorts.”
“Of course,” Brienne muttered, but when Jaime peeked at her she was smiling.
“Lots of presents. Like, ridiculous amounts. The kind that you have to buy another room for.”
Brienne huffed and then lay back on the couch, putting her legs in Jaime’s lap. He tried not to smile too hard. “That sounds….exhausting.”
Jaime winked at her. “Very exhausting. To lug all your treasures up the stairs….not to dent the cherry wood floors as you go….we asked for an elevator one year and got it, though our father traded in ten gifts each from us to do it.”
“Ten?!” Brienne cried. “How many did you get total?!”
“Thirty to forty,” Jaime said thoughtfully, patting her legs. “You?”
“Two or three!” Brienne said indignantly. “One from my father, one from Renly, and sometimes another from a relative!”
Jaime stopped, his hands resting on her calves. “Wait—total?”
“Yes, total!”
“Oh, uh—I’m going to sound like nothing but an ass, but—that number was just for, you know,” he coughed. “Tywin.”
If Brienne’s eyes could get any wider Jaime could offer kayaking tours.
“To be fair, they weren’t ever that great,” Jaime said, starting to babble when he realized how silent Brienne was. “I mean, they were designer. Expensive. The kind of thing that when you told someone what you got, they were jealous. But I didn’t really care, you know? They were nice, and I enjoyed playing with them, but I couldn’t pick them out from previous years’ gifts by June. I liked sleepovers at Addam Marbrand’s way more than any gift my father—or my other relatives—could give me. Except Aunt Genna, who actually convinced my father to let me have sleepovers with Addam. You know? And Addam, his family only had one lakehouse and a five-bedroom house—”
“One lakehouse, five-bedroom house,” Brienne repeated incredulously.
“—so it wasn’t anything like home—”
“Do you even realize—”
“—but that’s also kinda why it was so great,” Jaime finished lamely. Brienne’s eyes crinkled at the corners and Jaime was worried that she was going to cry.
“So, uh, one lakehouse?” he said with jazz hands, hoping to gloss over the moment.
“Jaime,” Brienne began.
Uh-oh. That was a tone that brooked no jazz-hands-avoidance of answers.
“Is that why you like staying here? For quarantine?”
Jaime looked down at her legs in his lap. Lots of freckles. Millions of freckles. He wondered if he’d ever count them all.
“You don’t have to answer that.”
“Kinda,” he hedged. “Kinda. But if Addam Marbrand offered me quarantine housing, I’d still come knock on your door and ask if you were free.”
“Even though you’re sleeping on the couch.”
“Yes.”
“And he has five bedrooms.”
“Don’t forget the lakehouse,” Jaime said, trying to smile. When she sat up further and took his hands into her own, he realized he had been tracing her freckles in jagged circles.
“Why, Jaime?”
Well, that was the million-dollar question, wasn’t it?
He looked into her breathtakingly blue eyes and said, “Because I like spending time with you. Even more than Addam. And I want to have Christmas with you. And quarantine with you.” And possibly every Christmas, every quarantine, every burned-egg breakfast and late-night movie from here to forever.
Brienne let out a slow breath, eyebrows knitted together. “Then let’s have Christmas.” She looked around at the remnants of weeks of quarantine littered around the house. The DDR box, which had turned into a giant bingo board. The exploded Peeps on the fan. The DVDs haphazardly scattered across the coffee table, remote stuffed under the couch cushion, and eugh, the laundry.
“Although,” she began regretfully. “We might have to clean up first.”
Jaime laid his head back on the couch. “Never mind. No Christmas.” She punched him on the arm and he let her legs go, finally standing up and offering his hand for her to do the same.
Day 67
Jaime looked around the apartment with satisfaction. It had taken them all day yesterday, but Brienne’s flat was spick and span and practically glowing. Or that could be the fake light-up logs in her fireplace. Either way.
Brienne gestured him over from the living room. “Do you want to do the honors?” He pompously marched over past the couch and with a grandiose hand wave, pushed the plug into the socket.
Ding. The teetering pile of houseplants Brienne and Jaime had taped together light up with colored lights looped through their leaves.
“Beautiful,” Jaime said, wiping a tear an imaginary tear from his eye.
“You haven’t seen the best yet,” Brienne said, getting off the floor. She passed him and flipped the logs on, and then fiddled with their phones on the counter. He didn’t even bother saying anything. She knew his password.
Crackling, spitting, and sizzling noises came out of his. “Ambient mixer?” Jaime guessed. Brienne only smiled as she worked on hers; Christmas carols came blaring out.
Jaime shook his head, slowly drawing up the blinds. Brienne let out a sudden guffaw when she noticed that Jaime had taped snowflakes up on the window, the next apartment building’s windows visible through them.
Not to be outdone, Brienne opened up the bottom drawer of her cupboard and drew out a deep red tablecloth. Jaime jogged over to help her air it out and lay it on the table. Fishing around in the same drawer, she drew out two white candles and handed him a lighter.
“Wait, do you smell something?” Brienne suddenly asked as a timer dinged. Jaime grinned like a fool as he grabbed oven mitts and pulled out a—yes, perfect—batch of Brienne’s famous peanut butter chocolate chip cookies. He turned around only to find Brienne looking at him with the oddest expression, a kind of curious intensity.
“I swear I didn’t burn them,” Jaime said, nerves suddenly getting the better of him. “I think I really got it this time—”
“I’m sure you did,” Brienne said softly. “It’s just that—” she went into the pantry and pulled out the cooling rack. “Nobody’s ever made them for me,” she said softly.
“Well, that’s a damn shame,” Jaime said, relieved that he hadn’t inadvertently ruined their Christmas. “Merry Christmas.” Brienne snorted and he laughed as he put the pan down on the stove.
The playlist changed; an airy waltz that Jaime thought he recognized out of one of the Harry Potter films came on. He held out his mitted hands. “My lady,” he said formally in a grave voice.
Brienne flushed, and accepted one hand. “I’m no lady,” she said in the same low tone.
“You’re right,” he said, slowly starting the turn. Her eyebrows went up in surprise.
He leaned in as if with a secret. “You’re my wench,” he said next to her ear, swaying her closer to the couch.
She laughed, turned red, and said, “Your wench?” all while staying in his arms.
So far, so good.
“I’d like you to be,” he said, finishing a final turn and putting them right underneath the ceiling fan. He looked up and felt, rather than saw, Brienne look up as well.
Mistletoe hung from the fan chains.
They looked at each other and Brienne turned the brightest pink he had ever seen on her. “Um—ahh—hold on please,” she said before disentangling herself and running to her room. The door slammed.
Jaime stood there by the couch, ugly sweater askew, oven mitts on his hands still in place for their waltz.
Day 68
Brienne didn’t come out for breakfast.
Brienne didn’t come out for lunch.
Jaime refused to let his head whip around when he heard her bedroom door quietly open and the softest footprints he had ever heard creep out into the kitchen. He continued to work on a Rubix cube and pushed the blanket off the couch with a thump so she would know that he was there.
He wondered this morning if he ought to go. She probably didn’t need this invasion of space. They could phone each other later, when she wanted to call.
But Jaime had the worst, sinking feeling that that phone call would be all he’d have of her for the rest of quarantine. Of course. It was a stay-at-home order. And in the meantime she’d mull and ponder and fester alone until at the end of next month, two months, however long the order stood, she’d have come up with an Official Jaime Lannister Social Distance that he’d never be able to break through again. They might go out to the farmers’ market again, and he might get closer than six feet, but she would never drop the mask.
And the thought of that—her eyes just as carefully pleasant and superficial as she was with the hated Ronnet and Hyle, or the netural Jeyne and Jeyne across the office—kept him pinned to this couch, even now. Waiting.
“Hey,” came a soft voice.
Jaime did not turn around.
“Hey,” he said, striving with every cell in his body not to sound like he was trying at all. “Do you know that I’m utter crap at these?” He put the Rubix cube on the coffee table so she could see.
Silence.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, I’ve been at this for half an hour.”
“No—are you sure?”
He finally turned around to see Brienne standing there in the same Christmas pajamas she had worn yesterday. Her face was flushed, she bit her lip, but her eyes were steady.
“Yes,” he said.
“I guess I just didn’t—I didn’t realize—that was just very sudden news, to me.”
Jaime stood up so fast his head spun. “You didn’t realize I was flirting my butt off with you?!”
Brienne unwillingly smiled and shook her head. “Well, your butt’s still on, so…”
Jaime gave a disbelieving laugh and stepped around the couch to her. “You really didn’t know? That I’m mad for you? Mad, Brienne, like old King Aerys mad. I’m crazy about you. I want to learn how to bake all your favorite things and relentlessly feed them to you while you beat me in Pacman. Take you to Tarth to see your dad and have a real Tarth family Christmas. Punch Ronnet a hundred times, a thousand times, and kick Hyle Hunt in the teeth for you any day that you like. I’d buy you a lakehouse if that’s what you wanted, though I think you’d just rather have a lake. You’re my best friend and I’ve held onto this for so damn long because I didn’t want to lose the best person in my life because I so selfishly wanted more, but—” he sighed and shook his head. “I selfishly wanted more. I wanted to know, just know if maybe you’d think of me that way too.”
Brienne scoffed and finally said, “I thought that was just you.”
Jaime didn’t understand. “What do you mean, just me?”
Brienne waved her hand at him weakly. “You know. Handsome. Sexy. Funny. Careful. Caring, Jaime. It was just—you, being you.”
Jaime slowly got up and crossed over to her, hovering his hands over her waist until she leaned forward. He clasped her and pulled her close.
“No, that’s not just me,” he breathed in her ear. “Addam Marbrand might think I’m funny, Tyrion would call me caring on a good day, but—all of that me, is just for you.”
She turned her head, he cocked his, and then stretched on his tiptoes—
Well.
He was glad of sixty-seven practice rounds.
Day 68, 9pm
Brienne fidgeted with a bashful smile on the couch. Jaime flew across the room and sat down, far too close, and kissed her on the cheek. She put a hand on his cheek and smiled even more.
“Are you ready for Christmas presents?” she asked.
Jaime pulled the red box out from behind his back. “Ready,” he said.
She picked up a small green one from her feet. “Okay,” she said. “One—two—three—go!”
They tossed each other’s boxes towards each other and caught theirs. They grinned. Brienne slowly undid the bow on hers and carefully put the top on the coffee table while Jaime ripped through the wrapping paper and popped the lid off.
Brienne unfolded the stiff blue fabric and shook it out. “Jaime!” she laughed while putting it on.
Kiss the Cook was written across the neckline in dark blue letters.
“Well, if that’s an order—” Jaime said, leaning in but she batted his hands away, smiling.
Jaime looked at his green box again. There was a lot of shredded paper and so Jaime tentatively moved his hand around the box before he felt a lump. He pulled it out carefully as sparkling glitter caught the light.
It was them. On the couch. Day 27 or 28 of quarantine, who could keep track anymore, but there Brienne was with her arm flung around Jaime’s shoulder, and Jaime looking like he had won the top ribbon at the fair. He shook the snow globe and bright blue and green confetti floated down around their million-dollar smiles.
“It’s a little grainy,” Brienne started with a hesitant smile. “It’s a screenshot Dad sent me from our last FaceTime, so it’s not great quality and we can set up our phones, do it again and replace it—”
“No!” Jaime said, holding the snow globe away from her. “I mean, yes, but no! We can make another snowglobe, but this one stays the way it is!”
Brienne gave him the softest smile he had ever seen. “Flip it over,” she suggested.
There, scrawled in Brienne’s blocky hand, was “Love and Affection for Jaime Lannister. XOXO, Brienne.”
“Merry Christmas, Jaime,” Brienne said as she kissed him on the cheek.
“Merry Christmas, Brienne,” he said as he turned towards her to give her her next Christmas gift properly.