Chapter Text
March, 1935
“I don’t like this,” Theon Greyjoy muttered to Robb Stark. The two men were in the latter's office staring across the open, brick-walled room that made up their division of the Kingsport Police Department. On the other side of the room, a door was tightly closed. They could see vague shadowy figures through the frosted glass, but little else. An hour ago, Stannis Baratheon, newly sworn-in Mayor of Kingsport, had ushered a slight, plain-looking man into the office without a word to Theon, Robb, or any of the other officers.
Robb leaned back in his office chair, sipping coffee out of the beloved, hideous fish mug he’d had for longer than Theon could remember. Six years ago, they’d both been promoted to sergeants, and Theon had been thrilled. He was pretty sure he was the first Greyjoy to receive a legitimate promotion ever. Then, four years ago when Robb had been promoted to Lieutenant and moved into an empty office, Theon had hidden the mug in his bottom desk drawer for the better part of a month. It had been petty and stupid, sure, but he had been feeling snubbed. He and Robb had worked the same amount of time on the same cases, had put the same amount of blood, sweat and tears into it, but it was still Robb that got that little silver bar to pin on his chest while Theon was left behind. Hell, Theon had put far more blood into it. Eleven years ago he’d almost died at the hands of a madman, or had Barristan Selmy forgotten?
Even now, all these years later, Theon knew that if he’d argued about that fact he’d just be told that he’d broken protocol, gone out searching for clues as to who’d been killing prostitutes alone in his personal vehicle. They wouldn’t tell me I brought it on myself but it’d be implied. You broke the rules. He hadn’t had much time to think on what the repercussions of his actions would be at the time - within months of the whole Bolton debacle he’d found himself rushed to the altar where his pregnant, teenaged bride awaited. Aw, c’mon. She was nearly 20. That whole time, from the day he’d met Mya, to the day a little over two years later when their second son was born, had been something of a whirlwind. By the time the dust had settled the Theon Greyjoy that emerged was so vastly different than the one who’d gone into it he hardly recognized himself.
Theon had never imagined himself as a family man, not even after his youngest, Alyce, was born. He’d never imagined himself with a nine-to-five job, a paid-off mortgage, coming home to the same woman for more than a week at a time. He used to see an early, unvisited grave, a life that amounted to nothing more than a smear on the sidewalk.
Apparently all the change wasn’t enough for everyone, and it was Robb who was in charge of him now. He didn’t blame Robb, not at all. They were as close as ever, their children as close as siblings. Robb and Roslin had five to his and Mya’s three, and more often than not they gathered on weekends. They’d vacation together at Winterfell in the summers, and holidays and birthdays were always a large production.
Theon shoved thoughts of his family and Robb’s aside, focusing on the door across the precinct. “I don’t like this at all,” he said again.
Robb made a noncommittal noise. “What’re you gonna do about it though? We both knew Selmy wasn’t going to hang around forever. He worked on the force for over 40 years. He earned his retirement. Him and Uncle Bryn both.”
Theon snorted. Robb’s uncle Brynden had given up his private investigation business the year prior, and he and Selmy had left Kingsport and its cold, hard winters for the boozy tropical paradise that was the Southern Isles. Last Theon had heard, they were sharing a house boat and spending their days fishing in the mangrove swamps. It sounded idyllic, to be honest. It was something he could see himself and Robb doing someday, once they got old and fat too. They’d spend their days catching sea bass while Roslin and Mya doted on their grandchildren...he shook his head. Listen to you. You used to think you wouldn’t make it to the age of 30.
Regardless of how old Theon thought he’d live to be, Barristan Selmy’s departure had left a void in the police department. He’d been a very prominent member of the police force for 40 years, and in charge of the entire operation since Ned Stark’s death over a decade before. There had been a lot of speculation as to who would fill his shoes now. Personally Theon was surprised Robb hadn’t gotten the position. He bore the Stark name and the same stern, strong bearing his father did, and he was the department’s golden boy. His office walls were covered with framed newspaper stories and awards.
All the speculation had been replaced with indignation when the Mayor himself appointed one of his own men to the position. He was some stooge named Seaworth, someone who’d never even seen the police academy and had little to no experience on the force. There were rumors he’d even been on the wrong side of the law for most of his life. Where do you get off, Greyjoy? So what if he’s got a few black marks next to his name? Half the force does and Hell, you’re one of the worst.
Across the precinct room, the office door opened. Stannis Baratheon, as gaunt and stone-faced as Theon had ever seen him, beckoned Robb. “Lieutenant Stark, if you would?”
Even though Stannis hadn’t said word one to Theon, he followed his friend across the room. Stannis planted bony, hard fingers in his chest. “Not you, Greyjoy. Stark’s the highest-ranking officer in this precinct, not you.”
“I’m second-highest.” Theon jutted out his jaw. Stannis might be his wife’s uncle but they were by no means family. The fact that Mya was, by the traditional definition, a bastard, made Stannis hesitant to interact with her beyond a cool, professional way. It didn’t bother Theon any; the less he saw of Stannis Baratheon, the better. “Whatever you’re sayin’ to Stark, you’re gonna say to me.”
Next to him he heard Robb’s barely audible groan. Stannis stood a hair straighter, his jaw clenched so tight Theon thought the bone might crack. “I don’t recall agreeing to take orders from you when I was sworn in, Sergeant Greyjoy.”
Robb stepped forward, raising a hand. “Theon doesn’t mean any disrespect, Mr. Mayor. But Selmy usually would include the both of us in his briefings before he left. Maybe, for the time being, we could continue that.”
Stannis’s blue eyes flicked over Robb before he glanced over his shoulder. The plain-looking man, presumably Seaworth, was sitting at the bare desk, looking as out of place as a whore in church.
“Fine,” Stannis said abruptly. “Don’t make your attitude a habit with me, Greyjoy.”
Theon didn’t respond, but merely followed Robb into the office. It was the first time he’d been in it since Selmy had left some months before, and it was strange to see it so barren. When Selmy had been there, there had been various awards on the wall, a prized potted rose, a few mounted fish, a mess of paper on the desk. When it had been Ned Stark’s space it had been much the same. Now the walls were bare with faint squares on the wall showing where awards and pictures had hung. The empty desk looked too small in the space, as did the man sitting at it.
“Davos Seaworth,” he said as he stood, extending a hand. When Theon shook it he fought off a jolt - the man was missing the ends of the fingers on his right hand. Other than that, his hand was rough and calloused in a familiar way, and his skin had the sunworn, leathery look of a man who spend some time on the water. Small lines crinkled around his eyes, and there was something in his efficient, quick manner that made Theon feel more at ease with the man. “Please, have a seat. I’ve gone around the other precincts and spoken to Captains Trant, Dondarrion, and Oakheart, and I’d like for you to hear what I have to say.
“I don’t expect you or anyone to be pleased with my appointment,” he started. “I know my experience is...lacking, compared to yours, Stark, or Trant, Dondarrion, or Oakheart. Any one of you could, and should be sitting in this chair.”
Theon bit his tongue while Robb folded his hands. “It was Mayor Baratheon’s decision, and as public servants, we respect it.”
“Very diplomatic of you.” Davos offered a quick, tight smile. “Now, as I did with the other precincts, I wanted to give the highest ranking officer...well, officers a run-down of Mr. Baratheon’s and my plans for the department.” He looked to Stannis.
“Under my brother, his wife, Tywin Lannister, Barristan Selmy, and even Ned Stark, this city has fallen into reckless lawlessness. It’s been nearly twenty years of lax enforcement, a lack of progress, and immoral actions on all their parts.” Stannis paced back and forth as he preached, his hands clasped behind his back. He looked like a headmaster lecturing misbehaving students, his suit so sharply pressed Theon saw the crease in his pants actually going down the exact middle of a pinstripe. “Good leadership involves trust. There has been a rampant lack of that as well, which is something I mean to rectify. I’ve been making appointments to my cabinet of people that I trust, and that includes Davos Seaworth.”
Reckless lawlessness. The words bounced around Theon’s skull while Stannis droned on. He wondered what Stannis would say if he knew how much reckless lawlessness Theon had been up to. Ever since the Volstead Act had been repealed, Theon had lost his second job as a bootlegger. He’d thought the loss of that income would hurt, but in no time at all he’d fallen into another occupation for the Greyjoys: wet work. Theon was no stranger to killing for his family, and it hardly affected him anymore. The hits were never random, they were never gratuitous. A carefully lined up headshot, and Theon had a thick roll of cash in his pocket. He had his rules, of course. No women, no children, nothing in public. Mya was fully aware of what he did, but he’d told her that he was only killing people who deserved it. It was true, for the most part. She never asked questions. She’d learned that lesson long ago.
His uncle Euron had been exiled to Europe since 1925, but he was by no means suffering. Asha was in constant contact with him, and last Theon had heard he was living in a swanky, well-appointed apartment in Berlin. After years of trying, Theon had been unable to extract himself from his uncle’s grasp. As a result, he knew entirely too much about what his family was into now. Euron had a new set of friends, a group that Theon, his sister, and his even other uncles were uncomfortable acknowledging.
War was coming in Europe, and it was coming soon. Mya would fret about it at night after their boys had gone to bed, telling Theon she wanted it to come sooner rather than later so Rodrik and Quenton would be too young to enlist. Theon wasn’t that worried. No Greyjoy had ever enlisted, and he doubted his sons would be the first. The closet to military service any of them had ever come was what Euron was doing now - smuggling rare, priceless artwork out of Europe as part of a business arrangement with the German government and military. Euron and his associates claimed it was to save these treasures, to keep them safe from the simmering war that was soon to explode, but that all rang false with Theon. He knew Euron didn’t give two left shits about the horror stories that were starting to emerge from Europe, so long as he could still line his pockets with the profits.
Robb shifted in his chair, making it squawk loudly. Theon started, trying to look like he’d been paying attention to what Stannis had been going on about the entire time. Stannis was looming over them, his eyes sapphire chips boring out of black holes. They were the same color as Mya’s but they were so different, so much colder. Theon fought off a shiver.
“Lieutenant Stark, I expect you to assist Chief Seaworth as he works to expand the police force, and to make sure the rest of the department complies with any new policies.” Unless Theon was imagining things, Stannis’s cold eyes flicked to him briefly. “That will be all.”
Theon followed Robb back to his office, flinging himself in the chair opposite Robb’s desk and propping his heels up on the cluttered surface. “I got a few new policies for ol’ Uncle Stan right here,” he said.
Robb shot him an exasperated look as his phone started to ring. “Lieutenant Star-...Rosie, what-...how many? How’d they get in there?” Theon watched while the concern in Robb’s face melted away to humor. “Alright, calm down. I’ll talk to the boys when I get home and- yes. I’ll call one. Right away. I promise. I love you too.”
Theon raised his eyebrows as Robb hung up the phone, rested his forehead on his desk, and burst out laughing. It was a loud, infectious, ringing laugh. “What?” When Robb didn’t respond, Theon rapped him on the head with a stack of papers. “Stark, what?”
Robb finally raised his head, eyes streaming. “You remember a few weeks back when Rod and Quent came over, they and my boys were playing down in your old cabin?” Theon nodded. “I guess they found an egg sac from a spider or something and hid it in Beth’s closet without telling anyone.”
Theon grinned. Three of Robb and Roslin’s five children were girls, God help him. Beth was six and just as bossy as her mother. Catie, at five, was more timid and sweet. She reminded Theon of Sansa. The two girls were fast friends with his own five-year-old daughter Alys. The three of them would often dote on the youngest Stark, baby Lya. “And?”
“Well, today when she got home from school she and Catie went up to her room to play, and they opened her closet, and hundreds of daddy longlegs just came pourin’ out on both of them.”
Theon guffawed, even though his skin was crawling. “I can imagine the screams. Must’ve busted every window in the house.”
“Close. Rosie threw them both in the bath and got as many spiders as she could with the vacuum, but she’s insisting on calling an exterminator.”
Theon sighed, but pulled out his wallet. Taking out a few bills, he tossed them on the desk. “I suppose I owe for half of it, since it was probably Rodrik’s idea.” His oldest was nine, as temperamental and headstrong as any boy could be. Mya worried he was a bad influence on Quenton and Robb’s boys, Eddie and Bobby. Theon wasn’t concerned. Boys, after all, would be boys. When Robb tried to wave off his money, Theon shook his head. “Take it. I’ll make mine pay me back through hard labor. Mya gave me a To-Do list three miles long for this weekend. It’ll keep them busy enough.”
Robb grinned widely and shoved Theon’s feet off his desk. “If your schedule’s open then, there’s an exhibition game this weekend. Lions and Giants, Saturday afternoon.”
“Buy me some peanuts and Cracker Jacks.” Theon propped his feet right back where they were, leaning back in his chair. “I’ll pass on the spiders though.”
“Y’know, I almost wish I was there to see that.” Robb chuckled. “I know I’ll have to punish the boys but damn if that doesn’t sound like something we would’ve done when we were young.”
“Young. Fuck. I’d do that now. In fact, I’d bet you there’s a few spider nests in the garage. What d’you say we surprise Mya or Rosie with one?”
“I say Mya’ll have your balls in a jar in her purse if you d...o...that…” Robb blanched visibly as he focused on the doorway behind Theon. He cleared his throat. “Mr. Mayor. Chief Seaworth.”
Behind his neatly trimmed beard Seaworth was fighting off a grin, but Stannis’s gaze was so hard and cold that it made Theon’s testicles feel like they were filled with shaved ice. He found himself unable to meet it for more than a few seconds. Thank God Mya didn’t inherit that.
“Lieutenant.”
“Sergeant Greyjoy and I were just...ah…” Robb coughed. Theon raised his eyebrows, biting back laughter at the flush creeping up his face. “Doing some follow-up on a case.”
Stannis didn’t buy it, not in the slightest, but he merely nodded sharply at Seaworth before turning on his heel and leaving. The new chief waited until the precinct doors had shut before speaking. “The Lions had a shit season last year, but they’ve pulled a bunch of boys up from the minors. I’d say they stand a decent chance at the pennant this year.”
Theon and Robb glanced at each other before Robb replied. “They better’ve brought some coaches with them, and a new bullpen too. You’re a fan?”
“I am.” Seaworth nodded. “Two of my boys are in the minor league, another three are playing in high school, and the last two are in little league.”
“Seven?” Theon was slightly incredulous. “You’ve got seven boys and they all play a sport that involves a bat? Jesus, Stark and I almost brought his house to the ground with just the two of us.”
Davos chuckled. “Their ma can swing a bat as good as any of ‘em, rest assured.” He clasped his hands together. Theon couldn’t drag his eyes away from the man’s mauled hand, and he wondered what had happened there. “I appreciate you takin’ the Mayor’s talk as well as you have. I know I’ve got a long, bumpy road ahead of me and I’ll need all the help I can get.”
It was getting harder and harder to dislike Davos Seaworth, but Theon wasn’t about to admit that out loud. He’d let Robb, and sure enough, it was Robb who spoke.
“Selmy was in charge for a long time here, as was my father before him. With every shift in command, there’s always a little pushback. We’ll get everyone on board, don’t worry.”
“Mayor Baratheon is a...determined man.” Davos said. “He’s going to make this city an honest, clean place, and he’s going to start with this department. It’s not going to be pretty.”
Robb’s eyes met Theon’s over the desk, and the two men grinned. Theon was thinking of his decade of past deeds - the intimidation, destroying evidence, leading questions, the meaty snap of Mace Tyrell’s neck, lying under oath, smudging, ignoring, and outright breaking almost every law he’d come across. The assassinations. There was a field upstate, some boggy, flat wetland just north of nowhere and God help the Greyjoys if anyone ever started digging around up there. It was chock-full of bodies or, if Theon was being honest, body parts. It was a favorite dumping ground of his. Something about the acidity of the bog made the bodies dissolve faster than they would if they were just buried. A few remains had popped up over the years, but as far as Theon knew, they’d been written off as animal bones.
He smiled grimly at Davos. “I bet I’ve seen uglier.”
------
Later that evening the small Greyjoy clan gathered in the kitchen for dinner. Theon was glad to let the warmth of the kitchen seep into him. It wasn’t a big room; none of the rooms in their East Side brownstone were, but it was a bright, clean space. It had been somewhat drab when they’d bought the house - the walls were a dingy non-color and the cabinets were just ugly. Mya had re-done it herself one day while Theon was at work. She’d called her brother to help, and when Theon had come home the dull, colorless walls were a soft, cheery yellow, the cabinets and table a bright petal white. Even though there was a formal dining room, it was rarely used. Everyone seemed to gravitate towards the small, light kitchen. Theon didn’t care where he ate dinner; as long as he was at the head of his table, he could’ve eaten in the middle of the road during rush hour.
Tonight Mya had made a thick stew of chicken and dumplings with crusty, hot bread. It was the perfect meal for this damp, dreary night. The entire drive home, the sky had been thick with wooly grey clouds and the occasional fat raindrop on his windshield. Tonight would be a good night to stay inside...which reminded Theon of something.
“So your Uncle Robb got a call from Aunt Rosie today.” He said casually to his sons. Sitting across from each other at the table, Rodrik and Quenton’s eyes briefly met. 8-year-old Quenton’s fair cheeks turned pink, and Rodrik smirked around a mouthful of dumpling. He was the spit of Theon - lanky, surly, with the same sharp grey eyes he had. Rodrik and Alyce both had the same coal-black hair their parents did, but Quenton...after Quent was born Robb had joked he was the milkman’s. He’d never admit it, but Theon had thought there might have been a bit of truth to that. They’d still been living at the cottage at Riverrun then, and the milkman did have the same cornsilk blonde hair. One night he’d suggested it to Mya, half-jokingly. With no small degree of acidity, she’d reminded him that her mother had fair hair, as did his. That had been the end of that.
“That reminds me, I need to ask if we can foist these three off on them next Friday.” Mya was saying absentmindedly. “What’d she say?”
“Ask your sons.”
Mya’s dark eyebrows arched slightly. Her face took on a stern, familiar look that Theon swore she’d lifted straight out of Catelyn Stark’s arsenal. “Boys?”
Quenton broke first, as Theon knew he would. He was always so eager to please everyone, especially Mya. “It was Rod’s idea!”
“Quenton!” Rodrik hissed from across the table. “You promised you wouldn’t snitch!”
Theon sat back in his chair and just watched. Mya set her spoon down, her look intensifying. He loved when Mya was yelling at people who weren’t him. “What was Rodrik’s idea?”
Quenton glanced at his brother and shied away from the razor-sharp glare he was getting. “Puttin’ a spider nest in Beth’s closet,” he mumbled.
“Putting a-” Mya’s jaw dropped. Alyce caught Theon’s eye and giggled; he winked as Mya went on. “Why?”
Quenton remained silent, and Rodrik offered a sullen shrug. “Thought it’d be funny.”
Mya closed her eyes, and Theon knew she was counting to ten. He cleared his throat. “Your ma and I have to pay for half the cost to have an exterminator take care of that infestation. Those aren’t cheap. You’re both old enough to know better, so here’s how it’s going to go. You both owe us a debt and you’re going to work it off, starting tonight. After dinner, you’re both going straight outside to clean out the garage, for starters.”
“But it’s gonna rain!” Quenton’s chin was starting to quiver, his big blue eyes welling up. “And the Junkyard Avenger’s on tonight!”
“Alyce and I will listen to your program and she’ll take notes. You’ll be in the garage. And if you get wet, then you get wet. Then tomorrow, the basement needs cleaning up. Once that’s done, you can wash and wax the car, then start on the all the branches that fell in the yard over the winter.” Theon kept his gaze on his sons, one indignant, one nearly in tears. Judging by the way Mya’s eyes were burning holes in the side of his face he knew she recognized the items on his to-do list. So what? One way or another it gets done. “Once all that’s done, we’ll see where we stand.”
Rodrik glared with all the intensity in his 9-year-old body. Theon recognized the way his jaw clenched, the dark anger in his grey eyes. ‘One day you’ll have a son who’s just like you’. Isn’t that what the cook at Riverrun always said when you’d knick sweet rolls? God help you when Rodrik discovers girls. You and Mya’ll be grandparents before you’re 40 if he’s anything like you.
“You keep lookin’ at me like that, pal, we’ll add another month of hard labor on to your sentence.” Inside Theon was downright gleeful. He’d spent his entire life taking punishment from other people. It always felt good to dish some out on someone else. “Now eat your dinner.”
------
The rain held off until after the boys had finished with the garage and had stumbled into bed, dusty and grumpy. Hours after that it drummed on the roof as Theon reclined on his own bed in his boxers, an arm folded behind his head. Mya sat at her vanity in nothing but her slip, her makeup scrubbed off, her hair unpinned. It fell over her shoulders, glossy and black as the day they’d met. She brushed it now, glancing at him in her mirror. “What?”
He shook his head. Sometimes he just liked to look at her, and in their eleven years together she never understood it. He loved when she took off her warpaint at the end of the day and let her hair down. She looked softer, younger, more like the Mya he’d fallen in love with. “Nothin’. I got a visit from your uncle today?”
Mya rolled her eyes as she unscrewed a jar of lotion. “I bet he was a barrel of laughs.”
“More than usual. He’s appointed a new Chief and he’s completely green. Never even seen the Academy, I’d guess.” Theon stuffed his pillow behind his head, his eyes travelling down Mya’s lean legs as she rubbed lotion into him. “He seems nice enough but I’m amazed we couldn’t see your uncle fiddling with his strings.”
“Well, you know how he is.” Mya stood and peeled her slip off. In just her underwear, she crossed the room and dug under her pillow for the oversized men’s pajamas top she loved so much. “What’s this fella’s name?”
“Davos Seaworth.” Theon scratched his chest. “Remind me, he said he’s got some boys in the minor leagues. I wanna look them up.”
“Sure.” Mya tilted her head slightly, her eyes sharpening in a way Theon knew far too well. “Where’s he from?”
She tried to keep her tone casual but Theon shook his head. “Nope. Uh-uh. You’re not allowed to interview me, doll. That’s our deal, remember? There’ll be a press release in a few days.”
“I wasn’t interviewing you.” Mya flopped onto the bed. She drew her knees up to her chest and adopted a look of such innocence Theon almost laughed. “I’m simply being curious about new developments at your job, is all.”
“Oh sure, Mrs. Greyjoy.” Theon reached over and tweaked her nose. “Just like you were simply curious about that budget excess a few years back?”
“I cited you as an anonymous source!” Mya nipped at his finger. “And I didn’t report a single thing that wasn’t the truth, now did I.” She curled against his side, draping a leg over his. “I do need you to do me a favor though.”
“Oh do you?” The way her leg was rubbing against his was making Theon start to wonder what he’d have to do to get Mya out of those pajamas. He had no idea what she was buttering him up for, but he always had admired her persuasion techniques.
“Mmm-hmmm.” Now she was trailing her fingers along his stomach, inching lower and lower. “I need you to make sure your tux still fits.”
The fluttering that had started in his stomach died with a flop. “Why?”
“Because next Friday you and your gorgeous, intelligent wife are going to a black-tie reception for the Dornish ambassador, who is coming to Kingsport.”
Theon wrinkled his nose. “Doran Martell? He’s been the ambassador for years. What’s it, his birthday or something?”
“No, we’re getting a new one. Doran’s health is keeping him from travelling as much as the job dictates, so we’re getting his brother, Oberyn.”
“So...shouldn’t this be covered by the social or political columns instead of the crime one?” Theon looped some of Mya’s hair around a finger. “Unless you’re anticipating trouble?”
“Our gossip writer’s out sick, so I volunteered to do a little write-up for it.” Mya trailed feather-light kisses across his scarred chest. “It’s been awhile since we’ve had a fancy-dress date.”
Theon watched her head bob across his torso. “I might need some more convincing...”
She nipped at his chest before straddling his hips. “A happy wife is a grateful wife, Detective. Don’t make me force you to shine your shoes.”