Brienne groped for the towel and dried off, then headed for the door. She might never have anything besides friendship with Jason, but… friends were good. Friends were important. She loved hers dearly. There was nothing wrong with having another one.

At Jason's door, she lifted her hand to knock just as it swung open to reveal the man himself.

"Oh," he said as she lowered her hand. "You were taking so long, I thought you'd changed your mind. I was about to come drag you over."

"No dragging needed," she replied. "I'm here."

It was said quietly, almost whispered, because she was nervous about sharing a meal in his home, but even so, she couldn't keep from smiling, just a little.

Jason's smile faded to a slight curve of lips. He just looked at her, his eyes soft, almost glowing. Brienne felt like she was glowing, too. Maybe this isn't so great of an idea . But he looked so darned happy, she didn't have the heart to disappoint him as she followed him into his apartment.

Brienne had not had opportunity to see inside his place… at least, not while he was residing there. The prior tenant, Walder Frey, had been a nice man, but contemporary decor had not been a priority for him. Under his ownership, the apartment had retained its decor from when he'd married his third wife– or had it been his fourth?– and it had still boasted avocado-green shag carpeting and orangey-stained paneling the last time Brienne had been inside. The kitchen, she recalled, had been a mustard-yellow wonderland of bad judgment and questionable choices.

She was glad to see Jason had made extensive changes. The interior was bachelor-like, if the bachelor had gobs of money and and wasn't afraid to spend it with abandon. The walls were pale gray, and the furniture was all either darker gray tweed or beautiful green leather. There were a few touches of brass around the place, but otherwise it was very plain. Despite the starkness, however, it was restful and cozy. She liked it, and said so.

"I did it all myself!" He beamed at her, the force of it almost knocking her backward. "My family's colors are gold and red and it's on everything and I'm sick of it. So I asked myself, what colors are the direct opposite of gold and red? Silver, or gray, and green!"

Brienne wondered— not for the first time— about the desire to distance himself from his family as he led her through the living room to the dining room, but it didn't seem the time to ask invasive questions. She took the seat he indicated at the kitchen table as he began bustling around, extracting containers from the sleek steel fridge.

"So, it's chicken marsala. That still okay?" he asked, seeming quite cheerful as he peered into the fridge and emerged with a storage container.

"Sure." Sansa had turned Brienne on to the wonders of all things lemony. "And it'll keep the scurvy at bay, too."

He flashed her a grin and clapped a skillet onto the stove, adding the contents of the container. He rummaged in a drawer for a wooden spoon and used it to poke at the food as it started to hiss and sizzle. "Salad? Wine?"

"Salad," Brienne said faintly, suddenly nervous in a way she hadn't before experienced with Jason. "No wine."

A dozen thoughts teemed around her head, foremost of them this is beginning to seem very date-like and I really need to keep from getting my hopes up and one-hundred percent chance of a broken heart and fuck it, let's do this .

That last one sounded far more like Sandor than herself but he had decent instincts in most things. If there were a person it was wise to channel, he was one of the better contenders.

A plate of salad was put before her, and he was handing her silverware when his hand seemed to lose strength and went lax, the fork and knife dropping to the floor. Cersei hurried forward to investigate— could it be food?— but sagged in disappointment when she realized the sad truth. Brienne blinked up at her neighbor, but he swiftly turned away, snatching up the fallen utensils and chucking them in the sink, then returning with more.

Once he'd successfully handed them to her, he sat across from her with his own plate of salad.

"So, 3D printing," she began after a minute of silence, feeling stupid. She hadn't ever struggled for conversation with him before and she prayed she wouldn't do or say anything to make him think she had expectations of any sort beyond friendship. "That sounds…"

He looked up, chewing, waiting patiently for her to finish.

"Baffling," she concluded. "I don't know even the first thing about it… what you do with what you make, how to make it at all…"

"It's like art, like sculpting, but instead of using a hammer and chisel, I design what I want the final product to look like and have the printer do all the work."

"Wow!" Brienne was more than a little impressed, not only that such a thing was possible, but that Jason would be so creative. "So you're an artist?"

It was odd that she was just finding out about this now, after months of knowing Jason, and a pang of guilt tightened her belly. She ought to have asked long before that point. She was a bad friend.

He was smiling in response to her question, she realized, but it wasn't a happy smile; rather a grim one, actually. He looked unusually tense, with a set to his shoulders that put her in mind of someone gearing up for battle.

"Just the opposite, really," he said at last, and his tone was… off. Harsh like she'd never heard from him before, and there was a cynical cast to his face that seemed utterly foreign, like there was a stranger in Jason's body.

Something about how she stared in confusion had him blink at her, an unreadable expression there and gone in a heartbeat, and he closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he let out a deep breath, and then he was himself again.

"I make prosthetics for amputees," he said, possibly the last five words she'd expected from him. "The… bones for them, I guess you could say. It's a newer method; we use medical imaging technology to create 3D models of the bones that they've lost, then create a network of cables for tendons, wiring for nerves, tubes for veins and arteries… It's all covered by synthetic skin matched precisely to their own coloring, for a seamless join to the stump. It's all done to create as close to perfect imitations of the lost parts as possible. We're getting so good, it's almost undetectable."

But rather than sounding proud, his voice was still grim, and the look he sent her was apprehensive, his shoulders hunched against an expected blow. Recollection flickered in Brienne's memory: how he hadn't stirred a muscle when she'd touched his hand when he was asleep, that night that Peachy had been born, and how he hadn't flickered a muscle when Jackson Polly had dug sharp talons into his hand. And the way he'd dropped the silverware, only a few minutes earlier.

Oh.

With the realization that he had one of the prosthetics himself came a flood of emotions: amazement at how damned good it was, since she hadn't had a clue even after knowing him for months; curiosity, to know how he'd lost his hand; and most of all, overwhelmingly, dismay that he'd undergone such a trauma. The pain he'd endured, the sense of loss, must have been devastating, and she ached for how he'd suffered.

Brienne was on her feet before she quite knew what she was doing, circling the table until she stood at his side. He turned on his chair to face her, frowning up at her for a moment, confused, and Brienne rued that she was so awful at this. Awkwardly, she held her arms out stiffly, knowing she looked more crucified than comforting, but it seemed to communicate what she was offering.

Jason looked thunderstruck for a second before taking full advantage, leaning forward to bury his face against her stomach and winding his arms around her hips. Having him against her, closer than they'd ever been before, had her heart doing the jitterbug so fiercely that she was sure he could feel it. Slowly, she put her own arms around his shoulders, loosely at first, but when Jason pressed deeper into her embrace, seeking more contact, she tightened them until she was clasping him snugly.

And oh, it was wonderful. He was wonderful. He smelled delicious, was so solid and warm, and his clasp gave her the oddest sense of safety and security, reminding her of her father and the bear hugs he'd given her as a child. Gradually, he seemed to relax against her, his tension fading.

"Not that this isn't nice," Jason said after a minute, the words muffled against her shirt, "but… why?"

"You looked like you needed a hug. We all do, sometimes."

"So I can hug you whenever I want?" He sounded eager, that heartbreaking desire for affection of his asserting itself again, but there was also a thread of… something underlying it. Something a little dirty-sounding.

"I mean," Brienne said, a trifle desperate at that point, "if you're having a rough day, or don't feel well, or are lonely? Maybe?"

"Maybe?" There was a smile in his voice; the pest was teasing her, knowing how she was struggling.

She exhaled hard, giving a put-upon sigh so he knew how much of a trial he was to her. "I guess. Yes. Just come and hug me, if you need to."

His embrace shifted, his fists unknotting from the small of her back to flatten out, pressing warmly against her spine, and he rubbed his face against her midriff almost like a cat scent-marking one of its family. It felt oddly as if Jason were claiming her with the motion, and longing flitted through her chest, familiar and unwelcome.

"Our dinner…" she said, hating how breathless she sounded. "It's going to burn." Jason said nothing, only burrowed deeper against her, and she had to smile even as she tapped his shoulders in an effort to mobilize him. "We need to eat. Come on."

Nothing.

"Jason, we can't hug each other all night," said Brienne. She put her hands on his head, in hopes of prying him away, but his hair was silky and soft, the ends curling around her fingers, and she just ended up stroking him as she'd wanted to do since the very first day they met.

He gave a happy sigh and leaned more of his weight into her. "Sure we can."

It made an image rise in her mind's eye, of them embracing until the morning, and of course it was in a bed, because who'd stand in a kitchen for hours and hours? No, they were in a big bed with flowing white sheets and their legs were tangled and Jason's face was pressed to her throat and then he tilted his head back and she tilted hers forward and kissed him and—

"We—" she croaked, giving a hoarse little cough to clear her throat. "We're going to have to institute some rules for hugging, if you're going to be like this."

"Rules for hugging?" his tone was amused, a little disbelieving, and yes, it was stupid, but if Brienne were to keep her sanity, and her imagination under control… yes. She needed some rules.

"A maximum number of hugs per day," she said, "and a time limit for each one."

He gave a dismissive huff into her shirt. "Fine," he said, "maximum number of hugs per day is twenty, and the time limit is one minute."

She'd go stark-raving mad from thwarted desire. "Two hugs per day, time limit five seconds."

That would be okay, right? One hug the first time in a day they saw each other in a day, and one when they said farewell at night? And five seconds was a little past the usual spent during a greeting or farewell, but it wouldn't be too weird, would it?

"Unreasonable," Jason declared. "What if I'm having a very bad day? Ten seconds total isn't nearly enough time to erase a very bad day." His breath was hot, warming the fabric of her shirt, sinking into her skin under the cloth. "A dozen hugs, time limit thirty seconds."

"Ridiculous. We can't just stand around clamped to each other for that long, that often."

"We don't have to stand ," he murmured, and a flush crashed over her in a tsunami of desire. He had no idea what he was doing to her, would be appalled at the horizontal direction her thoughts were taking.

"Six," she said in desperation. "Six hugs, ten seconds long. That's my final offer."

"Done," said Jason right away. And still didn't let her go. She could feel his lips moving against her when he spoke, it was so much like a kiss, she had to get away—

"This one has to have been a few minutes by now," she informed him. "You've used up days worth, at this point."

"I didn't get any hugs at all until now, and I really needed them," he protested. "You owe me."

She blinked and pried herself free. "I owe you?"

He had the grace to look sheepish. "That didn't come out the way I meant."

She stared at him from narrowed eyes. "How did you mean it?"

"I just…" He raked a hand through his hair, mussing it and making her want to comb her fingers through it to tidy him up. "I want my full allotment."

The last was said with a bit of a pout, and Brienne couldn't hold back her laugh. A man his age, acting like that…

"I think you'll manage," she said, making for her side of the table once more. He reached out to grab her back but she darted nimbly out of reach and was forking in another mouthful of salad before he'd fully rotated back to face the table.

When they were done with their salad, Jason stood and stirred the skillets' contents before pouring each onto new plates. He placed a steaming meal of fantastic-smelling chicken marsala, pungent with lemons and studded with mushrooms before her. Brienne dug in right away, and the taste of it had her eyes closing as a shameful-sounding moan escaped.

"It's so good," she whimpered, swallowing her first bite, but he was silent. She opened her eyes and found Jason frozen, utensils in mid-air and dripping marsala sauce back onto his plate, as he stared at her. Her face warmed and she knew she'd turned scarlet.

" 'M sorry," she muttered, hunching over her meal. "My manners suck, I know." She looked up and pointed her fork at him. "But in my defense, my usual dinner companions are not human, so I'm out of practice with polite company, or controlling my reaction to food that has actually been cooked instead of only assembled."

He blinked at her, and applied himself to his own plate. "It's fine," he said at length. "I was just surprised."

He spent the meal talking non-stop between bites of chicken, and Brienne watched and listened in comfortable mostly-silence. Cersei resigned herself to catching no wayward scraps at all, put her head down on her paws, and fell asleep.

"Thank you," Brienne said when they were done and she was hovering on his doorstep, knowing she had to go back to her own apartment but reluctant to leave him, as she was every evening. "It was good. Especially since it wasn't a tuna sandwich."

Jason nodded, a faint smiling flitting across his face in recognition of her lame little joke. "We should have dinner together again," he said slowly, as if he were picking his words with care, watching for her reaction.

"Okay," she agreed, because there was nothing she wanted more: she could spend an extra hour with him, and get to eat far better grub than she'd make for herself. "When?"

"Tomorrow," he replied immediately, and followed it with a quick, "Every night from now on, in fact." When she opened her mouth to protest he continued, "How else am I supposed to make sure you're feeding yourself properly?"

"But—"

" Rickets ," he interrupted forcefully, but his grin was like the sunrise. " Scurvy ."

It was so ridiculous, he was ridiculous, and wonderful, and honestly, how could she resist?

"Okay," Brienne said again, trying to stifle a grin of her own. She knew he was doing it because it would save her a bundle in groceries, in the only way she would accept help from him. He's smarter than he lets on.

But she could tell it was also because he was eager for companionship, to the point of being a little clingy. Then she acknowledged that she had come to enjoy his clinginess. Knowing that she was important to him– that she mattered to him, even if only as a friend– made her ridiculously happy.

If this were an actual date, then would be the time where she'd kiss him, or he'd kiss her, and she wanted it so much she ached. Time to leave. She turned to return to her apartment, but he stopped her, pulling her against him for another hug.

"I'm allotted a few more for today, aren't I?" he murmured in her ear, and she couldn't hold back the shiver caused by his smooth baritone in her ear, the heat of his breath on her neck. It was vastly different, hugging him while standing, than it had been when he'd been seated; they were of a height, cheeks pressed together, their mouths mere inches apart. It would take almost no effort to turn her head, to cover his lips with hers, and she wanted it, wanted it, wanted it.

"If you think I'm going to stand in the hallway hugging you all night, you're crazy," she informed him.

He tensed, and she heard his indrawn breath, as if he were gearing up to say something. But then he relaxed once more, almost melting against her in a way that had her pulse thrumming in her veins.

"Yeah, that's impractical," was what he ended up saying. "This counts as one, so I have some left over. I'll bank them for when I have a bad day and need extra."

Even though she'd like nothing better than to stay wrapped in his embrace, Brienne couldn't let that pass. Pulling away, she rolled her eyes at him. "You can't bank the overages."

"Who says?" he demanded, but he was grinning.

" I say."

"Fine, fine," he pretended to grumble, but his face was lit with humor and pleasure. "Good night, Brienne."

She gave him one last smile and backed away toward her apartment. He watched her go, his eyes warm and soft, and as soon as she shut her door she leaned against it and just… thought about him.

That had been a rather strange evening, wending along twists and turns she'd not in a million years have expected. She would have to be careful, because it was becoming clear that Jason had little sense of self-preservation when it came to his efforts on behalf of others. It was a relief to have someone to help her when the going got tough, but she must not let herself take advantage of him. Friendship worked both ways; if he was going to help her, she needed to help him, too, even if it was to protect him from himself.

When she looked down again, it was to find almost every animal in the apartment at her feet, staring up at her in puzzlement.

"Who wants to watch a movie on the laptop?" she asked them.

Juanita appeared to be their spokes-pig, and gave a hearty oink in response, so Brienne scooped her up in one arm, and Peachy in the other, and they all got comfortable on the sofa. Pod looked lonely, as if he were yearning for Cersei's bountiful charms, and he wasn't the only one yearning— Brienne wished Jason were there with them, too. She could imagine him mocking the comedy's terrible jokes, the sly way he'd glance over at her to see if she found him funny… and the way his arm would feel around her shoulders as she nestled close into his side.

No , she thought, sternly, digging the heels of her hands into her eye sockets, until fireworks burst behind her eyelids. You're only making it worse.

When she finally went to bed, Brienne lay there in the dark, surrounded by Bruce and Peachy on the bed and everyone else ranged around her on the floor. She thought about how difficult it was becoming to be around Jason and have to cope with her longing for him,and how it grew day by day. Sometimes hour by hour— she could almost feel her affection for him expand, could practically measure how much more she cared for him at the end of a day than she had at the beginning.

There was going to come a point where it reached critical mass and overflowed its bounds and she'd make a fool of herself revealing it to him. It was only a matter of time. She hoped it wouldn't make him so uncomfortable that he wanted to stop spending time with her. There was a tiny thread of fear that he'd mock her for it, or be disgusted but… no. He was gentle and kind, and he cared for her, too… as a friend. He'd be sweet about it. And she'd just have to find a way to deal with her embarrassment.

Groaning, she tried to pull a pillow over her face, but Bruce had been sitting on it and she displaced him. He took it ill, giving an indignant meow.

"I'm sorry, baby," she told him. "Come back."

He apparently decided that she was properly contrite and let her tuck him against her chest, arm loosely around his fuzzy body.

"Good night," she said, to Bruce, and the others, and to Jason, even though he could not hear her. "Sleep well."