The Adventures of Super Jock and Awkward Girl

A/N ~ Can I just take a moment to say I've just reached the most reviews I've ever gotten on a FFN story for this fic and that I love every single one of you who takes the time to read my little tale. Also I so picture modern-Catelyn as a Sherlockian. And Bran too. Bran junior. Anyone else? No? Anyway, apologies for not updating sooner! Twas my birthday yesterday (6th) and birthdays are celebrated wildly in my family, so I've not had much time to lug my laptop over the library and get posting. And now my theatre is really starting to crack down on our play. But it's all written up! Only eight chapters left!

Disclaimer ~ I don't have George's identity yet. And failed to come up with something creative to put here like I usually do.

Coming Up… Everyone helps to devise Tyrion's Pot Noodle Trials, Pot Noodles are consumed by the dozen, Jaime attempts to apologise for the second time in his life, also Walking Dead marathons are present, and science is finally studied because frankly they've done nothing scientific this whole fanfiction and that was sort of my plot bunny oops Find out in The Adventures of Super Jock and Awkward Girl!

22. The Tragic Weekend of Excessive Studying and Tyrion's Pot Noodle Trials

Jaime Lannister had quite possibly been having the busiest day of his life. Or, certainly the most active.

His broken and retarded alarm clock had risen him at five in the morning, instead of half six, and so he'd decided to make use of the time given and study for his upcoming science test. This mostly resulted in procrastination and the realization that nobody was ever on Facebook at half five.

Then, naturally, Chataya had somewhere else to be and shoved breakfast down his throat the minute he emerged into the kitchen. A two-second shower later, and he was out the door and on his way to school – early. He arrived early, and utilized that time to have a long-winded conversation with Gerold Hightower about how football was an ultimately superior sport to basketball.

And it seemed every class he took had suddenly realized that it was meant to be drawing closer to summer, and by extension exam season, and felt the need to cram every little detail of information that they had already fucking learned into an hour lesson. By lunch, he was ready to drop dead beside Rhaegar and stuff his face, but Coach Selmy found him first and gave him the news he'd been waiting for for months and months on end – he was ready to rejoin the team, hand fixed, and hence needed extra training sessions to compensate for his sick leave of a sort.

It was quite a shock to his system, after a while, and it left little room for lunch, so all afternoon he was surviving on a protein shake and a handful of Elia's helpfully donated chips. Fun, fun, fun. Mr Tully, in his last lesson of the day, handed them back their mock-mock papers and gave Jaime a lecture of all or nothing for the real exam. It seemed he'd done atrociously. (Jaime had never wanted to take any kind of science in the first place. Tywin just thought it necessary that his son attend at least one primarily academic subject.) (Which was a ton of bullshit in Jaime's opinion.) (But whatever.)

Hoster recommended he take the weekend to study. Selmy recommended he take the weekend to train. Jaime himself recommended he take the weekend to procrastinate, but honestly it seemed a bit pointless after a while – which was sort of the point, but it seemed dull. Kings Landing College. Kings Landing College.

So it was breathless and near-dead that he finally dragged himself out of school that afternoon, and theatrically clutched at the gates for support. Rhaegar thought he was being over dramatic. But in all fairness, didn't he have a right to be? Ugh. And plus, it was hardly as if he was complaining. More observing and acting accordingly. He wasn't even too annoyed. Just exhausted.

Something must have been wrong with him.

Entirely unsure of whether Chataya was picking him up, and entirely ignoring the fact he should probably suck it up and learn how to drive like a normal teenager, Jaime found Tyrion on his contacts list and rung. It rung three times before his brother finally picked up. "Hello."

"Right, hi – am I walking home?"

"I don't know, are you?" Tyrion asked cheerily down the line. "Why don't you just check your surroundings and see?"

"Shut up, I –"

"I know what you meant. You can be awfully slow for a brother so many years my senior. Anyway, I though Chataya was having a night off? Since Cersei's accompanying her lemmings and fan club home after cheerleading practise?"

"Alright then."

"OhandbythewayTysha'sspendingtheweekendbye." Tyrion said before immediately hanging up, and Jaime could almost picture the impish grin on his face. Stupid bugger. He wondered what Tywin thought of this caravan-raised girl from Flea Bottom spending the weekend bye. He wondered if Tywin actually knew this caravan-raised girl from Flea Bottom was spending the weekend bye.

Then again, when you went off on yet another business trip and left your adolescent trio of children at home, you were probably asking for trouble.

Jaime rolled his eyes and tossed his hair and buried his phone deep in the depths of his jacket pocket, where he would later excuse missing calls from Tyrion and then his father, respectively. He wasn't quite sure why he was wearing a jacket – the weather too had almost begun to realize it was meant to be starting to warm up. And since, of course, it was a nice day (not since, of course, his baby brother and some Flea Bottom girl were making out on the sofa) he decided to take the longer trek home. On which way he realized too late, somebody he'd not really seen since Cersei ruined everything as per usual also walked.

Eventually, a street away from her house, he caught up to her. "Greetings, woman."

She turned around. "Brienne."

"No, that's you. I'm Jaime. Not Lannister, for the record, which you insisted on referring to me as all day. Honestly, to anyone else it would seem like we're not friends."

"We're not friends."

"Brienne, I've met your father. There's no going back now."

"Right. He's… Probably going to force you inside again if you're still here when I get in…" Jaime felt that by that Brienne was insinuating that he should go, but carpe diem and all that. After all, he had a plan unfurling in his mind and he genuinely didn't actually know why. Spur of the moment. And, vengeance on that little bastard Tyrion for having someone in his house with no prior warning.

"Then you should just continue on with me, since nobody, strictly speaking is going to force you inside my house." Jaime grinned. It was quite annoying that a mere grin from him did not reduce this girl to a state in which she wanted to comply to his every whim. He didn't want her to. It was just that most people did, and it was just… weird, having someone be immune to his Super Jock powers. (Awkward Girl, though, would probably be Super Jock's arch nemesis, knowing all of that.) (Arch nemesis' and reluctant companions.) (As in, they'd team up to defeat Super Jock's evil twin, Doctor Drunk-Whore.) (And then go back to being arch nemesis'.)

That caught her. Ha. "What?"

She just looked so guarded and slightly confused that Jaime felt the need to make clear what he was actually proposing. "Look, I am – no, I'm not sorry, that would imply I've done something wrong – I want to make amends for my twin sisters appalling behaviour at the Water Gardens. I've been raised by a stern rich man and his employees, and been taught – no, can't do it, can't lie. I need to study. Science wise."

"And you want me to help you?" She paused, scarlet once more. "I'm not the best either, you know, that mock…"

"Yes, that's why we need to study. Whatever else we are, we're science partners, first and foremost."

"Will your dad be alright with…?"

"Well, Tyrion's entertaining a Flea Bottom brat who's living in a caravan on Silk Street with her mother's third husband, so yes, he'll be fine if I've got a science partner round. Meaning he's once again on a business trip." And it's not like he's home, ever anyway. "Don't tell anyone. Wouldn't want the team to think I've gone all Eddard on them and started actually doing some work."

Brienne rolled her eyes and nodded. "Okay, Jaime, if you're sure…"

"I'm sure, gods be good, woman." She opened her mouth and he cut her off. "Brienne, yes, I know. Come on. You can text your father on the way." She didn't even try to protest when he shoved her in the right direction.

Her phone was a Samsung and had a sizeable crack in the corner of the screen. Jaime was strictly Team iPhone. This could be interesting. Of course, she has just sent the text to Selwyn when they passed his house, and the door opened. Apparently, Jaime gathered, Mr. Tarth had nothing better to do than to hover-parent until his daughter came home. (Or he could just see her out of the window. It was hard not to see a person of her height, to be honest.)

"Hello, Mr. Tarth," Jaime called, beaming, all Mr Good Guy again. He still wasn't quite certain of why it was so amusing to him or so irking to Brienne, but it was, and it would never die. Selwyn pleasantly corrected him, assured him using his first name was fine by him.

"Did you get my text?" Brienne mumbled, glancing at the pavement.

"What text? My phone's on silent, Bri, you know it usually is."

"Brienne and I are going to study at mine for a bit." Jaime said, and then mimicked Eddard Stark in a way that Selwyn saw nothing wrong in, and that had had the Westeros Dragons in uproarious laughter many a time. "If that's alright, sir."

Brienne had apparently caught on to his impersonation, and gave him a look that made him think she'd like nothing better than to just punch him in the face. Honestly, friends or no, he was surprised she hadn't yet. Selwyn lit up. "Oh, of course, of course. Well, have fun."

"It's studying, Dad, it's not…" His daughter trailed off awkwardly when she realized nobody was actually paying any attention. Jaime nodded agreeably as Selwyn shut the door and left them to it. Brienne turned to him, red faced and exasperated. "What was that?"

"That was me being a tolerable human being to your father. It's a hard thing for me to do, Bri, give me a little credit." He smiled lightly as they continued along the remaining sun-baked streets.

"No." She glanced at the ground. "Where do you live?"

"I – oh, no, you actually don't know where I live. Brienne, I have to say, I find it increasingly strange that your father's willing to let you go off to some random attractive man's house, said man he has met once, not actually knowing anything about anything or asking any questions. Most fathers would be flipping out if their daughters announced that."

Brienne glared at the sky for a second. He wondered if she often blamed her dead mother for things that happened in the land of the living, like he did, then thought better of that. That was a trait restricted to him. It was just too weird for anyone else. "He's just too distracted by being pleased I actually have a life, I think."

Jaime snorted, but then softened when she hit him uncertainly with her bag. "Fine, fine. Truth be told, wish mine was like that sometimes. Daddy Lannister isn't home from the big office much, and when he is he's forever moaning at me to do this, do that. Spend more time with the family, devote more of your life to family, family and legacy is the most important thing in the world."

Brienne didn't say anything to that, and then Jaime remembered who he was with and that he should probably learn, when around her, to restrain from saying anything too unrespondable. Gods knew the woman had a hard enough time thinking about what to say anyway. "So… Is that his girlfriend, that sometimes picks you up from school?"

Jaime paused. As if he'd ever allow anybody who was not a professional hired helper to pick him up from school. Pick him up. That made him sound about eight. Fuck. He needed to get his shit together and learn to drive. Soon. Before college, he vowed to himself. "Chataya? Gods no. She's the housekeeper. Doubles as a chauffer since Peck retired."

"… You have a chauffer." Brienne blinked. (He had recently begun to become more aware of when she blinked.) (And she did it a lot.) (It was quite distracting, honestly.) (He'd also recently become more aware of the fact that despite the rest of her face, and personality, her eyes were actually very pretty.) (It was actually because of the rest of her face, and her personality, that that was even more annoying.)

"Had. Peck retired in – Oh, fuck it, guilty, I'm a spoilt little over-indulged rich boy."

"Yeah," Brienne nodded slowly. (Oh, great.) (She was agreeing then?) (Should he feel insulted?)

"Charming." Jaime parried lightly, though actually he was quite irked by that. Was that an agreement? Or just a generic silence-filler? Knowing Brienne…

"I didn't mean –"

"Jesus woman, it's called the flow of conversation, you should try it sometime. You over think everything, you know." Jaime could have laughed at his own hypocrisy.

"I can't help it."

"I know, it's like I can't help being a stunningly attractive idiot, but the Seven will what the Seven will." He grinned. "Anyway, nervous?"

Brienne looked startled. "What?"

"The football." Jaime wondered what she thought he'd been on about. No, don't go there. He thought he'd entered dangerous territory the moment he'd quoted his little outburst at Highgarden Manor, but he'd saved that alright.

"Oh," She relaxed, clearly slightly happier with the safer common ground. "Not really. Lyanna and Selmy have been working really hard on all of us, we're better now than before. You should see Dacey Mormont shoot now."

"It's not Team Girl Dragon that's the problem. You haven't seen Rhaegar's line up for Team Boy Dragon's subs." Jaime really meant that it was his recently healed hand that was the problem. That it was the Kings Landing College representatives spectating that was the problem. Everything was boiling down to this one match. Tywin was surely rich enough to send him, loan-free to KLC regardless, but a football scholarship to the best college around was something big, something that you didn't ignore. Not that you ignored Jaime Fucking Lannister anyway. But it made a statement. A statement he wanted.

"He chooses well, usually." Brienne shrugged. "I –" Jaime then realized they'd walked up his enormous front garden, and he was fumbling for his key. He could see the fact that this was where he lived register in those fathomlessly blue eyes. It strengthened the fibres on his cloak of superiority, sure. But for the first time, he was well aware that he was an over-privileged Richie Rich.

"Yes, this is my house. No, it did not come off Grand Designs. No, you can not move in immediately." Jaime gave his customary smile as he shouldered open the door. She protested that that was not what she was going to say, but Jaime didn't really pay much attention. "Tyrion!" He shouted. "Tyrion, you and your girlfriend can stick to upstairs, we're studying down here!"

Tyrion shouted something incoherent and after a series of thumping noises he materialized in the living room, Tysha hot on his heels. "Who's we – Oh. Hello, Brienne, so good to see you. How might your football practise be going?"

Brienne looked quite fazed at being addressed so directly by Jaime's little brother. "Good."

"Tyrion, fuck off," Jamie told him good-naturedly. He liked Tyrion, there were far worse brothers out there; but Golden Boy and Mini Man right now needed to go their separate ways.

Tyrion held his hands up innocently. "I'm being nice, Jaime, you should try it some time, really," Tysha laughed and Tyrion grabbed her by the wrist, spun her and the two disappeared into the hallway and up the staircase again.

"So that's my brother." Jaime announced, after their departure, flopping down on the sofa and using his feet to remove his shoes, reaching for the remote. "What do you want to watch?"

"I thought we were…"

"Oh, we'll get to the textbooks later, I've got season three of The Walking Dead recorded on here, fancy having a rewatch?" She was about to reply when Jaime cut her off. Or rather, his click of the remote cut her off with it's familiar Previously on AMC's The Walking Dead. So, on another of his many whims, they ended up watching the first three episodes of the long-gone series, whilst he wondered at what point he had become friends with this socially awkward paradox.

Eventually, he had to shut the vast flatscreen off, because they were beginning to resemble the zombies themselves, and he used his toe to drag his bag across the floor, and he fished out his textbook. Just the sight of the cover elicited a mundane groan from him. "You know, I think if we were really Super Jock and Awkward Girl we'd not have to endure this bullshit." Brienne looked puzzled. Jaime sighed and rolled his eyes, annoyed that he had to explain this. "The campsite. The rafts. We came up with our superhero names. Super Jock and Awkward Girl."

"Call Stan Lee, it seems we've got a new hero league in the making. Room for a Mini Man? Or would that be Spectacularly Intelligent Badass? Calculator Brain?" Tyrion put in, from where he'd been standing at the doorway. When had he gotten there?

Jaime smiled and glared simultaneously, which was harder than he'd thought. "What are you doing? Can you not see how extremely busy we are with all this academia?"

"Oh, of course, extremely, but I was just passing through to grab some Pot Noodles for Tysha and myself."

That Jaime allowed, and requested that he fetch some for he and Brienne as well. Pot Noodles, it turned out, were amazingly convenient for Friday nights spend with sofas and textbooks and Rick Grimes, made more slobbish by Tysha coming downstairs and demanding to watch a couple of episodes with them, with Tyrion's duvet she'd dragged down from upstairs, and Jaime thanked the gods for Tywin's absurd wealth that allowed the massive fucking sofa that fitted them all comfortably. And for Tywin's absurd job, that allowed his children and their friends evenings untroubled.

It was there, on the sofa, loudly voicing his own zombie apocalypse plans and throwing Pot Noodles into each others faces' that Cersei slammed the door behind her as she came in, shaking out an emerald-green umbrella that she possibly bought simply to correspond with her evil eyes, like the pissed-off witch at baby Sleeping Beauty's birthday shindig.

"Who's that?" She asked suspiciously, of Tysha, who looked offended not at all and told her that they'd met before. Twice. Cersei ignored that.

"Why in such low spirits?" Jaime asked.

"Because, Jaime," Cersei hissed, struggling to put down the umbrella. Apparently, as she'd stressed so many times before, his twin was not designed for manual labour. "That glorious sunny day ended the moment I had to walk home. Rain. Do you know how long I spent on my hair this morning?"

From what Jaime could see, about two point three strands of her hair had actually gotten damp in any way at all. Naturally, this was a horror of catastrophic proportions. "Yes actually, I share a house." Tyrion put in. "Though next time you feel like renting the bathroom for two hours when I need to take a piss, please, give me some notice." Cersei gave him a withering look.

And just as she was headed out into the hallway to slam the door of her bedroom, Brienne came back from the bathroom, pretty much walking into her. Tysha leant across the stew of cushions and Pot Noodle boxes to say quietly, "This should be entertaining," the moment Tyrion said, "Pass the metaphorical popcorn." Cersei gave Jaime a look that for once he didn't have to decipher.

(He didn't care what she thought.) (It was totally fine.) (Fine.) (Why wouldn't it be fine.)

Brienne looked for all the world like a very (very) tall rabbit caught in a very blonde trap. "He – hello…?" She tried. She tried, bless her. That must have been absurdly hard enough for her.

To Cersei's credit, she simply stared distastefully at her for a while. "Move." She commanded, which was quite a superfluous statement after she shoved past her and they heard her signature door slam a few seconds later. Jaime was about to shatter the screaming silence that filled the room before Tyrion did it for him, and Jaime was sure he'd never appreciated his brother so much.

"They tried to make me go to rehab, but I said," Tyrion sung softly. They all joined in, then. "No, no, no,"

After that following bought of laughter, everything seemed a lot simpler. The four of them had a complete Walking Dead marathon, and then Brienne and Jaime, shock horror, actually did sprawl out across the floor like children – well, Jaime did, Brienne sat against the sofa looking at him like he was a child – and seriously did some revision. It wasn't so bad. Tyrion helped out. Tysha made jokes. Then more Walking Dead. Classic Jaime probably would have made some dig about Brienne having the soundtrack on her iPod, but he restrained himself. (Then again, Classic Jaime would not be here in any situation, would not be happening in any situation.)

Tyrion also devised what he referred to as Tyrion's Pot Noodle Trials. Well, technically they all helped, but Jaime was not going to be caught dead admitting that. It involved grabbing an unopened Pot Noodle and throwing it three times in the air, throwing it to the person to your left, answering one of the problems from the science textbooks, reciting a quote from The Walking Dead – or an action/facial expression; the rest had to guess which character it was before the Trials could continue. Brienne became the master of guessing correctly, and Jaime of mimicking the survivors – and then, finally, opening the packet without using your hands. Mouths, feet and noses were all utilized. It was quite amusing. Cersei actually had to journey downstairs several times to snap at them to be quiet, which Jaime quite thought was the mark of success.

Then, somebody realized it was eleven pm.

Brienne texted her father – who hadn't voiced any sort of complaint, or even message – and began hastily collecting her science stuff, before Jaime's mouth overstepped his mind. "Why don't you both stay? Dad's not going to be back till Sunday, business trip."

"Oh, okay," Tysha shrugged. "So I'll be sleeping in Tyr's room, and –" Jaime gave her a withering glare, but failed to respond. He didn't see what the problem was. Tyrion and Tysha might be completely enamoured with one another, but they were just kids. They wouldn't do… much. He hoped. Anyway, Tywin was away, so who gave a shit? Then Jaime sort of caught on to why Tyrion and Tysha were looking at he and Brienne like that.

"I'll take the sofa," She muttered, bearing a truly staggering resemblance to a large, freckly beetroot.

Since nobody deigned Cersei important or tolerable enough to tell, they just lounged around, and finished The Walking Dead's third series, at around two in the morning, when Tysha announced she was shattered and traipsed up to Tyrion's bedroom, and he soon followed.

"Gods, that show is good," Jaime muttered, then paused, smiling. "The music's good too…" Brienne did not laugh, and hit him with a pillow. "Hey, hey!" He cried, holding his arms up, mock-protectively. "You'd be mental in the zombie apocalypse."

"Jaime."

"I still can't believe you have Angels on your iPod."

"I still can't believe you're still talking," She rebuffed grimly.

He rolled his eyes, laughing and shoving her away. She was dangerous with that pillow. (Gods.) (Brienne Tarth, dangerous.) (There was something new.) (Off the football pitch at least.) An odd thought occurred to him then. "If Rehab is Cersei's new theme song, what's ours?"

"I don't…"

"Mine would so be Sexy and I Know It. Oh, oh – or Too Sexy for my Shirt."

Brienne snorted. Then Jaime gave a shout of triumph, throwing an empty Pot Noodle carton in the air as a celebration of his great feat. Something he'd thought impossible. (In the company of other human beings at least.) Something he'd been wondering about for months now. He'd done it. He'd done the impossible. He had heard Brienne Tarth laugh. "Something amusing?"

"No, it's just you look like –" She cut herself off, once more ruby.

It was Jaime's turn to snort now, though he was intrigued. He looked like somebody? Oh gods, this could be immense. "Who? I look like who?" He grinned. Brienne stared down at the plush carpeting, mumbling something about nobody. "Who? I'll tell the world you listen to Celine Dion if you don't tell me who you think I look like."

"I do not listen to –"

"Yeah, but they don't need to know that and to be honest you probably do anyway."

"Fine, the prince from Shrek."

Jaime could have sworn his laugh was loud enough to wake all the neighbours. "I look like the prince fucking charming from Shrek?"

"Yes, and I was just laughing because he sings Sexy for my Shirt at the end of the film, and I just –" She was grappling for explanations but Jaime was too busy in hysterics. Eventually she hit him again, harder, and then stood up. "Jaime, go away, I want to sleep."

"Fine," He spluttered. "But tomorrow, Princess Fiona, we are definitely finding you a theme song."

A/N ~ The idea of Rehab being Cersei's song was the complete genius of the lovely Badstuff11. If you have a non-depressing theme for Brienne, please let me know! By non-depressing I mean, well, not Janis Ian's At Seventeen, which is currently the one that I'm stuck on. Gah

ALSO, I am pleased to announce... A Kings Landing College-set sequel to this fanfiction is now officially confirmed and under construction. My friends, you will have, at some point in the not quite so distant future, *cheering*... Super Jock and Awkward Girl Take World!