Ella's Oneshots

[Ella]

Fandom: Game of Thrones
Summary: Sandor has followed Jon Snow back to Winterfell, and Sansa has something to tell him. [post-S7 oneshot]
Words: 1719

Hope Is the Thing with Feathers

"Hope is the thing with feathers -

That perches in the soul -
And sings the tune without the words -
And never stops - at all" - Emily Dickinson


                Sandor’s breath caught when he saw [i]her[/i]. He had known to expect her, of course. The Tarth lady had told him both of the Stark girls had been returned to Winterfell. And yet she still managed to knock him off his feet. Last time he had seen her she was a mere girl. Now she was a woman grown, a true Lady. Such a difference from her little sister, who was as much a lady as he was a knight. No, the title Lady of Winterfell suited Sansa. She looked as if she was made to do this, and yet he could see that she had outgrown the songs she had liked so well. She spoke as regally as ever, but her eyes held fear nor admiration as she beheld her bastard brother and the Dragon Queen. Her eyes were colder and harder than he remembered, and he knew then that time had not been kind to her. She had learned, his little bird, and the road of learning is always paved by pain. She was no less beautiful for it.
                She didn’t see him, not yet, and he didn’t know if he feared her gaze or longed for it. Perhaps it was a little bit of both. He wondered if Tarth had told her about killing him – he wondered if Sansa Stark had thought him dead. He immediately dismissed the thought. What reason would Brienne have had to speak of that, if she ever truly spoke to her Lady at all. It was perhaps more likely that the little wolf had blabbed or boasted about leaving him to die, but even so… She probably hadn’t spared him a single thought in the last couple of years. Not in the way he had thought about her anyway. If she would know what had been in his mind, she would never speak to him again. Seven Hells, he even reproached himself for it, and he wasn’t a man unused to his own darker thoughts.
                “The fight in the North is what is of most dire importance now, my lords. While we squabble amongst ourselves, the dead are coming, and once they come, it doesn’t matter who rules from the capital,” the Lady concluded. She had a way with words that far surpassed her brother’s. In truth, he had been stupid, bending the knee to the Dragon Queen while he was miles away from his bannermen, and what he did in the pit… No, this one wasn’t born with a head on his head, even if his heart was in the right place. Noble and all, but precisely what had gotten his father killed. From the look on Sansa’s face, she was remembering too. Remembering and learning. He felt a swell of pride in his chest for both of the girls. They had survived this far, and he hope by the gods that they would survive the coming winter. Sometimes he wished the flames would show him something other than doom, but it was not to be. All he was shown was misery and darkness. Snow and fire. Somewhere in his heart he had always known that that was how it would end for him, but he didn’t want that for the Stark girls. He didn’t even want it for the world.  
                Sansa stood first, and left the room alongside her brother and sister. Even if the two dragons flying above Winterfell didn’t please the men too well, Sansa’s words seemed to have appeased the bannermen a little. At least the dragons were on their side now. Sandor shuddered as he thought of the burning wights, and was all too glad to be on the right side too. He had heard of what happened to the Lannister army, about what happened to the Tarlys. A horrible way to go. He really hoped that this new queen wouldn’t turn out to be like her father, or he would be as tempted as Jaime Lannister was to put a sword through her back.
 
                He didn’t see her again until dinner. She was sitting at the same place as she had that afternoon, the table where they had all been sat the first time he had laid eyes on her. He hadn’t thought much of her then, just as he hadn’t thought much of her entire family. All stupid little wolves. The women had surely been cleverer than the men, though, and he only hoped that Jon fucking Snow wouldn’t do something stupid to get his sisters killed the way Robb got his mother killed.
                Tarth, who was sitting on his right, was telling him something about the training of the young boys and girls, but he wasn’t paying attention. Sansa’s gaze had found his, and he managed what he hoped was a smile. She didn’t smile in return, but looked rather puzzled. He saw her bend a little towards her brother and asking a question. She didn’t know why he was here, then. Her brother probably hadn’t told her much of what had been going on, and who had been the ones fighting with him.
                “Sandor?” Brienne asked. “She won’t disappear if you stop staring at her for a minute. It’s unnerving.”
                He growled, but directed his attention to the maid next to him again. There is time, he told himself. There is time.
 
                In the end, it was the girl who caught him in the hallway, and not the other way around. He had just been about to go off to bed after a particularly gruelling training session – Tarth was good, but he didn’t intend to be beaten by her again – when she had cornered him and asked him to accompany her to the godswood.
                “What would your brother say?” he asked her, before she boldly took his arm. It would be a lie if he said he didn’t feel a warmth spreading through his body at her simple touch. When was the last time someone had touched him like that willingly?
                “My brother had important matters to attend to.”
                Important my ass, Sandor thought. Everyone who had been on that ship new what had transpired between Snow and his freshly chosen queen. Still, he supposed he couldn’t blame the lad. If it was him who’d spend years with the Night’s Watch he’d need a good fuck too.
                “I heard you fought bravely with my brother and his men.”
                He huffed. “Still chirping your little songs then, little bird.”
                “Jon speaks highly of you.”
                “He didn’t tell you what actually happened then,” Sandor said. “How I couldn’t –” His mouth dried as he thought of Thoros, charging at the burning bear with his flaming sword. He surely would have died back there if it hadn’t been for Thoros of Myr, and he hadn’t even found it in him to thank the man. He didn’t know what he had done to deserve that. Was it because he was able to see in the fire too, or was it because perhaps Thoros considered him a friend, a companion? He surely didn’t consider Thoros as one right before he had been charging that bear, but he hadn’t hated him either. Perhaps the man simply thought he was doing the right thing. Sandor doubted if it had been every day.
                “Sandor?” Sansa squeezed his arm lightly, and gave him a concerned look.
                He signed, unable to meet her eyes properly. “A man died in my stead. There was a bear. And it –” He closed his eyes, cursing himself that even the thought was able to unnerve him like this. “It was on fire.”
                “I heard you saved Tormund.”
                “That didn’t bring Thoros back to life.”
                She halted them, and grabbed both his arms. “It’s not your fault.”
                He almost wanted to smile. “I know. It was his choice to do something that stupid. He could have just let me die.” Sansa looked as if she was about to argue with him, but he shook his head. “You weren’t there, little bird. I turned craven. You should know by now that I always do.”
                “You’re not a coward for knowing fear, Sandor Clegane. Only morons don’t fear anything.”
                He didn’t argue. How could he explain to the girl next to him that it was more than fear. That it was paralysing, crippling, and that he didn’t know how was going to fight a fucking war with two dragons scorching the planes. He didn’t want her to understand what that kind of fear was like. Not now, not ever.
                “I’ve thought about that night for many moons,” Sansa suddenly spoke. “I should have gone with you.”
                “You would have been a fool,” he said. “I had nothing to offer you.”
                “You would have kept me safe. You never would have sold me to the Boltons.”
                “I was ready to sell your sister.”
                “To her family. You would never have given me to Ramsay.”
                “Aye, that I wouldn’t have.” But I would have taken so much more. Who’s to say I wouldn’t have taken you for myself? She said down on a broken tree, and he followed her lead.
                “You taught me a lot, you know. I’m not sure I’m much of a little bird anymore.” She looked up at him, smiling.
                He shook his head. “I can see you learned a lot, but I don’t deserve any of the credit. All that I could possibly have taught you is fear.” She looked beautiful in the moonlight, and not for the first time he wished he could kiss her. He had half a mind to do so, if he wasn’t certain her Lord Brother would have his head. [i]Brienne [/i]would have his head.
                “You taught me more than that. And I thank you for it.” She leaned towards him, and pressed a kiss on his burned cheek. “You were there when no one else was.”
                “I only –”
                “Don’t argue,” she said. “Just enjoy the evening. It’s beautiful.”
                He stared at her, incredulous. When he finally found his bed, he didn’t dream of the fire. He didn’t dream of his brother, and he didn’t see Thoros’s final breaths or his flaming sword. Instead, he dreamed of her. Her flaming hair, her smile. He saw her happy. Maybe Beric was right, he thought. Maybe, just maybe, he was not beyond all hope.

[Ella]

Fandom: Game of Thrones
Summary: Implied Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth; Sansa Stark protects Jaime Lannister from execution. Based on the promo for 8x02.
Words: 789

A Man Without Honour

It was Bran who announced the arrival. Bran, who was so perfectly and completely calm amongst a company of fiery personalities. Their new Queen was displeased to find that Bran brought the information to his brother first and that she had to receive the news that her father’s murderer had arrived secondhand. Sansa saw the doubt in Jon’s eyes: not even her faithful brother knew whether it had been right to deliver the news to Daenerys Stormborn, who was actively calling for Jaime Lannister’s blood by now. She was not alone in this endeavour. The Northmen keenly expressed their disgust for the Lannister cripple, while Ser Jaime Lannister stood with his head bowed, not attempting to defend himself. Every now and then he would dare a short glance towards Bran. There was something sunken in his eyes that she had never seen in the golden Lannister sibling. Sansa looked sideways, to her brother, who was sitting next to her. Bran just watched. It felt like that was all he did these days.
“Enough,” Jon shouted, and he stood up from his place at the table. Daenerys’s lips pursed together, but she didn’t challenge him. “I agree with you,” he said, addressing his men, “that justice should be upheld, and that justice should be met.” 
Sansa found Tyrion in the crowd, standing in between Varys and Davos Seaworth, willing him to speak out. He was looking at the figure of his brother, a man he had likely deemed dead after their attack on the Lannister convoys. If he defended his brother now, his Queen would never trust him again.
“But today is not that day,” Jon said. “The dead are almost upon our door, and we can use every able-bodied man and woman.” 
“Even a man without honour?” someone shouted. Sansa berated herself for being too slow to notice the speaker.
“Let him burn!”
Karsark. What she would give to shut up that insufferable man.
Brienne stood up from her place as well, something indeterminable in her gaze. “My Lords, if I may –”
“We have no time for petty squabbles,” Jon said.
At those words, the Targaryen girl stood up. “I do not think our concerns are petty, Jon Snow. Tell me,” she said. “How can we trust a man who has never honoured a single vow in his life? How can I trust the man who stabbed his own king in the back?”
“And what a king he was.” The words had left Sansa’s mouth before she had the time to reflect on them. The Northeners became quiet now that she was speaking. Their respect only spurred her on. “I’m certain many men and women remember what your father did to the people of the North. To our families. To my family.” She waited for her words to sink in, for approval to be met. She saw a few heads nod, and decided to continue. “Your father executed my uncle and his father cruelly and unjustly. The North remembers. And yet we have trusted you enough to invite your freely into our home. Would you harm that trust by defending your father? Neither of us were there, but he is not called the Mad King without reason.” Sansa’s eyes met those of Jaime, who was looking at her in shock. His face had never been hard to read, even at times he may have been trying to hide his emotions, but right now surprise was written all over his face. She let herself find Brienne in the crowd, who was still standing up. She dared a smile at her. Brienne had spoken about Jaime Lannister with respect and a measure of admiration, and Brienne was not one easily fooled. That had to count for something.
Daenerys’s features hardened further. “I am not my father. And besides, my point still stands. That man is devoid of honour. Look at what he has done to your family.”
“I don’t hear Bran calling for his execution,” Sansa shot back, “and as my brother has argued, this is not a time to be focusing on anyone’s past deeds. Unless that is what you really want. Weren’t you the one who burned the Tarlys alive? Obliterated one of the largest food resources of Westeros? Or was that your father? I can’t quite seem to remember.”  
“Enough, Sansa,” Jon said. “I propose we hear what Ser Jaime has to say for himself.”
Sansa saw Jaime look at Brienne for the first time since he entered the room – no, that was impossible, he must have heard her speak before. He must have seen her. “I promised to fight for the living.” He now looked at Sansa directly, his haggard face determined. “I intend to keep that promise.”

[Ella]

Fandom: Game of Thrones
Summary: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth; Jaime rides South and comes across someone he once thought to be a friend. Post-8x04 oneshot that basically deals with Whatever The Fuck Jaime Thinks He Is Doing. 
Words: 837

Shall I Tell You, Then, How It Is?

Shall I tell you, then, how it is?—
There came a cloven gleam
Like a tongue of darkened flame
To flicker in me.

"Shadows" by D.H. Lawrence

            Even though he was already a good five miles away from Winterfell, he willed himself not to look back. If he looked back, he would be lost. The wind was desolate in the empty landscape, some of it marred by fire, some of it still marred by death. Jaime closed his eyes and let his horse lead him where he had to go.
            Since the second he had left, he had been wondering if he hadn’t made an enormous mistake. He could still see her face, crunched up is if her world was falling apart, knowing full well that he had been the cause of her tears. He gained her trust, and when she finally showed herself to him, all of her, he had betrayed her. It was inexcusable and the pit of guilt that had set itself firmly in his stomach over the last couple of years felt as if it could not bear this additional burden. He couldn’t even think back of her smiling face, of when she was knighted, of celebrating their survival. All memories were tinged with sadness of how he had been the one to make her smile, only to take it all away. He didn’t deserve happiness. He knew that, and he had long ago come to terms with it. But Brienne did. She did. Perhaps that meant she would be better off without him.
            His horse neighed. Jaime looked up, only to be met with lopsided smirk of Ser Bronn of the Blackwater.
            “What are you doing on the road, little shit? Thought I’d heard you’d firmly planted your ass on Northern soil with your lady knight.” 
            Jaime looked Bronn into the eye. By the gods, he had trusted this man with his life, even if he had known he was nothing more than a common murderer. He had thought they were friends. He scoffed. He always was the stupidest Lannister. “If I want to live, I have a war to win, don’t I?” 
            Bronn simply looked at him. “Funnily enough, I don’t believe you. I bet that bitch wasn’t good enough, was she? You’re off to your lovely sister to save her from Euron’s bed and hope she comes back to your arms.” The man paused.
            “Don’t speak of Brienne that lowly. She is indeed a lady and a knight, so get it through that thick head of yours to show some respect.”
            Bronn raised his eyes and Jaime wished he could wipe the smile off his face. “It’s not as if your sister would take you back anyway. One hand, a betrayal to the crown…”
            “You forget the fact that she sent you to have me killed.”
            “Ah, yes,” Bronn said. “That too.” He paused for a moment, studying Jaime’s face.
            “Would you move out of the way? I have a long journey ahead of me.”
            “I can’t help but wondering, Ser Jaime. If you’re not off to King’s Landing for your sister, then what the hell are you heading South for?  
            Jaime set his jaw and tried to school his expression into neutrality. “I never said I’m not going for my sister.”  
            “So she tried to kill you, and you still want to fuck her? I knew you were messed up, but this is a new low, even for a Lannister.”
            “Just get out of my way.” Even after everything that happened, he still couldn’t say the words. It was as if saying it would make it real. I’m not going to King’s Landing to fuck my sister, but to kill her. I’m going to right her wrongs. My wrongs. “You’ll get your castle. Tyrion promised, and a–”
            “A Lannister always pays his debts. So you’ve told me. Still have to see it come true, though.”
            “I’m joining the war against my sister, Bronn. I’m not joining her. I don’t care if you believe me.”
            “If you were going to King’s Landing to join the war, the Beauty would be with you.”
            “She swore a vow to Lady Stark. I couldn’t let her go with me.” I couldn’t make her break her vows. I couldn’t lead her into a battle that will definitely see me killed. That would see her killed. I couldn’t let her stop me. I couldn’t allow myself to be happy with someone who deserves so much better than someone as hateful as me.
            “I don’t trust you,” Bronn said, “but I trust your will to live. Go win that war then. It’s high time you pay up, or you’re a dead man, Jaime.”
            “I will pay up, one way or another,” Jaime said, and Bronn moved his horse out of the way.
            “I’ll see you after the war,” Bronn shouted as Jaime spurned his horse into a fast pace. He had to get out of the North, away from the smell of burned flesh, away from the memory of her, and he rode on comforting himself with the fact that after he was gone, Tyrion would be the only one to mourn him.

[Ella]

Fandom: Game of Thrones
Summary: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth; Sansa strongarms Jaime into a conversation about his newfound relationship and makes an unsuspected offer; oneshot based on 8x04.
Words: 1346

A Fragile Trust

               “Lady Stark!” Jaime felt his face growing flustered as if he were a fifteen-year-old girl on his first date. He was glad that he had at least made sure that he was properly dressed before heading to the washing area, or he would really have had something to explain to the girl who was, frankly, staring him down as if he was nothing more than dirt under her shoe.
               “Ser Jaime,” she greeted, her voice cold as the snow that was slowly coating every last holding of the North.
               He missed that sweet little girl, if only because she was the one Stark at King’s Landing he didn’t have to pay much mind. Perhaps a little more because he had seen so much of his own daughter in her, if not for the colour of her hair. He wondered if Myrcella would have become like her, a woman of stone, if she had lived too long in this world. Not for the first time, he found himself secretly grateful that his daughter never had to experience the largest torments of his world – that she never had to suffer in ways that Sansa did, and that she never had to see her mother become what she had become. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said, willing his thoughts away. Thinking of his family would do him no good here. He had Tyrion, and that should be enough.
               “What were you doing in Lady Brienne’s room?” Sansa asked, her eyes not leaving his. She was nothing like Myrcella had been, this girl. She was her mother’s daughter. Fire and ice.
               “As you may well know, Lady Brienne and I have been acquainted for quite some time now. I was just… paying her a visit.”
               Sansa didn’t speak for a while. “Walk with me,” she then said.
               “I was actually–”
               “Walk with me.” Her voice left no room for questioning.
               Jaime raised his eyebrows, but complied, following her through the darkened hallway that led to the main stairway. The sun hadn’t fully risen yet, but the torches on the walls gave enough light to illuminate the lady’s beautiful hair and porcelain skin. She was truly the epitome of everything beautiful in the world, and Jaime thought to himself that his brother must have counted himself lucky to have been married to such a bride. Except she had been a girl. A girl barely older than Myrcella. “Where are we going?”
               Sansa didn’t answer.
               “I’m certain your brother would be displeased to know you are spending time with the Kingslayer. Alone.”
               Sansa stopped, and raised her gaze to meet his. “I’m no king, so I have nothing to fear from you.”
               Jaime’s lips curled up into a grimace.
               “I don’t trust you,” Sansa said.
               “And yet you elect to spend this lovely morning walking through corridors with me. Please excuse me if this causes me some confusion, my lady.”
               “Comedy is more your brother’s area of expertise,” she said. “I know you won’t hurt me, Ser Jaime. You have no reason to. But I don’t [i]trust[/i] you.”
               “I apologise, but I truly don’t understand what you want from me. I’ve sworn to fight for your brother’s cause, I fought, and–”
               “–and now you’ve crawled into bed with my sworn sword.”
               Jaime blinked once. Sansa looked as if she hadn’t spoken. As if she’d delivered a common message. Impassive. She’d grown into a great liar, and for the first time Jaime wondered if he should be the one fearing to be alone with her.
               “You don’t deny it,” she said.
               “I–I am uncertain how this is any of your business.”
               “As I have mentioned, Lady Brienne is my sworn sword.”
               “That doesn’t mean you have any right to know about what sexual activities she is or isn’t undertaking,” Jaime said.
               “Lady Brienne has also been a true friend to me. She swore an oath to my mother, and she has upheld it.”
               “Of course she has,” Jaime said. “She is the most honest and loyal knight I have ever known.”
               “And yet, she is electing to spend her time with a notorious oathbreaker. She spoke against the dragon queen. For you. She is fond of you.”
               “I–do you truly think so?”
               Sansa smiled lightly. “If she weren’t, would she have allowed you to share her bed?”
               “I suppose not,” Jaime said softly.
               “Will you stay with her?”
               “Excuse me?”
               “Lady Brienne keeps her oaths. She will stay with me while the forces head South. Does this mean you are staying in Winterfell too?”
               “Well–I mean–” he stumbled over his words. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t given it any thought. He hated the North, more than anything. The cold, the people, the dreary atmosphere… This whole place reminded him of one of his most terrible acts, especially since the results of his actions were so clearly visible in the figure of Brandon Stark, staring at him with those passive eyes, and those words full of knowledge. Brandon Stark, who had all but predicted his death.
               The South was warmer, still. Of course, the South had its very own winter. The South meant facing Cersei again. It meant watching her lose a war, it meant fighting her. Fighting his own family. His own army. Men he had grown up with and men he had once been willing to die with. He wasn’t sure if he could do that either. He knew what Cersei had become, and he wanted to see her fall more than anything, but he was selfish. The combined forces of his brother, the dragon queen and Jon Snow would be enough to eviscerate her sister. He didn’t need to, perhaps didn’t want to take part in it. He wasn’t ready to face the truth, and the thought of Brienne’s smile was enough to make him forget Cersei’s piercing eyes. He knew he didn’t deserve Brienne, not by a long shot. But last night, when she had fallen asleep and he had caressed her skin with his remaining hand, he realised that he loved her. He loved her, in a way he hadn’t loved Cersei for a long time. Where he had always been Cersei’s, Brienne was as much his as he was hers. He wondered if Sansa Stark could see that.
               “You’re welcome to stay in Winterfell for the time being, should you choose not to fight this battle,” Sansa said, breaking his chain of thoughts.
               “I–what?”
               Again, Sansa showed the faintest hint of a smile. “Your brother was right about you,” she said, her voice low as if she wasn’t addressing him. “I can see you are fond of her too, and I would wish for you to feel welcome in our home as long as she resides here.”
               “I–I thank you, Lady Stark.”
               “You’re most welcome, Ser Jaime,” she said, ever the gracious host, and she turned to leave.
               “May I ask you one question, however?”
               “Of course.” Her features smoothed over any surprise she might have felt.
               “You said you don’t trust me. And yet you are willing to allow me to stay in your home. Even after all I’ve done. And I’ve done a lot, I know that.”
               Sansa stepped a little closer. When he had first met her, she had to look up to him. Now she was almost as tall. As tall as Myrcella would have been… “I don’t trust you. I don’t trust you with Brienne and, honestly, split between you and the wildling caveman my brother brought in, I am uncertain who would be the better option, since neither of you so clearly don’t deserve her. But Brienne has chosen you, and I trust Brienne. If Brienne fought with you, and now I see she cares for you more than as… a long-time acquaintance. For her, I will tolerate you.”
               Jaime bowed his head. “I know I don’t deserve her. But I will try. Whatever it takes.”
               Sansa smiled, this time truly, and placed a hand on his right arm. “I will hold you to that promise.”

[Ella]

Fandom: Game of Thrones
Summary: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth; in which Jaime follows Brienne, but then doubt strikes. Luckily, Tyrion is there to lend a helping hand; oneshot based on the events of 8x04.
Words: 1024

That's All There Is To It

You have to be always drunk. That’s all there is to it—it’s the only way. So as not to feel the horrible burden of time that breaks your back and bends you to the earth, you have to be continually drunk.

But on what? Wine, poetry or virtue, as you wish. But be drunk.

Be Drunk - Charles Baudelaire

               As soon as he stepped out of the hall, doubt attacked him like a viper, constricting him and making it impossible to breathe. By the gods, what did he think he was doing? He had barely caught sight of Brienne as she briskly walked across the corridor, away from Tormund’s hungry eyes. He wished he could find a good reason to punch the guy in the face, even though he was well aware that it wasn’t a fight he could possibly hope to win, and that he wasn’t any better – it wasn’t as he hadn’t been longingly staring at the woman all evening, as if he hadn’t imagined that perhaps, this evening… It was, after all, what he was standing in this hallway for.
               Jaime had never imagined that he’d even get to this point. He had planned to die on the battlefield, next to Brienne – he hadn’t expected either of them to survive and would gladly have given his life to save hers. But it hadn’t been necessary. They had fought, and they had won, thanks to the Stark girl. He still found it hard to believe that a girl like her – no, not hard to believe. He would bet that Brienne would have been able to fight at her age. It was simply difficult to connect the image of the Arya Stark he had seen in this battle with the Arya Stark that had come to King’s Landing all those years ago. She had been younger than Myrcella, then. Fierce, but still a girl. She was a girl no more.
               And yet, thanks to her, he was still alive. Thanks to her, he was in this corridor, wondering whether he should walk the not so numerable steps to Lady Brienne’s room, to – to what exactly? With Cersei it had never been this hard. Cersei had always wanted, and he had never had to take the initiative. With Brienne, he felt like a little boy having his first flirt. She would never initiate, which meant that he had to ask – he had to woo her. His charm was long lost, and wouldn’t work on Brienne anyway. If only he had some of his brother’s brains, he might be able to figure out this impossible enigma. You don’t just ask a woman if she wants to fuck you. Brienne deserved better than that.
               “What are you standing out here for?”
               Jaime turned to find his brother standing behind him, looking at him with a raised eyebrow.
               “I’m just – you know what I am doing.” He felt a blush creep on his cheeks, and he was sure he didn’t have that much wine. He really was like a little boy.
               “I know that you are standing in a darkened hallway, staring at a wall,” Tyrion said.
               At that moment, Jaime realised that he must truly look like an idiot. He had been standing here, probably murmuring to himself, for at least ten minutes. What if Brienne had actually gone to bed by now? What if he had missed his chance.
               “Go to her,” Tyrion said. “You know you want to.”
               “I don’t deserve her.”
               “You do.”
               “You’re only saying that because you are my brother,” Jaime said, a huff in his voice.
               “Perhaps I am,” Tyrion said. “I am your brother. But we’ve all done terrible things – things we regret. That doesn’t mean we should stop living.”
               Jaime turned his face away from this brother, hoping we wouldn’t be able to read his features in the weak light that the torches graced upon the hallway. “Brienne hasn’t,” he said softly. “Done terrible things.”
               “You’ve really got it bad, don’t you?” Tyrion said, a laugh in his voice.
               He’d missed this, and Jaime felt tears shooting into his eyes. Before Winterfell, when was the last time he’d talked to his brother? Properly talked, the way they used to? Poking fun at each other but being there for each other all the same? It must have been years. His brother’s betrayal of his family, the fact that he had killed their father, still was something he found hard to forget, and even harder to forgive. And even before the war, before all the killing, there had been Cersei, and there had his brother’s drinking. They’d been close, and yet they had drifted. Seven hells, even while they were in Winterfell their paths hardly crossed, if only because Tyrion was the Hand of the Queen and actually had an important contribution to make to her battles.
               “Jaime?”
               “Yes?” he asked, but his voice was barely audible. He willed the tears away, but didn’t dare to look at his brother. As if he doesn’t know. You were never a good liar.
               “Have you considered that this may not be about what you deserve? Life gives lots of people things they don’t deserve. Ned Stark didn’t deserve to die. His daughter didn’t deserve to be married to me. If you ask me, Gregor Clegane doesn’t deserve to draw breath, but it appears he is still going strong.” Tyrion paused, and placed his hand on Jaime’s right arm. “My point is, life happens. Things happen. Whether they are deserved or not. You’ve suffered, and I’m not the man to tell you whether you did or did not deserve that. But I know that right now, the fortunes are finally turning in your favour. Don’t throw that away. Who knows you may be given such a chance again.”
               Jaime drew a shuddering breath. “Do you think she wants it too?”
               Tyrion laughed. “She looks at you as if you hung the moon. The only thing that needs to happen is that one of you needs to get it through their thick skull to make the first step. And you know me, I’m always willing to lend a helping hand. Especially seeing that you’re short of one.”
               The lights flickered, and a few men passed. Jaime didn’t speak, but looked his brother in the eye. “What if I don’t have the courage?”
               “If you knew me, you’d know I have a very good answer to that.”
               “And that is?”
               “A strong drink, brother.”

[Ella]

Fandom: That '70s Show
Summary: Eric Forman/Steven Hyde; in which Eric is making plans for the future, and Hyde isn't sure where that leaves him [post-S8].
Words: 3028

Good Times Bad Times

Things had been odd. No, things had been flat out weird. Ever since Eric had returned to Wisconsin, it seemed as if nothing was ever going to be the same again. While of course these things had started changing long before he left, the changes were somehow more evident now. Over the years, there had been two constants in his life: Donna and Hyde. Donna had been his girlfriend ever since he could imagine – he had imagined being with her since they started high school, just as he had imagined their wedding and their happily ever after. Now, he had never imagined marrying Hyde, but he had been pretty much around his entire life too. They’d met in kindergarten and had been friends long before he moved in with him. Hell, at some point they had even shared a bedroom. Naturally, he had also had Kelso, Fez, and perhaps even Jackie – but none had been so constant as Donna and Hyde. And now, it seemed, he had neither.
            It wasn’t that Donna and Hyde weren’t around at all. They were around occasionally. Hyde still hung out with his parents on the regular, and Donna came to the basement every now and then when she was visiting her parents. It just wasn’t the same. Donna wasn’t his girlfriend, and Hyde didn’t live with him. They had their own lives now. Donna went to college and Hyde had his work. If his mother’s reports from the last couple of months were anything to go by, neither of them was exactly flourishing, but at least they were doing something. And he? He had nothing. No job, no degree, and not even his friends to hang out with. He had sent out his college applications, but his SATs had not been great, and he wasn’t sure if any of them would accept him – he knew less about the application process than he probably should, but he knew he had very little to show for. So, it was just him and his parents at the breakfast table. Probably for the foreseeable future.
            “Eric,” Red said, closing his newspaper in one swift motion, “you’re getting on my nerves.”
            “I’m always getting on your nerves.”
            Red sighed. “Your mother and I have suffered your moping for long enough–”
            “I’m not moping,” Eric said, realizing his lie as soon as he heard his own voice go up in pitch.
            “You’re moping a little, sweetheart,” his mother said.
             Eric shrugged, making sure not to meet his mother’s eyes, and took another bite from his piece of toast. If someone was able to catch him in a lie, it was his mother. “I’m fine. I sent out my college applications yesterday,” he said, schooling his expression and voice into something that he hoped could almost be mistaken for neutral.
            “Good,” Kitty said, a little too quickly. “That’s good.”
            “Tell me again why you’re choosing to major in history, of all things. I can tell you a thing or two about history, and–”
            “Now, Red, don’t start this again,” Kitty said, an unmistakably strict warning in her voice. “We’re very proud that you’re going to college, Eric.”
            A lie, Eric knew. If his mother had her way, he would never leave the house. If his father had his way, he would leave the house today, college or not. “Thanks, mom.”
            “I hope you’re not looking forward to leaving us too much.” Kitty laughed and moved to pinch his cheek.
Eric narrowly avoided her hand and forced a smile on his face. Red gave him a dubious look, but returned his attention to the newspaper. “Don’t worry, mom. I’ll always miss Point Place.”
“Don’t miss it too much,” Red said.
“Yeah, I love you too, dad.” Eric smirked as his mother laughed again. Nope, he was definitely not ready to admit just how much he would miss this town, this house. And he was even less ready to admit how much he already missed what it had been.

---

            “What’s up?” Hyde asked, barely looking at him as he flopped down on the couch in Eric’s basement, cracking open a beer that may or may not have come from Red’s fridge. His hands had black smudges all over them, which meant he’d probably been helping Red in the garage.
            “Nothing,” Eric said, which was just about right. He hadn’t heard back from any of the colleges, but it was not as if Hyde cared about any of that. “What about you? How’s work?”
            “Just peachy.”
            Eric wondered if he was supposed to respond to that. He had heard from his mother that the store hadn’t been doing too well – many of the smaller businesses in Point Place had been forced to close, and it was likely that Hyde’s would be one of the next to cave. “I haven’t seen you around for a while,” Eric said, if only to coax some more conversation out of this friend. To say he missed him, he supposed. There was no way he was outright confessing that. Hyde would punch him.
            Hyde seemed to frown, but it was hard to tell. “In case you’d forgotten, I have to work for a living. Since, you know, I don’t live here anymore.”
            Eric gestured at the beer in Hyde’s hand. “You sure act like you do.”
            Hyde gulped down the remainder of the beer all at once and pushed himself up from the couch. “I should get back.”
            “Wait,” Eric said, holding his hands up in the air, as if that was going to stop Hyde from moving. “That’s not what I meant. You’re always welcome here. I mean, you know my parents like you more than they like me.”
            Hyde stilled, but didn’t sit back down. Instead, he threw the can in the trash and moved away from Eric, leaning against the washing machine. Something was [i]off[/i], but Eric couldn’t quite tell what.
            “Have you seen any of–”
            “No,” Hyde said, his voice clipped. His thumb was drumming on the edge of the washing machine, and if Eric didn’t know any better, he’d say that his friend was nervous. “What about you and Pinciotti?”
            Eric huffed. “Lost cause. I’ve hardly spoken to her since I left, and she’s at college now, so, well… That’s that, I guess.”
            “Your mom mentioned that you applied for college too.”
            That’s when Eric realized just exactly what had been off – Hyde hadn’t looked at him once during their conversation. “Uh, yeah. I’ve applied for a couple. I doubt I’ll get in, though. My SATs were kind of bad.”
            “You’ll get in,” Hyde said, his tone still unnervingly even.
            Eric grabbed a candy wrapper from the table, and moved closer to the washing machine to throw it in the bin, missing spectacularly. “It’s odd to be here without everyone around, isn’t it?”
            “You get used to it.”
            “Hyde,” Eric said, “is something wrong?”
            Hyde looked at him now, and Eric almost wished he hadn’t.
            “Okay, so something is clearly wrong,” Eric said, crossing his arms in front of him in a not at all defensive gesture. “Are you going to tell me or are you going to leave me guessing? You know I’m a terrible guesser.”
            For a moment Eric thought Hyde was going to storm out after all, but he seemed to grind his teeth together and mumble something.
            “What?”
            “You left, man,” Hyde said. “You were gone for like a year. And now you’re back, and you’re leaving again. That’s kind of crap.”
            “Well, what did you think was going to happen after high school? I mean, you’ve got a job, don’t you? Fez has a job, Jackie has a job. Hell, even Kelso seems to have found something to do.”
            “Kind of my point, Forman. Everyone’s always leaving.”
            Eric narrowed his eyes. Hyde’s voice sounded almost… small? Eric moved closer to Hyde, sitting down on top of the dryer and trying to get a good look at Hyde’s eyes behind the glasses. “Are you high?”
            “Whatever,” Hyde said, again in that clipped voice. “And I don’t, by the way.”
            “You don’t what?”
            “Have a job.”
            “What?” Eric said. “What happened?”
            “Store’s closing.” Hyde’s hands were balled into fists, and Eric had to stop himself from backing away slightly.
            “What will you do?”
            “Like I fucking know.” Hyde’s voice gained in volume. He reminded Eric of some of the snarling animals he’d sometimes see on National Geographic. “Get another job, I guess. I can’t lose the apartment.”
            “Hyde, if you need help – I mean, I’m pretty sure we still have that spare bed.”
            “I’m not asking your parents for help, Forman.”
            “They’d–”
            “No.”
            “Jackie?”
            “I won’t. She doesn’t deserve that.”
            “Okay,” Eric said, studying the floor. He’d seen Hyde upset before, but those times were few and far between. And never like this. It seemed like he was angry at Eric, too, and he’d never been angry at him before. Never seriously, and never long. “They might not even take me, you know.”
            “Don’t worry,” Hyde said. “Knowing my luck, they definitely will. They’ll accept you, just like they’ve accepted Donna, and I’ll just be stuck here.”
            “You could come with me,” Eric said.
            “Yeah, right.”
            “I mean, what’s stopping you from applying? Your SATs weren’t terrible. If you think they’ll take me, they might as well take you too. I was told River Falls isn’t too picky.”
            Hyde scoffed. “I’m a loser with no job and a criminal record. I’m not kidding myself, Forman. What would I even major in? And no, I’m not holding your hand through classes on the French revolution.”
            Eric smiled. “And here I thought you had a soft spot for anarchy. You could go into politics. Corrupt the system from the inside.”
            “A corrupt system is incorruptible.”
            Eric wondered if he should put his hand on Hyde’s shoulder. In solidarity, of course. He kind of wanted to.
            “I suppose I could get into chemistry. Make some class A psychedelics.”
            Eric grinned. “You could. It’s worth a shot, isn’t it?”
            “Don’t have the money.”
            “You could borrow some. I didn’t exactly get rich over the last year, but I have enough. I could help you out with the first semester, and we’ll figure it out from there.”
            “Forman, you–”
            “I miss it too, you know. All of us, here. And as much as that makes me want to get away from this place, I would also kind of prefer not to be alone.” Eric held his breath for a moment, waiting for a response that didn’t come. “Just think about it, okay? Didn’t you always want to get away from this place?”
            “I did. I do. Especially now – I screwed up a lot last year, you know.”
            “I–” He had heard, of course, but Hyde must know that. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”
            Hyde shook his head. “Don’t be mushy.”
            “We’re growing soft in our old age,” Eric said, and he placed his hand on Hyde’s shoulder, making sure his touch was light and easy to swat away. Hyde left it there.
            “You’ve always been soft.”
            Eric smiled. “Just think about it, okay? It could be good.”
            “I will, Forman. I will.”

---

            “Hey, Red.”
            Red looked up from the hood of the car, cleaning his hands on a rag. “Hey there, Steven. Want to lend a hand?”
            “Sure.”
            Red handed him a screwdriver and ducked back under the hood.
            “What’s her issue? Engine being a bitch?”
            Red nodded. “I’m changing the ignition coil.”
            They worked in silence for a while, labeling the ignition cables and carefully disconnecting each cable from the coil.
            “So,” Red eventually said, knowing that Kitty would have his hide if he didn’t at least try to put in some effort to make conversation. Eric had told him that Steven was freshly out of a job, and he would never admit it, but he worried about the kid. He knew what this kind of uncertainty was like. “How are things?”
            Steven shrugged. “Okay, I guess.” He released the clip on the plug running into the side of the coil, using the screwdriver to pry the release up. “You got a wrench?”
            “Sure.” He watched as the kid unscrewed the bolts and removed the coil from the engine bay. “Well, you could always become a car mechanic,” he said, thinking out loud.
            Steven chuckled, but there was no humor in it. “Too many of those already in this country, aren’t there?”
            “Too many of everything, if you ask me. It’s all big corporations these days.”
            Steven hummed, and then returned his attention to the coil in his hand. “Where’s the new one?”
            “Here you go,” Red said, taking the new coil out of the box. “Make sure to check the connectors.”
            The kid held up the coils to catch better light. “Look the same to me.”
            Red watched as Steven put the coil in place, getting it right on the first try. He had taught him well. He’d occasionally had his doubts about Steven over the years, which had fueled some arguments between him and Kitty, but he’d turned out all right. He was a good kid.
            “Hey, Red?”
            “Yeah?”
            “If you had to go to college now, what major would you choose?”
            Red frowned, thinking about his own high school period. He’d never gone to college – he’d gotten a job, and then there’d been a war to fight. That was how things went back then. It wasn’t so easy now, he knew that. “Not history, that’s for sure. Kitty is talking of Eric being a teacher, can you imagine that?”
            “He might be,” Steven said. “At least he knows what he likes.”
            “History, though.”
            Steven shrugged. “It’s his money.”
            “Can’t argue with that. He’s throwing it away, though.”
            The kid didn’t respond, but instead clicked the ignition coil into place and plugged in the cables. “You should reconnect the battery, but then it’ll be good as new.”
            “Thank you,” Red said. “If you’re thinking about going to college, you could choose something mechanical? Engineering, maybe?”
            “I’m not,” Steven said.
            “You’re an awful liar, Steven. And I’m not an idiot, no matter what Eric thinks. You could be good at engineering.”
            “I don’t think I got the grades for that, Red,” Steven said.
            “You’re a smart kid. If it’s advice you want, you know I’m not the one you should be asking.”
            Steven smiled slightly at that. “Thank you, Red.”
            “You’re welcome, Steven.”

---

It had been a week since their conversation in the basement. They hadn’t talked about it. Eric had looked up Hyde in the shop two days ago, and Hyde had come by yesterday – helping out with Red’s car, apparently, and helping Kitty out in the garden. Hyde hadn’t even greeted him. Eric wondered if he was still mad at him – he had seemed mad, during their conversation, and upset. With Hyde it was hard to tell. He had definitely been high too.
            “Did you have a good day, honey?” his mom asked, and she pushed a pan in his direction. “Potatoes need peeling.”
            Eric took a potato from the pan and sighed. He’d been looking at job postings – just in case college wouldn’t work out – but hadn’t had much success. “It was okay.”
            “Steven came by earlier today, you just missed him.”
            “Oh?” Eric involuntarily sat up a bit straighter.
            “He told me he applied for college.”
            Eric dropped the potato. “What college?”
            “River Falls,” Kitty said, barely concealing a smile.
            “I – what major?”
            “Oh,” Kitty said, “something with mechanics? Engineering? Maybe you’ll have to ask him yourself.”
            “I will,” Eric said, dropping the potato back into the pan. “I – sorry, mom, uh–” He pointed his finger at the door.
            “Oh, just go,” Kitty said. “Be back for dinner.”

---

            “Mom said you applied.”
            “Yep.”
            “Good,” Eric said. “That’s good. I’m glad.”
            Hyde continued mopping the floor. “At least if this doesn’t work out, I can blame you.”
            Eric laughed. “That’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

---

            “This doesn’t look safe,” Kitty said, inspecting the small stove. “Red, come take a look at this.”
            Red waved her concerns away. “Come on, Kitty. As if they’re going to cook here.”
            “Dad’s got a point,” Eric said, inspecting the slightly greasy-looking couch before throwing himself on it.
            “You’ve got to cook, honey,” his mother said. “You can’t live of junk food, it’s bad for you and then you’ll get get sick and–”
            “I can cook, Mrs Forman,” Hyde said.
            Eric raised his eyebrows. Not once in his life had he seen Hyde cook something. He’d baked brownies once. After that Eric had been diligent in keeping his friend as far away from the oven as possible, especially when his parents were around.
            Hyde let his bag fall on the ground and sat down on the armrest of the couch, taking in the space.
            “It’s not very – it’s not clean here,” Kitty said, visibly nearing distress.
            “I’ve seen worse,” Hyde said.
            “It’s college accommodation, mom, it was never going to be clean.”
            Red put arm around his wife’s shoulder. “Kitty, they’ll be fine. They can clean, can’t you, boys?”
            “Yes, sir,” Eric and Hyde said simultaneously.
            “They’re not seventeen anymore. They’re men now. I mean, barely. But they’ll live.”
            “I’m not worried they’ll die. I just want them to be healthy.”
            “We’ll be fine, mom,” Eric said.
            “All right, all right,” Kitty said, and she held out her arm. “Come on then, hug your mother goodbye.”
            Eric pushed himself up from the couch and embraced his mother, who dragged Red into their family moment.
            “That means you too, Steven,” Kitty said, still holding out her hand.
            Hyde seemed to hesitate for a moment, but then stood up to join them, removing his glasses. Kitty gave his shoulder a tight squeeze, and Hyde put his arms around Eric and Kitty.
            “I’ll miss you boys,” she said.
            Eric looked at Hyde, whose eyes were closed and whose curls were tickling his neck. “We’ll miss you guys too.”

---

            “So,” Eric said, once they were sitting on their slightly fungus-infested couch, “I told you things would work out.
            Hyde smiled and punched his arm. “Shut up, Forman.”

[Ella]

Fandom: That '70s Show
Summary: Eric Forman/Steven Hyde; In which Hyde and Eric both learn to dance - and maybe learn a little more [1x07 AU].
Words: 3912

It Takes Two to Tango

Twirling around the Forman’s living room really did make Hyde contemplate his life choices. He was dancing, because he was going to a [i]dance[/i]. What the hell was wrong with him? He felt like he was betraying his own rock and roll image with every step he took, and he didn’t know what made him want to go to the dance in the first place.
[i]            [/i]Women always want to dance, Red had said. Hyde had to admit, Donna was pretty hot. And it wasn’t as if he had anything better going on. He could sit at home and have a shit time, or he could go to the disco and have a possibly shit time, but with friends. Possible shittiness versus guaranteed shittiness was a gamble he was willing to take.  
            “You’re doing great, Steven,” Mrs Forman said, a kind smile on her face.
            They’d had quite a rocky start. Red had been right – he couldn’t dance [i]a step[/i]. He’d been terrified when he had dropped Kitty, but she’d merely laughed and said that she wasn’t that old yet and wouldn’t be broken by a simple fall. She’d simply shoved him back into position and continued her lesson. She was like that. And after half an hour, he began to get a feel for it. God forbid, he started to [i]like [/i]the dancing – as long as he willfully pushed the fact that this was Forman’s mother to a deep dark place in his mind. He wondered Kitty had taught Forman to dance like this. If Forman could dance, there was no way Hyde stood a chance with Donna.
            “Earth to Steven?”
            Hyde realized that they had stopped moving.
            “You’ve got your head up in the clouds somewhere,” Mrs Forman said, and she laughed. “Let’s continue tomorrow. We’ll get you right fixed to charm some pretty lady.”
            “Thanks for the help, Mrs Forman.”
            “Anytime, Steven. Anytime.”
 

---

 
            “What the hell are you doing?” Edna asked, a sneer on her face.
            Hyde dropped his arms to his side. “Dancing.”
            Edna laughed. “You call that dancing? Where did you pick that up?” She imitated some of this movements, almost slipping in the high heels she was wearing. “I bet it was at the Formans’ house, wasn’t it?”
            His mother didn’t like the Formans. Hyde thought that was fair. The Formans didn’t like his mother very much either. As much as he enjoyed getting a rise out of Edna defending the Formans, he guessed he could be the bigger man every now and then. “What are you so dolled up for?”
            “None of your business.”
            “Or should I ask who? Is it Jackson? Or Irving?” So much for being the bigger person.
            Edna scoffed, and rolled herself a cigarette. “Maybe it’s both. I don’t ask you who you’re dancing for either, do I?”
            Hyde supposed there was nothing he could say to that. As long as it didn’t bother her, she tended to leave him to do whatever the hell he wanted. In this case, that suited him just fine. “Have fun,” he said, quite uselessly. It’s not as if her fun depended on [i]him[/i].
            “Whatever,” Edna said. “I’m going out. Help yourself to dinner.”
 

---

 
As soon as they arrived at the disco, Hyde knew this was a mistake. He didn’t like disco. He didn’t like people. And there were a lot of both in this room. He was glad that for now they’d at least found a place to sit down while Kelso was making an ass of himself on the dance floor. Hyde knew he should just ask Donna to dance with him. It’s what he came here to do, and he could hardly look more stupid than Kelso. Instead, he took another sip from his pop and tried to block out the music.
            It was only when Fez had pulled Jackie out of her chair that Hyde realized he was being a total wuss. Man, if Fez could successfully make a move on Jackie, he should be able to ask Donna to dance with him.
            “Wow, they are really good,” Forman said, his voice a little shaky. It seemed like Forman hadn’t received any dancing lessons and wanted to be anywhere but here. It was a shame; Hyde would have liked to see Forman dance. If only to make fun of him, of course. Seeing his friend all down in the dumps made him almost feel bad for what he was about to do. Almost.
            “Yeah,” Kelso said, shaking his head like an abandoned puppy in a TV commercial, “if you wanna dance that way.”
            “I would love to dance that way,” Donna said.
            Now or never. “You wanna dance?” Hyde asked, keeping his voice as neutral as possible.
            “Sure.”
            Hyde took off his glasses, grabbed Donna’s hand and led her to the dance floor, trying to get into the rhythm of the music. This was [i]not[/i] what he had practiced with Kitty, but he remembered the lessons. Don’t look at your feet, make sure to lead. After a few uncertain steps, he’d found the beat of the music and was able to ignore the frilly melodies that tended to come with disco music, and he found himself smiling at Donna.
            “You dance,” she said, her face beaming back at him. “This is a side of you I’ve never seen.”
            “Yeah. Actually, you’re my first dance.” Unless he was counting Mrs Forman, but he was not telling Donna that.
            “I’m your first? I’m honored.”          
            They were incredibly close together. “This is nice,” he said. It was. He didn’t hate it. He liked dancing, pretty much solidified that one. But he wasn’t exactly sure if he liked dancing with Donna any more than he had like dancing with Kitty. He was looking into Donna’s eyes, and he couldn’t help but wonder what Forman must be thinking now. Whether his scrawny fists would be all balled-up. Or if he’d just be quietly pissed.
            “Mmm-hmm.”
            Remembering his lessons, Hyde dipped Donna and looked her in the eye. Now or never. “Donna, man, I feel like I wanna kiss you.” It felt was if his heart was going two-hundred miles an hour and he wondered if Donna could sense it. She was looking at him, and– “You don’t have to kiss me back if you don’t want to,” Hyde said, pulling them back into position.
            Donna only laughed. Right. Ridiculous. What the hell was he even doing? Donna was his friend, nothing more. And even if she were, it wasn’t as if Donna was ever going to pick him over Forman.
            “I’m not kidding,” he said, hoping to make it all sound like one big joke. Judging from the way Donna was look at him, he was an idiot.
            Instead of getting angry, though, Donna hit him in the shoulder. “Shut up and dance.”
            They danced, and they smiled. No mention anymore of kissing whatsoever, and Donna clearly had no intention of kissing him. Ever. Somewhere in his brain a voice was telling him that he should be feeling bad about that. But he didn’t. It was worse than that: he felt relieved.
 

---

 
While Kelso was going on and on about the flaunty way Jackie and Fez were dancing, Eric was paying even less attention to him than he usually would. Instead, he was staring at the easy way in which Hyde seemed to be leading the dance. His movement were fluid and graceful, and Donna seemed to be enjoying herself. Hell, Hyde seemed to be enjoying himself. He hadn’t thought that this evening would entail seeing Hyde either dance or smile – and definitely not at the same time.
            “I don’t understand how she could do this to me,” Kelso whined. “I mean, I’m an incredible dancer, and–”
            Eric wondered if he should be angry too. If he should perhaps be ranting Kelso’s head off instead. He thought he made it kind of clear that he was interested in Donna and that that was the only reason he was going to the disco, and the fact that Hyde, of all people, was now on the dance floor with her should rightfully piss him off. He should be yearning to take Hyde’s place. But it didn’t. Not even when Hyde leaned in a little too closely. If anything, he realized, he liked watching them dance.
 

---

           
            “Hey, uh… Hyde dancing, what a surprise,” Eric said, trying to keep his voice as even as possible. He wasn’t jealous. He really wasn’t, and he definitely didn’t want Donna to think that he was. Having observed it in Kelso the entire evening, he knew it was a stupid look. 
            “Yeah,” Donna said. “Who knew?”
            “Yeah,” Eric said, mentally slapping himself in the face for his lame response. “You looked like you were having a pretty good time.”
            Donna smiled. “Yeah, well, you know. Disco fever.”
            Eric leaned against the hood of the Vista Cruiser and looked down at his hands. “That’s good. It’s good that you had fun.”
            “It didn’t mean anything, you know. Me and Hyde… We’re just friends.” Donna bumped his shoulder. “Are you jealous?”
            “No,” Eric said, and he raised his head to look Donna in the eye. “I’m not. And the stupid thing is, I feel like I should be.” He felt his heartrate pick up and forced himself to take a deep breath. “We’ve – we’ve been having this thing, and I like the thing that we have. But I feel like if it had been really a thing, I should have – I should have… I don’t know. I guess I’m being stupid.”
            “You’re always being stupid,” Donna said, with a smirk on her face. “But just this once, I think you might be right. We’ve been friends for years. And perhaps that’s what we should be. Just friends.”
            “So you’re not–”
            “Madly in love with you? Nah. I liked the flirting, but, you know – hormones.”
            “Right,” Eric said, letting a small chuckle escape.
            Donna grinned. “Disappointed after all?”
            “Nah,” Eric said. “I’m good.”
            Donna punched him in the arm and then pulled him into a sideways hug, putting her head on his shoulder. “Good.”
            Eric smiled, placing a hand on Donna’s shoulder. He felt better than good. He felt relieved.
 

---

 
            “Hyde,” Fez said, as they were sitting on the hood of the parked Vista Cruiser, “you were right about disco music. It is evil. Its pulsing rhythm made me do a bad thing.”
            Hyde looked at his friend. “Yeah, well, me too,” he said. He felt guiltier than he probably should, taking into account that nothing actually happened. But still, he had gone out of his way to try and steal the girl his best friend was so obviously in love with, and for what? Because he thought he [i]might[/i] be in love with her? He knew he was always a bit of an ass to Forman, but he didn’t think he’d ever been this much of an ass.
            “Kelso is my friend, I cannot take his woman.”
            “You’re a good guy, Fez,” Hyde said.
            “Actually,” Fez said, “I could take his woman, but I won’t.”
            Hyde grinned. He could dream. “Come on, I’ll walk you home.”
 

---

 
Eric looked at Hyde, who was sitting in his usual chair with his feet up on the table and seemed engrossed in the latest issue of [i]Circus[/i]. Jackie had just dragged Kelso off to take him shopping, and Donna had left about an hour ago to work on some homework. Now it was just him and Hyde, finally alone, and Eric was [i]itching[/i] to ask him something, even if there was no way to ask it without sounding like a total dingus. He leaned back on the couch, looking at his hands as he cracked his fingers.
            “Okay, Forman, what is it?”
            “What?” Eric said, unable to keep the alarm out of his voice.
            Hyde closed his magazine and rolled it up. “You’re fidgeting. Why are you fidgeting?”
            “I’m always fidgeting.”
            Hyde have him a pointed look. “You’re more fidgety than usual, then. What’s up.”
            Eric scraped his throat and looked back at his hands. “I, uh… You and Donna seemed to have fun dancing yesterday.”
            “It was nothing, Forman,” Hyde said, pulling up his feet from the table and straightening his back. “We were just –”
            “That was not what I meant,” Eric said, holding up his hands. “I know. Donna said – well – anyway, it’s not like she’s my girlfriend or anything. But that’s not what I wanted to talk about. I mean that the dancing seemed fun, and was wondering–”
            “Wait, but you want Donna to be your girlfriend, right?”
            Eric looked up at Hyde. “I mean, I thought I wanted her to be my girlfriend. But we’ve been friends since forever, and I think – I don’t know – we sort of decided that we’d better stay friends.”
            “Oh, so she dumped you before you could even become a couple?” Hyde grinned, and Eric threw a pillow at him.
            “It was a mutual decision. I don’t know.”
            “You seem pretty okay with it.”
            “I [i]am[/i],” Eric said, “pretty okay with it. I guess I was being an idiot.”
            “Nothing new,” Hyde said. “Speaking of your idiocy, what [i]did[/i] you want to ask?”
            “Well…” Eric laughed nervously. “It’s kinda stupid, and I know you’re going to make fun of me for it, but–”
            “In that case, you should definitely tell me.”
            “Shut up. I was wondering… if you could teach me to dance like that?”
            Hyde looked at him for a moment, and then broke eye contact. “Sure.”
            “You–” Eric smiled and frowned. “Okay, cool.”
            “You could come to my house tonight.”
            “I mean, we could–”
            “Unless you’d like to have Red catch you dancing.”
            “Good point.”
            Hyde nodded, unrolled [i]Circus [/i]and stretched his legs on the table again.
            Eric turned on the television, staring at the cartoon characters on the screen, and wondering just how he had landed in a universe where Hyde wanted to teach him to dance, and hadn’t laughed.
 

---

 
Hyde wondered just how he had gotten himself into this. Why hadn’t he just said that Forman should ask someone else. Like his mother. It wasn’t really that he didn’t want Forman to know that Kitty had been the one to help him. Okay, it kind of was. He may also have been blindsided a little by the sheer relief that Forman wasn’t mad at him for dancing with Donna. But it was mostly that he found himself wanting to dance again. He didn’t understand it, but he had had a good time with both Kitty and Donna, and he – well… Maybe it would be a little weird to dance with Forman. It was a little weird, right? Of course it was. Men didn’t dance together. Kitty had been the one to teach him, not Red. But Forman hadn’t gone to Donna. He’d come to him. And something about that – something he refused to think about any further – made Hyde feel damn pleased about himself.
            His mom had left about two hours ago, and he had spent that time rearranging the living room. He had pushed the couch up against the wall and made sure the TV was safely stowed away. All in all, he thought there would be enough space in the room to dance, even if Forman turned out to be as hopelessly bad and uncoordinated as Hyde had been when he started out. He hoped Edna wouldn’t be back early, or there would be hell to pay.
            Hyde grabbed a beer from the fridge and sat down on the couch, not entirely sure if he wanted time to fly by or wanted to stall Forman’s arrival for as long as possible. Maybe it was a bad idea to ask Forman to come here. He gulped down the beer faster than he should. Just as he was about to walk to the kitchen for a refill, he heard a knock on the door. He crushed the empty can in his hand and threw it in the trash as he made his way to the door.
            “Hey Forman,” he said, after he had opened the door.
            Forman wasn’t looking at him directly. “Hey.”
            “Come in,” Hyde said, kicking the door open a bit further.
            Forman did as told and took off his coat, looking for a good place to put it and deciding on one of the chairs. “I see you’ve redecorated,” he said, gesturing at the empty room.
            “Seemed like the easiest way to prevent injuries.”
            Forman snorted. “Good call, I guess.” He glanced around the room. “Where’s your mom?”
            “Out. Probably won’t be back for a while.”
            “Right.” Forman nodded, but he kept looking around him, almost in suspicion.
            “Relax, Forman. What are you worried about?”
            “Nothing,” he said, too quickly. “I’m not worried.”
            Hyde followed Forman’s gaze, and wondered if it was the house. Should have made some more effort to clean up? He’d dumped the bottles he found under the couch, but he hadn’t really made any attempt to deep-clean. Forman had been to his house before, so he knew it looked like crap, right? “Let’s dance then?”
            “Yeah.”
            Hyde put on the ABBA record he had found buried somewhere in his mother’s closet.
            “I didn’t think you owned anything besides Rolling Stones and Zeppelin LPs,” Forman said, as the first song started to play.
            “Shut up, Forman. It’s my mom’s. Dancing to Zeppelin is not gonna get you any chicks.” Hyde took off his glasses and placed them in his breast pocket, led Forman’s right hand to his waist, took his other hand in his right hand and placed his own left hand on Forman’s shoulder, just like Mrs Forman had taught him. He looked at Forman, who still didn’t quite look him in the eye, and almost wished he could force him to look up. Hyde was going to dance. To ABBA. Voluntarily. Because Forman asked. The least he could do was look him in the eye.
            By now, the second song had started. That dancing song Jackie was so obsessed with. “You’re leading, Forman. Show me what you got.”
            Not a lot, judging from his reaction. Forman laughed and looked down at his feet, but then tightened his grip on Hyde’s hand, and started moving – stiffly and awkwardly at first, but more and more certain. He seemed to gain some confidence in his steps as Hyde counted along and held his hand firmly on Forman’s shoulder. They kept circling around the room; Hyde counted and explained the steps, and Forman got the hang of it eventually. He was softly humming along with the music and only stepped on his toes twice, although that might be because he kept looking down. “Hey, Forman. Last lesson,” Hyde said. “You have to look a chick in the eye when you dance with her. Way more romantic like that – so no looking at your feet. Act like you know what you’re doing.”
            Forman looked up at him, his face faintly flushed. “You’re not a chick, though.”
            “No,” Hyde said with a sharp edge to his voice. “But no doubt you’re gonna use this to seduce chicks, so you’d better pretend I’m one.”
            Forman smiled at him, cheeks still glowing, and as their eyes met, it was like something shifted into place.
            Crap. He was in love with Forman.
 

---

 
Eric had been nervous when he arrived at Hyde’s house, even though he couldn’t quite pinpoint why. He and Hyde had been friends since they were nine years old, and they’d done some stupid crap together – Red could confirm. Dancing, though… That was something else. It almost felt like it was something that was too intimate to do with a friend. When his hand was on Hyde’s waist, he barely dared to look at him. He felt heat flooding his face and tried to concentrate on getting the steps right, so he wouldn’t look like a complete moron.
            As he finally looked up, even more heat rose to his cheeks. Hyde’s eyes were… soft? He was looking at Eric with some sort of fondness that he couldn’t quite place, and Eric couldn’t look away. He had never felt this way when he was with Hyde before. Hell, he hadn’t even felt like this with Donna. Sure, they had flirted and he’d done some frankly embarrassing stuff, but it had never been like [i]this[/i]. He had never been this nervous. And Hyde wasn’t even a girl. Hyde was a guy. And it wasn’t like he–
            Hyde’s voice dragged him out of his thoughts. “Who’ve you got your eyes on, if not Donna?”
            “I – uh…” There wasn’t any girl. He hadn’t asked Hyde to teach him to dance because of any girl, he had just asked him because… Because he wanted to dance with him? Oh crap. He totally was. He was in love with Hyde. “I guess I’ve got my eyes on someone.”
            “Spill.”
            “Well,” Eric said, his heart hammering in his chest as he threw all rational thought out of the window and moved his hands to Hyde’s cheeks, kissing him on the lips.
            Hyde stilled, not leaning into the kiss but not breaking it either. Eric opened his eyes and stepped back a little, releasing Hyde from his grip. Hyde was staring at him, his expression unreadable.
            “Sorry, I – uh – I didn’t know what came over me. I just–”
            “Shut up, Forman,” Hyde said as he closed the space between them and pressed their lips together. He put both hands on Eric’s waist and pulled him closer. Eventually, Hyde broke the kiss. He didn’t move his hands, though.
            “So…” Eric said, uncertain where to go from here.
            “Let me get you a beer,” Hyde said quickly, and he deprived Eric of the warm touch of his hands before he could even respond.
            “Right,” Eric said to the empty room. Only now he realized that the music had stopped.
            “Here you go,” Hyde said, returning to the living room with two beers in his hands. He handed Eric his beer and sat down on the couch.
            Now that the music had stopped – and not just literally – the silence hung between them like a blade. Eric sat down next to him – as close as he dared – and opened the beer with a soft hiss. He watched as Hyde studied his beer, not even drinking from it. It was now or never. If he didn’t say it now, he’d chicken out and both of them would pretend this never happened. Maybe that would even be the easier option. Maybe that was even what he should do, if he could rub two brain cells together. But it wasn’t what he wanted. “Hyde,” he said. “I think I’m in love with you.”
            Hyde didn’t say anything for a while, and instead kept staring at the can in his hands. “You think?”
            “No,” Eric said. “I know. I’ve known for a while, I think, but I’m an idiot.” He chuckled. “I know, as always.”
            Hyde set his beer on the floor, and looked up at Eric. “I guess we’re both idiots sometimes.” His voice was soft, and betrayed uncertainty.
            Eric smiled, and inched closer to Hyde so their shoulders touched. “Maybe we can be idiots together?”
            Hyde covered Eric’s hand with his and intertwined their fingers. He didn’t answer, but he didn’t need to. This was how it was supposed to be. This was right.
 

---

 

            I’m in love with you too.

[Ella]

Fandom: Harry Potter
Summary: Draco reflects on what has changed in his life.
Words: 731

Clouds

               “Why do you the clouds always change, daddy?” A small finger pointed at the sky. “Sometimes they are very white, but other times, they are very dark and mean-looking?”
               “When they are dark and mean-looking that means it’s going to rain.”
               “But how do the clouds decide that they are going to rain?”
               As usually was the case when his son asked him a completely reasonable question, Draco had no answer. Just yesterday, his son had walked up to him at seven in the morning to ask him how long time lasted. Merlin, sometimes he wondered if all children looked at the world in the way Scorpius did – with everlasting wonder, always wanting to know more. Sometimes he wondered if he had been a child like that, and what his own father had answered to his questions. He couldn’t remember, as he could remember hardly anything about his own childhood. His life before Hogwarts – before the War – felt like a blur. “I don’t know, Scorp,” he said, and he squeezed his son’s hand. “Your mother probably knows.”
               “Mum knows everything,” Scorpius said wisely, and Draco was happy that his son seemed satisfied by the admission of his own defects.
               “She does.”
               Scorpius was quiet for a while, simply holding his father’s hand and staring at the sky as the clouds raced by. Draco looked at his son, who was lying next to him in the grass, and wondered what he had done to deserve such a child, and at the same time realising how fast he was growing. He had turned four a couple of months ago, and soon enough he would start attending school. While he himself wasn’t sure what he thought of the idea, Astoria thought it would be a good idea to have Scorpius attend a muggle primary school. While there were some options for wizards, they were few and far between, and neither of them wanted Scorpius to leave home while he was still so young. Besides, Draco was sure that muggles had some way of explaining whatever the sky was doing when it rained. They always had explanations for everything, and Scorpius would enjoy that.
               “Daddy?”
               “Yes?”
               “When a cloud moves, does that mean someone very big is blowing at the sky?”
               Draco chuckled. “No, it doesn’t. It’s the wind. Can you feel the wind?”
               Scorpius stuck his hand into the air and nodded. “Yes, I can feel it.” He seemed mesmerised for a while, as he pointed at how fast the clouds were going now. “Where does wind come from?”
               “I don’t know,” Draco said, pondering. “I think it had something to do with mountains, but as I’ve said –”
               “I’ll ask mum,” Scorpius said. “Or grandfather. Do you think grandfather knows where wind comes from?”
               Draco paused. He didn’t know, and stared up to the skies as if the fluffy clouds that got his son all wound up would hold the answer. Even if he had ever asked, he wasn’t certain if he and his father had ever talked like this. His father certainly wouldn’t have laid down on dirty soil to stare up at the blue sky. Not even his mother would have done that. “What makes you think grandfather would know about clouds and about wind?”
               “He has a lot of books,” Scorpius said, “which means he must be pretty smart. Even though grandmother says he’s an idiot.”
               “Don’t tell your grandfather she said that,” Draco said, and he smirked at the thought of his mother saying that. The war had changed all of them, but it felt as if his mother was an unshakeable constant. Even when he had been at his lowest, when they were unsure if they were going to spend the rest of their lives in Azkaban, she had still been full of wit and wisdom. He used to think that his father didn’t deserve her, but he had long ceased to think like that. He hadn’t been a saint himself. If everyone got what they deserved in life, he sure as hell would be living a tragedy, and instead he had a kind and beautiful wife and the smartest son in the world.
               “He knows,” Scorpius said. “I’ll ask grandfather about the wind tomorrow anyway. He might have a book about it.”
               “He’ll like that,” Draco said. And he just might. After all, not only the clouds changed.