#mutant!jon

[fierypen37]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[fierypen37]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

moodboard by @libradoodle1

[fierypen37]

The Disappeared Ones: Chapter 6

moodboard by @libradoodle1

Chapter 6

 In his mind’s eye, the world unfurled beneath him like a green carpet, hemmed in with roadways and railways. Not a city—or an ugly artificial light—in sight, only the wind whistling in his ears, buoying the eagle’s wide wings. Then with terrible slowness, he reverted. Naked and human and so very heavy. The wind could not hold him and he fell. The sick sensation of falling, clawing at the empty air as he plummeted toward the unforgiving ground—

Jon surged upright, gasping in terror and confusion. The wind whistled in his ears, he was naked and cold and flying?

“What the fuck?” Jon shouted, his voice raw and aching. Empty sky loomed so far beneath them. Beneath the translucent black light of Balerion’s body.

“Jon? Are you ok?” Dany asked, terror quavering in her voice. Jon flailed, orienting himself astride Balerion behind her. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, his heartbeat loud in his ears. Clinging fast to Dany, the panic subsided. One thing was blindingly clear: Dany had saved their asses. All Jon could remember was shifting his arm to a gorilla’s, intent on crushing that asshole’s windpipe. Then—nothing. The Syndicate must have saved something special for him. Even tranq’d, Jon was usually dimly aware of his surroundings. Jon rolled his neck. His body had adapted though. He felt fine. Good, even. Energy thrummed through him—beyond his baseline level excitement of being around Dany or flying.  

“I’m good! We’re fucking flying on a dragon!” Jon said around a hoarse laugh. Jon’s hair whipped in the wind and he nestled closer to Dany. The touch of bare skin startled him—Jon realized she was wearing nothing but her bra and underwear. Fury flashed hot through his veins. Whoever he was, Jon was going to dismember that fucker slowly.

“Are you ok?” Jon whispered in her ear. Dany relaxed back against him. Gods, she was shivering. The air was frigid as this altitude. Jon scooched closer, trying not to look down. Sickening vertigo waited if he looked down through Balerion’s body to the shreds of cloud beneath them.

“I—I f—fine. Shaken, for sure,” she whispered. Rhaegal and Viserion flew with them, gliding on silent wings, gleaming white and green in the sky. Gorgeous beasts. Jon hoped at this altitude, any onlooker would mistake them for a plane.

“Where are we?” Jon asked, mustering his nerve to peer at the ground below. The Syndicate’s headquarters had been somewhere remote. Jon couldn’t see the gleam of city lights for kilometers.

“I’m not sure. I decided to fly north and west. In the opposite direction of Dorne, just in case. So they wouldn’t . . . so they wouldn’t--” Dany’s voice wobbled and broke. Jon wrapped his arms around her middle and held tight.

“Dany, you’re a fucking badass warrior. You saved us. Don’t doubt how fucking amazing you are. I trust you,” he rasped, kissing her hair. I love you. Dany half-twisted, nestling against his chest. Her tears fell cold on his skin.

“Jon, I’m so scared.”

“I am too,” Jon muttered, holding on. They flew in silence for a while, huddled close to share body heat. While their fire was no doubt hot, the dragons’ ghostly forms offered nothing in the way of warmth. Jon scanned the ground below.

“I think I know where we are. There’s the old kingsroad,” Jon said pointing to the squiggly line bisecting the green landscape.

“That means King’s Landing is that way,” Jon said, pointing south and east.

“I know where we can go. But first, let’s land. I need to get you warm.”

 ~

 Jon seemed to be his usual self, even if that scowl-line between his brows was deeper than usual. His eyes were clear and bright, his hands steady, his speech normal. You’d better hurry and decide before his brains start eking out his ears. Jon didn’t look in any imminent danger of brain-leakage. Maybe that evil man was lying. No way to know, though. Balerion had killed him.

Balerion landed gently in a secluded campsite. Jon promised there were no people anywhere nearby. The darkness was complete now that her dragons were safely in her tattoos. Dany shivered in earnest now, deprived of Jon’s body heat, her exhaled breath misting. The cold hung on tenaciously to these spring nights. The moon was a waxing crescent high in the sky. Stars spangled like diamonds across the black. Gods, flying had been an incredible rush!

“Ok, wolf snuggles comin’ right up!” Jon said with a shy grin. Their mutual relative nudity hadn’t been an issue while flying. Now, Dany’s eyes didn’t know where to land. Pale skin gleamed in the moonlight; he was so beautiful.

“Wait!” Dany cried just as Jon was about to shift. He looked confused. “What? Why?”

The story tumbled out in fits and spurts. Their capture, the man and his tattoos, their escape. Jon’s expression slid through a fascinating sequence: anger, regret, rage, uncertainty, awe.

“Gods. ‘Badass warrior’ isn’t strong enough. Warrior goddess is better,” Jon whispered, kissing her knuckles reverently. Dany exhaled a frustrated breath, even as her heart did summersaults at his words.

“You’re missing the point. They shot you up with something. He said it would stop you from shifting. He said it would hurt you.”

Jon gave her a grave nod. He stood and shook himself in that wolfish way.

“I feel fine, Dany. I think the guy was bluffing. If the Syndicate had stuff to neutralize my gift, why didn’t they use it when they tried to capture us? Or when I had run-ins with them before that? I don’t buy it. Let me shift, I’ll prove it to you.”

Dany sighed, raking a hand through her tangled hair. There was only one way to know for sure.

“Ok. Quickly,” she said. Jon nodded, that look of focus sharpening his eyes. The temperature warmed, his silhouette blurred. And a huge white wolf stood in his place. Dany was weak-kneed with relief. He reverted.

“You feel ok?” Dany asked.

“No problems,” he said with a small smile.

“How do you think they found us?”        

Any trace of mirth vanished from his face.

“That’s what worries me. But I don’t Davos’ network had been compromised. If so, why didn’t they take your mom and brother?” Dany remembered the man’s savage parody of a smile, all teeth and malice.

“The man said he was letting them go on purpose. He just wanted me,” she said, shuddering. Jon sat bare-arsed on the grass and patted the spot in front of him. Dany sat cross-legged and leaned back against his warm chest, relishing the press of bare skin. Any arousal was miles away, but the contact was soothing.

“Hmm, I have a hard time swallowing that pill as well. If he wanted to blackmail you to get your dragons—gods forbid—what better way to ensure your compliance than capturing your mom, stepdad and brother? Why just me?” The image Jon conjured ripped fresh wounds in her heart. The thought of Mom or Viz seizing in a chair hurt.

“It was enough,” Dany whispered. She heard the wet sound as Jon swallowed hard. A blush crept up her neck, and she was thankful he couldn’t see her face.

“Thank you, Dany. My queen,” he whispered just as softly. Dany closed her eyes, feeling two more tears eke out. She swiped them away. Gods, words sweet as honey rested on her tongue, ready to fly and offer him her heart and her body for as long as he wanted them. Dany found her equanimity with effort—now wasn’t the time.

“Anyway, if you think the man was lying, how did he find us?” Dany asked briskly. Jon cleared his throat. ,

“I’m not sure. Maybe . . . fuck!” Jon said, surging to his feet. Alarmed, Dany scrambled upright, trying in vain in look into the dark woods around them. Jon was rubbing up and down his arms, face rigid with strain.

“What? What is it? Are you hurt?” Dany asked. He ignored her, intent on his task.

“Fuck! Fuck, I’m such a fucking idiot! I didn’t even think!”

“About what?” Dany asked, torn between fury and terror. Jon grabbed her finger and dragged it over the goosepebbled skin of his upper arm. There, under the skin, was small bump, no larger than a pencil eraser.

“A tracker. They must have put one in the dart they tranq’d me with!” The blood drained away from her head until she staggered dizzily on her feet.

“That means our apartment, Mr. Saan’s house--”

Jon gave a grim nod.

“Yeah. They’re compromised. As soon as we get going, I’ll have to call Davos. But first--” Jon shifted his hand to a bear’s paw. The claws gleamed black, each as long as her index finger and wicked sharp. Around her cry of protest, he dug into the flesh of his arm and pulled.

“Gods, Jon!” Dany said, her gorge rising. Looking away, she swallowed bile. Clammy sweat slicked her skin. Through her fingers, she watched him squeeze the wound. With a shout of triumph, he plopped a hard metal thing in her hand—disconcertingly warm from heat of his body. The size of a vitamin pill, Dany could make out circuitry through the dark smear of Jon’s blood.

Warm hands wrapped around Dany’s upper arms. Jon’s eyes grey eyes gleamed in the moonlight.

“It’s ok, Dany. I heal fast. Can the Three check you? Maybe they put something on you while you were out.”

Dany’s skin crawled, thinking of the man’s hands on her while she was unconscious. Jon chafed her upper arms, murmuring comforting words.

“I’ll—I’ll try,” she said, reaching for the Three with a whisper of thought. They unfurled their wings, gliding up and down her body with a prickle of warmth. Balerion curled his long tail around the center of her back, just to the left of her spine. Her stomach dropped. Jon would have to cut it out. Jon drew her down to her knees on the grass, angling her close to his chest. Dany took in a deep breath, smelling the astringent tang of crushed grass and the warm, musky smell of Jon’s skin. The bear claw disappeared behind her shoulder, aiming for the spot.

“Ok baby. Hold onto me. It’ll be quick.” The claw bit in and pain shrieked through her nerves. A scream hissed through Dany’s clenched teeth, tears spilled down her cheeks. From the pain, and a blessed release of pent-up stress. On instinct, she parted her lips and bit down on the meat of Jon’s brawny shoulder, hard enough to break the skin. Blood for blood. The connection shuddered between them, a straining knot of tension. Breath shuddered out of Jon, a fine shiver racing through him.

“Got it,” he said. Blood pulsed sluggishly from the wound in her back, the Three curled around it, using their strength to close the skin. Jon tilted her chin up to meet his gaze, thumbing away the tear tracks. Those grey eyes shone like a stormy sky.  

“Now no more arguing. Wolf-snuggles,” Jon said with a wry curl of his mouth, then shifted again. Wolf-Jon stretched out on the uneven ground and thumped his fluffy tail. Dany shifted cross-legged, leaning gingerly against his side. The plush texture of his fur felt luxurious against her skin. And so warm. Dany sank her hands wrist-deep into the thick fur at Wolf-Jon’s ruff, crawling her toes under the warm weight of his tail.

“That’s nice,” Dany whispered, huddled in the curved semi-circle of his body.

Dany must have dozed, for a shift in movement made her start. Jon rose to a seated position behind her.

“C’mon, baby. We need to get going,” Jon whispered, kissing her hair. Dany nodded muzzily, staggering upright.

“If we are where I think we are, there’s a place not far off. Forty-six kilometers—give or take—up toward the coast. Davos has a house up there. One of the stops for people coming south. A hot shower, food, and a bed waiting for us,” Jon said.

“Can you run that far?” Dany asked, with a concerned frown. Jon gave her his half-smile, half-grimace.

“I’ll manage. Let me be the one to help us now.”

Jon shifted to the horse and she swung astride. The warmth and strength of him was so immediate beneath her bare legs, and she was heartened by his strength. Dany buried her cold hands in his mane.

“Ok, let’s go,” she said, tightening her legs snugly around his sides.

Forty-six kilometers.

A grueling marathon on a good day. But today, after their hellish capture, the Three punching through layers of concrete and plaster to reach the sky, the adrenaline and then the heavy grey fatigue that followed, not to mention cutting out the trackers, had Dany nodding on Horse-Jon’s back. A long night of cold and hunger and looking over her shoulder. At first, she shivered, teeth chattering loud in her skull. As the hours wore on, cold numbness stole over her and she forgot what it was like to be warm. Monotony filled her senses. Jon cantered beneath her with a long, powerful stride, then walked to rest. White foam soaked his beautiful coat. Had Dany been the one in control, she never would have pushed her mount this hard.

Dawn broke over the horizon. A glorious conflagration of gold and pink. The sun blessedly warm on her back. It felt like a blessing. It felt like hope. Horse-Jon plodded on past a wooden sign reading ‘Seagard.’ A tiny town on the coast. The sharp smell of the sea filled her nose. Davos’ house was a red-timbered A-frame on the outskirts of town. Dany’s strength was slipping through her fingers, she listed sideways on Horse-Jon’s back. She braced herself for the hard crunch of the ground—Jon’s corded arms caught her. Jon sucked in deep breaths, his face grey with exhaustion, his skin gleaming with sweat—the two of them leaned heavily against the other and staggered like the ice zombies from the stories the last few steps to door.

Jon found the hide-a-key in a false rock and unlocked the door. The air within was maybe a hair warmer than outside—Jon cranked on the furnace to alleviate the chill. It coughed to life with a reluctant rattle. Exhaustion permeated her flogged brain and the impression of the house was lost on her, save for the dry, stale air.

“I’ll get the phone,” Jon said, riffling through the pantry until he found a burner phone in its plastic packaging. He tore it open and tossed it to her.

“I’ll call Mom, then you call Davos,” Dany said. Jon nodded, puttering around in the kitchen. With shaky fingers, she dialed. The phone rang once.

“Dany? Is that you, honey?” her mom’s voice, sharp with worry, broke through the ice zombie numbness. A knot in her throat choked her. She swallowed once, twice, before she could dislodge it.

“It’s me, Mom,” she said wetly.  

“Thank the gods! When we couldn’t find you, I was frantic! Are you ok? Is Jon with you?” she asked. Dany watched the bunch of his strong shoulders as he reached for a cup off the upper shelf, muttering to himself.

“Yes. I’m ok. Jon’s with me. We’re ok.” Quickly, she relayed their capture, escape, the trackers, and the long journey. To her credit, her mother listened intently without interrupting as Vis was wont to do.

“Did you make it south?” Dany said, hedging her words by force of habit.

“Yes. Our . . . friend is quite charming. She and Vis have uh, hit it off,” Mom said, a wry note to her voice. Dany laughed, the sound rusty to her own ears. Vis and Arianne Martell? The mind boggled.

“That’s good. Do you like where you’re staying?” Dany asked.

“Yes, it’s wonderful! Some kind of resort. We’re quite spoiled,’ Mom said. Some inward tension loosened and fell away. They were safe. Davos’ network was safe. Jon looked relieved as well. After clinching promises of future calls and exhortations for rest, Mom ended the call. Jon took the phone and called Davos. Despite the bad news, it was a much less fraught conversation. Apparently, this was not the first time the Syndicate had sniffed too close to Davos’ operation.

“Saan’s a wily old bastard, tell Dany not to worry for him. You two rest up, we’ll talk more later,” Davos’ northern burr instantly set her at ease. Jon ended the call and eyed Dany.      

“Now, bath. We need to get you warm.”

Dany nodded and shuffled where he indicated. Dany cranked the tap of the narrow bath and watched numbly as the water roared. Jon appeared and gave her a steaming coffee mug.

“Sip this,” he said, “the sugar will help.” She obediently sipped. Instant hot chocolate, hastily stirred. Clumps of unincorporated powder floated on the surface, but it was hot and sweet, filling her hollow belly. Dany was reminded of the day they met—gods, was that only two days ago?—Jon’s anxious gallantry in offering her comfort and protection. As stolid and unwavering as the foundation of the earth. In that moment, she knew he loved him. Intensely. Desperately.

Heedless of her revelation, Jon adjusted the tap.

“Warm is better to start,” he murmured. Dany downed half of the cocoa and gave it to Jon. He drained it. Wordless, he flicked on the room heater, gathered towels and soap and shampoo, found clothes for them. Dany peeled off the grubby panties and bra—too tired to feel self-conscious about nudity. Jon’s eyes moved over her with tender appreciation, but not for long. He coughed.

“Davos keeps the house stocked for a family of four. Secondhand clothes, but clean and warm. All kinds of toiletries,” he said, pitching his voice over the roar of the water.

“I’m dead on my feet. And you ran this whole way. How are you . . .” she trailed off, stepping into the tub. Pain shrieked through newly wakened nerves, but soon subsided into grateful relaxation as she thawed. Scrunched up on her knees, there was just enough room for Jon. He gave a bashful shrug.

“I’ve been cold and hungry and tired more than you have. Just used to it, I guess,” he said. Dany hated that.

Jon pulled the plug and added more hot water. Soon a fine mist of fragrant steam filled the room. Time dilated as they each washed, furtively watching each other. The dull yellow light and the rumble of the heater lulled her. She and Jon were the only two left in the world. Plucking up her courage, Dany swung her leg over Jon’s lap, sitting with her breasts offered up. Water-pinked, hair dripping. Water sloshing out of the tub. One part of him was definitely interested in the proceedings, rock-hard against her arse. Jon’s solemn gaze was almost black with arousal, his grip hard on his hips.

“Dany,” he whispered her name like a prayer. Her heart thudded loud in her eardrums, waiting for his verdict. Jon raked pruny fingers through his wild curls.  

“Love, I don’t want our first time to be like this. Half-dead from exhaustion, groping in old bathwater,” he said gently. Warm hands framed her face between them.

“I want to take my time. Keep you there for hours,” he said with a glorious gleam of hunger in his eyes. Dany bit her lip, squirming in his lap. She wanted that too, but . . . but . . .

“Jon,” she whispered, her voice imploring, needy. Gods, she loved him. She wanted him. On her, in her. Now. Jon groaned, taking her mouth in a rough kiss. Humming her approval, Dany threaded her arms around his neck and rocked with a sinuous, water-slick glide on his lap. His cock slid through her folds, teased her clit. Pleasure shimmered and passion bloomed, so sweet she could cry. Dany dismounted abruptly, panting. Tears bubbled up and fell in warm tracks down her cheeks.

Overwrought, exhausted, she melted into the bedroom to towel off and dress.

 ~

 Jon stared at the closed door, torn between arousal and bone-deep exhaustion. For all his swagger to Dany, the truth was Jon had never been this tired. Everything was hazy, dream-like. The warm immediacy of Dany’s weight had been perfect, the sweet kiss of her cunt driving him mad. He didn’t regret letting her down gently, though. He wanted their first time—and his first time ever—to be special. And he was damned sure as soon as Dany took him to her bed, he wouldn’t want to leave it. Maybe ever.

Beyond the door, he could hear her crying and that shred his heart. Jon stood and toweled off. The fleece pajama bottoms were a size too big for him, so he rolled the waistband, but the waffle-knit Henley was perfect. Jon’s nostrils twitched at the acrid scent of the furnace kicking on, but was grateful for the warmth. When Jon tiptoed out, Dany was curled in a ball on the right side of the bed. Jon stretched out behind her, feeling his muscles uncurl. At last warm. At last comfortable. Sleep took him before he could form another thought.

The mattress moving woke him. Jon cracked open one bleary eyelid to find Dany poised mid-movement easing back into bed. He sniffed. Something heavenly was cooking. His stomach gave an embarrassingly loud gurgle.

“Dany?” his voice cracked. Jon scrubbed his face with his hands. The light outside was greyish, near dawn maybe? Gods, had they slept the clock ‘round?

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you. I was just checking the casserole,” Dany said softly. A big dopey smile stretched his lips.

“Casserole? You really are a goddess. I could eat an elephant,” Jon said, rising up on one elbow. Davos took stocking his wayhouses seriously. Clothes, toiletries, burner phones and Marya’s frozen casseroles. At least half a dozen of them, with other shelf-stable things besides. Jon’s mouth filled with saliva and he swallowed thickly. Dany giggled.  

“Did you sleep? How long have you been up?” he asked. A part of him was disappointed. He loved sleep-tousled and slightly grumpy Just-Woke-Up-Dany. Not that this version wasn’t delectable in her fleece pajamas and waterfall of loose silver hair, face flushed and eyes bright from rest.

“I slept like the dead. I just woke up about twenty minutes ago. I figured you’d be hungry,” she said. Jon jumped up and stretched, every vertebra popping as he did so. He shook himself and grinned at Dany.

“Let’s eat!”

The casserole was a breakfast variety. Sausage, cheese, onion, mushrooms, egg, and little bits of bread all mixed together in a gooey, savory mess. Jon sawed through a thick wedge. The first bite was perfectly hot. Jon groaned, tucking in with embarrassing relish. Dany followed suit at a more respectable pace.

“Gods, I could kiss Marya. This is delicious!” Dany said.

Jon grunted in agreement, only slowing his pace to gulp down half a gallon of sports drink. For the electrolytes, Dany had said. It was much too sweet, but he endured it for Dany’s sake. There was little he wouldn’t do for her. His heart fluttered in his chest at the homey peace of eating a meal with Dany. He imagined a little house somewhere remote with the sun streaming in through windows, Dany curled on the couch reading a book. The smile she gave him—full of years of love. Maybe with a ring of her finger. Maybe with a full pregnant belly. The thought of that future was so beautiful it hurt. Maybe it was best to make his intentions absolutely clear. Jon laid down his fork beside his cleaned plate, belched softly and wiped his mouth on a napkin.

“I love you,” Jon said. Dany flinched as if he’d shot her. She coughed around a bite of casserole. Jon pounded her back helpfully. She waved him off, sipping her own drink.

“What?” she said, violet eyes wide and startled.

“I love you,” he repeated doggedly. Jon suddenly hated the space between them and knelt by her chair, holding her hand between both of his.

“It’s true. Sorry I couldn’t say it . . . nicer. I’m not a bleedin’ poet,” Jon said, horror opening like a cesspit beneath his feet. What if she didn’t feel the same? What if his words shattered whatever sweetness lay between them?

“You’re brave and tough and sweet and sexy and . . . I want to follow you wherever you go and paint a house your favorite color and sing silly songs with you and make pancakes for dinner and make love with you every night. I--” anything else he was going to say was stoppered by her kiss. He tasted the salt of her tears and her own sweetness. In the trembling touch of her lips, the question he asked was answered.

“I love you too,” Dany whispered, and it was like the sun was rising his chest. Joy. Love. Awe. Fear. He had something to lose now. Something too precious for words.

[fierypen37]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[fierypen37]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[fierypen37]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

moodboard by @libradoodle1​

[fierypen37]

Disappeared Ones: Chapter 4

Chapter 4

 To hear Mom tell it, Viserys was the spitting image of their father. Tall, lean, wiry with a narrow face, angular jaw and silver blond hair. His Targaryen eyes were a paler shade of purple than hers, more lilac than violet. The café was bustling with all the whistling, bubbling and clinking, the din of voices. The air perfumed with tea, cinnamon, and baking things. Dany glanced nervously at Jon. He radiated his usual watchful strength and didn’t surrender his grip on her hand. Her heart bubbled at that. The Three were quiet, but she wasn’t worried about an attack, but rather what Vis would say about her and Jon. He had a knack for discerning things.

Vis had claimed a table that was much too small for his tall frame. His fingers drummed on the table. On returning to King’s Landing, he’d shorn his hair short, and rubbed the stiff-soft turf in a self-comforting gesture. As if on cue, Vis rubbed his head. Suspicious by nature, Vis had taken to wearing tinted contacts to conceal his unusual coloring. It was strange to see murky brown eyes looking back at her. He caught sight of her and lurched to his feet, the chair squealing behind him.

“Dany,” he said, hauling her up in a tight hug. Her big brother’s embrace made all the horrible events of the last day wash over her and she buried her face in his chest to stifle a sob. He smelled of the tang of cigarette smoke and mint.

“Hey, it’s ok. You’re ok,” he murmured, patting her back. Aware of the eyes on them—including Jon’s—Dany peeled back, dabbing her face with the cuff of her borrowed coat. The dragons squirmed, offering comfort. Thank you, loves.

“Sit. I ordered you some tea,” Vis said. He turned square to face Jon.

“Jon Snow. Thank you for helping us,” he said, shaking Jon’s hand. Jon shrugged uncomfortably, taking the chair next to Dany.

“It’s nothing. We’ve gotta stick together, hmm?” he said. The side glance to Dany saw those dark eyes crackling with emotion.

“Besides, Dany is exceptional.” Dany felt that compliment all the way down to her toes. Vis’s mouth thinned.

“She is,” he agreed. There was an undercurrent of ‘too exceptional for you.’

“What’s the plan?” Vis asked.

“We’ve got train tickets south to Kingsgrave in Dorne tomorrow morning. Should be far enough away to throw the Syndicate off the scent,” Jon said, sliding the tickets across the table. Vis flicked open the envelope and squinted at the tickets.

“‘We?’” Vis repeated. The Three coiled in reaction to her surge of anger.

“Jon’s coming too. His home was blown to high heaven helping me,” Dany hissed. Vis had dealt with harsher heat that her sharp words, so he didn’t even look up.

“Without him, we wouldn’t even have the tickets to begin with, Vis,” she said, appealing to his practical nature.

“Of course,” he said—another head rub, this one in frustration—“apologies. We’ve been on the run a long time—”

The waitress appeared.

“I’ve got the black coffee and a caramel spiced tea,” she chirped. Vis found a charming smile and accepted the coffee. Spiced tea was her favorite, so Dany accepted the cup. It was hot and sweet, smooth as silk down her throat.

“Can I get you something, ser?” the waitress asked Jon. He gave his half-grimace, half-smile.

“Water’s fine, thanks.” She poured the cup, set it on the table and bustled off.

An awkward silence fell as Vis sipped his coffee.

“Like I said, we’ve been on the run a long time, so it’s hard trusting new people.”

Jon scooted his chair closer the table, dark eyes earnest.

“We’re in the same boat, Viserys. I’m bein’ hunted just like you are. I just got lucky finding Mr. Seaworth.” Vis’s scowl deepened.

“That’s another question. Why does Davos help people like us? We’re obviously trouble. Like Dany said, his business is a smoking hole in the ground because he stuck his neck out for us.” Dany winced in sympathy. It hurt to be reminded of the magnitude of what she owed Davos. Jon’s face tightened into a scowl.

“There’s a reason. A good reason.” The northern burr thickened in his irritation. Dany shouldn’t have found it attractive, but she did. Goosebumps stippled her arms. Dany gulped her tea to hide it.

“Which is?” Vis retorted. “I’d rather not say. He told me in confidence.”

“Lay off, Vis,” Dany said. Her brother glanced at her and the scowl relaxed. Vis’s dickhead tendencies worsened with uncertainty.  

Vis sank back in his chair, chafing the fabric of his jeans with his palms.

“Fine. Consider it dropped. Mom and Bon are gonna meet us at Mott’s around noon. We’ll prepare to leave from there.”

Mott’s was a fancy restaurant uptown where Mom picked up shifts as a server. The woman had a doctorate in early Westerosi history and a master’s degree in advanced mathematics, but fugitives couldn’t use their real CV’s. Jon drained his glass of water and stood. Dany jumped up.

“Davos gave us scripts for Mom. We’ll pick them up and meet you uptown.” Vis’s eyes narrowed, but he grunted.

“Fine. I’ll see you there.”

Dany followed Jon as he wove through the tables and emerged in the burgeoning heat of the morning. The long-sleeved jacket was hot, but Dany endured it. Keeping her tattoos covered was more important. A familiar scowl creased Jon’s face. Dany bit her lip. Was he upset she was following him around? Dany missed the warm strength of Jon’s hand, but didn’t dare grab it uninvited.

“Sorry about Vis. He can be an arse, but he means well,” she said, trying to lighten the mood.

“He’s protective of you,” Jon said, and there was a note of approval in his tone. Dany rolled her eyes.

“Yeah. Ever since I was born. I’ve learned how to soothe him.” Dany chewed on her lip again, “Are you ok with me coming with you? I get it if you want some time to yourself.” Jon stopped short. So short, the lady walking behind him nearly ran into him. With a dirty look, she shouldered past, not pausing her conversation on her cellphone.

“Of course not, Dany. I . . . I like being with you. I like being there in case you need help,” he said, dark grey eyes so earnest. Her heart melted a little. The bright light caught the flecks of indigo in the grey of his eyes, and made his loose curls shine. He liked to shove his fingers through it. Her fingers itched to do the same. Dany could spend all day admiring the taut strength of him, wax poetic about the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled.

“I like being with you too, Jon,” Dany said, taking his hand, weaving their fingers together.

“Is this ok?”

Jon’s eyes darkened a little in a way that made Dany’s chest quiver.

“Yeah. Don’t let go,” he said, lifting their joined hands up so he could kiss the back of hers. Dany gulped, inconvenienced by a surge of arousal. His lips—they made her mind turn down sinful, inconvenient trails. Seeing him in all his naked glory also hadn’t helped. By the Seven, his arse should be cast in bronze to preserve as a perfect specimen. Out of politeness, she hadn’t been able to get a proper look at his cock, but now she knew what it felt like to have it pressed against her. Dany clenched her thighs together, arousal now a steady throb.

“Ok,” she whispered breathlessly.

Bell Avenue was a good ten-block walk, with two avenues in the mix. Jon promised to keep his exceptional eyes and ears trained for trouble. The skin of her arms and back prickled. Her dragons would be watching too. In the meantime, they walked hand in hand, trading assumptions.

“Favorite food?” Jon posited. Dany peered at his strong profile, wondering what he liked best to eat. Since he needed to eat so much so often, was there anything he ate just for pleasure? Dany thought for a moment.

“Apple tart?” she guessed. Jon grinned.

“Close. Chocolate cream pie. My mum used to make it for me on my birthday. I don’t have really good memories of it, but Dad talked about it. Chocolate cream pie was her favorite too,” he said.  

“Your mum?” Dany asked gently. He hadn’t mentioned a mom. Only a dad and a stepmom. A muscle fired in Jon’s jaw.

“She died when I was three and a half. Breast cancer,” he said. Daenerys squeezed his hand. They were both missing a parent, and the loss was a gaping wound.

“I’m sorry,” she said. Jon gave an uncomfortable shrug.

They jogged across the street among a throng of people. Jon cleared his throat.

“Yi Tish?” Jon guessed. Grateful the change in subject, Dany paused to consider it.

“It’s hard to pin down a favorite. I like anything spicy,” she said.

“Not me. I sweat when there’s too much pepper,” Jon said with a lopsided smile. Dany giggled and nudged his shoulder with hers.

“I know for a fact you’re tougher than that,” she said. Jon smile broadened.

The dance of walking down the narrow side streets of King’s Landing was familiar. Often the street was too narrow to walk side by side, so Dany would drop back behind him, her hand still linked with his. It was a Thursday morning, and the morning rush had petered out. Patrons carried groceries, walked dogs. One skated down the sidewalk, blasting music. Dany let herself relax a little. No panel trucks. No Red Windbreaker. She trusted Jon to see or hear something if there was trouble.

“Favorite color,” Dany said.

“Hmm. Purple? Girls usually like purple, right?” he said. Dany rolled her eyes, swinging his arm playfully.

“‘Girls like purple?’ And what do boys like? Black?” One of Jon’s thick eyebrows quirked.

“Black is actually my favorite color,” Jon said. Dany wrinkled her nose.

“Black? I wouldn’t have pictured you in all black with eyeliner.” Gods, even that look would be sexy on him. Though his smoky eyelashes looked done up already.

“Not my style,” he said.

They hurried across the avenue at the light. Jon tugged at her captive hand playfully. Dany sidled and Jon twirled her as if they were gliding across a dancefloor, not passing an alley redolent with eau de dumpster. So sweet and silly, her heart felt it would burst. Tugging her close, Jon clasped one arm behind her back. Where they touched, Dany’s skin seemed to tingle. Nose to nose, Jon studied her. Something lingered in his soft expression, something she couldn’t place, and it made her heart flip in her chest.

“Now tell me what your favorite color is.” Jon’s grey eyes danced. Dany jutted her chin.

“Or what?”

“I’ll think of something,” he said.

A gruff voice muttered as he walked by: “Get a room.” Dany’s face flushed. Was it that obvious? Jon felt it too, because the flirting cooled for the next block or so. The game continued—guessing favorite movie (Jon’s was a psychological cop thriller where the protagonist attempted to unravel a mystery on an island asylum that Dany had never seen, Dany’s was a storybook-like classic with an arranged marriage, pirates and shrieking eels), favorite place (Winterfell’s godswood for Jon, Pentos’s beach for Dany).

Bell Avenue was a lot like Davos’s street. Awnings, painted storefronts; a bit shabby but well-kept. DOCTOR MEL: APOTHACARY AND ODDITIES Dany reached in her pocket for the envelope of cash Vis had given her. Jon opened the door and parted the red-beaded curtain. The interior was dim and cool, florescent lights half-off, the air conditioner humming. It was like no pharmacy Dany had ever seen. Tall wooden shelves were crammed with books and yes, oddities. Figurines, crystals, herbal medicines, teapots and assorted tea-making paraphernalia, incense, something that looked like a petrified dragon egg—in fact, fire and dragons were a big theme. Dany tugged her sleeve down self-consciously. The Three gave no warning prickle, though Balerion stirred, wings shifting in a dragon version of a hug. Surreptitiously, she checked her cuffs. Rhaegal and Viserion’s snouts ended at her wrists. She and Jon shared a glance. Jon shrugged and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.

“Um, hello?” Dany called.

There was a desk with a metal grate, similar to the one in Davos’ shop. Jon chimed the bell. A figure emerged from behind another beaded curtain. Red, red, red. The woman was tall and slender, dressed in red. Loose crimson blouse, brick red corduroys. Her hair was a deep red. A huge ruby winked at her throat. She was even wearing red contacts. The ancient computer dominating the desk had a red screensaver, it washed her fine-boned face in unnatural red light. She donned cat eye glasses with—you guessed it—red frames.

“I’m Dr. Mel. How can I help you?”

“Davos Seaworth told me you filled some scripts for my mom.” Dany gave their pseudonym and the fake date of birth.

“Yes, here we are. I’ll get it,” she said, disappearing behind the beaded curtain. Jon’s nose wrinkled and he sneezed three times fast.

“Shit, I think I’m allergic to the creepy in here,” he whispered. Dany giggled.

“It’s kind of weird, right?”

Jon did the weird nose-tickle, hyperventilating thing winding up for another sneeze. Dany grabbed a tissue and stoppered the sneeze.

“Thanks,” Jon said.

“Do you need an antihistamine, ser? Or there are stinging nettle and rosemary extracts on Aisle Two,” Dr. Mel said, gliding to the desk.

“I’m fine. I think it’s the incense,” Jon said.

“Your prescriptions. Have your mother take the antibiotic with food, and the cough syrup at night. A side effect is drowsiness. I also slipped in some samples of sweetsleep and St Baelon’s wort. For rest and calming,” she said, ringing up her purchases.

“Thank you so much,” Dany said. Tears prickled the backs of her eyes. In their shabby little apartment, huddled around the space heater listening to Mom cough through the winter had been terrible. It was so nice to have hope again. Dr. Mel smiled beatifically.

“The day is bright and full of peace. Good day.”

Dany bit down on a snort, not daring the look at Jon until they were cleared from the beaded curtain. She and Jon made it outside before they burst into laughter. The joy was like carbonation in her blood, fizzy and wonderful. Jon’s eyes streamed as he laughed.

“The day is bright and—and-” Dany couldn’t even finish, she was laughing too hard.

“Between that and all that damned incense in there, I nearly popped a blood vessel!” Jon said.

 Mott’s was uptown. Two subway connections and a train found Jon and Dany walking in the restaurant ten minutes after noon. Vis’ lanky form was visible from above the partition. The two of them lingered in the glass-walled foyer.  

“Any tips?” Jon asked, licking his lips nervously. In the weirdness of their situation, they’d skipped right to Meeting-the-Parents. Dany giggled.

“Jon Snow, I’m surprised. You’ll face down dozens of goons without blinking, but meeting my mom makes you nervous?” Jon rubbed his neck.

“Well yeah. I want to make a good impression,” he said. Overcome, Dany tugged him close to kiss him. Slow, sweet. Gods, she loved kissing him. Jon’s arms slid around her, pulling her flush with him. Before it could spiral out of control, Dany broke away with sucked in breath.

“You’ll be fine, Jon,” she whispered against his lips. Jon nuzzled her nose with his.

“Here goes nothin,’” he said.

 ~

 The taste of her kiss would have carried him through fire. Meeting her mum shouldn’t be so bad. Jon steeled himself as they rounded the corner. The mostly-empty restaurant was upscale: leather stuffed chairs, gold-framed paintings, little candles on pristine tablecloths. Viserys noticed them first. He stood up, relief lighting his eyes. Jon’s eyes slid to the elegant older woman seated to Viserys’ left. Her beautiful face was a bit narrower than Dany’s, with laugh lines around her violet eyes. Her skin was few degrees warmer, a subtle catch with each breath, as if stifling a cough. Jon was glad for the weird detour; Dany was obviously worried about her mom. The other guy was paunchy, with a greying brown hair and a long beard. Beneath beetled brows, brown eyes sized Jon up. Dany’s stepdad, Bon. Jon offered his hand first to Dany’s mom.

“Mrs. T—um, Rhae—Rachel, nice to meet you. I’m Jon Snow,” he said, coughing. Way to go idiot, you couldn’t even remember her pseudonym! Jon checked the impulse to wipe sweat from his brow. Rhaella’s smile didn’t waver.  

“A pleasure, Jon. Dany speaks very highly of you,” she said, clasping his hand in a firm shake. Her hand was warm, and Jon could smell that hint of ozone. That lightningy smell like Dany. Dany had said she could manipulate the weather. Rhaella and Bon stood up to hug Dany.

“He’s cute,” Rhaella whispered in Dany’s ear, unaware of his amped up senses. Jon tried to keep a straight face. Even her blush was pretty, he noted as color bloomed on Dany’s cheeks. Dany offered the paper bag of prescriptions.

“These are for you,” Dany said. Rhaella thanked her and tucked the bag by her purse as she took her seat. Jon pulled the chair for Dany before taking his seat across from Rhaella. Dany took his hand in a casual gesture. If the adults noticed, they did not comment. As much as this was an exchange of valuable information, Jon also felt like this was an interview. A Is-This-Chump-Good-Enough-For-Our-Dany interview. Their waitress appeared to take their order. His belly gave a liquid rumble, but from what Dany told him, money was tight. He had a twenty in his back pocket, so he ordered a modest portion of steak and accompanying sides. Dany ordered the same.

“So Jon, I hear you’re from up North. One of my dearest friends growing up was Bella Dustin. She lived in Barrowton,” Rhaella said with a hint of a smile. Jon cleared his throat.

“Yes, I’m from Winterfell. My dad liked to fish on the Avon River near Barrowton. Beautiful country there,” he said. He’d never fished with his Dad there, his stepbrothers probably had—there was a clear BEFORE and AFTER in his life. And his change was the fulcrum. Dany’s mom seemed to hear what Jon didn’t say and diverted the subject to the weather.

“You should get a job in meteorology, Mrs. T,” Jon joked. Dany choked, near doing a spit-take with her water. Bon—Bob was his pseudonym—pounded Dany’s back helpfully. Even Vis cracked a smile. Jon counted that as a win. Rhaella’s smile creased the corners of her eyes and Jon was treated to a vision of what Dany might look like in thirty years.

“The irony has occurred to me, actually. Jon, I know there was some misfortune with your . . .  apartment, you’re welcome to stay with us tonight. Especially since we all have an early train to catch.”

Jon didn’t try to hide his shock. Given the circumstances, he’d assumed tonight he would shift to a cat or a mouse and sleep outside. It wouldn’t have been the first time. At least he’d have a full belly this time.

“Yeah, that would be great,” he said, then coughed, “um, thank you.” He busied his hands sawing off a hunk of bread from the loaf and scooping a pat of butter on it. Dany’s eyes sparkled.

The meal was surprisingly pleasant. The food was excellent, and he got to watch Dany eat with her delicate princess manners and hear all her clever opinions. The stepdad Bon didn’t say much, but Jon could tell he really loved Mrs. T, the warm glances, the gentle smiles. Viserys was even pleasant. Tickets to safety and medicine for his mother had earned some goodwill. Jon tried not to be too greedy with the baskets of bread, but it was warm and tender with a crisp crust. Bread did wonders for filling the gaps hunger made in his belly. Bon summoned the waitress for the check. Jon stood and pulled the chair for Dany. Her smile over her shoulder was sunny.

Dany’s fingers brushed his as they shuffled out the door and Jon grasped onto her hand gratefully. There was something lulling about the mundane shuffle through foot traffic. Train stations were among the top three Uncomfortable Places For Jon. Trapped in a roped-off queue at the train station, the overpowering stale smells of fuel, grease and body odor, the unbearably loud screeching and babble of voices. Dany’s hand grounded him. Jon focused on the beat of her heart, her scent, the silky skin of her hand.

“We’re almost there,” Dany whispered. She understood, and sought to comfort him. Jon could’ve loved her just for that.  

The apartment was in a shabby brick building. Mrs. T, who had been happily pointing out the sights as they walked—there was decent view of the Sept of Baelor from here, its gilded dome shining in the sun—was markedly quieter. Jon shared a glance with Dany. She offered a tight little shrug. Embarrassed. Right. They had had money before the Syndicate decided to make their business to hunt down anyone gifted. Jon cleared his throat as they began the tramp up the weathered stairs. It hurt to hear the cadence of Mrs. T’s breathing, labored by the climb.  

“Since I’ve been on the run, this’ll be the nicest place I’ve stayed. Dany saw the broom closet I was sleeping in,” Jon said with a crooked smile. Dany mouthed ‘thank you.’ Mrs. T brightened some. On the landing, she caught her breath, under the pretense of riffling through her purse for the keys.

“Thank you, Jon. It’s served us well,” she said. The key screeched in the door.

It was sparse. A secondhand couch, a small TV. No lamps, no wall art. Sleeping bags neatly rolled on the floor. There was one bedroom, and that’s where Mrs. T and Bon slept. It smelled of old carpet, plaster, and a lingering sweet smell of sickness. Bon brandished a battered backgammon board.

“He’s champion around here,” Dany whispered, mock-serious.

“I challenge you, ser,” Jon said. When Dad would spend alternating weeks with him, they would always play backgammon. He would play against himself and pretend Dad was there on those lonely days. Maybe it was emblematic of men of his age, but Bon scowled at the board with ferocious concentration, just like Dad did. Jon wasn’t sure if he wanted to smile or cry. I’m glad Dany has her family. The first game, Bon won. Then Dany played and eked out a rare win (her words, not Jon’s). The rematch Jon won. Mrs. T was making some kind of soup for dinner, Viserys was making bread. Seeing Dany’s lanky brother in flour-spattered kneading homemade bread went a long way to diffusing Jon’s wariness. Mrs. T had a coughing fit mid-sentence. A deep, harsh sound. He saw Dany flinch and squeezed her knee under the coffee table. The coat had come off as soon as she got home, and Jon enjoyed the look of her bare arms, the dragon tattoos gleaming in the weak overhead light.

“Dinner’s ready!” Homemade chicken soup with homemade parmesan bread. Delicious. Jon devoured three bowlfuls. Jon and Dany were responsible for washing up while Bon took out the trash. Their hands brushed in the soapy water and Jon felt a now-familiar zing of excitement. Those violet eyes peeking at him through her lashes kindled a rush of arousal.

“You’re dangerous,” he whispered. Dany’s teeth grazed the plump pink flesh of her lower lips. A growl rumbled deep in his chest. The feeling was doused when cold water spattered on the back of his neck. Dany swiveled, smacking Viserys on the chest, knocking the handheld mister for his mother’s plants from his hand.

“Vis!” her voice swung up at the end, in a universal sound of irritation at siblings.

Undaunted, Vis shrugged. Jon was more studious in drying the dishes after that. His heart gave a sharp twist. This was nice. Being himself around people. Nothing to hide. Board games, a homecooked meal, washing the dishes. Little homey things. Jon hadn’t seen that in years. As much as Davos tried to shepherd him, it wasn’t the same. Dany big open heart and her loving family.    

“I think we should have a demonstration,” Bon said. Dany’s smile showed off her pretty white teeth.

“That sounds fun! I can’t wait until you see Mom and Vis. It’s awesome!” Each of them swiveled to look at Mrs. T for approval. The pucker of her brow smoothed out with a shrug.  

“Ok. But quietly. We have neighbors.”

Dany settled next to Jon on the rug. Mrs. T went first. With a measured grin, she spread her arms and snapped her fingers. Her eyes dilated, darkening to a near indigo. A rainbow arched between her hands, wavering and fragile as vapor. Jon watched, agog. A breath later, a miniature storm cloud boiled above her hands, complete with tiny claps of thunder and drops of rain puddling in her palms and dripping down her wrists. Jon applauded enthusiastically.

“Wow, that was so cool, Mrs. T! How does it work? What kind of range can you do? Is it any kind of weather?” the questions tumbled out. Mrs. T beamed and giggled; the sound higher than Dany’s. Cute.

“I just have to fix my thoughts of what I want. The smell, the temperature, the mood. And it happens,” she said.

“Very cool.”

“Ladies first,” Viserys said from where he nursed a beer. Dany rose with easy grace. Her habitual smile fell away into that serious look he remembered from the night before. All the fine hairs on his body stood on end in anticipation.

“Balerion,” she said in that echoey tone. Like magic, Balerion head and part of his neck lifted, filling the room with black light, spangled with crimson. Balerion’s eyes were fierce and intelligent. Attuned to animal attributes as he was, Jon noted how Balerion was more direct and aggressive that Viserion in his posture. Dominant and protective.

“Balerion, lyks,” she whispered. Balerion melted back into Dany’s skin. Somehow, applause didn’t seem right. Hushed silence was better. The power of a goddess locked in those tattoos. Beauty and goodness too. His own personal goddess. They were possessive, dangerous thoughts, but Jon enjoyed them all the same. Dany shone, and Jon basked in her warmth.

“Thank you,” Jon whispered huskily. He blinked, now very aware of her family watching the interplay. Jon cleared his throat, his face aflame. Viserys chose not to comment, instead nudging Dany aside with a bump of his hip.

“Excuse me, sweet sister,” he said with a smirk.

“Prick,” Dany muttered playfully before returning to her seat by Jon. Viserys rolled up his sleeves with precise turns.

“You know what fire burns the hottest, Snow?” he said. Jon shook his head, leaning forward on his knees like an eager kid at a firework show.

“White,” Viserys said. A ball of white fire burst to life, almost blinding the dimness of the room. He juggled it deftly, a red afterimage wavered in Jon’s eyes from where the glow had been.

“Nothing too flashy, son. We can’t pay for new carpet,” Mrs. T said censoriously. Viserys clenched his fists, extinguishing the flames with a curl of smoke.

“Of course,” he said, then took a deft bow. Jon applauded.

“Your turn, Snow,” Viserys said, “my sister sings high praise of your talents.” The last was said with a suggestive waggle of eyebrow that made embarrassment curdle in Jon’s stomach. Unfazed, Dany smacked him again, harder.

“Shut up! Come on, Jon. Show him how it’s done!” she said, clapping eagerly. The rest of the family joined in and Jon stood. When had he ever been praised for his gift?  It felt weird. It broke his heart. Jon cleared his throat and toed out of his shoes.

“Let’s make it a game. Call out an animal and I’ll shift. Nothing too heavy, though. I can’t afford new carpet either,” Jon said to a smattering of laughter.

“Ready? Go!” Jon said.

“A cockatiel!” Bon shouted. Easy. Jon shifted, flapping around the room, skimming by to muss Vis’s shirt. Vis laughed.

“An a—um . . . a goat!” Vis said. The goat was small and nimble. Goat-Jon bleated, wagging his stubby tail. Dany giggled.

“A lemur!” Mrs. T said. Jon liked the lemur, quick and a good climber. With a little chittering noise, Lemur-Jon hopped onto the coffee table and juggled a couple of the backgammon pieces.

“A cat!” Dany said. Jon shrank down to a black cat. Cat-Jon twined around Dany’s ankles. Mm, the cat’s nose could smell different notes of her scent. Honey-sweet, musk.

Cat-Jon slinked to the bathroom and shifted back, snagging the free pair of athletic shorts from the linen closet. The group cheered and wolf-whistled as he returned. Dany’s eyes shone with that special look. Even Vis’s lean face was split in a grin.

“Impressive, Snow! Very impressive.”

“Can you change into any animal?” Mrs. T asked.

“Does it hurt?” Bon asked. Jon hunched his shoulders, unused to earnest questions.

“It hurts a little, but it’s too much fun to mind it much. No, not any animal. It’s hard to explain. I have to see its eyes, how it moves.”

“Could you shift into a dragon? You’ve seen how they move,” Vis asked. Jon frowned, considering it. He’d never tried a near-mythical being before. More than anything he wanted to show off for Dany.

“I’ll try.”

Shifting was easy as breathing for Jon. But every other change had been a living animal. Dragon bones hung suspended in museums, but the ghostly dragons were some context, right? Jon closed his eyes and conjured the shape of Balerion’s sleek body, the beat of his wings. Jon pushed. And the world dissolved into pain.                        

[fierypen37]

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