Chapter Text
Got a heart filled with gasoline
Burns so long but it don't burn clean
Burns so hot that I don't know why
You would stand here by and by
From the outside, Selwyn's Garage looked like every other middle-of-the-road auto shop Jaime Lannister had ever seen. The biggest thing going for it was that it wasn't in a strip mall.
“Small mercies,” Jaime said to the gray exterior. His fingers slipped to his back pocket out of habit, searching for his cigarette case and finding only a pack of gum. “Crap,” he muttered, shoving it away again. He'd already been through four pieces on the trip over trying to distract himself; a fifth would just seem pathetic.
The garage occupied a decent-sized building that looked like it used to be a warehouse. There was another warehouse next to it, some sort of office supply storage from the looks of it, with the utterly bland name of Supply Depot. Across the quiet street were more warehouses for varying goods and the road dead-ended in an empty gravel lot that was littered with cigarette butts and dog shit.
Jaime squinted at Selwyn's again and wiped the rain from his face. He had it on good authority from Varys – who hadn't been wrong yet – that Stark Racing was sniffing around this exact garage looking for a new mechanic, the shop's namesake, a quietly well-regarded man from around the lower circuits, and Jaime would never let Robb Stark win any prize without fighting him to the bone for it. The question was, was there really a prize worth winning inside this dull building? Jaime's research had assured him Selwyn knew his stuff, but F1 was leagues away from even F2.
Tugging his leather jacket up against the cold winter wind and rain of Tarth, Jaime strode inside, the bell on the door chiming brightly as he entered. The familiar smell of motor oil and rubber hit him, putting Jaime instantly at ease. He'd been swimming in these scents for most of his life, a sweet and acrid musk that settled his body and reminded him of a thousand other moments in garages all over the world.
There was a TV in the decently sized waiting area, turned low to a sports channel, a row of air fresheners hanging in dozens of designs in a rack by the window, and a big counter with a worn but clean steel gray top directly in front of him. There was no one at the counter, but someone's rock music poured in from the open door leading back to the bay, the whiz-clank of power tools keeping a syncopated beat.
“Hello!” he shouted, ignoring the shiny silver bell with a Please ring for service! sign taped underneath it. “Selwyn Tarth?”
The power tool stopped and the music shut off and Jaime called “Hello?” again in the silence. He heard a low, quick conversation and then one of the tallest men Jaime had ever seen came ducking under the doorjamb, wiping his hands on a clean rag. He was taller than Jaime by several inches, broad shouldered with a stomach that jutted out a bit from his jumpsuit, blue eyes, a silver beard, and a surprised look on his face.
“Jaime Lannister?” the man said, and if he didn't seem thrilled to see Jaime, at least there was not the mix of disgust and distrust Jaime was used to.
Jaime's Lannister Corp Racing crew was a motley group that needed a spark to bring them all together or Jaime would never get below a three second pit, and without that he had no hope of winning the World Drivers' Champion title. The title had eluded him, always a half second behind, for too many years and his reflexes weren't getting any better the longer this went on. At thirty-five he wasn't ready for retirement, but racing was an endurance sport that took more to endure with every passing season. A faster pit, a smarter mechanic, these were things worth driving to sleepy warehouse districts for in the too-brief off season. He might not be able to get this mechanic based on reputation alone, but with the money of Lannister Corp at his back he could convince almost anyone of anything.
“Are you Selwyn?” Jaime asked. The man nodded and held out his hand. Jaime stared at it, and then back up at the man before shaking his hand. Jaime had stopped initiating even this most basic etiquette shortly after Aerys, when everyone started snubbing all his efforts to slide back in to the racers' inner sanctums. The number of people in racing circles who made the first move to him these days were vanishingly few and if there was life outside of racing circles, Jaime didn't have the time or inclination for it.
Selwyn's hand was strong as expected, thick-fingered and confident. His handshake didn't pull any macho bullshit, either, just a few quick pumps and then he was done, simply giving Jaime a polite greeting and not some sort of sizing up. It was refreshing.
“Tarth,” Jaime said, “like the island.”
The big man shrugged. “Old family ties. These days I don't own much more than this shop.”
“It's a nice-sized space you've got here.”
“We do all right for ourselves. You dropping something off?” he asked, his deep voice curious as he peered easily over Jaime's head to the parking lot. Jaime had come in a simple luxury sedan and Selwyn looked disappointed when he saw that and not some F1 beast lurking on the asphalt.
“Here to pick something up, hopefully,” Jaime said. “Or someone, rather. I'm looking for a mechanic.”
“You've come to the right place. What do you need?”
“I hear you have experience with Formula cars?”
“Mostly lower class ones, yes. Was an IAF Formula 2 mechanic for some years, did some Westeros and Dornish F3 pit work when I started out. I did F1 for half a season with Griffin but my wife died and I had to come home.” He pointed at a framed photo behind the counter and smiled proudly like he was pointing out a child. “I did build that beauty a couple years after, though.”
It was clearly an F1-ready car, glinting blue and gold in the sunlight, the ocean stretching out in the distance behind the car like a postcard. “How's she run?” Jaime asked.
“As good as any test machines on the circuit, I'd wager. Though nowadays she's only used to teach engines, not test drives.”
“Shame,” Jaime murmured. That car would have looked stunning coming around a hairpin turn. He shook his head a little and turned back to Selwyn, found the man watching him calmly. There was something steady about Selwyn Tarth, a core belief in his eyes that if everyone just took a breath then everything would be fine. Jaime felt himself relaxing. Selwyn would be an ace chief mechanic, could likely direct a quick and efficient pit crew and if he'd built his own F1 then he knew the intricacies of the regs. “How'd you like to come work for the Lannister Racing team?” Jaime asked, trusting his gut and jumping straight to the question.
Selwyn lifted a bushy eyebrow. “Doing what?”
“Being my number one mechanic. I need someone who can bring down my pit times and who knows the engine well enough to keep it tuned and getting better through the season.”
“You don't know anything about me, Mr. Lannister.”
“I've got great instincts.”
“Typical driver talk,” Selwyn drawled and Jaime grinned.
“So what do you say?”
“I'm afraid I say no, Mr. Lannister.”
“That's only because I haven't told you how much I'm willing to pay.”
Selwyn chuckled. “Money might open my ears a little more, but it won't change my mind. I had Stark's team in here last week poking around, offering money, too.” Jaime's smile slipped from sincere to falsely charming, hiding his disappointment. Varys had gotten the right information, it seemed, he'd just gotten it too late.
“When do you start for them?” Jaime asked.
“I'm not working for them, either. I don't want to live that life, Mr. Lannister. Too much travel, too much stress. I'd miss my shop.” Selwyn shrugged. “And I'll tell you the same thing I told the Starks: it's not me you want anyway.”
“No?”
“I did good work back in the day, but now the real magic is-”
“The music fan,” Jaime jumped in.
“The same.” Selwyn smiled softly, almost sadly, and curiosity had Jaime peering around Selwyn's shoulder to see who was back there that had made him look like that. “The Stark contingent wasn't interested, though, said she didn't fit their culture.”
“She?” Jaime asked, frowning.
“My daughter, Mr. Lannister. She's a better mechanic than I ever was. She's basically grown up in this shop.” He nodded at the F1 picture. “She built that with me when she was as high as my waist, does most of the teaching on it now herself, adjusting it with the new regs every year. She's been fascinated by racing since she was a baby.”
Jaime's heart beat excitedly. The Stark team and their sponsors had a very tightly controlled image they even required of the pit crew, but Jaime had no such constraints. In fact the more outlandish his crew, the better. His sponsors loved Bronn's relentless cursing, Podrick's wide-eyed, almost cherubic competence. A female chief mechanic could bring in more everything: more money, more publicity, more forgiveness from race judges that seemed, to a man, to despise him still.
“I'd love to meet her,” Jaime said, keeping his voice cool and quietly interested.
Selwyn looked back towards the door. “I know you're eavesdropping, girl, come on out,” he said lovingly, hardly needing to shout with the natural carry of his voice.
There was nothing for a minute and then Jaime heard a tool being set down and Selwn's daughter walked into the front room.
She was taller than Jaime too, though not as tall as her father. Her shoulders were broad like Selwyn's, her hands as big. She had sweaty, straw-colored hair that she'd too aggressively pressed down against her head, forming a shapeless bowl with the occasional strand poking out. There was a dark grease stain on one of her cheeks that made it look like there was a hole there, her thick lips were pressed together nervously, and her nose and freckled skin looked like she'd been in a losing fight with the road at least once and probably multiple times. She had all of Selwyn's staid features and none of his friendly charm and the combination was off-putting; except for her eyes, which were the color of Selwyn's F1, the part where the sun was hitting it and you could barely look straight into the blue it was so brilliant.
Jaime was able to look long enough to see the familiar sheen of disgusted recognition, though, and he felt his jaw clench. What right did this beast of a woman have to judge him?
“Brienne, this is Jaime Lannister.”
“I know who he is,” she said, her tone as blunt as her big teeth.
“Mr. Lannister, this is my daughter, Brienne,” Selwyn went on, ignoring her rudeness. “Best mechanic in all Westeros.”
“Is that 'best' like the diner down the street that has the 'best coffee in King's Landing' sign they printed themselves?” he asked, driven to snark by her narrow-eyed stare.
“You came to us,” she spit out. “You tell me.”
He huffed, trapped by the truth of it. “Your father says you're a good mechanic.”
“The best,” Selwyn said again. “I'd stake my garage on it.”
Jaime lifted an eyebrow. For a man like Selwyn Tarth, that was a statement of belief that couldn't be overlooked. Brienne, for her part, was red as a stop light.
“Hush,” she murmured to her father, though she gave him a small, pleased smile that Jaime was embarrassingly jealous of. The only time Jaime had ever smiled at his own father like that was when he was a toddler who didn't know any better what kind of man Tywin Lannister was.
“This is all very sweet,” Jaime snipped, “but what's your actual Formula experience?”
“I've been an avid watcher my whole life. I helped build and currently maintain a functional F1 vehicle so I know all the technical requirements, and I've worked on a few F3 teams, including Renly Baratheon's back when he was in it. I know my way around every engine that's ever come into this garage. And I've even done some test driving.”
“You have? How did you fit in the cockpit?”
“How do you fit in your helmet?” she parried.
Selwyn grunted and Jaime couldn't tell if it was disapproval or amusement. “So you want me to hire you as the number one mechanic for a professional F1 racing team because you're, what, a good fan and a decent mechanic?”
“Mr. Lannister-”
Selwyn held out his hand and they both stilled. “Mr. Lannister,” he said, and though his tone was not as sharp it felt crushingly heavy with disappointment. “You were willing to hire me for a goodly sum of money based purely on your instincts. What do your instincts tell you about my daughter?”
Jaime shoved his hand through his wet hair. He kept it short during the season so his helmet fit better but here in the off-season he'd let it grow out some and he tugged it now as he studied the absurdly tall woman before him, treating her like she was a car going through scrutineering. She straightened, not wilted, under his intense stare, which he grudgingly had to respect. Where Selwyn was ease and rounded shoulders, his daughter was as implacable and hard as stone, her big hands fused to her hips in a gesture of defiance. Her grey jumpsuit was mostly shapeless, the hint of small breasts, the suggestion of strong thighs underneath, nothing that would distract from her unfortunate face. At least Bronn wouldn't be distracted by her. As long as he doesn't look into her eyes, Jaime mused, looking into them now. His life was mostly red and gold and black, with green in flashes. There was nothing in his world that looked like the color of her blue eyes, and the uniqueness of it made him feel like he'd regained some sense memory he hadn't known he'd lost.
“My instincts tell me she'll be a pain in my ass,” he finally said, shaking his head. “But you vouch for her?”
“I do,” Selwyn said immediately. “She knows her stuff, and she'll be a good leader. And we'll return any money you pay her if it doesn't work out.” Brienne stiffened at that but didn't disagree.
“A money-back guarantee on a mechanic? How quaint.” He glanced at Brienne. “You know about me.”
“Yes.”
“You don't like me.”
She hesitated. “I don't know you.”
Jaime snorted. “That hasn't stopped anybody else. You don't respect me, then. You think you know what happened on that track.”
“The committee cleared you,” she said, though she didn't sound entirely convinced of it. “You drive recklessly. You're rude to interviewers. There are plenty of other reasons to dislike you.”
That elicited a sharp, startled laugh from Jaime that echoed in the lobby. He couldn't remember the last time someone hated him for his personality and not what they thought he had done. It was as refreshing in its own way as Selwyn's handshake had been. “Fair enough. You think you could overlook all that? You're not going to sabotage my car if I hire you, are you?”
Her wide mouth gaped open, her brows knitting furiously. “How dare you even suggest that! I would never put a driver in danger; I'd sooner not take the job. If I work for you, I work for you, regardless of what I think of you personally.”
For no reason at all, he believed her. He held out his hand. “Okay then.”
Brienne stared down at it, looked back up at him and those sparkling eyes were round with disbelief. “What, really?”
“Yes, really.”
“How much will you pay?”
“Are you-” Jaime dropped his hand and glared at her. “You think anyone else is going to hire you to be a head mechanic on a pro team?”
Fire flared in her eyes. “I don't need a pity job, Mr. Lannister. I'm just fine working here or F3 for the rest of my life.”
“That's a lie. If you love racing as much as you say, you want this job. F1 is the only one that matters.”
She chewed her lip, but lifted her chin and became a mountain. “I deserve to be paid what I'm worth, Mr. Lannister, especially if I'll be leading a Formula One team.”
Jaime exhaled loudly and glared at Selwyn, who only looked proud and amused. The man was probably just thrilled to get rid of this stubborn lugnut of a daughter, Jaime thought darkly, doubting his instincts already. But if Selwyn was all Jaime believed him to be, then the daughter he supported so firmly was as safe a bet as Jaime could make these days. Being unable to find crew he could trust from inside racing's nepotistic network made chance-taking a requirement. Luckily for him, he loved a good risk.
“Fine,” Jaime said. “You tell me what a fair chief mechanic rate is and I'll take ten percent off for your lack of experience, with a bonus for each race we win. Deal?”
Brienne looked at her father, who nodded encouragingly. “Deal.” She held out her hand to shake and Jaime took it. It was similar to shaking Selwyn's, though less confident, like she wasn't sure how much strength to use, and where Jaime's thumb touched the back of her hand it was smooth, not hairy. He rubbed his finger along the skin, surprised by the patch of softness in a woman that seemed otherwise so rough. When he looked up at her, a nervous young woman's face had been carved out of the stone.
“You'll work the full season,” he said, not letting her hand go yet, “starting next week.” She tugged gently at his hand but he only gripped hers tighter. As commander of over a thousand pounds of pure acceleration, his grip strength was hard to beat, and not even tall, strong Brienne Tarth could easily break his hold.
“I have to make sure my father-”
“I'll be fine,” Selwyn cut in. “I'll help her get her things together. You'll be paying for her move, of course.”
Jaime glanced at Selwyn and let go of Brienne's hand. “Of course,” he said dryly. “And you'll sign an NDA saying you won't take any of what you've learned and use it to make a profit for two years after you're done with Lannister Racing. That includes working with a competitor's team in that time.”
“Is that really necessary?” Brienne asked.
“My lawyers won't let me hire anyone without it.”
“I thought it was your team,” Brienne said smugly.
“I thought you were ready to be a professional,” he snarked back.
“We'll have our lawyer look it over and sign it,” Selwyn said, stepping in again. Jaime wondered how they were going to make an entire season of this without the man to mediate for them.
“Good.” Jaime looked around the shop. This had all passed more quickly than he'd expected and it felt wrong to just leave now, blowing in and out like this was just a pit stop. Besides, he needed a better measure of his new mechanic's abilities if he didn't want to put up with Tyrion's dead-eyed stare or Bronn's obnoxious commentary for the next week. “Any chance I can get a look at the car?” he asked Brienne.
She glanced at Selwyn and he shrugged. “Sure. This way,” she said, turning abruptly and leading him behind the counter into the big garage bay. There was an old sedan up on a lift at the far end and a truck with its hood popped in the middle, the latter of which Selwyn returned to. The roll-up doors were pulled down most of the way against the chill, but a cool wind still snuck in through the small gap, stirring a cloth fallen onto the floor. Their footsteps echoed in the quiet as Brienne led him to a door at the far wall. With practiced movements she opened it and switched on the light, then stepped to the side. “In there,” she said, shoving her hands in the deep pockets of her jumpsuit.
Jaime had to brush past her to enter the room and discovered as he did that she smelled of motor oil and sweat and soap. Inside the room was another section of warehouse big enough for two cars but only a single machine sat in the middle, gleaming under the lights, pulling all attention its way. He approached the car slowly, tilting his head this way and that to take all of it in, crouching down by the front right tire and reverently reaching out to smooth his hand over the front wing. The tires were last years soft compound, made for speed. Jaime leaned forward and peered down the length of the car, past the driver's cockpit to the looming hump of the engine intake, then he walked alongside the car, letting his fingers walk the path his eyes had taken. “Beautiful,” he murmured before straightening by the rear wing.
“Can I see the engine?” Jaime asked, looking up to find Brienne's cheeks were flushed patchy red.
She nodded silently and hurried over, opening it up for him. Jaime knew engines well enough to know this one was well-cared for and well within specifications for racing, and it would keen like a woman on the edge as it took off from the starting line.
“I'd love to take this for a spin someday,” Jaime said, glancing at his new mechanic.
“There's a track in town.”
“Evenfall, I know it. Near the the hill with that old castle that belonged to ancestors of yours, I believe.”
Brienne shrugged. “Dad says it's ancient history, but we do get free weekday runs because of it.” She stared down hard at the car, and her hair slipped free of its firm bowl, falling past her ear. “You raced there back when you were driving F2. It was the first time we'd had one on that track.”
“I remember. Were you there?”
She nodded. “You won.”
“I won a lot of F2 races.” He smirked at her. “And now we're going to win a lot of F1s, right?”
“Mr. Lannister-”
“Jaime,” he said. “You're not going to need to be so formal on the asphalt.”
She pressed her lips together. “I haven't signed anything yet.”
“You will.” Brienne's eyes darted to him, bright and blue and suspicious. He frowned. “Don't look at me like that, it's not a threat. This car has been upgraded to last year's regulations and judging by what's on that bench over there,” he nodded at a crowded but still organized-looking bench that went the length of the wall, “you're ready for this year. You'd be the first woman as a chief mechanic in F1 ever, inspiring a whole generation of girls. You're not going to let this dream go, even though you have to deal with me. That's all I'm saying.”
“I should get back to work,” Brienne said, turning her distracting eyes back to the car. “Thank you for considering me, Mr. Lannister.”
“Jaime,” he reminded her. “And don't thank me yet. You haven't met the rest of the team.”
That night, back home in his roomy penthouse in King's Landing, smoking a cigarette he knew he shouldn't have, Jaime stared at the contract Tyrion had sent over for him to read and approve before they took it to Brienne. His father would make the final signature on behalf of Lannister Corp Racing, but Jaime had asked Tyrion to let him get a review before everything was finalized. It was nearing midnight and the letters were jumping around the page more than usual as Jaime's eyes started to water. He gave up trying to make sense of the legalese and signed off on it, then shoved the papers aside.
What in the seven hells had he done?
He'd plucked an inexperienced mechanic out of some island in the Stormlands and given her - her - the responsibility for making sure the extremely fast death machine he raced wouldn't fail him, that's what he'd done. Jaime threw back the rest of the whiskey he'd been trying to savor and sighed. He hadn't even been drunk or high when he'd done it, which is how he made most of his worst decisions.
“Fuck,” he said out loud and then repeated it when he noticed his phone ringing and saw who it was.
“Late for you, isn't it?” Jaime said by way of greeting.
“I heard you took a trip today.”
“Varys is a good lapdog.”
Jaime could almost hear Tywin's sneer. “What inane thing are you doing with my money now?”
“It's not your money, it's Lannister Corp's money, you just oversee it.”
“Jaime-”
“I secured the last piece of the puzzle that's going to let us win.”
“What is it this time? A hair coach?”
Jaime glared at his empty whiskey glass and stalked over to the cabinet to refill it. “Look at you, father, making jokes so far past your bedtime.”
“You're very rude for someone who relies on me for his job.”
“You're very arrogant for someone who would have to rely on Lancel if I left.” Jaime took Tywin's bitter silence as a win. “You'll be getting a contract to sign and then you can see what I've done next week.”
“So you do remember preseason work starts next week.”
“Amazing, isn't it? Almost like I'm a professional.”
Tywin sighed. “Go to sleep, Jaime. I'm not the only one getting older.” He hung up and Jaime considered throwing his phone at the wall, but he'd broken his last phone that way just a couple of months ago and didn't want to give Tywin the satisfaction of making him buy another one so soon.
Jaime stubbed out his cigarette and downed another glass of whiskey before readying for bed. Tywin needed Jaime for this season, but it was feeling more and more like his patience with his eldest son had dried up. There were promising drivers in F2 and Lannister Corp had enough money they might be able to lure away one of the established F1 drivers instead, especially if Jaime were no longer on the team, hanging like a cursed millstone around everyone's necks.
He was more than aware of the terrible things people whispered about him at media events, the things angry competitors shouted barely audible over the whine of the engines when Jaime cut too close or nudged too hard. Fuck them and fuck father, too, Jaime thought. He would show them all, as long as Brienne Tarth was everything he hoped she would be.
It was that thought that kept Jaime tossing and turning until nearly dawn.
When Brienne returned to the garage after Jaime left, her father didn't say anything, he just turned her music back up and they worked peacefully through the afternoon with the weight of Jaime's offer hanging over them. A few more customers came by, one with a a flat tire that needed a quick patching, their elderly neighbor in for his every three months oil change, a young woman bringing the used car she wanted to buy in to be checked out. Brienne took that one eagerly, walking her through everything she was doing while the girl, barely even in her 20s as far as Brienne could tell, watched with interest.
“You're good at that,” her father said once the woman had left looking pleased.
Brienne shrugged. “It's just a car check, Dad.”
“I mean the teaching part.” He looked down at his hands as he wiped them on one of the pile of rags they had stowed about the shop. “Could reach a lot more people with the F1 job.”
“I'd be too busy for any of that. Anyway I've been thinking about it and...it's not right for me.”
“Why not?” Selwyn set the rag down and studied her with eyes that had not gone soft with age.
She tapped one finger on the workbench, adjusted one of the screwdrivers so it hung straight. “I'm busy here.”
Her father snorted. “I'll pass on that lie.”
“There's never been a woman as chief mechanic, why would they start with me?”
“Why not?” He took her hand in hers. “You're easily as talented as any man. You've got Formula experience. And they have to start breaking down those glass walls sometime.”
Brienne sighed and looked down at their hands, the way they looked so much alike in strength and size, though his were showing signs of age. “I have F3 experience, but none in F1. Lannister wanted you, anyway, not me. You forced him to ask me.”
Selwyn stiffened and looked offended. “I did no such thing, young lady. He asked to meet you, which I know you heard.”
“What was all that stuff about the best mechanic in Westeros, though?”
“It was the truth. You've a gift with vehicles, Brienne, especially race cars. You know how they work, how they run happiest. You love it, I see it in your face every time we go to the track to drive or even just to watch. I don't know why you never went back to F2 after those first months,” and he paused as though this would suddenly be the day she would tell him about the worst two months of her life, before he continued, “but F1 is your dream and you have to go for it. If you hate it, you come back home knowing at least you tried. There's always a place for you in the shop, any time, you know that.”
Brienne squeezed his hand and let it go, hugging herself against the evening chill creeping in under the roll-up doors. “I can't trust Jaime Lannister.”
“You don't have to, you only have to trust his car and the other mechanics. Besides he may have searched us out but it's Twyin Lannister that will make the deal. You just keep your head down and focused on the vehicle, give Lannister as wide a berth as you need to, and you'll be fine.” He headed for the front to lock it. “The decision is yours, daughter, you just need to make it.”
They cleaned and closed up the shop while Brienne mulled all of it over. She loved cars, the way they sounded and smelled, how she could understand and connect to them better than she could most people, and race cars were her passion. Her brief experience in F2 may have ended in frustration and embarrassment, but it hadn't changed her heart. But what her heart wanted now would put her back into a circle she had fled from with her pride barely intact, and she'd do have to do it with a man known more for his tragic failures than his grand successes. For the thousandth time she wondered if the commission had got it right, if Jaime Lannister could possibly have caused a fatal racing accident on purpose. What would it mean to work with a man who might have that in him? Would having her dream within reach be worth twining her reputation even lightly to his?
She stared up at her dark ceiling for hours that night, wrestling with hard questions and impossible answers, tempted onward by the shining light of what she wanted so near.
Brienne spent the rest of her week in a harried daze. There was packing to do, and shopping for clothes more appropriate for the warmer winter of King's Landing, not to mention making sure she finished up any urgent work at the garage so she didn't leave her dad in the lurch. He put out a call to her uncle Endrew to fill in for the next few weeks until her father could find a replacement for her, but Brienne still felt guilty for leaving. The life of a Formula 1 team was nonstop from winter testing through the last race at the end of November, and she wouldn't see her dad or her beloved island at all until the August break. She remembered how difficult the half year seasons with Formula 3 had been, and they'd had a race here midway through. This would be many more months on the road working much longer hours with the most notorious man in racing. Every second she wasn't preparing to leave, she was desperate to stay.
When the papers had shown up, hand-delivered by a bored courier, Brienne had read them over the shoulder of their lawyer and family friend, Goodwin, regretting ever agreeing to this. Months and months of having to put up with a smartass that she'd barely lasted five minutes with before she'd wanted to smack him. Months and months of having to watch his annoyingly handsome face as he hungered over cars the way other men did women. Not women like her, of course, but she'd seen it happen to others. She tried instead to think of the girls he'd said she would inspire, of the dream that had always been just out of reach for so long.
“What do you think?” she'd asked Goodwin, hoping there would be some reason besides fear to not sign.
“Looks solid. Lays out the terms clearly, the sum is what you'd agreed to, end of contract is end of the racing season or earlier if both parties – you and Lannister Corp – agree, at which point you give up the money they've paid you.” Goodwin glanced at her. “You're sure you're okay with that clause?”
“It's part of why he hired me.”
“It does say if they fire you without your agreement, you keep the money you've earned and what you would have earned for the rest of that month.”
A small gesture, but Brienne appreciated it. Goodwin finished reading and then handed her the pen. “In my professional opinion, it's a solid deal.”
“And your personal opinion?” Selwyn asked from where he was chopping vegetables in the cozy kitchen.
Goodwin shrugged. “Jaime Lannister is a damn good driver, but you know his record as well as I do. The man drives reckless and attracts trouble.”
Brienne sat down in an empty chair and sighed. She'd had this conversation with herself every hour since he'd left their shop and her father had put the decision in her hands, and she'd come to the same conclusion every time: the opportunity, even as disagreeable as Jaime Lannister was, outweighed the risk. “I can't pass this up. It's the only way I'll ever get this experience.”
“Just make sure you don't pay too much for it.” Goodwin shoved the papers her way and Brienne exhaled shakily as she signed. “And the deed is done,” Goodwin said.
His tone was light, but Brienne's hand didn't stop trembling until much later that night.
“You're sure you won't come with me?” Brienne asked her dad one last time in the waiting room of the ferry terminal.
Selwyn smiled warmly at her, cupped her cheeks with his big hands. “I'd just slow you down. You're going to be amazing, but you're going to need every ounce of focus to do it.”
Brienne nodded and let him tug her into his strong arms. She would miss the way it felt like he was protecting her whenever he hugged her, his arms the only place she'd ever truly felt safe. She pressed her face down into his shoulder. “What if-”
“No more what ifs, girl.” His deep voice was a low rumble, connecting his heart to hers. “Don't be afraid – of hard work, or failing, or even Jaime Lannister. You can conquer all of it.” She exhaled shakily and he kissed the side of her head. “First you have to not miss your ferry, though.”
She smiled into the soft flannel of his shirt and then pulled out of his arms. “I love you, Dad.”
“I love you, too. Call me when you get into your apartment. And send me pictures! Send me all the pictures you want.” He gestured with his new phone. “I'll show everybody here.”
Brienne waved to him as she hefted one giant duffle bag and rolled another huge piece of luggage behind her, and she waved to him from the outside deck of the ferry, and she kept waving as Tarth disappeared behind them, heading for her new home.