Chapter Text

JON II

Being early to work had several benefits; he could chat with Sam for a while without being disturbed; there was plenty of time to enjoy a cup of hot coffee; the paperwork became easier to handle with a head start. But none of these things were nearly as satisfying as seeing Alliser’s disgusted scowl every morning that he failed to be late.

He will not take this job from me . Bartending was secure, but hauling weekend tips wasn’t enough to feed three children, two adults, and three cats. This is what life came down to, he thought, shaking his head; cats.

Of course, there was someone to thank for all the drastic changes. Jon had only been so early to work for the past three weeks thanks to the considerably lighter workload in the morning. The kids were well taken care of, and more lively than he’d seen them in years. He felt a blitheness that he hadn’t felt since. . . long ago , even with Old Nan’s help.

Nearing the porch, he heard muffled sounds of music. The first thing that occurred to him was that their babysitter was hosting a house party, yet there were no cars parked in front but his, and it was barely a quarter past noon. Jon unlocked the front door and was welcomed by an upbeat song in a language that he could not understand. Curious, he went to the livingroom to look for the source of the sound.

Daenerys had her back to him, picking up the mess that the children had left behind the previous night. She was humming to the tune of the song; Jon had no doubt she could understand the lyrics. She must think him ignorant in comparison. No matter how much he needed her help, it felt wrong to have someone of her level work for someone like him . Often, he wondered if she thought he was taking advantage of her. Coming home exhausted from bartending had him thinking bitterly that he gave her too much. But seeing her smitten with the kids as he drank the morning coffee she’d brewed was like drinking a hot cup of guilt.

Staring at her suddenly became too intimate, as if he had walked into someone else’s house; he cleared his throat. Jumping at the sound, she looked up and stopped humming when she saw him there. After a moment, she composed herself and crouched over a small speaker to pause the music.

”Don't stop on my account,” he said to break the abrupt silence. “Just pretend I’m not here.”

“Oh,” Daenerys looked surprised, but not unpleasantly so. “Hello, Mr. Snow,” she amended, professional as always.

Daenerys was good at that, he had found. She always listened raptly to his instructions and answered politely. She wasn’t afraid to ask questions or speak her mind, while never being vulgar. She was like Sansa in that, but while his sister took the act of a sweet girl, smiling through unpleasantness and pretending to be pleased by everything, Daenerys was kind, but distant, not sparing him more time than she had to.

“You can call me Jon,” he said, “But I can call you Ms. Tarngerian, if you’d like.”

She winced slightly, “Daenerys is alright.”

Jon frowned, feeling foolish again, “Did I mispronounce it?”

Amused, she smiled and nodded, “Targaryen.”

“Tart-Garen.” He flinched at his own attempt, knowing it was wrong. “Sorry.”

Daenerys walked closer, so he could hear her better. Pink lips stretched out with each syllable, “Tar-gair-ee-in.” Her voice was low, and not meant to be enticing, yet he couldn’t help but stare at her mouth a moment too long.

“Targaryen.” Jon smiled at the small triumph. “I’ll try to remember.”

Satisfied, she turned back to the mess of the living room. “I didn’t know you’d be home so early, I would have made you lunch.”

“You’ve done enough. You made lunch for my break,” he reminded her.

Jon had never asked her to, but she always did it anyway. No one had done that before. His father had given him lunch money in his youth, while the rest of his siblings ate their mother’s food. Old Nan offered to pack him lunch, but he always refused her, pretending that he liked the freedom of buying food much better than anything homemade.

“Oh, so you ate already?”

“All of it, it was really good,” he assured her.

That made her smile too. “Why are you home so early?”

He took off his jacket and loosened his tie. “The lights went off in our building and all the servers crashed. Couldn’t input anything in the system so they sent us home for the day.”

“That’s great,” she said distractedly, folding up a blanket that had been on the floor, “Get some well deserved rest.”

Lose a well deserved day of pay , he thought, but he only nodded and went upstairs to change into something more comfortable. He was running short on clean clothes, but he managed to find a clean t-shirt and a pair of jeans. Deciding to do laundry, Jon took the hamper downstairs and saw Daenerys making herself some tea in the kitchen.

“Do you want some?” she called out.

“No, thank you.” His father’s wife always liked tea; Jon had grown a distaste for it. “Daenerys, would you like to take the day off?”

She considered it, taking a sip from her tea. “That’d be great, thank you. I need to go to a market and buy some things. Is there a bus I can take?”

“I can take you,” he blurted.

“Hmm, we are also short on groceries now that I’m thinking about it,” she agreed, “thank you.”

He nodded, and took the hamper into the laundry room. He was about to open the top of the washing machine, but there was one slight problem.

“Er, Daenerys?” he called out, “could you come here for a moment?”

She peeked her head into the laundry room and gasped, putting down her mug on a table and striding over.

“Drogon,” she scolded, picking up the black cat from the top.

“It’s alright.” He knew the cats were a package deal. Arya and Bran had been thrilled to have pets in the house once Jon gave them permission to roam freely. The excitement wore off when they realized the cats liked to spend most of their time outside, and barely interacted with any of them. This suited Jon perfectly, but he’d heard Sansa complain once or twice about the hair they left behind.

The cat wriggled out of her grasp and jumped to the floor. It looked up and hissed at Jon, narrowing its molten eyes indignantly before scurrying out of the room. He chuckled and turned back to work, tipping the contents of the hamper into the washing machine and setting the cycle.

Daenerys hadn’t left the room, frowning down with uncertainty. “Did Old Nan do the laundry for you?”

“No. Nan was old and frail. You already do a great amount of things that she didn’t, perhaps you don’t have to take up as much as you do. Your help is enough, trust me.”

Daenerys raised her eyebrows, “She seemed really happy that you had someone to help you.”

That she had been, Jon remembered. The wicked woman had made a show of leaving the house by asking all the kids to be extra nice to their babysitter and assuring them that they were in good hands. She gave Daenerys what must have been a suffocating hug and kissed Jon on both cheeks, winking and making suggestive comments about their “promising future” . Afterwards, he gave her a profuse apology and swore that he never intended to make her uncomfortable, but she just laughed it off.

“Decades of taking care of Stark men must have taught Old Nan that we’re nothing but big babies.”

“Maybe she was right.” The corners of her mouth twitched upwards. “Can I ask you something?”

He hummed, ready to answer her questions.

“I noticed . . . well I thought your surname was ‘Snow’, but you keep mentioning that you’re ‘Starks’, so . . .”

“I’m a Snow,” he admitted. “My father didn’t know I existed until my grandmother told him – years after I was born. My mother died shortly after I was born, and she insisted on keeping me a ‘Snow’, like her. My father took me in his home after he found out I existed.” Though Eddard Stark never changed his name. Jon didn’t know if he did it to honor his mother, or because he didn’t want to disrespect his wife.

She frowned, “So Sansa, Arya and Bran are just your half-brother and sisters?”

“Yes.”

Daenerys nodded, “It was very good of you to take care of them.”

He flushed, “Anyone would have done the same.”

“You’d be surprised.”

That left him at a loss for words. He forced a smile and took out his car keys, “You’re ready?”

“Let me get my jacket and then we can go.”

+   +   +

The drive to the store was quiet, except for the wind rustling past the windows. She sat next to him in silence, tapping away at her phone as they waited for a street light to give way. He remembered the first time she’d been in his car, the night they met. They had talked a bit then, but Jon’s mind had been loud and plagued by embarrassment. He must have mulled over their meeting a hundred times in his mind since then, debating if she had been flirting or not. In truth, she was only being kind, and he was being foolish. But at times, he still found it curious, how eager she had been to join him, without even knowing who he was. Sometimes he wondered if she still would have been interested in him after finding out he was a cretin on the brink of bankruptcy.

It’s better this way , he thought, squeezing down tightly on the steering wheel. He had no need for more friends , and his family always came first. Even so . . . he stole a glance at her through the corner of his eye, admiring the fullness of her lips, the flutter of her eyelashes, and the curve of her nose. The jacket was unzipped, leaving her neck exposed and giving way for his eyes to sweep over her creamy skin and sculpted collarbones. It was hard to look away from her.

A blaring honk from the car behind them startled him out of his thoughts. Dany jumped a little in her seat. He turned away to see the light had given into green and drove on, heat rushing to his face. She cursed under her breath and shook her head, his starring hopefully unnoticed.

“People have no decency,” she said, scowling back at the car behind them.

Jon knew she was referring to the honking jerk, but he couldn’t rub off the feeling that she was maybe talking about him. His flush deepened. “Yeah.”

After that, he cut through a shortcut by the edge of the forest and noticed some of the trees were turning orange. It might have been hot outside, but the kids had already settled in school once more, and summer would soon end. In the blink of an eye, winter break would come. Who would take care of them then? He gave a quick side look to Daenerys, but something in the road caught his eye.

If she noticed the flash of white, she gave no indication. A stab of fear prickled through him. Jon threw his right arm out on instinct and braced it in front of her before stepping harshly on the brakes. Distantly, he heard her cry of surprise and the screech of tires against concrete, but the sound of his heart pounding out of his chest filled his ears. He shot Daenerys a look to check if she was alright. She was shocked, shaking slightly from the sudden halt, and a little disheveled, but otherwise alright. He pulled away his arm from her middle and cursed as he got out of the car, dread clawing at his throat.

Please be alright , he thought. He looked out to the empty road ahead of him and felt a groan of dismay escape him, his knees going weak. She left the car too, striding angrily towards him.

Daenerys was out of breath. “What was that?” she demanded.

Instead of answering, Jon crouched down in front of the SUV and placed his shaking hands on the ground, looking under the car. A pair of red eyes shined in the darkness, and he allowed himself to take a breath. Daenerys had crouched next to him.

Realization dawned on her. “Did you run over something? Is it dead?” she whispered.

“No.”

She extended out her hand and beckoned the animal closer, murmuring sweet words in what he thought was Valyrian. The pup was small enough to stand upright under the bottom of his car. It approached them carefully in small steps. Daenerys made a grab for him when she thought he was close enough, but it only made the dog flinch further back. Jon shook his head and asked her to let him try instead. His own legs felt stiff in the position, and he had scrapped his forearms against the gravel, but he did not move until the pup made its way to him and Jon could hold it in his arms. 

It was such a little thing, slightly smaller than a cat, with white fur hiding under a layer of dirt. Jon was unsure of how old the pup must have been, too big to be a newborn, and already walking, with red eyes wide open.

“I can’t believe he’s alright,” she murmured, “we need to take him to a shelter.”

“No.” This one was an albino. Likely to be neglected or put down. “He’s scared. He needs to regain some strength first. Get some food, maybe a bath.”

She glanced at the forest, “Do you think his mom is somewhere in there?” 

Jon doubted it. Motherless, just like him. “Sometimes people leave their dogs in the forest when they grow too big. This one is a pup, but if he has a family, they’ve probably left him behind.” 

Her mouth opened in surprise, “I thought you didn’t want pets.” 

“I don’t. He’ll be gone by next week, but we can’t just leave him like this.” It occurred to him that Daenerys might want nothing to do with it. “Is that okay with you?”

“Of course. It’s your house, after all.” She moved closer and scratched the top of the pup’s head with two gentle fingers; it closed his eyes, enjoying her touch. Daenerys took off her jacket and shifted it as a sort of nest in her arms. “Here, I can take him.”

That surprised him. Neither one knew if the dog had fleas or a sickness, but she hadn’t even hesitated to give her help. He asked her to sit in the passenger seat and hold her arms out. The pup was reluctant to leave Jon’s grasp, but they were both significantly stronger, so they subdued it for the ride. Jon let out a sigh of relief as he buckled his seatbelt, driving carefully and glancing at the pair every so often. Eventually, the pup had eased into her lap. 

Jon parked in front of the store. 

“Can we bring him in there?

He shrugged, “Worth trying.”

He turned off the ignition and hurried to open the door for her so she could hold on to him. Entering the store, Jon caught the eye of the security guard. It was clear he noticed the puppy in Daenerys’ arms, but she smiled sweetly and waved, acting as if this was all supposed to be happening. The man smiled back and tipped his hat, leaving them to pick a cart and place the dog in it over her jacket.

Making sure that the pup was comfortable, they began looking for their groceries. He bought any food their pantry was lacking, and checked if Daenerys needed anything else; she insisted on going to the spice aisle, because apparently ‘salt wasn’t the only condiment in the world .’

She held up a packet of what looked like dried leaves. “I can cook a casserole my friend used to make for me with these. Would you like to try it?”

The packets were cheap, so he shoved three of them into the cart. “Sure.”

The pup sniffed at the bags suspiciously, but relaxed once he realized her spices posed no danger. After food, Jon added to the cart bags of dog food – wet and dry – a collar, a leash, and a chew toy for good measure. Daenerys raised her eyebrows and stifled a giggle.

“Just for a week, huh?”

He had meant that. “Yes.”

“Okay,” she looked down at the pup, who was behaving exceptionally well and staying away from the boxes on the other side of the cart. “Let’s get you home, buddy.” 

+    +    +

Back in the house, Daenerys told Jon to feed the dog while she brought in the groceries. They decided to leave the cats outside and far from the pup, neither one sure how they would react. The last thing Jon wanted was for a fight to break out, and no matter how beloved her cats were, he didn’t need to take unnecessary risks.

After it was done eating his fill, he took the little cub into his arms and to the bathroom, filling a third of the tub with warm water for him. It was clear that the little beast was scared, but Jon’s soft caresses and her sweet words were enough to temper him.

“Good lad,” he murmured, sitting on the lip of the tub and rubbing the grime off its fur. Daenerys held the shower head to rinse him off, then she wrapped him up in a towel and moved him on the floor. They kneeled over it and patted him dry, their legs damp from the puddled floor. The pup pulled away from them and shook off the water, splashing everything in the process. “Ugh, bad lad!”

He scooped it once again, soaking his shirt entirely as they wriggled to his room. Daenerys went to change, so he left the dog sniff curiously at his bed while he looked for dry clothes. When he turned around, the pup was fast asleep. He fastened the newly bought collar around his neck and scratched behind his ears, proud to see the white coat shining spotlessly. 

A knock came through the door. He opened it quietly and placed a finger on his lips, motioning to the sleeping dog. 

Daenerys made a quiet noise of endearment. “Poor baby must have had a long day. Can we lock him in here, so my cats don’t bother him?” 

“Yeah,” he whispered back, stepping out into the hall and closing his door.

Neither one moved, enjoying the peace of the quiet house for once.

“I can’t believe you accidentally adopted a dog.” 

“For a week.”

“Hmm,” she smiled, “First we were partners in crime, and now we’re running an illegal animal shelter.”

The reminder of their misconduct did little to faze him. They were putting themselves at risk by infringing a system which was essentially meant to protect them. Was this a just exception? Or was it an excuse? The last thing he wanted was to exploit her, but if his miserable wages were her best option, was it so unacceptable to settle for them? He was unsure, but not as guilty as he ought to be.

“I hope I can put that on my resume,” Jon said darkly, “partner in crime.”

“Put me down as a reference when you do,” she played along, “crime associate director. I’ll give you a good review.” 

He laughed, thankful for her banter. “Thanks.” The silence dragged on for a beat, so he scrambled his head to think of something to say. “Your music was nice. The one you were playing when I walked in. I’d never think I would like that kind of music, but it wasn’t bad.” 

“What music do you usually listen to?”

The question threw him off. “Most things, really.”

“Yes, but what’s your favorite kind of music?”

“I’m not sure.” He shifted uncomfortably, scratching the back of his neck.

She must have seen through the lie. “You can tell me.”

Jon hesitated, “You know the piano on the third floor?”

Her mouth dropped slightly, plush lips forming an ‘O’ in surprise. She composed herself and smiled.

“I didn’t think you played the piano.”

Subtle dimples bloomed on her cheeks when she smiled. He’d never noticed that before.

“When we were little, our father made us all take piano classes. My older brother always hated it, but not me. I was good.” He used to take pride in it. Playing was one of the few things Jon had done better than Robb.

She hummed, “So you like classical music?”

He felt his face grow hot. “It’s not the only thing I like but-”

“Can you show me?”

Jon chuckled nervously. “What?”

Her smile was almost shy now, but she was insistent, “The piano.”

“I haven’t done it in years.”

“Does the piano still work?” 

“I think so, but-”

“Come on,” Daenerys said, already leading the way. 

Amused and half-exasperated, Jon followed. “Don’t set high expectations!” he called out as she hurried up the stairs. Daenerys was taking off the protecting sheet when he caught up to her. The surface was as shiny as he remembered, and he wondered if she had cleaned it recently. 

Jon sat on the cushioned bench and grazed the keys lightly, feeling his throat tighten at the nostalgia. He pressed down on one of the keys and listened to the tune. He played another key with his other hand, trying to remember something. Then a third note came to him, and a fourth, then his mind went blank as his hands did all the work, taking over with a song he thought forgotten. He felt Daenerys brush against him as she sat down, but all his attention was on the music. The melody had begun as quick and upbeat, but somehow it had taken a slower pace. It sounded like mourning, and his eyes prickled as he realized where he knew the song from; Robb had played it once to their father to prove he didn’t need any more piano lessons. It was the last song he’d ever hear him play.

A shrill ringing broke his focus, making his finger slip on an abrupt note. He took his phone out of his pocket and answered the call but said nothing.

“Jon?”

Sansa , he realized with a jolt.

“Oh shit, what time is it?”

“Did you forget?”

“No no no, I’ll be right there,” he said.

“See you soon.” She hung up.

He turned to Daenerys beside him, “I have to pick up the kids.”

She ignored that. “You’re amazing.” 

“I . . .” he stood up, letting the wooden board fall over the keys, “I’m rusty. And I have to pick up the kids.”

“But you’re really great ,” she blurted. The admission seemed to surprise her as well, but she didn’t take it back. “I’ll watch the dog while you’re gone.”

“I’ll be back soon.”

 His head buzzed as he made his way back to the car and drove to school. Jon found himself wondering what Robb would think of Daenerys, or what his father might say of their arrangement. The thoughts were futile, and nothing good could come out from them. The car parked in front of the school just in time as the girls approached, wheeling their brother forward.

 Jon helped them inside and packed away the wheelchair. He asked them how their day was, but found little interest in Arya’s play, Sansa’s book club, or Bran’s robotics club. He drove on, satisfied to hear them talk amongst themselves until they reached the house and remembered that he needed to warn them before they went inside.

 He stopped the car and turned to give them a serious look, wondering how to approach the subject.

 Arya beat him to it. “What’s wrong?”

 “I almost ran over a dog today.”

 She sprung forward from her seat. “ WHAT ?”

 “Was it okay?!” Bran demanded.

 Sansa looked horrified. “Are you okay?”

 Jon nodded. “Yes, I’m fine. I’m just telling you because he’s still recovering from the shock, so you have to be gentle.”

 “You mean…” Arya looked wistfully upon the house. “You mean it’s in there?”

 He smirked. “Help me get the chair out first.”

 In the blink of an eye, Sansa and Arya had exited the car and slammed down the wheelchair next to the back door. Bran nearly swung himself onto it using the car’s roof handle, but Jon managed to grab his brother before he hurt himself, and settled him down. He asked the three of them to calm down, but they rushed past him to the porch, waiting impatiently for him to unlock the door.

 Inside, Daenerys put a finger on her lips and shushed them from the couch. They could make out a ball of white fur curled up inside a blanket that she nestled on her lap.

 “He woke up crying when he found himself alone. I think he likes the attention,” she said softly.

 “He’s so tiny,” Bran whispered.

 Arya kneeled in front of the couch with wide eyes, while Sansa hovered over them with a shy smile. When Jon himself took a step forward, the pup suddenly woke up and raised its head to look at him. His sisters gave squeals of delight as all of them began to fawn over the dog. If it was overwhelmed by the attention, it didn’t show. He met Daenerys’ eyes and they shared an amused smile.

 For a while, they sat in the living room watching T.V. and playing with the pup. The girls chased the dog around the house, and helped fetch the tennis balls that Bran threw at it. Arya had to wriggle a couple of them out of his muzzle, and sometimes he would snap at them, but it was all a game.

 Jon’s secondary job hadn’t scheduled him for that night, so he helped Daenerys make her casserole. He failed to pronounce the name of her spices but he listened raptly to her instructions as she measured them and infused them in the food. She sprinkled a tiny bit of orange powder into a spoon and dared him to eat it. His eyes teared up as he coughed and gagged on the substance. Her eyes were tearing up as well, but from laughter. She promised it would taste much better once cooked, but her words were pointed by breathless giggles that she couldn’t keep in. He would have gladly eaten another spoonful just to make her laugh again.

 After the kids exhausted themselves, they gathered for Dany’s casserole. It was a tad more zesty than he was used to, but still he ate it all, unfazed after gagging on the powdered spice. Sansa took a few dainty bites before claiming she was full, while Arya asked for a second portion. The youngest asked for a third. Once sated, the girls did their homework in the living room. Free from homework, Bran lay on the floor with drawings and color pencils sprawled around him. Daenerys fit right into their picture; silver waves cascading past her shoulders as she looked down to her laptop, looking ethereal even in the artificial light. He was on his laptop himself but found it hard to concentrate.

 “I’m drawing Ghost,” Bran announced, to no one in particular.

 Sansa looked up from her homework. “Who’s Ghost?”

 “The dog,” he explained, focusing down on his drawing.

 That troubled him. Naming the dog did not help to make the kids any less attached to it, but even he had to admit it was a fitting name.

 Daenerys voiced his thoughts. “I like it.”

 Bran nodded, contemplating his piece of art.

 “Red eyes. Please hand me the red color, Dany.” He stretched out his hand without looking up.

 She chuckled, “Sure.”

 Amused, she handed it to him, and Bran wasted no time getting back to work.

 “Thanks, mom.”

 The room grew colder at that. He felt as if someone had punched him in the gut. Arya gasped softly, and even Daenerys had frozen on the spot. Of course, Bran hadn't even noticed the sudden tension or realized his mistake.

 Sansa slammed her book harshly and rose from the seat.

 Arya scowled. “Where are you going?”

 “Bed.” Their sister didn’t even spare them a second look before disappearing in the hallway.

 Jon listened to her footsteps intently until he heard the click of the door. He wondered where her anger came from. Was it grief? Did she miss her mother so much that the mere thought of her wounded her?

 “I think it’s time for you to go to bed too,” Daenerys told Bran.

 His eyes were drooping, and he had folded his arm under his head as a pillow on the floor. “I’m not even tired.”

 “Liar,” Arya murmured. She closed her own book and packed away her homework before climbing down from the chair to peck Jon on the cheek. “Goodnight brother. G’night, Dany.”

 Daenerys gave a small wave, “Night.”

 “Brush your teeth!” Jon called out. He heard her curse under her breath and slam the bathroom door.

 The youngest was dozing off on the floor, Ghost snuggling by his hip. Jon scooped his brother in his arms, stirring him slightly.

 “Nite, Dany,” he said sleepily, eyes still closed. “Can Ghost sleep on my bed tonight?”

 “No.”

 “Why?”

 Because you shouldn’t get used to him . “Because if he has a disease, you might catch it too.”

 “I don’t care,” Bran insisted, but the words were slurred by a yawn.

 In the darkness, he tucked him under the covers and kissed him on the brow. ‘Mom’ , he’d called her. Did Bran already consider Daenerys a mother? They only knew her for a few weeks, but his brother was too young, and easy to impress. Though it was more than that. In reality, she was more than he could have hoped for. Jon would need someone to look after them, at least until Bran and Arya were old enough. Years, maybe. Who could fit the role better than her?

He went back to the living room to turn off the lights, but he saw Daenerys in the kitchen, sticking up the drawing of Ghost onto the fridge.

 “Your brother draws better than me.”

 “He draws better than all of us,” he agreed, admiring the picture. “I’m sorry about what he said.”

 She grew pale, her lips pursed into a thin line. “There’s nothing to apologize for.”

 He put away the dirty pans, cleaning up the mess they made earlier. “So I was wondering, with your dilemma and all, how long are you planning to stay here?”

 She tensed, turning her back on him to put away the ingredients she used to make dinner. “I don’t know. Where’s ‘here’?”

 “This country. The North.” This house. “Not that it’s any of my business. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

 Her face was unreadable when she turned back. “Are you asking me if I’m planning to stay here illegally?”

 “Sorry.” The question might not have been sensitive on his part. “I suppose I am. Forget it.”

 She held up her chin and studied him. “Do you propose a better option?”

 He swallowed. “No, I think you’re doing what’s best for you right now, even if it’s . . . a bit atypical.”

 “I don’t want to do it, you know.” She crossed her arms defensively, but her voice was tired. “But am I supposed to go back where I came from and get a bullet to my head?”

 Jon flinched as if she’d hit him, a shudder running through him. His problems suddenly seemed like child’s play in comparison.

 “No. I’m sorry for asking. You’re right.”

 She nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “But I appreciate your help. I know you wish you could do more for me, but no one else offered me a place to stay, not even Missandei. Thank you.”

 He forced himself to bring up the offer. “You can stay here for as long as you need to. I know our deal isn’t the best you’ve ever had, but we can extend it until you find a better job.” Each word made him feel as if he was manipulating her. He had to bite his cheek to keep from taking it back.

 Daenerys looked genuinely touched. “Thank you.”  

 They cleaned up the kitchen in silence. He wanted to say something more, thank her, assure her, apologize, for what he was unsure, but every time he opened his mouth nothing came out. He settled to scrubbing the dishes, sulking over his words.

 “What do you plan to do after I leave?” she asked, breaking him out of his head.

 “I’m not sure, yet.” He managed a smile, “don’t worry about it. We’ll be okay.”

 The answer didn’t seem to satisfy her, but she nodded. “I found a couple places looking for a translator. Maybe I’ll get a job there, if they don’t check my documents.”

 He couldn’t rein in curiosity, “and if they do check the documents?”

 Her face curdled. “I can always clean hotel rooms and start from there.”

 “Right.” That stung even worse. “But if you want to live here in the long term, why haven’t you applied to get your papers?”

 She laughed bitterly. “Why didn’t I think of that?” Her voice was rueful, but there was no anger towards him.

 “I guess it’s not as easy as that.”

 Daenerys smiled sadly.

 “There are only a few ways a person can apply for legal residence,” she explained, “the easiest ways would require me a sponsor, for either family or work. I would need an immediate family member to vouch for me. Or my sponsor would have to be an employer who wanted to hire me full-time in here.” Jon opened his mouth to interrupt her, but she interrupted him. “The employer would have to show proof that the job opening couldn’t be filled by a local worker, and they would have to pay thousands in legal fees.”

 “Of course,” he said bitterly.

 They spoke no more on the issue and finished the chores for the night. Daenerys opened the back door and waited for her cats to come in, leaning against the frame and waiting for them. He took one of Ghost’s plates in hand before picking up the pup and going to the hall.

 “Hey, Jon?”

 He turned back, unsure of what came next. “Yes?”

 “Thanks for the exciting day. You didn’t have to put up with me on your day off.” 

“It was nothing.” He shifted the dog in his arms. “You didn’t have to help me rescue this dog on your day off.”

 “Oh,” she shrugged, “it was nothing.”

 He chuckled. “Goodnight, Daenerys.”

“Night.”

 +   +   +

 The lights were turned off and the door was shut, but he could not go to sleep. Ghost paced around the room, scratching, sniffing, and growling at every new item he found. The dog was as restless as him. After a strange moment of silence, Jon raised his head to see the pup nibbling on one of his shoes, ignoring the chew toy at the foot of the bed. He groaned and made his way to the dog, chiding him half-heartedly and throwing the slobbery shoe across the room. He placed Ghost on his bed again. The pup was more than happy to pounce on the mattress until he almost fell off the edge and Jon had to pull him away. After the sheets wouldn't give in to his attempts of burrowing a hole, he curled into a ball and rested down his head.  

 Jon lay on his side, running a hand over Ghost’s fur until he fell asleep. He watched until the red eyes closed, wondering what to do with the dog, his siblings, and Daenerys. She was too smart to stay unemployed for long. In no time, she would have a new job and a place of her own to live in. Even if he managed to bring her wage up somehow, he had no doubt she would find a better option eventually. No matter how humbling her tasks became, it was clear she knew her worth.

 He sat up carefully and removed Ghost’s collar to keep him comfortable, running his fingers over the black fabric and metal fastenings. Daenerys will not stay , he realized, not unless I can offer her something no one else can’t . He stared intently at the collar in his hand, but it was so dark only the silver ring glimmered under the moonlight.

 And the idea struck him.