Chapter Text
The familiar buzz of his cell phone going off in his pocket pulled Gendry from where he’d been half-listening to Captain Tarth’s detailed rundown of the week’s schedule. With a quick glance around the room for prying eyes, he pulled the black iPhone from his fatigues and hid it carefully under the table.
Why don’t oysters donate to charity? Because they’re shellfish!
A loud snort erupted from his nose before he could stop it, and Gendry quickly tried to cover it with a cough as several heads turned in his direction. Luckily, Captain Tarth only spared him a brief withering look before continuing her explanation about next week’s live-fire exercises. Normally, Gendry was focused, especially when someone he respected as much as Brienne Tarth was speaking, but he’d heard this speech enough times to repeat it in his sleep.
And besides—she had texted him.
DancesWithWolves, the smart, funny, beautiful, and ridiculously captivating girl he’d met on a virtual penpal site.
Okay, so he didn’t know for sure if she was attractive. They hadn’t shared pictures, not even real names. The whole point of the site was to link people up from around the world without the risk of users trying to turn it into some hook-up service. He’d been hesitant—he was not, by any stretch of the imagination, an extrovert—and he often struggled with initiating a conversation, finding most people to be irritable and fake. But, he was still human, and after another lonely deployment, listening to others talk about their significant others, or proudly displaying gifts from home, he’d decided what the hell.
One of his squadmates was involved in a penpal service where he exchanged letters with elementary students, but since Gendry could barely hold a conversation with adults, let alone children, he’d decided to find a virtual penpal service instead. PenPal World, despite its less-than original name, had been the least sketchy, free one—and so, he’d signed up that night. He'd been attracted to the anonymity of it; how it focused on genuine conversation and shared interests rather than looks, location, or any of the usual dating app bullshit.
He'd almost immediately lost his nerve, realizing with a panic how pathetic and lonely the whole thing made him feel, and had started to delete his profile when his inbox pinged.
It was a message from someone named DancesWithWolves, whose profile picture was of a gray and white wolf standing in what looked like a winter wonderland. The message was: American Muscle, Japanese, or European? Trick question, btw, because it’s totally Japanese. It had been a reference to his username—Motorhead87—and he couldn’t help but be intrigued. If there was one thing he could talk about easily, it was cars. He’d argued back about the merits of his favorite, American muscle, and thus had started the most interesting relationship of his life.
If you could call an online correspondence with a virtual stranger a relationship, that is. The truth was, while Dances’ profile had listed her as female and she’d suggested enough through their conversations to support this, Gendry knew next to nothing about her. He didn’t know where she lived (though her active time matching his suggested that she was within the same country) or what her first name was. But, what he did know—that she knew a bit about cars, loved movies, had a dry sense of humor, and could make him laugh harder than anyone he'd ever met—he found himself exceedingly charmed by.
Dad jokes today, huh? You almost got me in trouble. I’m in a meeting at work.
He typed back one handed, glancing up at Captain Tarth as she leaned against her desk, going over the training roster. She was describing next week’s exercises—land navigation, close quarters combat drills, the usual—shit he should probably be paying attention to. But his phone buzzed again, and despite his best efforts, he couldn’t help but tear his eyes away.
Tsk tsk tsk. Not very professional, Mr. Super Spy.
Gendry bit back a grin. Early in their correspondence, when his responses had been sporadic due to spotty deployment connections, Dances had jokingly theorized he must be some kind of secret agent. He’d laughed it off, insisting his job wasn’t nearly as glamorous, but he’d never corrected her either. It was easier that way. The anonymity of the site meant he wasn’t forced to navigate the confidential nature of his work or explain the long silences when he was downrange. She could make her James Bond jokes and he could let her believe whatever she wanted. It was simpler than the truth—that being a Ranger was less sexy spy thriller and more hurry-up-and-wait punctuated by moments of absolute chaos.
Besides, he liked that she thought he was mysterious.
“Uh-oh. Mystery girl alert.”
Gendry quickly turned over his phone and turned to fix his friend, Anguy, with a withering look.
Not for the first time, he cursed himself for getting shitfaced one night and blabbing about his growing crush on his enigmatic penpal. The guys had teased him endlessly about it, demanding he ask for a picture or suggesting they take their relationship to the next virtual level—the sexting level—both of which Gendry had quickly shot down. He liked the levity of their conversations, and while—sure—he’d imagined what she might look like, if she’d like what he looked like—he’d kept their messages purely platonic. He didn't want to scare her off by coming on too strong. He knew guys had a tendency to do that—and she'd become too important a fixture in his life to risk losing her just because he was in his feelings.
“Fuck off,” Gendry whispered, turning back to the front of the room where Captain Tarth had moved on to discussing personnel changes.
"Come on, did she at least send a nude this time? Just a body sh—ouch!” Anguy yelped as Gendry’s boot connected with his shin.
“Staff Sergeant Archer, Master Sergeant Waters,” Captain Tarth’s voice cut through the room like a blade. She was staring at them now, one eyebrow raised in that way that made even the toughest Rangers squirm. “Is there something you boys would like to share with the class?”
“No, ma’am!” Both Gendry and Anguy replied quickly, sitting up straighter.
“Glad to hear it,” she said dryly, returning her gaze to the clipboard she was holding. Gendry shoved his phone back in his pocket. He could talk to Dances later. It wouldn’t do anyone any favors if he missed their Friday night movie chat because he had to pull extra duty.
“As I was saying,” Captain Tarth continued. “We’ve got some personnel changes. Command has assigned us a new Ranger to replace Sergeant Payne.”
Gendry perked up. Podrick Payne had been a good Ranger, an even better friend, but had been injured on their last mission and had been medically discharged. They’d yet to find his replacement, not that Gendry was complaining. The unit worked like a well oiled machine. Throwing in a new person always made things a bit more challenging. But that was the Army for you: soldiers came and went. They got PCS’d—Permanent Change of Station—or were discharged at a moment's notice. It wasn’t as common in the Rangers, like it was with regular Army, so any time a fellow Ranger left the unit, it was a somber day.
New blood wasn't unusual. Captain Tarth and First Sergeant Dondarrion ran a tight ship—they wouldn't bring someone into the unit unless they were damn sure that person could handle it. Gendry trusted their judgment.
“Sergeant Stark is coming to us after recently completing a short stint with the Regimental Intelligence Battalion after she finished selection in January,” Dondarrion added in his gruff voice.
Or maybe not.
“Stark?” Lem asked dubiously. “As in, General Stark?”
Captain Tarth fixed them with an unimpressed look. “Yes. The Sergeant is his daughter. But I promise you, she earned her tab the same as all of you.”
The room erupted into hushed conversation. Most of the muttering was about their newest recruit being a woman, but that wasn’t what caught Gendry’s attention. There had been plenty of female Rangers over the years. Captain Tarth herself was one of the first female Rangers, and she was more badass than most of the men in the room.
No, Gendry didn't have a problem with female Rangers. What he did have a problem with, however, was arrogance, ineptitude and entitlement, and offspring of high-ranking officers usually came with a hefty side of that and a false sense of importance. He'd witnessed the army's proclivity for nepotism countless times; had seen damn good soldiers get passed over for rank and positions so that some colonel or major's kid could "make daddy proud." That's what money—and notoriety—got you. He and his sisters had grown up dirt poor. If he'd had a dollar for every time he'd watched some rich kid get away with breaking the law, well—he could secure his children's futures, apparently.
They were an even bigger nightmare to deal with in the army and Gendry had never been good at keeping his cool whenever one waltzed into his unit acting like they owned the pace. His mouth had a bad habit of getting him in trouble, especially when someone needed to be knocked down a peg or two. If Sergeant Stark had only been a Ranger for a few months and yet was already picked to join one the best units in the Army—well, that had Daddy’s princess written all over it.
“Waters!” Captain Tarth’s eyes landed on him. “I want you to get with Stark and help her get situated. Catch her up on how this unit works.”
Gendry blinked in surprise. Was she for real? Of all the people in the unit, Gendry was the last person who should be babysitting some General’s kid. He had a reputation for being direct—too direct, according to his last performance review. Captain Tarth knew that. Hell, she’d been the one to write it. Everyone else thought the same, judging by the snickers that erupted through the room.
“Ma’am—” he started, but the look on her face stopped him cold.
“Is there a problem, Master Sergeant?”
Yes, there was a fucking problem. He didn’t have the patience to deal with some entitled brat who probably thought her tab made her special. But looking at Captain Tarth’s raised eyebrow and Donadarrion’s warning glare, Gendry swallowed his objections.
“No, ma’am.”
“Good. Sergeant Stark reports Monday at 0800. I expect you to make her feel welcome.”
The way she emphasized “welcome” made it clear this wasn’t a suggestion—it was an order.
“Yes, ma’am,” Gendry said, keeping his expression neutral even as frustration churned in his gut. Perfect. Just perfect. He was stuck training some nepo baby who’d probably never earned anything in her life. Monday was going to be a disaster.
When Captain Tarth finally dismissed them, Anguy, Lem, Jack and Tom wasted no time goading him about it.
“Oh man,” Anguy said the second they stepped out of the building, a huge grin plastered on his face. “This is going to be fantastic.”
“I’m so glad my misery amuses you,” Gendry grunted.
“Come on, it’s not that bad,” Jack said, though he was clearly fighting back laughter. “Maybe she’ll be cool.”
“She’s a General’s daughter joining us after barely graduating,” Gendry said flatly. “There’s zero chance she’s cool.”
“Maybe she’s hot and you can show her—” Lem started.
“Don’t finish that sentence,” Gendry warned at Lem’s crude gesture.
Tom said, “I give her two days before she’s demanding a transfer.”
“I give it one day before Waters is in the brig,” Anguy insisted.
Gendry groaned, running a hand down his face. “God, I’m fucked.”
Rangers were held to a higher standard than typical army. He'd already had enough complaints and Gendry had a feeling Captain Tarth wouldn't be too lenient if he scared away a female recruit.
“Not yet,” Lem said, his voice mischievous. “But, it can be arranged. Say, tonight, at the Forge?”
Gendry snorted. “You just want to go there to hit on my sister.” When Lem began to deny it, he added, “Besides, I’ve got plans.”
Anguy scoffed. “Oh, come on. With the penpal? You’re seriously telling me you’d rather stay home, talking to someone who—for all you know—could be some sweaty forty-year-old dude living in his mom’s basement, instead of getting the chance to hook up with a real-live woman?”
“She’s not a forty-year old dude,” Gendry said gruffly.
“Oh, really?” Tom asked, grinning. “You're so sure?"
"Yes."
"Okay. What’s her name then? What does she look like? What color is her hair?”
“That’s not—we agreed not to share personal details.”
"Which," Lem added. "Is still the dumbest rule I've ever heard of."
Gendry frowned. "It's not about that."
“Right, right," Tom eyed him wearily. "Which explains why you've been fantasizing about yourself as Mr. DancesWithWolves.”
Heat crept up Gendry’s neck. “I don't—"
“Look, man,” Anguy said, squeezing Gendry’s shoulder. “We love that you’ve found someone you’re comfortable with. It’s adorable. Truly. But you need to get out into the real world. Meet a real woman. One you can actually—you know—touch. It’s not healthy to be so fixated on a stranger.”
“I’m not fixated,” Gendry insisted. Which—okay, wasn’t exactly the truth. He knew it. They knew it. He’d fallen for a girl he’d never met, never seen, didn’t even know the real name of. It was pathetic, really.
“C’mon, just come out tonight. At least for a few beers. What’ve you got to lose?”
Gendry opened his mouth to decline again, but realized that Anguy had a point. He was thirty-two years old. He shouldn’t be holed up in his apartment, talking with some girl he’d never met while life passed him by. What kind of future was that? Even if Dances was everything he imagined—brilliant, funny, beautiful—what were the odds they’d ever actually meet? She could be anywhere in the world. And even if they did meet someday, what if she took one look at him and was disappointed? What if the reality could never up to whatever fantasy they’d both built in their heads?
“Fine,” Gendry relented with a sigh. “But just for a couple hours.”
He’d go—but he’d also carve out some time for Dances, whether his friends liked it or not. Being in the Rangers meant his time was usually out of his control. This had been the longest they’d been stateside with no missions. He wanted to savor every minute he could with her, no matter how pathetic that made him.
The guys cheered, agreeing to meet up at the little dive bar where his sister, Bella, worked. It was far enough off base that they didn't have to worry about running into any officers and had cheap beer.
As he made his way over to his truck, Gendry pulled out his phone and opened the penpal app.
Motorhead87: Hey, I know this is last minute, but any chance we can take a raincheck on movie night? Getting dragged out by the guys. I’m really sorry.
He immediately felt a pang of guilt for canceling on her. Their Friday movie nights had become a highlight of his week. They'd stream a movie at the same time and would trade off commentary. Usually, his were random facts about the cast or filming process while hers were more inline with Mystery Science Theater 3000 jabs. His abs would always wind up aching more laughing than any work out he'd ever done.
Ditching her for a night out with his friends felt a little flaking on a girlfriend. But if Dances was offended, she didn't show it.
DanceswithWolves: Ooh, boys night! Woop woop!
DanceswithWolves: Fine. But I'm watching The Beekeeper without you. Statham waits for no man.
He couldn't help grinning at his phone as he slid into the cab. Figures Dances would take it in stride. She didn't seem like the type of girl to get irritated or give him the third degree for canceling plans last minute.
Motorhead87: Totally understandable. I'll try and watch it on my day off and look forward to your commentary.
DanceswithWolves: As you should.
He knew he probably looked like an idiot, sitting there in his truck, staring at his phone, grinning like an idiot. But Dances just had that effect on him. She was the coolest chick he'd ever met.
Motorhead87: Thanks for being cool about it. I know it's last minute.
DancewithWolves: Hey, I get it. You deserve a night out on the town, after your super boring meeting.
Gendry snickered, setting down his phone so he could turn on his truck and head the two miles back to his apartment. But before he could, his phone buzzed with another incoming message.
DanceswithWolves: Besides, I’m sure you’ll find a way to make it up to me ;)
Gendry stared at the message, his heart jumping into his throat. Was she…flirting with him?
It was the first time in their correspondence that either one of them had crossed the line between friendly and something more. Not that he hadn’t thought about doing it a thousand times before—but he'd never worked up the nerve. And now, here she was, suggesting he...
Of course, there was also the possibility that she didn't mean anything by the winky face, and she was just being friendly. If he flirted back, she might think he was reading too much into it. Guys did that all the time, interpreting a woman's friendliness as something more. Except—if she was in Westeros and was even remotely around his age, there was no way she didn't know what a winky face implied.
Dammit. This was ridiculous. Now he was arguing with himself. Clearly he really did need a night out.
Irritation shot through him, and not wanting to take it out on her, he simply replied "sure thing," before stabbing his key into the ignition and backing out of his parking spot.
One night out. A few beers. Then back to real life and whatever disaster Monday would bring.
He could figure out his confusing feelings for Dances some other time.