"Just tell me why," her eyes showed wide and wary in the light of the fire as she leaned away from him on the rough log.
"It was just a question, Brienne." He rested his forearms across his thighs, nudging a small rock closer to the fire with the toe of his boot. "You know me, I ask a lot of questions."
"Not like that one. I mean, yes, you ask a lot of questions just meant to make me uncomfortable, Jaime. I should say, insults masked as questions. Maybe that one was just an insult as well."
"I…no, it wasn't meant to be an insult of all things, Wench." He leaned his chin in his palm and considered the fire. It was burning nicely; between the two of them they'd made a good blaze that would keep them warm until morning. They'd made camp nearly two score nights so far, and there was little they weren't good at doing together by now.
"Forgive me for taking it as one then, Ser, for it had the flavor or mockery about it. Much like this afternoon when you asked if my lord father had needed to call in the farrier when I outgrew my shoes as a lass."
Jaime smiled, "You were stomping around like an angry destrier after I accidentally scared the game. It seemed apt at the time. I meant no harm."
"You never do."
"Did I hurt your feelings, then, My Lady? If so, I apologize. If anyone should be embarrassed it's me; I'm the one who knocked over your pile of stones with my clumsiness. It was ill done of me to try to draw your attention away from it with a jest." He looked at the woman beside him, her shoulder still turned from him, her face in shadow.
"You could not help it, Jaime, with only the one hand to break your fall and an armful of kindling. I shouldn't have gotten angry."
"I'd have done better to be watching my feet than to be staring at you, Brienne." Jaime admitted with a resigned shrug, "But I like to see you hunt."
"Looking for more to mock, I know. 'You'd stun them quicker with a look than a rock, Wench,' or 'if you moved with that much grace on the dance floor you'd have had more suitors back on Tarth.' I'm well aware of why you watch me."
Jaime sat up straighter and reached to take her shoulder to turn her back to him, but he'd extended his right arm. Dropping it back to his side and cradling his stump in his left hand, he sighed, "Your awareness starts and stops at your willingness to see the truth, Brienne. I mock because it's the only thing you respond to anymore. I provoke you so that you'll give me something of you other than your indifference. Whatever happened to change us between King's Landing and the Riverlands is done, and I cannot fix it."
"I expect you to fix nothing, Ser Jaime. It is, as you say, 'done.' And now we quest for Sansa, as we swore to do."
"I missed you, Brienne, when we were apart. I miss you still."
"I am right here." She whispered, and the anguish in her voice echoed his own, "And you mock me still. You ask me cruel questions, and you pretend to things you cannot want and do not feel."
"Please look at me. Just look at me as you used to, without turning your eyes away. The only cruelty in my question was in how it's plagued me for so long, always just on the verge of asking it, fearing you'd see it as an excuse to turn even further from me. By the seven, Brienne, if you go much further away you'll end up coming back around to where we started."
With a subdued sigh, she turned to face Jaime, showing him her gaze and the gleam of unshed tears in the uneven light. His reflection shone in her eyes, and he knew his gave back her own image as he looked for her answer.
Quick as a heartbeat, slow as agony, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers, blood rushing painfully in his chest as he closed his eyes on her startled expression and lifted his hand to thread his fingers in her hair, holding her to him until she relaxed or retreated. After a long moment, her lips softened under his and she kissed him back.
When they parted to breathe, Jaime smiled at her, "That's why," he said, "and next time I'll know better than to ask first."
Author's note: The question and prompt was "Can I kiss you?"