THEN:

"Fuck."

Jaime took a hard look at his grim-faced reflection in the mirror. The abrasions and scratches from a scant few weeks prior may or may not have finally faded away. He couldn't tell over the fresh ones he had earned in his latest outing. His eyes, red-rimmed with dark circles smudged underneath, took in his surroundings muzzily.

He reached up with one finger, and pulled the skin beneath his right eye down to peer closer at his constricted pupils. Exhaustion was beginning to settle into the marrow of his wary bones, and he was no more than twenty-five years of age.

Aerys, Jaime internally cursed. The self-proclaimed King.

"Mad King," he angrily spat aloud to his reflection.

The director of the FBI was a loose cannon. Jaime knew this. Everyone knew this. It wasn't a newsflash. The grizzled elder was unraveling before their very eyes, and taking liberties that were becoming increasingly dangerous, but not for himself.

Oh no.

He allowed agents, like Jaime Lannister, to wade into the cesspool of chaos he brewed up against any and all perceived slights. It was odd, Jaime had thought one night as he nursed a dislocated jaw with a cold compress pressed to his swollen cheek, how close Aerys wanted him by his side...yet how willing he was to throw Jaime to the wolves baying for his blood. And these were in scenarios in which Aerys created for himself. Never mind Jaime's actual caseload.

It didn't take long for Jaime to realize the real reason whyhe had been personally cherry-picked out of King's Landing by Aerys. Tywin, his father and a prominent figurehead in law, had urged the director to select him. Jaime couldn't believe he had once thought his hard work and dedication outshone his family name. Tywin had only been all too pleased to inform him of the opposite.

"No son of mine is going to be some common grunt. If you insist on pursuing this field, and not go into law as I have done, and my father before me has done, and so on – Well, then you're going to be at the very top. At least you've given up the silly idea of opening up your own PI agency."

The most foolish Lannister, indeed.

Jaime had felt hurt, and angry, but eventually convinced himself that he did earn his place within the FBI's ranks. He had graduated with a Bachelor's degree in Criminal Justice by the age of 21, was hired within the same year within a local Westeros PD outfit, then proven himself worthy of the maroon polo of the King's Landing Division at a WPD training seminar that first summer. He had only been with the KLD for two years when Aerys Targaryen chose him.

All of that before the age of thirty.

He was still so young, yet he felt beat down and haggard. He had risen too high, too fast, and he was burning out. He hadn't thought he ever would, but Aerys was throwing him in volatile situations that were only bound to explode in his face, and he just turned twenty-five.

And it wasn't awful working for Aerys, not in the beginning, but it wasn't long before Aerys' true nature began to bleed through the cracks of his once perfectly molded facade.

But the man was clearly trying to get him killed.

If the stress from secretly working with IAB didn't get there first.

Then there was Cersei.

God, Jaime pressed his aching head against the cool mirror, and closed his eyes. Cersei.

The hinges of the bathroom door audibly creaked as someone let themselves in. Jaime pulled his head away from the glass, turned the tap of the sink on, and set about busying himself with washing his trembling hands.

Until a decidedly feminine hand reached into his line of vision, blurry as it was, and turned the faucet off. The hand wrapped around his right wrist, and tugged firmly until he turned his body towards what he imagined was a figment of his exhausted imagination. He didn't meet her gaze. He knew those hands like he knew his own.

He had thought her name, and there she was before him.

"Cersei," he breathed.

She placed a hand against his cheek, and he leaned into it.

"Brother," she whispered back. She tugged him toward the largest stall, and he blindly stumbled after her. "I need you." She locked the stall door, and pushed him backward until he sat upon the toilet seat. She followed him down, pressing her painted red lips against his in a bruising kiss.

"You can't be here," he moaned lowly into her mouth. "Anyone can walk in. They can't see us together. Cersei," he hissed out her name like prayer, as she expertly unbuckled the belt of his trousers.

"The door is locked," she said as her hand rubbed the front of his pants until he slowly hardened underneath her warm palm. "I'm visiting my husband."

"In the men's bathroom?"

"I thought I'd check to see if he was in here first," she murmured into the soft curve of his ear, before suckling on the sensitive flesh there. He bucked against her hand. She pulled his service weapon, still holstered, from his belt and gently placed it on the floor then she deftly unzipped his pants, and reached in like a woman on a mission.

Speaking of which-

"No underwear, brother? I'm scandalized."

"No time to wash them," he panted. "I've been rather busy with work."

"Well, it's time for play then." She pulled his rigid cock from the confines of his trousers, hiked her gold sundress up to her waist, and sunk herself down without ceremony. His pleasured groan was muffled by the slap of her palm over his mouth. It remained there as she set a brutally hurried, and frenzied pace.

Within moments, she was moaning her release into the sweat-slicked skin of his neck. Despite the comprising situation, Jaime was far too caught up in his desperate need for his own release to put a stop to everything now. She had gotten what she clearly wanted so badly, and he was going to take his fill too.

I earned this, he thought bitterly.

He yanked her body tightly against his, placed his hands on either side of her waist, and manipulated her form up and down until she relented and began to move on her own. He slammed his eyes closed, and threw his head back as she kept the same pace she had initially started. She raked emerald eyes over the expanse of his neck, and suckled at a pleasingly blue bruise she found there.

His orgasm took him by surprise, but it was followed by a more comfortable kind of exhaustion that he was more accustomed to. He wanted to take a moment, to relish having her in his arms, but she pushed away and adjusted her dress after wiping herself clean with a wad of toilet paper. He tucked himself back into his pants, and eyed her warily from underneath a hooded gaze.

"You can't keep doing this," he finally told her. He stooped to retrieve his weapon, and secured it through his belt loops once again. "It's too dangerous."

She rolled her eyes, and unlocked the stall door. He took a deep breath, steadied himself, then followed her out. She was fixing her lipstick in the mirror, where he had been resting his head a moment before.

"You're a special agent in the FBI. Isn't 'dangerous' your middle name?"

"Cersei-"

"Brother." She fluffed her hair, and made for the exit. "You're a special agent," she said again, although her voice now held an edge as sharp as her smile, "You can stop me. If you wanted to."

She was gone before he could formulate a proper response.

He met his gaze in the mirror once again.

"Fuck."

Then, "Fuck it."

He threw open the bathroom door, strode down the hall, and burst into the office of Aerys Targaryen with the full intention of getting the man to confess to whatever part he had in the funding and manufacturing of the deadly compound, Wildfire.

IAB never said he had to be discreet about it, and he was a goddamn special agent.

He had mentally armed himself with pretty words and sharp barbs, all in an effort to trick Aerys into admitting his hand, but they all shriveled up and turned to ash in his mouth when he came upon Aerys in the middle of demanding Rossart, a member of their Explosives Unit, to make sure the devices were truly armed-

"I want to burn them all!"

Jaime pulled his service weapon without a single thought, and aimed it Rossart's chest. The man seemed startled at Jaime's arrival, before he rushed forward with the full intention of taking Jaime out, and-

I'm a fucking special agent.

I earned this.

He pulled the trigger once. Twice. Three times.

Just like he was trained to do.

Aerys howled in fury. He snatched an object from off his paper-strewn desk, and held it up in the air. His long-nailed thumb hovered over the SEND button.

It was an old burner phone.

Jaime's heart sunk into his stomach.

"I will burn them all! I will burn amongst you, and rise again from the ashes. We will all burn!"

Jaime swallowed hard.

"Burn them all!"

The director of the FBI was going to detonate an insurmountable amount of explosive devices that contained the Wildfire compound in this very building. Where hundreds of men and women worked. Where there was daycare on the lower level.

Innocent children.

Jaime pulled the trigger. Again, and again, and again.

He pulled the trigger twelve times in total.

Not like how he was trained.

TBC...

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