NOW:

The man cuffed before them was truly insane.

Shagwell, the only name he offered when they probed him for one, intermittently erupted in a fit of maniacal laughter at seemingly nothing. He idly picked at a shallow scrape he had incurred from when Brienne had tackled him to the pavement, then proceeded to draw stick figures atop the metal table before him with the blood he gouged out.

Jaime and Brienne shared a sidelong look of mutual disgust. Finally, Brienne cleared her throat and asked for the third time: "What were you doing in the park with a knife?"

"Hunting," he stated; a gleam of amusement in his eyes.

Jaime shifted in his seat, as she asked, "Hunting for what?"

"Girls."

"Girls?" Jaime wrinkled his nose.

"For who?"

Jaime glanced at her from the side of his eye. He wouldn't have thought to ask that question.

Shagwell turned his head to stare at Jaime. "Yes. Girls." He erupted into another fit of laughter. He turned to fully face Brienne. "For trade. Everybody wants something for something, right? I give them girls, and then I get money. I get lots of money."

Brienne stifled a shiver as she pressed, "For who?"

Shagwell shrugged. "I give you information. I get something."

"That's not how this fucking works," Jaime growled. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table between them. A glint of light reflected off of his left wrist.

"We'll ask for leniency," Brienne started slowly. There wasn't much they could hold him on, really, aside from possession of a knife that exceeded the 7 cm legal blade length. The bail would be set so laughably low that he just may as well have stood and walked out now.

The man seemed to consider, though. Then he motioned towards Jaime's wrist with an odd wave of his fingers. "Leniency, and that fancy watch."

"My watch?" Jaime twisted his arm to look down at the gold band. He opened his mouth to deny the lecherous creep, when he felt Brienne's blue eyes settle upon his face. He flicked his own over to meet hers, and felt his mouth dry up.

Fuck me, her eyes are gorgeous.

"Fine," he bit out. He unsnapped the band to loosen it, then slid off the watch in haughty, jerky movements. He slid the object over in to Shagwell's cupped hands.

"Littlefinger."

Brienne reared her head back in confusion. "Excuse me?"

She didn't miss how Jaime suddenly stiffened in the seat next to her. Shagwell's eyes seemed to brighten further.

"So, you've heard of him?"

"The Bloody Mummers," Jaime replied. "You work for the fucking Bloody Mummers." It wasn't a question, although Brienne had many of her own.

"I work for myself," Shagwell sneered. He sat back in his seat, clutching his new prize in his still cuffed hands. "That's all I'll say on it."

"Who is Littlefinger?"
Jaime shook his head roughly. "I'll fill you in later. For now, throw this damn clown into the holding cell." He stood up abruptly, his chair scraping loudly in the room, before he made his exit.

Brienne frowned. Jaime may have been working in law enforcement longer than she had, but he hadn't managed to make it to Sergeant in all the time he'd been with the CRD. He wasn't her superior. Rankled, she reluctantly pushed her chair back and rounded the table. She grabbed Shagwell by his elbow, and was met with something wet. She snatched her hand away in horror.

"I don't have AIDS," Shagwell laughed. "But that doesn't mean I don't have anything else." He threw his head back and howled further when she scowled, and shoved him ahead of her. "Better get tested, little lady." He snorted, and shook his head. "Little."

She made short work of tossing the disgusting man into the holding cell, before rushing to the nearest sink, which happened to be in the break room where Jaime was tearing a sandwich into pieces with his teeth. She scrubbed her hands till they felt raw, then finally turned to lean against the counter behind her, and stared at the side of her partner's head.
"Who is Littlefinger? And who are the Bloody Mummers?"

Jaime snorted, and shook his head. He swallowed what he had in his mouth, and made to go in for another bite, when he looked askance and saw her watching him expectantly. He slowly placed his sandwich on the mountain of napkins before him, and looked at her in semi-awe.

"You're serious? You've really never heard of the Bloody Mummers?" He turned to fully face her. He placed one elbow on the back of his chair, and the other on the edge of the table. Brienne tried to ignore how he spread his legs.

Manspreading, she thought in amusement.

"Of course you haven't," he said with a sudden bark of laughter. "I'm sure your father took one look at you, and thought: no need to warn her about ever being abducted."

Brienne stiffened at the implication. "Because I'm too ugly to be wanted by even rapists?"

"What?" Jaime pulled his head back. "No! No, I meant because you cut quite the formidable figure."

"I'm sure that's what you meant," she replied in a tone so acidic that she was surprised he didn't melt before her.

"O'Tarth," Jaime sighed. "I didn't mean it like that."

"Forget it," she snapped. "Tell me about Littlefinger."

She wanted to enjoy how he worked his well-defined jaw, but she was still feeling hurt, so she folded her arms across her chest and waited. He looked up at her from his seat, looking as though he wanted to apologize again, but instead he took a deep breath and nodded.

"The Bloody Mummers are an underground sex trafficking ring. They've been on our radar since 2010. Well," Jaime admitted, "They've been around longer than that, but they're a fucking traveling circus." He shook his head. "Not literally. They move locations every few years, but they're damned good at staying under the radar. So much so that we think-" He cut himself off, and leaned back in his seat, looking at the open break room door. He lowered his voice, and turned back to her. "We think they've got someone in the force working for them."

"And Littlefinger?"

"Their puppet master."

Brienne chewed on her lower lip. "So, we've got an idea of how they get their girls."

"I guess you could say that," Jaime retorted. At the look she shot him, he held up his hands in defense. "We don't know anything outside of the fact that they hire outside help. We do, however, know that they generally get the girls hooked on drugs once they get their dirty paws on them. Then they start to withhold them-"

"So that they're desperate enough to do anything for their next hit," Brienne concluded in a low voice. "That's disgustingly deplorable."

"If that isn't enough, they then sell them off to the highest, willing bidder."

"Like cattle."

"Like cattle," he confirmed.

She worried her bottom lip with a broad canine; her glassy blue eyes cast down and stared unfocused at the checkered linoleum of the floor. She unfolded her arms, and started to anxiously pick at the cuticles of her jagged nails. She went as far as to raise one hand to her mouth, the nail of her thumb resting on the edge of her wide lip, before she aborted the motion and settled for scratching at her soft jaw instead.

Jaime studied her from underneath long lashes. She wasn't exactly attractive to the eye, but she definitely drew them to her. She towered over the majority of the squad, himself included, although only by an inch or so. Everything about her was wide: her shoulders, her waist, her lips, her eyes.

But what eyes, Jaime dreamily sighed.

"What?"

Startled, Jaime returned her curious gaze with an open mouth.

"I said I know a guy," he blurted. He turned to his sandwich, gathered it in his hand, and strode out of the break room before he realized he didn't clarify what in the fuck he meant by that statement.

Confused, Brienne followed his hasty retreat with her eyes, before following him out. She watched as he threw his sandwich into the wastebasket by his desk, which was sequestered in the corner of the bullpen, and then stalked off into the direction of the locker room.

Brienne looked down at her watch, and frowned. Their shift was up twenty minutes ago. She picked her way around the stupidly placed desks in the middle of the room, and began to power down her computer monitor and tidy up her work station. She was in the middle of filing a few loose documents when a throat sheepishly cleared itself next to her.

"Fancy grabbing a drink with me?"

Jaime was shifting his weight from foot to foot, with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his civilian jeans. He had also traded in his uniform button-up for a long-sleeved maroon one. He looked positively divine, but then Brienne recalled their earlier conversation.

Formidable, she snorted. A friendlier way of saying ugly.

Past Jaime's nervously shifting form, she could see Blackwater, Tyrell, and Baelish also dressed in civilian attire. One whispered something that must've been funny, because the other two erupted in laughter. It hit her suddenly.

"Did you draw the short straw?" She snarled as she stood up from where she was crouched.

"What?"

"They sent you over here, right? Made a bet on whether or not I'd go out with you guys?"

Jaime blanched at her accusation.

Nailed it.

"Not interested," she snapped. She watched as he took a wavering step back, and another. He looked hurt and angry, and she thought good.

It wasn't until he brushed passed the group without a single word or glance in their direction when she realized she may have made a huge mistake.

TBC...

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