THEN:

Jaime's hand trembled as he brought an unlit cigarette to his lips. He tilted his head, and tried to get the plastic lighter in his palm to ignite. His thumb slipped one too many times before he cursed, and tossed the damned item across the room. The cigarette pulled at the dry skin of his lips, but he didn't dare pull it away. It was a small comfort just to have it there.

"There's no smoking in here."
"Does it look like I'm fucking smoking?" Jaime snapped at the voice.

"It looks like you're trying," the arid voice replied, "And watch your tongue. I am still your father."

Jaime risked a glance up through the curtain of his hair. It was tangled; a sweaty mess. Through the twisted, gold strands he could see his father sitting across from him. The air in the room was as frigid as his father; Tywin's eyes, posture, and tone of voice were like ice that pierced through Jaime's very being.

"Apologies, Father," Jaime muttered. "I didn't realize it was you."

The older man hm'd in response.

Jaime cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. The bare metal of the chair did nothing to warm him underneath his father's piercing stare. Jaime plucked the cigarette from his lips, and ran his tongue over them in an attempt to moisten them before he spoke.

"And?" He leaned forward, crushing the cigarette in his sweat-slicked palm. He tried to affect an air of nonchalance, but his father was the human epitome of indifference. "What of my sentence?"

Tywin let his eldest son stew a moment longer, before he crossed his arms over the double-breasted suit he wore. "You will be stripped of any and all honors and decorations you have earned. You will serve no time." He watched as his son visibly sagged in relief at that. Jaime was always unrestrained when it came to his emotions. "You will be allowed to keep your position here, but only by the good grace of the IAB."

There, his eldest snarled silently, and ground the disgusting cigarette in his hand even further into dust. "I never told them anything." His leonine eyes flashed, and Tywin felt a small twinge of pride at that.

A lion still has claws.

"That doesn't matter," Tywin informed him.

Jaime sat back in his seat, eyes narrowed and mouth parted in self-righteous fury. "Of course it matters!" He slammed his hand down atop the metal table between them. The cigarette was now finely pulverized. He left the remains of it on the tabletop as he raised his right hand and pointed at the closed door. "They all think I'm a rat!"

"Lower your voice," Tywin commanded.

"What good am I here if I can't be trusted?" Jaime had stopped shouting, but his voice was tight from the effort.

"What good are you, indeed."

Jaime stiffened. He immediately lowered his eyes to the gleaming metal before him; canting his head so that his hair could hide the hurt that flit across his features. Tywin, of course, missed nothing. He simply took in the sight with an indifferent blink of his pale eyes.

"Your good-brother has been promoted to director. He has seen it fit to make sure you have been cleared of all charges." Tywin stood suddenly. He swept a hand down his suit, picking at imaginary particles of dust, before he settled the full weight of his stare over his son.

Slowly, Jaime lifted his head and met his father's penetrative gaze.

"You will not embarrass me again."

Jaime worked his jaw, before squaring it and nodding curtly. Tywin took a moment to study him a second longer, before he swept out of the room as quietly as he had entered.

Jaime tore into his bottom lip with his canine as the first tear hit the table.

The rest were roughly wiped away before they could join it.

"Whoa!" A boisterous voice cut in through the fog of Jaime's mind. "Easy there, Kingslayer! It's only a cellphone!" An obnoxious laugh followed.

Jaime smiled weakly at his brother-in-law.

"I'm only kidding," Robert chuckled as he thumped Jaime on his shoulder. "Although, I think I'd rather you leave your service weapon locked up while you're here."

Jaime cast the larger man a perplexed expression. He awaited the laugh, the japing at his expense, but Robert's amused expression only tightened under his scrutiny. Slowly, Jaime reached down to where his weapon was holstered on his right hip. He undid the snap, then wrapped his fingers around the butt of the gun. He hesitated a moment, still waiting for the laughter, before he slowly withdrew it and handed it over.

"Many thanks," Robert grinned as he took the weapon and placed it in a safe underneath his oak desk. "I wouldn't want you to see one of the kids with their phone out, and mistake them for the Mad King."

Jaime clenched his jaw as fury overtook him, but he slowly exhaled through his nostrils. "I understand the precaution," he ground out.

"Good," Robert replied, "I had thought you might." He rounded the desk, and slung his arm around Jaime's broad shoulders. "Now come and see what the wife's whipped up for my celebratory dinner. Director Baratheon has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?"

Jaime fought the urge to shrug out from Robert's weight, and allowed himself to be led out of the den and into the dining room. He scrounged up a small smile when he meet the eyes of his younger brother, Tyrion. He was glad to have him there.

"Uncle Jaime!"

The weight around his shoulders disappeared as a willowy figure wrapped itself around him. He staggered, one foot falling behind the other, as his one and only niece beamed up at him from where she burrowed her head into his chest.

"I've missed you," she announced as she squeezed him tighter.

Jaime's heart stuttered in his chest, and he swallowed thickly. He allowed himself a brief moment, touching his chin atop of her golden tresses, before he gently pried her arms from around his waist. "I've missed you too, Myrcella."

"Myrcella," a voice snapped from the entryway of the kitchen, "Come help me with dinner, and leave your uncle be."

Cersei. Jaime chewed on his previously bitten lip, and soothed over the ache with a swipe of his tongue. He raised his head a little higher, trying to meet the eyes of his twin, but she had disappeared as quickly as she had arrived.

"We've missed you too, Uncle Jaime." He lowered his gaze to take in his youngest nephew, Tommen, and he resisted the urge to melt as the sweet boy cradled a kitten in his arms. "Didn't we?" The boy lifted the dozing kitten's paw, and waved it in the air.

"Ah," Jaime said softly. He crouched down to meet the pair at their height. "This must be Ser Leap." His heart leapt as the boy guffawed in laughter. "No? Ser Bound then?" The giggling increased, and Jaime grinned as Tyrion also smiled at the infectious sound. "Surely, it's Ser Jump then."

"No," Tommen laughed. "It's Ser Pounce!"

"Of course!" Jaime pressed the palm of his hand against his forehead. "How could I forget? A fitting name for a lion cub, if I do say so myself."

"You only say that because you helped named him," Tyrion pointed out, before he raised his hands in defense as Jaime playfully glared in his direction.

Tommen's laughter subsided with a soft sigh, and Jaime found himself reaching out to caress his plump cheek with a finger, before he aborted the motion and gently scratched the kitten on the head instead. He studied the young boy with wide, wondrous eyes. How could someone so sweet, so innocent come from such a cold woman?

"Brother." He swallowed the lump in his throat, and stood to his full height. His sister's glare rivaled their father's. "I would have a word."

Jaime offered Tommen a brief smile, before he cast a helpless look to his brother, then he followed his sister out of the room and down a hall. Out of sight, she quickly lashed out with her hand, and grabbed his wrist in a grip that almost burned. She tugged him into the nearest room, and firmly shut the door behind them.

He opened his mouth to apologize, but she was on him instantly, her lips meeting his and her tongue intruding between his parted ones.

"Cersei," he managed to hiss as he gently pushed at her.

She pulled back, and slapped him hard across his face.

Open-mouthed, he left his head twisted to the side, and blinked.

"What the hell were you thinking?"

"What?" He slowly exhaled.

"You killed the director! Now my husband is in charge. I honestly did not think his head could get any bigger," she laughed but it was without humor, "Yet, here we are!"

"Calm down," Jaime caught her arm as she made to strike him again. "Calm the fuck down," he growled from deep in his chest. He pulled her closer to him.

"You could have gone to jail," she hissed angrily. She didn't struggle against his firm hold. "You're mine, brother. Mine." She made to claim his lips again, but he turned his head to avoid it.

"No," he whispered, "Don't."

She pulled her arm from his now lax grip, and grabbed his jaw with her freed hand.

"You're mine."

I am hers. She is mine.

Fuck everyone that isn't us.

When she moved to kiss him again, he didn't resist.

TBC...

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