NOW:

Cersei is dead. She is dead.

She is me, and I am her, and she is dead.

I am dead.

Jaime stared fixedly at nothing. His maimed arm lie on a pile of blankets that were strewn across his legs. He couldn't look at it. Wouldn't. Because it wasn't real. None of it was real.

It's not real.

She is me.

I am her.

And fuck everyone who isn't us.

"Is that so?" Tyrion's voice cut in from the doorway. Though startled that he had apparently spoken aloud, Jaime didn't bother to turn his head. He knew the smaller man would barge his way in anyway. He had been doing so for the last week; since he and Brienne shattered his world. "I daresay, I feel a little offended."

"Fuck off," Jaime muttered, but it was without malice. He was finding it harder and harder to scrounge up the anger. He just felt an exhaustion that settled deep into the marrow of his aching bones.

"I will not," Tyrion said as he crossed the room. He pulled his usual chair up to Jaime's bedside, purposely allowing the metal legs to scratch and screech noisily along the floor. "I've brought a gift."

Jaime kept his steady gaze on the blank wall before him.

"Well, it's not much of a gift, but rather some good news."

Internally, Jaime mockingly snorted. Externally, he didn't allow his face to betray his roiling emotions. He was hurting; wounded and grieved in a way that his brother could never fully understand. But Tyrion was trying, despite Jaime's best efforts to keep him firmly shut out.

"We've got you an appointment-"

"If you mention the fucking prosthetic again, I will scream."

Tyrion perked a dark brow at the dry threat, then smirked. "Now that would be interesting, brother, but I've no desire to fend off a liege of doctors rushing to find out the source of said scream."

"Then don't mention it."

"Fine," Tyrion sighed heavily. He wagged a stubby finger in the air. "But when Brienne comes to pick you up in the next hour, do not be surprised to find yourself in the middle of a fitting for this item we shan't speak of again."

Finally, Jaime canted his head toward his brother.

"Why?"

"You've lost a hand, Jaime. It's not the end of the world. You'll get a much cooler one."

"Why Brienne?"

Tyrion paused at that. He sat back in his seat, his legs swinging before him as they couldn't reach the ground. "She wanted to. She's grown rather attached to you-"

"She feels guilty, more like," Jaime spat. And it felt good to feel the anger again. It flowed away just as quickly as it had ebbed into his voice, but it was something other than the all-encompassing numbness that had begun to settle over him.

"I'm sure she does," Tyrion tried slowly. "But I wouldn't presume to know how she feels other than that." He cleared his throat, and looked up from underneath his lashes. "She also could have been back to work as of three days ago, yet she's been here by your side."

"I didn't ask her to." Jaime furrowed his brow as he shook his head. "I don't want her to."

Tyrion studied him; took in his lean form with his sharp cheeks and strong jaw. The shadows underneath his eyes lent him an even more gaunt look. The hospital food didn't seem to be settling well with his older brother, and Tyrion said as much, in the hopes of ignoring the can of worms that was Jaime's relationship with Brienne.

Jaime rolled his eyes at the subject change. "It's edible," he huffed, then lifted his arm to scratch at the dark gold beard on his jaw, before he froze.

Tyrion winced, but Jaime just sighed dejectedly, and settled his arm back on his legs again.

He pointed his gaze toward the same spot on the wall as before.

"When do I get to leave?"

"After your fitting." Tyrion scrunched up his face as he fought to find the courage to add: "Brienne will be making sure you get home safely."

Jaime lowered his chin to his chest, and let loose a slow exhale. He closed his eyes, and Tyrion thought he would be pinching the bridge of his nose if he had the means to do so. Instead, his left hand twitched by his side, as though forgotten.

"I don't want to see her afterward."

"Brother-"

"No, Tyrion." Jaime reopened his eyes, and met Tyrion's green pair. "I'll allow her to get me home, as I can hardly see you helping me up the stairs, but then that's it. I do not want to see her again."

"I understand," but the words were not coming from Tyrion's parted lips. Jaime twisted his upper half around to see Brienne lingering in the doorway.

He opened his mouth, to offer an apology he supposed, but the words dried up in his throat. He grimaced, and shook his head. He didn't want to apologize. She used him; lied to him. She listened as he bared his soul to her, and she replied by going through his personal belongings.

That in itself would have been forgivable, such a simple, stupid act, but to have have it compounded with the knowledge that she was never truly his partner- She was there to serve a purpose that didn't involve him, that involved the very people that had used and abused him and so very easily set him aside to the curb at his father's whim.

He could emplace his trust in her again. He could. But what use was this trust if it could flagrantly be bent and broken so easily?

Jaime grunted lowly to himself.

I'm just as dramatic as...as Cersei.

"Good," was what he ground out instead. Again, the anger was a relief. "Let's get this damn fitting over with. The sooner we get it done, the sooner you get me home, the sooner I don't have to see you anymore." He threw off the blankets that encased his legs with his left hand, staunchly ignoring the hurt look writ across Brienne's face.

"Jaime, please-"

"No, Tyrion. It's quite all right."

The younger man scrunched his pert nose, and opened his mouth once again to protest Jaime's treatment of Brienne, but he realized that anything else he could possibly say would be cut short again. He rolled his eyes, and sat back in his seat.

Brienne thanked him with a polite smile. She was out of the all-black uniform of the CRD, and wearing a navy blue pantsuit that did very nice things to her bright eyes. Tyrion noticed that Jaime did everything he could in his power to avoid meeting said eyes. His jaw was clenched so tight, that Tyrion feared he would fracture a tooth.

Jaime snatched a pair of folded jeans off from a small table in the corner of the room. He held them out in his left hand, then looked down at the hospital gown he currently wore. His lean body was taut with tension, visibly trembling as he stared down at the garment, then he looked up and Tyrion could see the devastation on his face.

"Jaime-" Tyrion slid off the chair as fast as he was able. "It's okay. It will be all right, brother. Here, let me hold them for you."

Brienne stepped out into the hall, knowing her former partner wouldn't want her to bear witness to his struggle. She could hear as Tyrion shushed his older brother, as he fumbled to hold the jeans out so that Jaime could step into them.

"Lean over," Tyrion had said next, and she could hear the rustle of the gown as he presumably pulled it over Jaime's shoulders. "It will take time, Jaime. Just give it some time."

A soft, wet inhale through nostrils was all Brienne could hear in reply.

Finally, Tyrion cleared his throat, and Brienne turned back round and reentered the room. Jaime stood off to the side, head lowered as though he were ashamed, but he was at least fully clothed. She looked down at his feet, wondering if they had bothered with anything other than the hospital slippers. To her surprise, he was wearing a pair of brown boots, although the strings were tucked in rather than tied.

"You look-" He lifted his head sharply, daring her to continue. She swallowed the lump in her throat, and pushed on. "You look better."

He didn't. He looked thin; a former shell of the once glorious, golden lion he was. The man before her was a far cry from the man blowing a puff a smoke in her face not so long ago. He knew it. She knew it. He knew that she knew it.

"Let's just go," he mumbled. He hesitated a moment, before bending over and embracing his brother with his left arm. She thought she heard a murmured thank you, but he was already pushing himself away and striding toward the door.

"I'll call you later," Brienne offered the smaller man. He waved her away with one hand.

"Don't worry about that. Just get him home, and get yourself back in one piece."

They shared a sad, wry smile between them before Brienne turned and followed her charge down the bustling hospital hallway.

"Keep up, O'Tarth," Jaime called over his shoulder as he charged forward. His voice was tight, but edged with a playful tint. Maliciously playful. "If they're in your way, just push them aside with those disgustingly broad shoulders."

Brienne sighed, and steeled herself.

The lion still has claws.

TBC...

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