NOW:

"Why are you still here?"

The question startled Brienne as she let herself into Jaime's darkened apartment. She froze; one hand still on the spare key Tyrion had made for her, and the other clutching a handful of plastic bags full of groceries. She relaxed her broad shoulders, fully entered the apartment, and flicked the light switch. It sputtered above her twice before fully illuminating the space to reveal Jaime sitting on the gray couch, facing his bed and mouthing the filter of an unlit cigarette.

She set the bags down against the wall with a frown. "I could ask the same of you." She looked down at the watch adorning her left wrist, the navy blue nylon band snug against her skin. "You should be with your physical therapist."

There was a low sound in the back of his throat, and Brienne recognized it for the snort of derision it was. The frown on her face deepened as she stepped further in. She paused, lifted her head up a little higher, and inhaled deeply. The apartment smelled musky, a heady mixture of perspiration and an unidentifiable sweetness that struck her as familiar.

She glanced at her former partner. He sat facing forward, bare chest a mottled mixture of yellowish-green bruises, and clad only in a pair of unbuttoned worn denim. He had both feet bare and planted firmly on the ground, his elbows resting on his thighs as he leaned forward and seemingly glared at his unmade bed. The cigarette was dangerously close to falling from his partially parted lips.

She found herself standing next to him, taking in the scene before her with an embarrassed flush that rivaled the reddened tips of his ears. The bed was indeed unmade, which wasn't any great surprise, but the opened bottle of lube on the end stand was. She gulped and glanced askance at Jaime.

"I wanted to feel-" He cut himself off with a frustrated huff. "Something. Anything." There was a desperate tinge to his gruff voice. He lifted his left hand, spreading his long fingers wide as he examined the appendage with discernible loathing. "It's not the same."

He slowly closed his fingers until his hand was a clenched, white-knuckled fist. He lowered it, placed it between his knees, before he tilted his head to the side and asked again: "Why are you still here?" He slowly turned so that he faced her. "You're not my mother. Certainly not my wife. Why are you still here?"

Brienne carefully took in his form; his blond hair had darkened as it grew out, and was long enough for visible furrows from where he had clearly raked his fingers through the strands. His deep blue eyes were narrowed slits as they took her looming form in. When she met his glower with a soft gaze, his jaw seized up tightly in clenched frustration.

"I'm your partner," she finally managed. Her eyes darted to his end stand before she caught herself and averted them back to his rosy-cheeked face. The beard adorning his jaw glittered blond and silver as he jut his chin out.

"Are you?" His nostrils flared.

"I'm your friend."

She watched as his eyes shuttered, before he inhaled slowly, deeply and turned his face away again. His left hand moved from between his legs to grab at something on the couch beside him. He lifted the item, a lighter, and placed it at the end of his cigarette. His hand trembled minutely as he tried and failed to ignite the cheap plastic. He was clearly as ill-practiced at this task as he was at what he had been trying to do earlier.

Don't think about it, she scolded herself.

Brienne swallowed thickly, leaned forward, and gently prised the lighter from his grip. He froze as her fingers touched his hand, the hand he had used as he tried and failed to pleasure himself, but relented and allowed her to deftly flick the switch. He met her eyes as he canted his head to the side, sucked deeply until the cherry was burning as bright red as her cheeks, and sat back.

"You should quit," she said softly, unable to maintain his penetrative gaze.

"Why?" It was almost a snarl, but the vehemence seemed to be seeping from his body with every deep drag of the cigarette he pulled. "It's not like I need to be fit for duty anymore."

"But you need to be a fit father." She took a half-step back as he quickly snapped his head up. She forged on. "You may not want to hear it, Lannister, but those kids need you. They need their father, and deny it all you want, that's you."

He worked his jaw, teeth silently gnashing together as he took her in, before he finally lowered his gaze to the floor. "Jaime."

She blinked down at him. "What?"

"She-" His lips twitched. "Cersei. She always called me brother or-or lover. She never called me by my name." He swept his eyes up, a challenge in the dark orbs as he fiercely added: "I loved her."

"I know."

I don't. I don't understand.

He must have read her thoughts on her face because a grimace of a smile pulled at his lips. "You don't." He took a deep drag. "That's okay."

Smoke encompassed his face in lazy white wisps that emitted from his nostrils, and curled downward around his pushed out chin. "You don't need to be here anymore." He took another deep pull of the cigarette, the ash weighing heavily at the end and threatening to fall off, before he plucked it from his lip and willfully tapped it over the floor.

Brienne felt her brow furrow at the deliberate act.

"I never needed to be here, Jaime," she said softly, "I just wanted to help."

"It's been, what, two weeks? I think it's time you went back-"

To wherever it is you came from, he bitterly thought.

"I can't imagine they're paying for whatever hotel you've been shacking up in," he continued around another puff of smoke. "So, save yourself whatever money you have left, and just go."

Brienne felt her face contort through litany of expressions; hurt and concern chief among them. She wanted to reach out and place a hand on his exposed shoulder, to let him feel the warmth of her palm and have him know that she felt just as warm inside for him. She didn't know when she had started to care, truly care, about him. Of course, the injury was an excuse to stay and lend aid, but the man seemed to be in desperate need for some human attention.

She could only imagine when he last felt any sort of human decency. His co-workers avoided him like the plague, whispering Kingslayer behind his back, while his family tried to control his every movement and whispered poison in his ears.

Brienne looked down at her own jean-clad legs, and fiddled with a loose piece of string sprouting from the seam on her thigh. She wanted to shake her head no, to shake him, but instead she offered a lone nod that she didn't even know if he could see.

"Okay," she simply said. "Your brother wanted to have us over for dinner tonight." She wound the string tightly around her index finger. "After, if you still want me to leave, I will." Her finger throbbed as she awaited his reply. She had meant to tell him about the dinner earlier that morning, but the thought had fell to the wayside when she had to rouse him from another Percocet induced sleep.

Jaime lifted his eyes to the ceiling, as if trying to summon God himself, but when his Holiness didn't appear he flicked his gaze over to Brienne's face and sighed. "Fine. One dinner. Then you leave."

The string snapped.

"Okay." She turned on her heel, a well executed about-face, and began to rummage through the plastic bags. She had managed to unpack and put away a good portion off the food when a sharp cry startled her. She turned and quickly rushed to Jaime's side, where he was cradling his maimed arm to his chest. The cigarette fell from his lips as he tried to curl further into himself. "Jaime? Jaime, what's wrong? What is it?"

She brought down the heel of her sneaker on the cigarette, and knelt by his side.

"It's nothing," he wheezed. "Just felt like like it was burning for a moment. It's fine now."

She went to reach for his arm, but he pulled it away with an air of wariness.

"It's fine."

"Has that happened before?"

Jaime shook his head. He had lowered his eyes back to the floor, but rather than affecting his usual air of disdain and gloom, he looked ashamed at this newfound perceived weakness. His left hand lightly pressed his right arm against his chest. His fingers gently massaged at the scar-laced skin, almost against his volition.

Brienne didn't think he was aware of the motion.

"What time is the dinner?" He asked after a time.

She cleared her throat, feeling unmoored and helpless against this new threat to his health. "It was supposed to be after I picked you up from your appointment." She was careful to keep the reproach from her voice. "If you're still feeling up to it, I can finish putting away the food while you get ready, then I can let Tyrion know we'll be on our way." She didn't miss how his blank eyes narrowed when she had said if he was feeling up to it, but he seemed to be nodding along as she spoke.

"Okay," he said before he pushed himself up off the couch. "I'll go do that."

Brienne watched him as he entered the bathroom, and closed the door behind himself without another word. With a deep exhale, she could do nothing more but as she said she would, and just wait until he was ready.

He doesn't know.

They'll be there.

I hope he's ready to face them.

TBC...

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