NOW:
Dinner had forged ahead despite the initial awkwardness, and it filled Jaime's being with a brazenly warm and comfortable and bright feeling that he dared called hope. The very notion of thinking that word sparked a tumultuous mixture of worry and fear in the pit of his stomach, emotions that he was admittedly more intimately familiar with. The mere implication of that feeling, of hope, filled his heart with faith in what could be: a future with his children.
He stared down at his lap, his arm still hidden from view but out of mere habit than out of fear of reproval from the others, when a sudden spasm of muscle in his maimed arm startled him. In his left hand, the fork clattered loudly against his plate, causing the others to abruptly cease their easy-flowing conversation to look over at him in concern.
He could feel embarrassment pink his cheeks and warm the tips of his ears as shame flooded his entire being as quickly as the agony that had now seized his right wrist. He could feel the weight of their anxiousness as they took in his pinched features and watched as his left hand uselessly hovered over his shortened arm. It was clear he was in pain and that they could offer no helpful respite.
Jaime tried to push himself away from the table, excuses, and humble apologies trapped in the sudden tightness of his throat that only allowed a strangled whine to slip past his parted lips.
"Jaime?" Brienne, blue eyes were blown wide in her concern, leaned over at his side. "Are you alright?"
"My hand." The words were like a sob when they finally dislodged from his mouth.
"But you don't have a hand, Uncle Jaime."
"Tommen, Myrcella." Tyrion dropped from his seat, concern flooding his eyes, as he turned to face the younger Lannister siblings. He plastered a smile on his face for their benefit as he said, "Come, let's just skip straight to dessert, shall we?" He ushered the bewildered children toward the kitchen with flapping hands. He cast one woeful look over his shoulder before he disappeared after them.
"Is this like earlier?"
"Worse."
She had done some research on phantom limb pain earlier that day, nothing more than a cursory internet search as he had gotten ready, and she now wracked her brain to recall some small tidbit of anything from what she had gleaned.
"Brienne," her name was a rasp of syllables as he all but begged, "Give me a damn pill." His left hand's knuckles were stark white against the angry red marks on the wrist he tightly gripped.
She shoved a large hand in her pocket, fishing out a loose pill she had stashed for emergencies, but still hesitated when she finally pulled the elongated white tablet out. It took another strangled whine emitted from the man before her before she relented, broke it in half with the aid of his discarded fork, and lifted it to his mouth. She worried her lower lip between her teeth as she said, "It might not help, Jaime. It's a phantom pain. It's not real-"
The sheer vehemence of his voice spoke volumes as he barked: "Fucking feels real!"
She blanched at her implication. "I'm sorry. Of course, it's real. I didn't mean it like that." She willed her brain to kick into gear, to pull out a solution before he passed out from sheer agony alone. "Jaime, we need to take your mind off of it. To, to focus on your breathing. Match it to mine. Look at me and breathe with me. In and out, just like that. Don't focus on the pain-"
"Hard not to," he ground out from between clenched teeth, but to his credit, he tried to match his labored breathing to hers.
There was a sudden noise in the doorway, a clatter that resulted in Myrcella appearing with her violin pressed against her chin and a rosined bow raised in the air. Slowly, she began to match the music that had continuously played softly in the background. It was slow, but the bow sang out beautifully underneath her expert ministrations. After a beat, she joined in with the chorus: "And I will stumble and fall. I'm still learning to love. Just starting to crawl." Her voice was low, a sweet lilt with a hint of huskiness rounding the ends of the words.
Jaime was enraptured by sight. He focused on the strings' melody and on his daughter's – his daughter's – voice. He continued to match Brienne, breath for breath, in and out.
In and out.
Slowly, but surely, the agonizing burning pain that had gripped him so forcibly receded until he was left with nothing but the memory of it. He felt his body go lax as the tension bled from his aching body. Brienne was there to hold him up and keep him semi-upright in his chair. She absentmindedly rubbed gentle circles into the jumping muscles in his back as Tyrion asked softly, "How did you know?"
"My music teacher was a veteran. He once said that music sometimes helped with his phantom pain. I didn't know how until..." She trailed off.
"What good am I, indeed." The words were laced in bitterness, a muffled echo of his father, long ago. They went unheard by the others, barely gracing Brienne's ears, despite how close she was to him now. "I ruined it."
Brienne almost missed those as well, rough and low as they were uttered.
"What? No, no, Jaime. You didn't ruin anything."
"I'm sorry." His eyes did not rise to meet her own. They settled, unfocused, over her shoulder, wide and glaze over as if he were lost in a dream.
Or a memory.
"I'm sorry. I'll make it up to you."
The words were strained, clipped, learned by rote.
He had said these very words before.
THEN:
"This is your fault, you know."
"I – what?" A deep laugh followed.
"You heard me." The sharp sniff of disdain was as good as the punctuation at the end of her sentence, pointed and final.
"I was shot, Cersei."
"Yes, well, you shouldn't have been in a position where that was a possibility, dear brother, now should you have?"
As his sister affected a casual croon to her words, the red of her lacquered nails gleaming beneath the bright white light of her vanity as she intoned her wisdom, Jaime couldn't help as his lips began to curl up into an incredulous smile. By the time the words "dear brother" had escaped her carefully painted lips, Jaime was attempting to suppress a scoff amid his amused chuckle.
The jostled movement reverberated through his aching muscles, and he winced as his laughter pulled at the marbled skin, a mauve and indigo mixture in a muddled approximation of a circle, just above his navel. Had the bullet struck any lower, his issued vest would not have been able to stop the damage that would have incurred. As it was, the bruise and the emphatic ache was his daily reminded that he lived to fight another day.
And tonight, it seemed his fight was, once again, with his beloved sister.
Jaime carefully set his head back with a soft sigh, pressing his nape against the bolstered upholstery of the couch he was resting on. The taut fabric did nothing to relieve the pressure beginning to build in his skull, and Jaime silently wished that the bullet had struck a little lower. Maybe then he wouldn't have to endure his sister laying fault on his person for having been shot.
"For God's sake, Cersei." He closed his eyes against the brightness of her vanity. "I'm a field agent. We sometimes are placed in dangerous-"
"Oh, spare me the bureaucratic bullshit, brother."
He listened keenly as something was snapped closed. Hard plastic clattered against the tempered glass for a brief moment, and the resounding quiet that followed sparked a trickle of dread at the base of Jaime's spine. He didn't dare risk opening his eyes, not yet, as he tried to lessen the harshness of his breathing to better hear hers.
There was a breath, low and heavy, not quite a sigh.
"You ruined our night."
He kept his eyes firmly closed.
"It wasn't my-"
"You ruined it!" The accusation was just shy of being shrill. There was no mistaking the fury punctuating the few words spewed.
There was no reasoning with her tonight.
If ever.
Jaime opened his eyes slowly. He was greeted with the rather indistinct-patterned ceiling above him. As he stared up, he had the absurdly fleeting thought of being able to pierce the egg-shell white paint, past the wooden beams and tiled roof, so that he may ask the Heavens for the correct reply.
He shifted warily, unable to stifle a low grunt of pain as his stomach protested against the movement until he was able to comfortably lift his head and meet Cersei's piercing eyes reflected in her mirror.
He had ruined her night. What did one say to someone whose night was ruined?
"I'm sorry."
The long, intricate braid down her back softly scraped against the silk fabric of her camisole as she fractionally tilted her head. Her eyes glinted with the motion before several bare bulbs, dangerously bright and keen as her lips curled into an approximation of a fond smile.
"Make it up to me, brother."
The words tripped unbidden from his parted lips: "I'll take care of you."
The smile morphed into something more pleased, more genuine.
"I'll take care of you, Cersei."
NOW:
Brienne grabbed his jaw within her broad palm, ignoring the sharp click as his teeth caught against one another at the sudden movement. The scruff on his face tickled her hand as she followed the strong jawline so that she cupped his chin instead. She gentled her hold when he finally, just barely, met her eyes with ones full of unbridled tears.
"She was wrong." Brienne had no idea if she was even close to hitting the mark, but judging by his agonized expression, she at least in the ballpark. "She was wrong, Jaime. You didn't ruin anything. I'll take care of you."
"No," he feebly tried to pull away, lost in the phantom pain of another sort: his memories. "That's what I'm supposed to say. I- I'll take care of it."
No. Wrong. Not it. She would have my head for saying, "it."
The firm grasp returned.
"I'll take care of you."
"I- I'll-" He felt his lips parting, failing to form the words that had once come so easily to him. Words he had memorized and had recited time and time again. This wasn't the script he knew.
"Jaime."
He blinked; felt his eyes slip past the blue sirens mere inches in front of him.
"Jaime, look at me."
He did.
"I'll take care of you, Jaime."
The End.
Please Review.
This story is not officially complete, but inspiration and the will to write have escaped me the last few years. I will not post any additional chapters or a sequel until it is fully complete (to spare everyone the wait in between.)
Thank you for your patience.
Thank you for sticking with me.
Take care.