Jaime pries his eyes open slowly, frowning at the sudden white light hurting his eyes. There was no white light back when...
Wait, what happened?
The last thing Jaime remembers is… what is the last thing he remembers?
Jaime goes it through inside his head, goes one step back at a time.
Darkness.
Pain.
A gunshot.
Mummed men.
A torn dress.
Brienne's blue eyes in the torchlight.
Oh damn!
"Brie? Brie?!"
At last a room comes into focus, white edges along what is likely the ceiling as Jaime keeps blinking, but that is when a shadow moves into his periphery.
And then sapphire blue.
"Jaime?"
He blinks repeatedly, the contours becoming more and more solid, until he can see Brienne looming above him. And just like the contours become clearer, the cuts on her cheek, the forming bruises, the split lip, the dried blood under her nose almost scream back at him, right in his eyes.
Those fuckers.
He wants to run his hand across her cheek, needing to feel her to ground himself, to make sure that this is not just some dream, but his arm feels numb.
Why is his hand so numb?
He can't feel his hand.
Well, maybe the boot on his arm did more damage than he thought, but that is when he feels her cold hands pressing against his forearm. So he does feel something.
"Jaime, you have to stay calm now, alright? I'm not kidding. You have to stay calm," she says in a firm voice. Her sapphires blink at him, her eyes surprisingly steady, though it shouldn't surprise him. Brienne is calmest in situations of chaos.
"What happened?" Jaime asks.
"There was this gang…," she begins.
"I know it all up to the point when the bastard said that they'd still have time for something or so. But what happened after that?" Jaime questions, now in a more demanding tone.
What if they did more to her after darkness claimed him?
What if they…
"Did they touch you?" he asks.
"No, no," she tells him, shaking her head. "It didn't go any further."
Thank the Gods.
Thank the Gods.
Thank the Gods.
Thank the Gods.
Thank the Gods.
Thank the Gods.
Thank the Gods.
Seven times for each of them.
Jaime wouldn't know what he would have done, had they… no, just no.
"Police came. Someone heard the gunshot they fired to startle us. When they heard the sirens, the bastards knew they had to get away, but before they went…," Brienne bites her lower lip, but then gathers herself.
She has to be steady now.
She has to be strong.
She has to.
Has to.
Has to.
And Brienne she goes on in a steady, strong voice, "The leader shot you in the hand before they ran away. You were brought to hospital. You had lost a lot of blood, because it did damage to the artery. The problem was that it was a large calibre weapon fired only from inches away. Jaime, they had to remove your right hand. There was no way to save it."
Jaime wants to laugh for a moment. She must play a terrible joke at his expenses, because he can feel his hand, it's…
But Brienne can't lie.
Jaime looks to the side, to her hands on his forearm… and his forearm alone.
No hand.
And that even though he can feel it.
He swears by the Gods that he can feel it.
Just that it isn't there.
And all Jaime can do is…
Laugh.
He laughs, louder and louder. He giggles to the point that he feels lightheaded.
Oh, the irony.
The epic irony is so epic that it leaves him with nothing but the joke that he is now.
He is a joke.
This is a joke.
This is… this is reality, and that is the punchline.
At last, the laughter dies out, leaving him almost coughing up the last bubbles of giggling until the reality rains down on him again.
Because the epic irony is that this is reality.
He looks at Brienne again, who just looks back at him, one hand firmly on his forearm.
"So… are there any other ground-breaking news that I should know about?" he asks between gulps of air, black dots dancing before his eyes.
"You need to know just two things," Brienne tells him in a dark, strong voice.
"Which are?" he grimaces.
"That I promise you that we will find the guys responsible," she says, her voice so full of determination that Jaime can feel the hairs of his arms standing upright.
"And the other?" he asks numbly.
"That I love you, no matter what."
Jaime lets his head sink down on the pillow.
At some point the tears just come, though he keeps his eyes firmly set on the ceiling. And even though Jaime doesn't find the words to say it, he is glad to have Brienne sitting next to him silently, a steady grip on his arm.
Though he can't help but note bitterly that usually, she would have held his hand.
So Jaime allows the tears to come, knowing that she will be the last one to see it as a shame, because it is a shame to him.
It is a shame that he fell victim to the epic irony of reality.
And that this is no longer a laughing matter.
That he has no laughter left.