Author's Note: Thanks for sticking around!
I couldn't resist to bring in some good old Jaime/Tyrion interaction. Because I love those two interacting. I need them. Almost as much as I need Jaime/Brienne action.
Meep.
I hope you'll like this chapter ;)
Jaime sighs. Brienne is over at Margaery's place, which means that he has the apartment to himself yet again.
He even started cleaning, however clumsily you can clean with one hand.
At some point it feels as though he and the apartment become one huge lump, growing together with every day passing.
Yet another punch was delivered right to his guts once Jaime realised that his former colleagues, the operative word really being former after all, actually give a damn on him.
It's not that Jaime was ever really fond of them, and that non-fondness was always mutual, but he had hoped, had foolishly believed that they at least appreciated him for his skills and that they found it fair and sound that he earned himself the promotion. He talked to Meryn Trant over the phone, and it took Jaime little of his smooth talking and persuasion skills to find out the truth that they had well moved on without him – and that now Trant has best chances of earning his spot, his promotion.
At some point Jaime starts to believe that his colleagues were so damn late not to save Brienne and him so Trant could get the promotion in his stead, however foolish that is.
One of the worst things were those hushed little assurances that maybe it's for the best that he can no longer work in the active service. Jaime could settle down, the others discussed, so Trant informed him. And Jaime had to try hard not to laugh as he replied that he is glad that he is still on their minds that much that they discuss his future plans. Trant went on about how this ambush just proved how dangerous this job is and that Jaime, with all the money and a girl by his side, may seek out a safer lifestyle from now on.
Jaime hung up on the man, then, fed up with hearing it from someone like Meryn Trant, who is just a coward, a wimp, a pathetic arse licker, that Jaime is out of service "for good". And at some point, Jaime is more and more convinced that all of them lick the Commissioner's arse from the inside out.
So yes, maybe they have been right about that one thing – this police department died for him, like the people in it died for him.
Jaime is pulled out of his thoughts by the sound of the door opening.
"Back so early or did you forget something?" he asks, expecting to see Brienne whooshing into the apartment, but to his surprise, Tyrion stands in the door.
"You know, we have a doorbell for a reason," Jaime frowns at his younger brother as he closes the door.
"Then you shouldn't have given me a spare key," Tyrion shrugs. "Where is Brienne?"
The small man walks inside, looking around.
While Jaime loves his brother unconditionally, he really would rather be alone right now. Lately, he has been fighting with Tyrion about as much as he did with Brienne, and Jaime is done fighting.
He is just done.
"Out. She is having a Ladies Day with Margaery," Jaime replies. "So? What brings you here?"
"The chauffeur, obviously," Tyrion shrugs, walking over to the couch to sit down. Jaime plops down next to him, knowing that Tyrion won't leave even if he told him that he wanted to be alone.
"You look like crap," Tyrion says.
"Likewise," Jaime huffs.
"You need a haircut," Tyrion goes on.
"Now you sound like Brienne," Jaime grunts.
"No, I sound like the voice of reason," Tyrion huffs. "So Brienne is plainly right. You need a haircut."
"So? What else do you want to insult me for?" Jaime grunts.
Because it's not like he doesn't fail and knows he fails in all aspects of his life.
Not long ago, Jaime wanted to drown himself in a bloody bathtub because he is that much of a pathetic little worm that he almost sought the easy way out.
So yeah, maybe police is really no longer an option for him.
While the others are arse lickers, he is a pain in the arse, a pathetic one.
"Oh, that list would be too long for an evening, day, month, year, century…," Tyrion exhales.
"Whatever, just get over with it. I talked to Meryn Trant this morning to learn that all are glad that I'm gone, so let's simply finish this as well," Jaime grunts.
"I just have this one question for you: What are you doing, you bloody, witless, foolish idiot of a man?" Tyrion looks at him with narrowed eyes, catching Jaime off-guard a bit, because Tyrion is usually not the one to use curse words, he knows more nuanced ways.
"I beg your pardon?" Jaime makes a face.
"I will spell it out to you once, because you are my big brother, and I care about you despite the fact that you are just an idiot: You are acting like a complete arse to anyone you care about, and you act especially like an arse to the one person who loves you, against better judgment. You know, the tall girl with striking eyes? The blue ones?" Tyrion narrows his eyes at him.
He saw it.
He heard it.
He heard it from friends and family.
And Tyrion knows that discretion is lost on his brother, it is now.
He talked to Brienne the other day, and it didn't take him much of his people reading skills to know just what is at sixes and sevens, by the Seven.
"I don't think I have to discuss such matters with you, brother, no offence," Jaime huffs.
He hardly finds the strength to talk to Brienne about matters about their relationship, and she is right in it.
"Oh, I do take offence. I like her. She is the best thing that's ever happened to you. We both know that," Tyrion argues vehemently. "It's thanks to her that you stopped acting like a jerk, it's thanks to her that I started to like you better again, and didn't have to rely on our brotherly bond alone, but really found our friendship revived along the way."
Jaime grimaces. He and Tyrion didn't always share the close relationship they have now again, or at least did until the ambush happened. In fact, Tyrion and he had drifted apart sometime during their youth to starting adulthood. That was during the time Cersei was still an issue, and Tyrion just withdrew from him, or from the family altogether. It was only later that Tyrion told him that he found his brother changed, even after Cersei and he had ended it, and that Tyrion just couldn't be around him because that was not the man he remembered looking up to as a child.
And yes, it was Brienne who somehow managed to mend this break without trying to mend it. She just wanted to get to know Tyrion, so Jaime gave her his number – and for reasons Jaime couldn't ever tell, the two started texting back and forth until he felt jealous of their close connection in turn. And just like she befriended Tyrion, he was suddenly back in Jaime's life, because he was part of Brienne's, and Brienne had him over for dinner, or to watch that antiquity show the two love to bits, almost constantly. And once Tyrion realised that Jaime was finally past Cersei and had made significant changes about himself, they grew perhaps even closer together than they were during childhood.
Well, until the ambush happened, that is, of course.
"And by the Gods, she was the one to wipe Cersei out of your mind for good. For that I could still kiss her feet," Tyrion adds.
"Let's not revisit that," Jaime huffs.
No, his past with Cersei, with his sin, is nothing he can deal with at this moment either.
He can't even deal with his lost hand, let's not pretend.
"Brienne is the best damn thing you have – and you push her away, man," Tyrion tells him. "And if it comes from a guy whose relationship history only has one solid relationship that was faked in the end and a whole bunch of prostitutes and escort ladies to list, this surely means something."
"I'm trying my best not to. And don't think I don't know that. I know that I act like an arse, just like I know that she doesn't deserve it, but I… I don't know how to stop. My whole life was turned upside-down. Our life was. Now I can't even make her breakfast without wrecking the kitchen. I can't even… doesn't matter," Jaime shakes his head.
"What now? Problems in bed?" Tyrion asks bluntly. Jaime tries hard not to blush like a stupid teenager. Because his sexuality never was an issue. Ever. Not to mention that he doesn't really like to talk about problems of that domain – with his brother of all people.
"You know, there are… ways… blue pills…," Tyrion tils his head to the side.
"I will not talk about the matter," Jaime replies defensively.
"Which happens to be one of the core problems," Tyrion retorts sarcastically.
"Did Brie say that to you?" Jaime asks.
"No, for that I happen to be your brother. You don't like to talk about problems. Because that means you have to admit to yourself and others that you have problems, are not perfect, that you are not the golden boy. That hurts your ego. And your ego, while very big, is a very fragile, a very easily offended creature," Tyrion tells him. "And if you believe that sex is just sex… believe me that it's not. Sexual frustration is more than frustrating."
"We do have sex," Jaime insists, breathing hard.
This is ridiculous.
"It's just not good, though, I reckon," Tyrion huffs.
"I don't want to talk about this," Jaime repeats.
"Yeah, I know. We've been there," Tyrion snorts.
"If you pull out brochures about those matters as well, I don't guarantee for anything other than that I might fling you through the room like a ragdoll," Jaime warns him.
"I'm not too much into brochures. I enjoy good old conversation and shameless teasing until I get my will, you should know. And if you think that I want to bother myself with my brother's sexuality, you are more than plainly mistaken. I have been involved into that all too much when it was about Cersei – and trust me, that is nothing I want to revisit, but I do when I see that my brother is that close to destroying the one thing that made him likeable again," Tyrion huffs. "And we both know that, in the end, it isn't even about the sex, it's about your psyche."
Jaime says nothing this time, forced to stuff those truths, yes, truths, into his head.
"Jaime, if you don't watch it, Brienne will leave, you understand?" the younger man insists.
"At some point I think it would be for her best," Jaime sighs.
He is giving her just so much pain.
"Now stop being a cry-baby, by the Seven," Tyrion cries out in exasperation.
"Cry-baby? Now you really sound like Brienne!" Jaime makes a face.
"Jaime, you lost your hand. Alright. You lost your right hand. Fine. But it's not like you are bound to a wheelchair or are unable to move anymore. You can move around, you can walk and talk. You still have another hand to use. You just have to relearn certain things," Tyrion tells him with a sharp kind of bluntness that Jaime didn't hear from him in a while.
It's as though his little brother decided to take off the gloves at last, the gloves he used to wear before all the while.
"Just," Jaime repeats.
"Yes, just. Losing a hand is not at all that awful. They have wonderful projects for prosthetics and physical therapy. And we are stinking rich, we could buy the entire company producing these prosthetics if we wanted," Tyrion retorts.
"Yeah, I've read about those problems," Jaime exhales. "I read the brochures."
"Then why are you not seeing doctors about such a thing?" the younger man questions.
"I don't want that," Jaime replies.
"Because you rather walk circles in the apartment, pace up and down like a lion in a cage, I see," Tyrion snorts. "Because that is so much more productive."
"Maybe I want to do just that? I'm useless. I need help for everything. And I don't like that. I hate it. I hate it to be bloody dependent on everyone and everything. I used to be an independent, strong man. And now I'm just this here," Jaime says through gritted teeth, pointing at his arm, his body.
That is all that he is now.
He isn't of much use in the household.
He cannot contribute.
He is only a burden for Brienne.
And that is what really hurts.
Because he used to be her support.
The one to have her back.
"You need help for everything – and you get it? Oh, boo," Tyrion remarks sarcastically.
"Careful now," Jaime hisses.
Because this is no joking matter for Jaime.
"You are talking to a guy who, since early childhood, had to ask for everything, really everything. So drop the act, Jaime," Tyrion curses at him. "Welcome to the world of broken things, brother."
The older looks at him, a little stunned.
"I always had to ask for a cricket to climb on my stool. I had to ask people to give me things from the counter because everything was out of my reach. I wouldn't be able to ride a car, if I hadn't one manufactured to my needs. I had to ask you often enough to play wingman if I wanted to hook up a girl who wasn't a prostitute because people are still not very tolerant when it comes to dwarfism. I am the one person who really knows what it's like to feel useless and pathetic for always having to ask these favours, but you get to ask them from a person you care about and who cares about you, too," Tyrion tells him, his eyes narrow slits. "So stop whining."
He has played nice long enough, not wanting to hurt his brother, but Tyrion shall be damned if he doesn't intervene Jaime's roller-coaster ride down to the place of no return.
"To me, that's a lot worse," Jaime argues, though he is honestly taken aback by Tyrion's admissions. He was always rather easy-going about his height difference. He was the one to joke about it, and while Jaime always knew that this was his shield, he always admired about his younger brother that he didn't give in and always had the right comeback to any accusation.
"It's not. Because you are partners, and that means you help each other out because you care for one another, because it's natural for you to help each other, be there for each other. I had to ask our maids, our butlers, or my big brother, who, by the time, was way too absorbed into our sister's world to care about me beyond the level of unconditional love there always was between us," Tyrion says, gritting his teeth.
And Jaime just looks on and listens.
"I had to make a fool of myself, Jaime. I was made a fool, someone dependent on our Father's name to get a job, dependent on other people to organise his life, until I finally found the courage to take matters into my own hands, moved out of the family house, and simply did my job for the Lannister Empire to earn my spot. I made arrangements for myself so that I don't have to ask anyone, I had my apartment manufactured to my needs so that I wouldn't have to anymore," Tyrion goes on.
Jaime swallows thickly, no smart reply coming to his mind.
"But you don't have to do any of this. Because you can still reach the top shelf, can drive a car, with little effort, and little adjustments I told you I was willing to work out with you. You don't have to ask strangers, you don't have to take other people's stares for as long as you are home. You only have to ask someone who doesn't take you for a fool. You only have to ask and you can be sure that you will get it without a nasty comment or look. Do you have any clue just how lucky you are that this is so?" Tyrion replies angrily.
"Yeah, I know just how fuckin' lucky I am. I'm so fuckin' lucky to have her that I feel so fuckin' bad for it that she has only me in turn. I don't deserve her, easy as that," Jaime grits his teeth. "And that is why I hate it to be dependent on her. I would rather let her go of me and my shitty attitude."
"Oh, get your head out of your own arse. Do you really believe Brienne would take someone that worthless? She chose you because she thinks you deserve her. You've known her for longer than I have, but I'm good at reading people, you know that," Tyrion quips, unimpressed.
"Yeah, better than me by far," Jaime agrees.
"And because I'm good at this, I tell you, I warn you. You will lose her if you don't move on, if you don't move forward. Brienne stays, but she's using herself up – and I honestly think she is that close to the breaking point. I know that she is. You know that she is. She is as much of a shadow as you are," Tyrion questions. "And I think that once she goes… you won't ever find together again. You will lose her, Jaime, do you want that?"
"No, I don't want that, but I don't want her to live next to a man who is like this," Jaime argues.
"Then stop being like this!" Tyrion retorts. "Jaime, it's just a hand, alright? Doesn't she matter to you more than that hand?"
"She means everything to me. She is the one thing that makes me pull through a day," Jaime admits, running his left hand through his hair clumsily.
"The problem is that I am caught up in this, in this situation here. I know that these bastards are still out there. I know that I won't ever catch them. I can't make them regret what they did. I can't keep her safe. I couldn't keep her safe, and even now I can't make sure that those guys get what they deserve and won't ever pose a threat to her again. I can't. Meryn Trant just approved it," Jaime growls, his voice full of anguish.
Tyrion looks at him sadly.
"I won't ever be the same man I was before all this shit happened. I won't ever be the man again that Brienne fell in love with. I won't be the same man who wanted to…," Jaime rants, but then stops himself.
"Who wanted to do what?" Tyrion asks in a smaller voice. Jaime chews on his lower lip, leaning back in his seat.
And at once the anger is gone.
And at once resignation is there.
And at once sadness is there.
And at once his muscles go lax.
"All seemed so perfect that night, you know? That promotion was all I ever dreamed of. It was all I ever wanted, jobwise. I protected the innocent and got the bad guys. I did a job I loved to the point that I didn't care about shitfaces like Trant and the others. I loved this job. Because that had nothing to do with our Father pulling threads for me. That was something I managed without his approval. I did that all by myself…," Jaime shakes his head, gritting his teeth.
"I know," Tyrion sighs. He knows just how much it meant for Jaime to be a police officer.
"And the best was just how much Brienne admired me for it. I wanted to burst in pride when I told her about the promotion when I saw her reaction. Because she got it how much it mattered to me, how much it simply mattered. I thought that life was going just the right direction…," he exhales wearily, not looking at his brother, though Tyrion is looking at him the whole time.
"You see, I had it all figured out. I made her go out for dinner, you know, dress up, look fancy, and then I wanted to secretly get her to the old gym on the way home, where she used to train on her own when still younger, where I got her by surprise… I had talked to Father, I had talked to her Father… the dinner was already set… and then… those fuckers show up and everything just… broke away at once. And now we're just this. I'm just this, and I pull her down along with me," Jaime shakes his head. "I make her drown with me."
"You mean…," Tyrion blinks at him.
Jaime just nods.
"Did you tell her about that?" the younger man asks, and Jaime replies solemnly, "No."
"You should," Tyrion argues in a soft voice.
"I know I should. I know I should do many things…," Jaime sighs.
"If you don't talk to her, she'll leave, and then things are really beyond repair," Tyrion tells him in a softer voice.
"I know," Jaime sighs.
"Just… don't let that win over you, alright? You used to tell me the same when I was frustrated with myself and my height, so now I give the same advice back to you: Don't let that win over you. You are stronger than that. You both are. Because you are too bloody bull-headed to give in," Tyrion tells him in a strong voice. "So stop acting like shit, or else I will have to personally behead you, or hire someone to do it for me."
Jaime can't help but laugh at this, sadly so, but relieved also.
"I missed you, little brother," he says.
"I missed you, too, big brother," Tyrion replies.
"So, I hope you have some wine in the house, or else I will really take offence now."
"Be my guest."