"This is cruel, Mom. Unbelievably cruel." Bran looks glum, arms crossed and cheeks puffed, parked by Catelyn's bed as she pretties herself up in the bathroom. "You're leaving me, your favorite child, to fend for myself all night while you, what? Hook up with Jaime Lannister?"

Cat gives him a look.

"Brandon Edric Stark, for the last time I am not hooking up with anyone. Do you even know what that means?"

Bran blushes, awkwardly rolling his chair back and forth. "It's… um… Jon told me it's when grown ups kiss a lot but they don't mean it."

Oh, you sweet little thing. "Jon told you, did he?" She supposes it could be worse - it could have been Theon. Cat doubts he would have been so vague. Still, she doesn't want to know why Jon was in a situation that required defining "hooking up" to his ten-year-old brother.

"This is just dinner with a friend and I will be home before ten. No kissing of any king will be happening, son." She affixes a pair of golden, dangly earrings (a Christmas gift from her sister, from back when they still gave each other Christmas gifts), and appraises herself in the mirror. Nope. Tacky. Where on earth are those pearl ones?

Bran makes an affronted noise. "Friend? He tried to kill me!"

"He paid all of your hospital bills out of pocket," she reminded him. She won't lie and say it was easy to forgive him for the accident, but that had definitely helped. Rarely, being a despairing, newly widowed, single mother had its perks. "I would think your brothers are more than capable of taking care of the three of you for a few hours."

"I don't know," Arya pokes her head through the door. "I think Ricky's coming down with something. And with Sansa's at Jeyne's house…" Her youngest daughter clicks her tongue, but the front is obvious. Sansa has always been the actress between them (and the better liar).

"They will manage just fine. Again, only three hours." She huffs. "Did your sister steal my jewelry again?" Arya doesn't reply, just rolls her eyes and leaves, her futile argument a failure. No matter. Cat settles instead on some small, sapphire studs (not the ones that Ned gave her on their tenth anniversary. That would just be tasteless.) and moves on to her makeup.

It's weird, feeling attractive again. Not that she hasn't felt pretty since Ned's death - it would be hypocritical of her to call her sons her beautiful boys (because they are! ) and not acknowledge where their looks came from. But with no one to kiss her at night, no one to hold her around the waist while she dressed and tell her exactly how lovely every dress, jumper, and pyjama set made her, Catelyn had a hard time looking at her reflection and seeing someone desirable .

The make-up helps, if only as a break in the status quo.

She finishes her lipstick with a swish. It's the dark red, the one that Ned used to say matched her hair and brought out her dimples. Maybe back then it did, she thinks fondly, eyeing the streak of gray that had slipped into the auburn some years back.

Maybe, part of her is excited about her revitalized dating life. After all, she hadn't properly dated in twenty years, having married and started a family with her first boyfriend rather young.

Said family, though, is much less enthused. Robb is nice about it, at least, but it would be ignorant of her to not notice the looks he shoots Jon and Sansa every time one of her dates is mentioned. And Sansa, she is eager enough to help her mother pick outfits and get prettied up, but that is where the courtesy stops. Jon, Bran, and Arya would all rather have their teeth pulled un-anesthetized than acknowledge any of her "hook-ups" as a potential step-parent.

It's a good thing Catelyn isn't looking for anything long-term, then.

Her eldest sons are waiting in the living room when she finishes getting ready. Robb gives her a small smile from his spot on the couch, Rickon balanced in his lap. Her three-year-old seems to be showing his big brother one of his many toy cars, probably explaining all of the superpowers he has made up for it. When she walks in, though, he abandons the task, jumping off of Robb in favor of her.

"You look fancy, Mama!" He announces, throwing himself around her thighs. "Are you going to a ball?"

She chuckles, giving her youngest a red, lipstick-y kiss on his cheek. "No, love, just dinner. Will you be a good boy for your brothers while I'm gone?"

His blue eyes bulge with his smile.

"Robbie and Jon are babysitting!?" Cat doesn't get time to reply - her little boy rushes back to Robb, cheering and tugging at his shirt. Well, at least one of them won't hate me after tonight, she thinks, ignoring Jon's scowl and Robb's hesitance as best she can.

If her burgeoning dating life was unpopular with the boys, her choice of a date was downright scandalous. But she can't blame them - if even a year ago Jaime had approached her with the same proposition of a fine dinner together, she might have slapped him across his smug, beautiful face.

What changed since then, she still doesn't know, but the spark of excitement that she had felt when the man approached her after work was undeniable. That she was somehow, miraculously, attracted to Jaime fucking Lannister, was beyond a doubt.

And speaking of, she heard the distinct humming of a sports car pulling up outside their small, suburban house. What a sight that must be, Cat thinks, and blushes to imagine what the neighbors will think of such a spectacle. Even still, her excited nerves tingle with anticipation.

"I'm heading out, boys. There's money for pizza on the kitchen counter, if you want to order some. You know when bedtime is - don't let Rickon tell you nine." She receives a grunt from Jon, who hasn't even looked up from his book, a nod from Robb, and a cheer of "Pizza!" from Rickon. "Hold down the fort, okay? I'll be back."

Rickon runs up to hug her one more time, and with a shouted "goodbye" to the rest of the household, she practically skips out the door.

Her first thought, when they both step out of the car and Cat really gets a good look at her date, is that Jaime Lannister knows damn well how to dress himself.

It's more subdued than she might have expected - a deep red knit top beneath a clean blazer, paired with simple pressed slacks - but it's all picked to match the gold of his hair, which he wears down and curly, and the bright green of his eyes. He looks half a decent man, she muses, and all a wealthy one.

Jaime gives Catelyn an appraisal, too, if his swift once-over is anything to go by. She tries not to let it bother her, what he might make of her appearance, but she has never felt every second of her age so much as she does under the scrutiny.

If he wants to judge, he should try raising a handful of children first, she justifies, and nods towards the door.

"May we?"

Jaime just gives her one of his unreadable smirks. "Yes, we may." He steps in front of Cat to get the door. "The lipstick matches your hair, you know."

That might be the closest thing she gets to a compliment tonight.

Conversation comes slowly, once they are seated and with a glass of wine in front of them (Catelyn doesn't go cheap, either - it's not every day that a man with a trust fund buys her dinner, after all). They go through the usuals quickly - How many kids do you have now? Six. Is your sister well? Well enough. Oh, lovely, I need to get her casserole dish back to her. How about work? As usual, and you? Oh, it's going.

She doesn't have much to say after that. God, she really has no idea how to date - it all came so naturally with Ned, and they'd married at twenty. Robb probably has more literacy in this field than his own mother, and he's had exactly one middle-school girlfriend and the current boyfriend that Catelyn would rather ignore exists (the one she does not allow to stay over while her son is watching the kids).

Is it always this awkward? she thinks, tapping her wine glass for a way to fill the silence, desperately avoiding Jaime's intense gaze that never quite leaves her. Maybe she should have asked her seventeen-year-old for pointers. Would that have been too embarrassing? Probably.

A miraculous buzz from her purse gives her just the excuse to break the tension. But taking a look down at the screen, Catelyn just wants to throw the damn thing across the room.

[Sansa]

-you know my friend margaery is dating joffrey baratheon, right?
if you marry jaime that makes me his cousin.
and then when margie marries joff that makes me HER cousin.
Ew!

-Do you really want to be Cercei Lannister's sister-in-law? Double ew!

Oh, good grief, Sansa, Catelyn thinks, shoving the offending device back into her purse. Her irritation must be transparent, going by the amused quirk of Jaime's eyebrow.

"Something the matter?"

"Kids." She shakes her head. "Apparently your nephew is going to marry my daughter's best friend and ruin her life forever. Or something."

He shrugs, swirling his wine - deep, rich red to match his shirt. "Well, Joff's a piece of shit. I wouldn't doubt it."

Catelyn balks, nearly spilling her rosé. "He's a child, Jaime."

"A piece-of-shit child." He takes a sip. "Oh, come on, you've thought that about your kids at least once, Cat. Don't deny it."

Never, she thinks. Catelyn can't say she would still be around without her children, even upset with her as they are. Even Rickon, who had only barely been a fetus when his father passed. They helped her through that dark period as much as she had helped them, and then some.

She purses her lips and looks down at the tablecloth. "Well, none of them are too happy with me at the moment. But they are not shitty," she whispers the word, "just grieving."

He tuts, shaking his head, clearly not taking her seriously. Fair enough. This is a date, not therapy (and he's Jaime Lannister, not her Ned). Still, it rubs her the wrong way.

"After all you do for them, too. Doesn't Mom deserve a bit of fun?" His tone is jovial, in that almost-sarcasm way that makes him impossible to read, but there's something beneath it. Something Cat can't quite get her finger on, though the glint in his eye and the tilt of his smile are screaming hints.

Suddenly, she's blushing. "I have fun," she defends, and checks her glass. Not even half empty. Dammit. Too early to blame the wine. "The kids and I have game night every Friday."

"Hm. Riveting." Jaime takes a long sip of his merlot and never breaks her gaze. She knows he can see the way it makes her squirm, like she's somehow giddy and young all over again. It has been too long, she decides. She also decides that she quite likes the feeling.

"That's not the kind of fun I meant, though," he says, once he sets the glass down. His eyes are a burning, curious green as they rake down her body. "Does Mommy never get time to herself?"

Oh God. When did her heart start beating so fast?

She clears her throat (and squeezes her thighs together). "A-as a single mother of six? You tell me where the alone time is."

He leans back with a laugh. "Well, I can't say I envy you that - but you certainly had your fun to get so many." A foot bumps her leg beneath the table. "Though not in a while, I take it?"

Catelyn swallows her sip of wine hard. Maybe she puts a little extra something into her answer, in the low turn of her eyes and the returned tapping of ankles: "A very long while."

She knows they've entered something then - what to call it, she does not, but they're well and truly in it when, after only one more drink and a round of appetizers, they leave the restaurant, rushed and jittery with anticipation like something urgent awaits them.

Jaime shoves her against the side of his car, pressing the entire length of his body to hers and covering her lips with his own. The tang of tannins still dance on his tongue - Catelyn has never been one for red wines, but off of Jaime, the taste is as bittersweet as chocolate.

Maybe it's a mistake, moaning into the kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck and dragging him even closer, but not a second thought about it passes her mind. His fine, velvet blazer is crumpled beneath her grip, the pressed slacks wrinkled as a thigh grinds between her eagerly parted legs. Jaime, on his part, doesn't seem to give a single shit about all of his finery (which probably cost more than her car alone). The blazer is thrown to the floor as soon as he manages to open the car door and shove the both of them into the back seat.

Sprawled on the brand-new, unblemished leather seats, Jaime works on thoroughly pillaging her neck with kisses and working his hands over her thighs. He smirks the whole while. She can feel that telltale curve of his lips against her neck, and even more potent as they travel south.

Fucking Lannisters, she thinks

(As the night goes on, as their clothes slowly slip away and their passions are spilled unto each other in every way they can think of, the thought also becomes an apt summary of her evening.)

So, maybe she gets home closer to eleven, and maybe she is a little embarrassed to admit that, yes, she did, by all definitions, just hook up with Jaime Lannister. Her children never have to know that (even if Sansa, with her sixth sense for detecting romance, undoubtedly will).

When Jaime had finally dropped her off back home, it had been with the promise of another night like this one, but with a proper bed beneath them. It would be a lie to say the prospect didn't set her fire burning anew.

Catelyn still feels floaty and giddy as she drifts through the front door, though she keeps her footsteps as quiet as possible. It would do no one any good for her to wake up the household in her post-post-coital haze.

Although, that might not be much of an issue - light sneaks through the crack of Bran and Arya's shared bedroom, along with raised voices.

She huffs, sneaking over for a better look. It's past their bedtime.

Arya sounds properly pissed. She stands in the middle of the room, hands balled into fists, while her brother lays in bed (like the good boy that he is).

"She said she would be back an hour ago!"

"Well, maybe they're just having a conversation. You know how grown-ups never stop talking when they say they will." Oh, Bran, stay innocent forever, Cat thinks, her body still tingling where Jaime had touched and kissed her (or maybe that's just the lingering wine). It really had been far too long…

"I don't care! Mom promised she would be home and she's not!" And that really should have been where she pushed open the door, but curiosity stilled her hand. Arya was never this open with her anger when she knew Cat was listening. "Why does she even go on dates anyway? If Mom wants to forget Dad so much, she doesn't have to see other people to do that!"

Oh. Ouch.

"Arya." That voice belongs to Robb, and he sounds as much the scolding parent as Ned ever did (as she has never quite been able to). And God, does she feel like a fool now. Here she is sleeping around, while the death of her children's father is still a fresh, festering wound.

"Well, she is!" Arya continues, and it's hard to dispute.

"She isn't, and she won't. Not ever." His words are final, and if Catelyn had the time, she is sure there are a million meanings to dissect from them. One of them becomes painfully obvious as he continues, with less conviction, "It just doesn't work like that." Her eldest moves into view, scooping up an affronted Arya and plopping her onto her mattress, as though she were still a toddler. He takes a seat next to her. "Would you ever forget Dad, even if Mom remarried?"

"...No," she conceded, clearly taking Robb's point.

"Well, there you have it. Mom's just having some fun. I know Jon's having a hard time without Dad, but you don't have to let his grief drag you down, too. You've still got a mom who loves you a whole lot."

Dammit, Robb. How have I let you become their parent?

Robb continues after a moment, giving his sister a half-convincing smile. "Bran's right, you know. Adults love to talk. Especially at dinner."

But if it was cheering Arya up that Robb was trying for, he wasn't doing well. Her daughter just flopped onto her other side with an irritated huff, and her son sighed in return.

"Look, she probably isn't even thinking about marrying again, okay? It's not worth worrying about." Robb scooches forward, giving his pouting little sister a kiss on her cheek. "Go to sleep. I was supposed to have you in bed an hour ago." He walks over and kisses Bran, too, his little brother pulling him into a hug before he can turn around and leave.

"You don't think they're kissing, do you?" he says, and bless him, he sounds like he's never had a more pressing concern in his ten years of life.

It's probably for the best that Robb doesn't answer - he's as bad a liar as Cat is - just pats down Bran's curls and kisses his forehead one last time. "Go to sleep, Bran."

Close to the door as Catelyn is, she doesn't manage to sneak away before Robb turns off the lights and leaves the room, and her presence gives him pause at the doorway.

"Oh," he whispers. "You're back."

She smiles, awkward. "Yep. Everything go well?"

He nods. "Just got them into bed. Arya was putting up a stink about it."

"Oh, well... I'll talk to her about it in the morning." I'll talk to all of you very soon.

There's a bit of silence as Robb's eyes rake over her, as though checking for discrepancies. The toothy smile that creeps across his face might have been a good sign, if not for the words that accompany it: "You know, I was going to ask if you had fun, but I don't think I need to. Sansa will help you cover that up. She's really good at it." He taps his neck a few times and walks off, but turns the corner once again to tack on a quick "Don't ask me how I know that!"

Catelyn touches her own neck, confused, until little tooth-shaped indents meet her fingers, and the tender skin stings anew.

Oh, good grief. She can't help but laugh.