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janie_tangerine
They did in the waiting room until he was called in.
He’s not so sure he wants to make it obvious.
“Please,” Dr. Baratheon had said as he ushered him in, “take a seat.”
Jaime had.
The seat is comfortable, at least. It’s a pale peach color with soft cushions. It’s the only spot of color in an otherwise impeccable, clean office — white walls, dark desk, dark bookshelves, everything tidy and neat.
Stannis Baratheon is only a couple years older than he is, but he has a good name in the field, and when he checked his credentials, they showed an excellent success rate with patients. That’s why he’s published an endless list of academic articles and three books when he’s barely thirty-six.
Thankfully, his waiting list wasn’t too long.
He looks up into the man’s pale blue eyes, glances at his impeccable charcoal suit with a straightened blue tie.
“Do you want a glass of water?” He asks.
“Not really,” Jaime replies. He feels like if he drinks something, he might feel sick. “But thank you.”
Baratheon nods, his elbows going to the desk.
“Mr. Lannister,” he says. “Given what kind of issues I am specialized in treating, I assume that is why you wanted to see me.”
“I — I think so,” he answers.
He takes a deep breath.
“But I really don’t know how to call any of that.”
“That’s my job,” the man says. “And we have an hour today. We can start whenever you feel ready.”
He nods, but says nothing. His hands are sweating.
After he says nothing for two minutes, Baratheon clears his throat.
“Or maybe you’d prefer direct questions?”
“Yes,” he immediately replies. “I’d rather.”
“Very well.” He seems to consider it.
Then.
“I don’t want to know why you’re here exactly at this moment. We can get to it later. But for now… was it something that you’ve always known but couldn’t talk about before now, or did you only realize it lately?”
He breathes in.
“I realized it recently. I think.”
“Very well.” Stannis notes something down on a notepad. “You think?”
“It’s — complicated.”
“We have all the time in the world to figure it out. Now, what do you want me to help you with, other than that?”
He shrugs. “Well. I think — it’s because, uh, my previous… long-lasting relationship.” He pauses. “If you want to call it that.”
“Are you in another, now?”
“Hopefully,” he says. “But — I couldn’t expect her to stay in it, if I don’t — figure this out.”
“All right. And who was the previous long-lasting relationship?”
He swallows, then looks up at him.
“My twin sister,” he says.
***
Cersei’s bed is large, and soft, he thinks as her hands touch his hips and she drags him closer.
It’s the first thing he remembers.
He thinks so, at least. He has vague memories of his mother singing to him, maybe, but — this is the clearest one.
He doesn’t know how old he is. Four? Five? Maybe.
“Your eyes are just like mine,” she whispers, like it’s some kind of secret shared just in between them. Her hand slips into his hair. “This, too.”
He closes his eyes, feeling her arms around him.
“Just like me,” she says.
“Just like you,” he echoes.
He goes to sleep a moment later.
He thinks she was saying she hates it when they don’t sleep together, the bed feels so large and empty.
He remembers slipping inside it every night.
Until he didn’t anymore.
***
Baratheon’s eyes go wide for a moment, but then he takes back a professional stance. “Your twin sister.”
“Yes,” he says. “I know it’s —”
“I’m not judging anything here. Also, you said it wasn’t healthy in the first place, didn’t you?”
He laughs, slightly.
“You could say that.” He squeezes his hands tighter. “I just — I didn’t realize how it was. For a while.”
“And how was it?”
Just like you.
That was — that time.
No one would notice if you wore my clothes and I wore yours.
That was — when they were seven. Probably. He thinks so.
You’re part of me and I’m part of you.
He doesn’t remember when that one started. He can’t.
We’re just the same person. If I was a man, I’d be you.
He doesn’t remember when she said that first, either.
He breathes in.
“She seemed — she said we were the same person.”
“And what did you have to say about it?”
Good question.
“I said nothing,” he admits. “I thought she was right. Even if — some others, they said different.”
***
“Why do you always say you’re like her?” Tyrion asks him out of the blue when he’s six and Jaime’s thirteen and Cersei is out at ballet practice.
“What?”
“Come on, I hear it. You always say that you get her because you’re the same person. But you’re not.”
Something in the casual way Tyrion says it makes something under his skin tingle, but not in the good way. His first instinct is telling him to shut the fuck up about things he doesn’t know, but — no. He wouldn’t do that to his brother, of all people. He takes a deep breath, calming himself down. “What do you mean?”
Tyrion doesn’t look too impressed as he glares up at him, his small hands clutching his fairytales book.
“You’re here now. She wouldn’t be. She hates me, you don’t.”
“Of course I don’t —”
“See, you didn’t say that she didn’t.”
“It’s complicated,” Jaime finally says, not wanting to think about it. Tyrion doesn’t get it. Jaime loves him, but he can’t get it.
“I bet it is,” Tyrion sighs, and goes back to his book.
Jaime feels relieved.
He doesn’t think about that conversation much, from that point on.
***
“Who did?”
“My brother,” Jaime admits. “He was right, in hindsight.”
His knuckles are so white it almost hurts. He tries to relax his grip.
“How long did it last?”
Ha.
Not a question he was relishing answering. “Until two years ago,” he admits.
“Two years,” Baratheon says. “Did the both of you have any other relationships?”
“She’s married,” Jaime says. “Has been since she was twenty.” He breathes in. “That somehow wasn’t a breaking point for her.”
***
See, she had said, I’m marrying him just because Father needs me to. And it’s company benefit. But you’re the only one I want.
Her hand was running over his leg as they laid under that thin sheet in summer. It was their twentieth birthday.
But —, he had said.
Oh, he’s not going to be there all the time, she had smiled. And I’ll find you when he isn’t.
She had kissed him then.
He had kissed her back, thinking that for that, he could have waited all his life.
***
“What about you? Have you been with anyone else, while —”
“No,” he admits. “Just her. That was the breaking point, actually.”
“Was it? How?”
“I thought — she said there wouldn’t be anyone else. Other than her husband, of course. Then — I found out there were others.”
“I see,” Baratheon says. “And was that the only reason it ended?”
“She — she said I didn’t understand why, and that she had to and a whole other list of reasons, and I could only think that she had lied for years, and — I never did. Lie to her, I mean. I broke it off and she’s been treating me like it was my fault since.”
Shit. He feels suffocating.
“I’ll have that glass of water, if you have it.”
“Of course.” Baratheon opens the water bottle on the desk, fills a nearby paper cup with it and hands it over to him. Jaime downs it at once and crumples it in his hands.
“There was — well. I mean. I guess we’ll get there. But — that was it in… broad lines. I guess.”
“And how about your girlfriend now?”
He feels his fingers relax ever so slightly.
“She’s the entire contrary, I think.”
“And how did you meet her?”
Not the question he was looking forward to answer, either, but — “She convinced me to not jump off a fucking bridge a month after things ended with Cersei.”
***
“You know,” a female voice he hadn’t heard before in his life, “that railing is slippery.”
He had turned and found himself in front of a tall woman dressed in a dark coat definitely cut for men, a nose that was definitely broken once or twice already, straight straw blonde hair, and a pair of damn worried blue eyes that made her homely face way prettier than it’d have been otherwise, not that he was noticing that out of everything.
“And how is that any of your fucking business?” He had spat back.
She had looked at him as if she was worried.
It somehow hadn’t added up.
“I can’t just walk in front of people who seem about to jump off a damned bridge and not stop,” she had spat back, her blue eyes suddenly looking lit up from the inside with righteous anger as she stared at him.
He could have joked about her knight in shining armor complex and about how much she had the looks for it.
Somehow, he couldn’t in the face of the fact that she was a total stranger and actually stopped when his cellphone is blowing with text from Cersei telling him that he’s being irrational and unreasonable and that if he knows what’s good for him he’d apologize.
“And what is your schtick, giving them a pep talk and disappearing?” He had replied instead, with less venom than he was aiming at.
She had moves closer, put a hand on his arm tentatively —
“What do you need?” She had asked instead, looking entirely serious.
***
“I see it worked,” Baratheon says. “Did you get together then?”
“Hell, no. Well, she about kicked my ass into straightening my shit out and I punched in the face at least a couple idiots she knew from high school when I went with her to her reunion and I found out they were complete assholes to her back in the day before we figured out that we liked each other. Took us one year or something.”
“Good,” he says.
“How so?”
“Getting straight into a new relationship coming from your background might not have been a very good idea, if you’ll forgive my bluntness.”
“Please,” he says, “as if you wouldn’t know better.” He figures he should just say it. “Anyway. The problem — is that… until recently, I thought — what I had with my sister.”
“Yes.”
“I thought it was… unhealthy, but — that was it. I suppose. Then — something happened.”
“What exactly?”
“The reason I’m here.”
He takes very, very deep breath.
“I freaked out. In a very specific situation. And — I realized something.”
“Tell me.”
He doesn’t know how he’s supposed to.
But he’s going to try.
***
It had been half a joke, in the beginning. They were both tipsy with a couple of good beers in them, and he was trying to get Brienne to look embarrassed in the way she used to in the beginning but doesn’t really now, not after she’s been around him for years.
He hadn’t really expected her to answer, well, why not, when he joked about whether she’d like to try anal, since she likes using a strap-on on him as much as she does.
He just wanted to rile her up a bit.
But she just shrugged and said that she didn’t see a problem with it, and maybe it would spice things up a bit further, and she never thought about it in depth, but to try it out? Sure.
At that point, he couldn’t exactly go back on it. Not when it had been his idea.
But something had felt wrong. He didn’t know what, he didn’t realize it, but — there was a feeling in his gut telling him to drop it.
He didn’t listen to it.
He should have had.
“When do you want to, then?” He grinned at Brienne instead.
“Why, you want to do it now? I’m cool with it,” she smiled back, and —
“All right,” he had answered, but he felt a shiver along his back.
It must have been that he felt cold, he decided.
They had gone upstairs, and if his legs shook a bit, well, they had drunk. It was normal, right?
The fact that he somehow didn’t really feel like doing that out of everything, though, kind of disappeared the moment they stumbled inside her bedroom and she started losing clothes. He glanced at her long legs and pale skin, freckles all over those muscles and her shoulders, and suddenly he felt interested all over again, but of course — fuck, he loves looking at her, since the moment he let himself realize she turned him on as much as — as Cersei ever did if not more he couldn’t have enough, and so what if maybe he wouldn’t like it? He could just say it was nice but he preferred the other way around next time, and it was sex with Brienne, what could have gone wrong?
She opened the nightstand’s drawer, throwing the lube his way.
He caught it with shaking fingers. Why did they fucking shake? He had no idea.
“So,” Brienne asked, pushing down her underwear and sitting on the bed, “you coming?”
“Sure,” he had said, and took a breath as he joined her on the bed, losing his jeans along the way.
She spread her legs, then considered something and turned over.
“You don’t have to,” he said, kneeling on the bed.
“But it should be easier for you if I’m like this, right?”
In retrospective, he could have gotten out of it telling her he wanted to see her in the face.
But maybe, he thought, if she doesn’t see me, then she can’t know if I’m liking it or not, right? After all, it’s not like — with Cersei, the two times he said something didn’t really feel interesting to him, she’d just glare and say, if you like it that way, and then they wouldn’t fuck for weeks until he pretty much begged her to come back. He knew it wasn’t the same, he knew, but —
Better not risk it.
He had coated his fingers in lube, his breath speeding up. But not in the good way. What —
He shook his head. Then moved them to her ass, right where the opening was. He slipped one inside.
“How does it feel?” He asked after a moment.
“A bit weird,” she said —
“Look at them,” Cersei says, staring at Mace Tyrell’s dogs in the next yard over.
“So what?” He asks, looking back at them as one of them mounts the others from the back —
“Hey,” Brienne asked, “you all right? You just stopped.”
“Sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “I just — thought about something. Never mind. I’m fine.”
He didn’t know why he thought about those dogs. He hadn’t thought about them in years. He thought he had forgotten them, for that matter. Why —
Never mind.
He adds a second finger, wondering why his head is feeling lighter than it should be.
“Oh,” Brienne says, “now — it’s less weird.”
“Good?”
“I — I think so? Go ahead,” she says, and then —
“Come on, no one’s home,” Cersei says, grabbing his hand. “No one will know.”
“I’m not so sure,” he protests weakly. “I mean, why —”
“Why not?” She grins. “Or what, you’d chicken out of it?”
“I’m not — of course not,” he replies, with the kind of bravado you outgrow when you’re past seven years old, “but what if Mom comes back sooner —”
“Come on,” she says, leading him back, “it will be nice. They’re liking it, aren’t they? Do it for me. I think it’ll be good,” she smiles —
The hell. Why was he thinking about Cersei now? He hadn’t even remembered that one time, he hadn’t thought about Cersei in this kind of situation in years, why the fuck…? He shook his head, put some more lube on his fingers, got ready to move the third inside, slow, and then glanced down at himself and realized that he wasn’t really hard anymore.
What —
Well, he certainly couldn’t fuck Brienne regardless if he wasn’t ready for it, so he reached down for his dick with his free hand, the other one working its way inside her, staring at her large, pale shoulders, with blonde hair covering her neck, thinking of all the ways she’d moan for him after, desperately trying to get it back up because then it was Not Going To Work and he would be disappointing her same as he ended up disappointing Cersei whenever he couldn’t —
“Oh, it does feel good now —” Brienne says —
Cersei locks the door to their room before raising up her dress, kicking off her shoes and underwear.
Jaime’s fingers are stuck on his half-opened jeans, and he’s staring at her pale legs and green eyes staring at him expectantly.
“Come here,” she whispers, and he does, her hand grabbing his and opening his jeans for good, pulling them down. Then she grins as she turns over and presses her back against his front, feeling his crotch underneath. “Just like they did,” she says, her voice sounding so sure, while he just follows her lead because if he’d talk she’d understand that he’s not really liking it, and he prefers it when they hold each other under the covers, but he couldn’t say that now could he and Cersei’s still telling him that it feels good and he needs to rub against her harder and it’s not how it should feel because he wants what she wants he’s always wanted what she wanted because they’re just the same like he’s always known because that’s how it has always been and if she wants it then he also wants it that’s just how it is and it always was and it always will be but it doesn’t feel good it doesn’t it doesn’titdoesn’twhydoesn’tit —
“Jaime?”
He blinked.
Someone was calling him, he thinks, but everything feels weird and wasn’t Cersei here —
“Jaime?!”
There was a movement, maybe two, maybe three, he didn’t know, someone had hands on his shoulders but he didn’t know —
“Jaime, please tell me something because this isn’t —”
He blinked again, suddenly bringing a couple of blue eyes into focus, and wait, why was everything blurry, shit shit shit he was crying and Brienne was in front of him looking worried out of her mind and he definitely wasn’t hard anymore and his hands were shaking so hard it was a miracle he could see them and everything is wrong and he never wanted it, he didn’t, but he didn’t remember, why didn’t he, why did he now, whywhywhy —
“I —” He started, then he shook his head and then his stomach turned upside down so violently he lurched from the bed, and — “I need to vomit,” he managed, and a moment later she had dragged him to the bathroom and he was throwing up his guts inside it, and he hadn’t realized —
He closed his eyes, heard the door lock, felt Cersei’s hands on his wrists —
He threw up again.
He threw up for a damned long time, his face wet with tears even if he didn’t know why or how and what the fuck it was about, and shit, he hadn’t even touched her, he hadn’t done anything —
“If I asked what just happened?” Brienne had asked cautiously as he breathed in and out, still kneeling over the toilet in case he wasn’t done. “You don’t have to tell me.”
His throat hurt. He said nothing for a moment.
“There were dogs,” he whispered.
“There were — never mind. Can you stand?” Her voice sounded kind of far away, but — wasn’t she right there?
He said nothing and kept on looking down, because if he closed his eyes he’d see Cersei’s golden hair and green eyes and pink mouth and that green dress she was wearing and he’d hear the door closing —
“Jaime, can you hear me?”
Suddenly he did, closer than she was before. His throat still hurt. He nodded.
“Okay,” she said. “Okay. You don’t need to talk, just — tell me if you need anything.”
“Just talk,” he managed to say before a bout of dizziness took him again. She started telling nonsense about the last time she talked to her dad, which he didn’t even grasp fully, but the more she talked the less lightheaded he felt, until he nodded and raised his head enough that she could help him sit up against the wall.
“Can you tell me what happened?” She asked, sitting next to him.
“I don’t know,” he said, his voice so low he could barely hear himself. “I mean — I just remembered — something I hadn’t. For a long time. And — please, I can’t — I can’t do that.”
“… Of course not,” she answered, sounding horrified. “For — of course not,” she said, her voice lowering, her hand going around his shoulder. “You know what, if you can stand we can just go back to bed, I can make you some tea, we can call it a night and discuss it tomorrow, how about it? Unless you want space —”
“No, it — has nothing to do with you. But — yeah. Sounds good. Thanks,” he managed, feeling like his head was going to explode and feeling tears on his face all over again.
What the fuck was wrong with him?
But —
Why hadn’t he remembered —
Why had he thought until now that the first time he and Cersei — did anything like that, it was when they were fifteen?
Why had he fucking forgotten it?
***
He has to give it to Baratheon — he doesn’t flinch as he hears it or anything.
He looks down at the pad.
“I see,” he says. “A few more questions, if you feel up to it?”
“I’m here for that, am I not?” Jaime answers, not feeling any of that bravado he’s trying to show.
“Very well. So, when you remembered it, how exactly did you feel? I think I gathered, but I would rather hear it from you.”
He nods. “It was — the entire set-up felt wrong, but I couldn’t put my finger on why it did. The more it went on the worst it got, and when she turned her back it became — bad. I just — was going ahead with it and then every once in a while I’d see those memories flashing in front of my eyes and I wouldn’t see — the rest. Not at all.”
“Did your girlfriend notice?”
“I didn’t tell her and she wasn’t looking at me. She noticed when it got — bad.”
“Is there a reason why you didn’t tell her?”
He breathes. “I didn’t want her to think I couldn’t — do it, if she wanted.”
Baratheon notes something else down. “All right. How old did you say you were when — this happened?”
“We were seven,” he says.
“And before that episode happened you had no idea that had happened?”
“No,” he replies sincerely. “I — I had completely forgot it. I guess. If you asked me when, I couldn’t answer.”
“That’s fine,” Baratheon says, noting it down. “So, you felt like you were somewhere else and not in your bedroom?”
“Pretty much.”
Baratheon looks at his watch. “There’s enough time left,” he says, nodding. “All right. I have something else to ask you. Which will sound very weird to you, probably, but if you can answer it, that would tell… a few things.”
“Ask away,” Jaime says, feeling like he’s going to faint.
Baratheon hands him another paper cup filled with water. He drinks it.
“Did you draw, when you were that age?”
“I — I’m sorry? Like, in school?”
“I guess. Or for yourself.”
“I wasn’t very good at it.”
“That’s not the point, don’t worry.”
“I guess,” he replies. “I mean, after Tyrion was born, when Mom died, I kind was around his room to keep an eye on him for — reasons. It happened when I was bored.”
“Do you remember what did you draw?”
He tries to recall, but shakes his head. “I — not really. Also because I stopped when both my father and Cersei saw those drawings.”
“Really. Can I ask why?”
“Will it help you figure things out?”
“It could.”
Well. He’s here. He told him about that.
This is nothing in comparison. “Father just said I wasn’t good at it. Cersei — she said they were depressing.”
“Depressing.”
“The only thing I remember is that she thought it was depressing that all of them had a bunch of dead trees in them. Or trees with broken branches. Or something like that.”
At that, Baratheon’s eyes narrow. “Do you happen to remember why you drew them like that?”
“Not really,” he admits, trying to. “It made sense, though. I remember that.”
“You wouldn’t happen to have kept any of them?”
“I’m afraid not,” Jaime says. “I threw them in a box, but I definitely didn’t bring it with when I left the house. I don’t even know where it might be. Is there something I should know about it?”
Baratheon looks at the time again.
“I don’t know if we have enough time, but let me tell you something. We’re going to have to discuss all of this again, obviously, and I’m anticipating you, it’s going to be a lot of work and you will hate every second of it, most likely, but — I don’t think I will have to refer you with a colleague with a different specialization.”
On one side, he’s just relieved he wasn’t seeing things.
On the other —
“So — it means that —”
“It would be very unprofessional if I said anything more now. But I don’t think it will take too long to be sure of what I’m suspecting here.”
He nods. “I — I understand it.”
“My secretary will book you for next week at this same time,” Baratheon says, managing to not sound cold as he says it, somehow. “Just one last question. Have you talked to your sister, lately?”
“No,” he immediately says. “I couldn’t.”
Baratheon nods. “I would advise you not to for — a while, at least. Then I will see you next week,” he says.
“You will,” Jaime says. He feels drained.
But he needs to get to the bottom of this.
Even if he hates every second of it.
— —
(“How did it go?” Brienne asks the moment he slides into her car’s passenger seat — she was waiting for him outside already.
“I’m going back next week,” he says, not knowing exactly how to answer that question. “I mean. It — went somewhere.”
“Good,” she says, putting the car in gear and driving away. “Did he say anything —?”
“He says it’s too early but — I didn’t pick the wrong person.”
She nods, driving ahead. Her lips are pressed together. For a moment he thinks she’s going to say this is too much for her and she’s going to back out. He’d get it —
“Listen,” she says, “I’m not saying you have to share or anything. I can imagine you don’t want to and that’s why it’s his job to help you figure it out. But if I can do anything to help you with whatever it is, just ask, all right?”
He’s not going to do something exceedingly embarrassing.
“All right,” he says, “but I’m warning you, he did say I would hate every second of it. I don’t know how much of a delight I’m going to be the next months.”
“As if you were a delight when we met.”
He laughs at that, not much but some —
Well.
Hopefully he’s not going to be as bad off as he was back then.)
Two months later
“You asked about those drawings, a while ago,” Jaime tells Baratheon on month three. It’s been ten sessions and they were barely enough to scratch the surface, apparently, but he’s not going to ask himself how much more he has to dig into the mess in his head before he figures some of it out.
“I did. You remembered?”
He sighs. “I’ll do you one better. Turns out, my brother had them.”
“Your brother?”
“I don’t know how. But I mentioned that I was seeing someone about Cersei, he said it was about time, I mentioned it, and he stands up, goes to the attic and comes down with this box with a bunch of them. He said they were in the back of my closet when I was fourteen, one day he saw Cersei putting it in the trash, he went to check, got the feeling that it was something important and put them in his closet. I don’t know why he’d have brought that to his house, but. Anyway, here they are.” He takes the box from the backpack he brought and hands it over.
Baratheon takes it with a nod, thanking him, and starts going through the entire thing. Jaime only glances at them.
But he can’t help noticing that in the ones he sees where he is present, he drew himself without hands.
Somehow, even if he doesn’t know what the fuck is Baratheon looking for, it’s not a good thing.
He stares at the drawings for ten minutes, then puts them away.
“Did — they suggest anything you didn’t know already?” Jaime asks, cautiously.
“No,” Baratheon says. “Actually, they’re just confirming what I’ve been thinking since day one.”
Well, fuck.
“Fine,” Jaime says. “Hit me. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to know, right?”
Baratheon moves his elbows on the table, glances for a moment at the picture of most-likely-his-daughter on the corner of his desk, then looks back up at him again.
“Very well. I’m going to tell you straight up — when you told me you hadn’t remembered that episode at all, it was a red flag. Given everything else you’ve said up to this point and how you reacted to recalling it and what you’ve said about your general coping mechanisms —”
“Coping mechanisms?”
“You might not know it was that, but you’ve used a lot of them. And this is where I tell you that repression or suppression of traumatic memories is very common, when discussing child abuse victims. Especially male ones.”
He doesn’t know why his first instinct is denying it.
It’s fucking ridiculous.
He went to a guy who’s a fucking authority on the subject because deep down he knew that could be the issue, if he even thinks about that one memory he wants to throw up, since he remembered that he hasn’t been able to walk near dogs without wanting to jump on the other side of the road, it’s been two months and he’s gained a new awareness of how unhealthy his entire life was until he broke it off with her —
And still, his first instinct is telling him, it can’t be?
He looks back up at Baratheon. He’s sending him a knowing look.
“Let me guess,” Jaime says, “you knew I was about to deny it?”
“Maybe,” he answers. “But I’m afraid it’s the case. I could have told you earlier than this, but I wanted to be sure and those drawings… pretty much confirmed it.”
“So what, dead trees are red flags?”
“Trees with broken branches are. The fact that your hands aren’t drawn in any of those pictures is also telling. Or that your sister somehow looks always larger than you do, or your brother does, but I don’t think this is what you want to discuss now.”
“Not to contradict the verdict,” he says, “but doesn’t it change anything that she was — I mean, she also was —”
“This is the moment where I tell you that children can do it to other children. Of course she wouldn’t knowingly have a clue of what she was doing, but it doesn’t change the crux of it. Also, while I cannot say anything about your sister as I haven’t diagnosed her, I think your problem isn’t just what she did, it’s the context.”
He swallows.
“And what would that be?”
“From what you’ve told me,” Baratheon says, “your sister shows all the signs of… well, let’s say she would have needed psychological support then and probably now. I cannot say for sure, of course, but my working theory is that she always saw you as her male counterpart… in the sense of an extension of herself, if you grasp my meaning, which means that I’m afraid she didn’t consider your needs then nor has considered them at any point after.”
He thinks about it. Maybe he’s wrong. Maybe he’s —
No.
He knows he’s right. He can’t think of one single instance where his needs came first, unless she needed something.
“Also, what you said about her behavior with other friends of hers who seemed to like you, suggests that at that point she was possessive in the worst way. And if she can’t accept that you don’t want anything to do with her anymore, that only cements it.”
He drinks the glass of water that was already on the desk.
He’s not surprised that Baratheon thought he’d need it.
“And what does that mean for me?” He asks. His fingers are shaking again.
Baratheon takes a very, very deep breath. “A lot of things. And you will hate to hear this.”
“I haven’t liked hearing anything else, did I?”
“Fair. Well. You definitely have post traumatic stress disorder, with a strong tendency to turn to dissociation if triggered, which was definitely the case when you remembered that one episode. It does add up with the fact that you forgot it until you ended up in the exact same context.”
“Could — could it have happened other times?”
“It could or it could not, but now that you know, it might happen again. If you remembered that one time and there were others, it could be the case. What’s blatantly clear, though, is that you were not willing at that point, not even for… experimenting, I suppose, also because what you said happened is not normal experimentation in between children.”
“Categorically?”
“Categorically. Also, from what you said about your relationships in general, a direct consequence could be that while you’re certainly not without charisma yourself, you don’t have many friends or meaningful relationships beyond the few you told me, and that’s also a possible consequence which I think might be the case here. What is honestly surprising in the positive sense is… what you told me your brother said, at some point.”
“What exactly?”
“That you’ve thought for years you actually were the same person as she was while your behavior said otherwise.”
“… What if I told you I was always angry when he pointed that out?”
“Then I’m afraid some part of you knew already.”
Well, fuck.
He did get what he came for, didn’t he?
Fuck.
Fuck.
He clenches his fingers together.
“All right,” he says. “And what do I do about this?”
Baratheon almost smiles at that.
“For one, you should feel good about having just asked me that question.”
“… Should I?”
“It shows you do want to do something about it, which is not a given, and that you aren’t trying to convince yourself that it cannot be true.”
“I did come here in the first place, didn’t I? I — listen, she ruined my life already. I can’t — I can’t get like that again.”
“Well, that’s a good attitude. And honestly, all things considered, you haven’t done too badly until now, I think. All things considered. Anyway, now that you know, we can see about working in actual ways of dealing with it on top of, well, discussing your previous history, because I have a feeling there is more to say on that topic. But just to be sure of one thing, has remembering that episode affected your sexual life?”
Shit. Obviously he had to ask. Thank fuck the answer isn’t as embarrassing as it could have been.
“Yes and no.”
“Such as?”
“It hasn’t on a, hm, basic level. I mean, we did have sex since then. It hasn’t changed that. But before we really were… I mean, pretty varied, if you get what I mean. Especially because it’s not like either of us had to keep it hidden, we could indulge and she really didn’t have much experience on her own before because, uhm, let’s just say she’s not exactly standard attractive so she didn’t have anyone else serious, if you get my meaning. So — she was just very open about trying out things and whatnot. And now, she’s obviously holding back because she doesn’t want to risk putting me in that position again and while it’s — nice of her, well. On one side I’d rather go back to how it was before, but on the other… I can’t help thinking that she might be right and I shouldn’t push it.”
“Have you talked about it?”
He wants to laugh. “Not really. I just — don’t want her to be disappointed,” he admits.
“Has she been disappointed before?”
“Not really.”
“Then I think you should start by talking to her. Do you have any reason to think she would be this time? Did she give you any hint of it?”
“… No, actually.”
“Well, you don’t have to tell her what you told me, but just saying that it’s better to avoid that one specific situation and then work back up to your previous standards slowly would work. I forgot to say before, you have a tendency to… but she isn’t your sister, you need not to overlap your previous expectations on a new person. Did she show you any sign of seeing you as a commodity? If she hasn’t, talking to her about it should be a fairly easy place to start from, if you want to address the immediate issues at least.”
“What if it sounds like a complete nightmare?”
“I told you you would hate it, didn’t I?”
He almost wants to laugh.
“You did,” he admits. “Well, fine. I never wanted to be famous for not facing things I hate.”
“If anything you do have the right attitude.”
At least he has that, he realizes.
Except that —
“Let me just ask you something rhetorical,” Jaime says then, his voice suddenly dropping down low.
“Ask away.”
“If — if this entire thing we had started because she thought I was her other half and — I somehow never questioned it, if I obviously didn’t want it or I wouldn’t have reacted that way and if I spent thirty years more or less using coping mechanisms even if I didn’t even know I was doing it… well. I always thought it was mutual.”
Baratheon nods.
“Was it, then?” He asks.
Baratheon takes a deep breath, then looks back up at him. “That’s something for you to know. I can’t tell you if it was or it wasn’t, because I didn’t live it. What I can tell you is that in the beginning, she definitely didn’t let you have a choice in it and that when you were seven you didn’t want it on a sexual level. The rest is for you to decide. But whatever conclusion you come to, whether you feel like you did want it or not, it says nothing less of you either way. Just remember that.”
“I’ll — I’ll try to,” he says.
On one side, he feels hollowed out.
On the other —
On the other maybe now he can begin to make sense of this entire fucking mess.
He can’t believe she —
No.
No, he came here, he heard the verdict, he didn’t question it.
He can believe it indeed.
He just wishes he didn’t have to.
— —
(Brienne walks outside the car the moment he comes out of the building. Usually she waits, but he supposes he looks like shit enough that she would.
She stops right in front of him.
“What happened?” She asks.
“Is it so obvious something did?”
“What if it is?”
He has no idea of what she’s seeing right now. Something worrying, he has the feeling.
“Well. Nothing happened, technically.” He breathes in the chilly air. “It’s just, our wise man spoke his wisdom.”
“So — you know?”
He shrugs. His shoulders tremble. “It’s exactly what I thought it might have been. I hoped it might not, but — it is.”
She glances down at him, her eyes going wide, her lips parting —
He hopes she doesn’t ask anything further because he doesn’t know if he could answer —
She shakes her head and moves her arms around him.
He hugs her back and he’s so thankful she’s just not trying to talk about it, he could fucking cry —
Maybe he does.
Maybe he doesn’t.
They don’t get inside the car for a while.)
***
Three months later
The moment he sits down in the passenger seat, he knows Brienne knows just from the way she’s looking at him.
He’s about to make some dumb joke about how he’s predictable by now before she can ask what exactly went down during therapy.
“We’re going to Claridge’s,” she declares a moment later.
“What —”
“And I’m paying,” she says, starting the car.
“Brienne, it’s seventy quid —”
“And you just got out of what looks like an hour of emotional walk through three levels of Hell, I’ve been budgeting, you have been budgeting, it’s not going to kill either of us getting treated once in a while.”
“And you’re hoping to find a spot to park there?”
“No, but we can leave it at the nearest useful tube station and take it.”
“If you’re sure —”
“I’m one hundred percent sure and I’m not hearing otherwise.”
He could have pressed, but given what has just come up in the previous hour the idea of ridiculously pricey tea that he could have had any other day years ago but would really be a treat now sounds pretty damn great, so he doesn’t protest and lets her drive until they get to a tube station that would bring them close enough.
He’s just so damn grateful she’s not asking for details, he could do something exceedingly embarrassing, and so he concentrates on getting inside the tube and not think about the fact that today was the day he had to come to terms with the fact that he couldn’t be sure whether he and Cersei would have been a thing if she hadn’t just… told him they were since he could remember.
His skin is still crawling at the thought, and so he tries to not go there. He’s not being too successful. but he’s going to sure as fuck try.
It goes well enough until they walk out of the tube.
“Brienne Tarth?” A familiar voice asks, sounding fairly surprised. Jaime stops as Brienne does the same and turn towards it —
“I see you couldn’t have just avoided me, could you?” She groans, and wait — the guy has bright red hair, blue eyes, a handsome enough face, and it reads like that guy she told him about who —
“Oh, are you still angry? It happened in high school, we were all young and stupid.”
“Actually you were old enough to know that humiliating people in public is wrong, that there was nothing fun about leaving me signed Valentine’s Day cards and then tell everyone that you just wanted to see if I fell for it, so yes, I’m still angry. Now sorry but I actually have better things to do than wasting time with you.”
“Such as?” He seems to be very, very amused. Jaime already hated this Ronnet’s guts from what Brienne told him, but now that he sees him in the flesh…
“I don’t know,” Jaime says, smoothly, making sure the guy notices that he’s there, “going on dates is an option. Or do you have zero experience with the practice? Given your personality, I have no doubts.”
“And who are you?”
“The guy she goes on dates with,” Jaime retorts, and for a moment he feels a certain glee when Ronnet seems to not conceive that he is the guy Brienne is seeing —
Then he squints.
Then he looks at her.
“Seriously?” He asks her.
“So what? You’re so shocked that I’m dating someone way hotter than you are?”
Jaime would have laughed.
But then —
“Yeah, and he’s got what, ten years on you? I mean, where I come from if you date people that much younger than you and someone calls you a pedophile they’re not wrong —”
Jaime’s good mood disappears at once, feeling the blood drain from his face — fuck, fuck, this is not the time, this is not the moment, he can’t freak out now, not when he actually hasn’t done it that badly in a month, but his hands are sweating and his throat is closing on itself and he wants to scream how could you ask, okay, he doesn’t know, he can’t know, and if he’d tell he probably would say he went looking for it same as people on the few online forums he tried to join (and then gave up on) said, and shit, okay, he has ten years on her but it never was a problem because fuck knows she’s way better adjusted to anything than he is regardless of her own issues —
Then he hears a crunching sound loud enough that it brings him back to earth, and —
Oh.
That was — Ronnet’s face, because Brienne has just punched him hard enough that the bruise is already visible and there’s blood on the side of his mouth.
“Are you crazy?” He chokes, spitting blood on the ground. “Okay, you always were a bitch, but —”
She clenches her fingers again and moves closer. “You want me to do it again?” She asks. “Because there was a lot more where that came from. Please shut up about things you don’t know about. I can vote, I can drive, I can defend myself and I can decide for myself who I’m dating, and given that I’m bloody taller than he is, I really don’t think there’s any child molesting going on here. If you want to be useful in that sense, donate some money to the NSPCC next Christmas and stop trying to tell me what to do when if I ever gave a damn about your opinion, it stopped in high school.”
Then she grabs Jaime’s arm and drags him around the corner — it’s a smaller alley, thankfully, and when he breathes in he feels like he has just come up from a month underwater.
“Hey,” she tells him, her bruised hand gently grabbing his wrists and squeezing, “I’m sorry, I don’t know where that came from —”
“It’s — I’m good,” he says. “That was pretty damn badass, you know?”
She shrugs. “Well, he fucking deserved it. Christ, I can fucking vote and he comes here bitching about how old you are?”
“Let me guess, he never really understood that you wouldn’t see anyone you don’t want in the first place?”
“I had enough of assholes with him and the others. But never mind him. Are you all right? Because for a moment —”
“I know. It was going badly, but I think seeing you punch that ass in the face rectified it.” He forces himself to half-smile, at least he’d give her a sign he is coping.
“If you want to go home we can just do it another time,” she goes on.
He considers it.
Then he shakes his head. “No, actually — I kind of really feel like overpriced tea.” And fuck him, he actually does mean it. The idea of sitting down in that ridiculous posh place and getting treated to it with her sounds really great right now, and if he goes home he’ll just think about why he has and he’ll think about that asshole —
“All right,” she says, her hand moving down and grabbing his. “Overpriced tea it is. And — he doesn’t know shit. You know that, don’t you?”
“I know,” he says. “I just wish I didn’t care, but —”
“Please,” she interrupts him, “given the last six months, I think you need to stop being that hard on yourself. So, overpriced tea?”
“Fuck, yeah, let’s have it,” he says, realizing he’s kind of smiling for real as he tangles his fingers with hers and they head out of the hallway.
Maybe he will stop being hard on himself, he reasons, just not now —
But he’s getting there, isn’t he?
End.
