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He had not tried to stop her.
He had reminded her over comms that this wasn’t the mission, that he was a priority, that they needed him alive, but she hadn’t listened, and well, he didn’t blame her. He couldn’t blame her, not really, not when he’d made the same choice.
So when he had finally reached her, standing over his bullet-riddled body, his only thought was to get her out of there.
He wrapped his arm around her and led her inside the safehouse. He’d scoped out this spot a week ago; the house was in a great location, near the college, an area known for housing renters that came and went.
A perfect place to hide.
“He killed her,” B whispered as he locked the door behind him. He took a breath and held it, giving himself a moment to right his face.
He turned to her, and something inside him started to buckle as he looked at her vacant stare, a stare he was all too familiar with, a stare that he could still see in his reflection from time to time.
“He did,” he said, his voice steady, his years of training kicking in.
Thanks to Brienne, they’d gotten access to Baelish’s network, and he’d seen the photos, hundreds of photos of Jeyne Poole, before she died, and then after.
After
Jaime suppressed the shudder as those images came back into his head, and he walked over to the bar, fixing himself a drink, then making himself another and one for B too.
He handed it to her, nudging her arm when she didn’t notice. She held it in her hand and stared at it like she’d never seen one before, like she had forgotten how to drink.
“Sit down B.”
She did, without even a word of protest. A day ago, she would have looked at him with a devil in her eye, taunting him, asking him if that was an order. She had been quiet, almost withdrawn when he’d first met her, but now she made herself practice being someone else, and she loved to be the petulant flirt with him.
It was irritating and charming at the same time, and he’d give anything to have that B back with him.
She stared at her glass, silently swishing the ice cubes around, absorbed by their dance in her scotch.
He sighed as he watched her, but they didn't have time, they had to prepare.
“B.”
She didn’t look up, but she flinched at his voice. He was her handler, and they had to do this now, before it was too late.
“Tell me what happened.”
“I killed him.”
“After he charged you.”
She looked at him, and something slipped back into place, something strong enough to bring her back to him.
“No.”
“Yes.”
She stood up and hurled her glass at the wall, shattering the tumbler.
“He told me he killed her, that Jeyne was no one, so it didn’t matter that she was dead, and I killed him.”
She spat the words at him as she sparked to life again. He stood up, and she loomed over him, she still had her heels on, but he didn’t waver.
“After he charged you.”
She shook her head and collapsed on the couch, her outburst forgotten as she shrunk into the cushions.
“No, Jaime, I can’t. I can’t do it, I can’t be -”
She stopped, looking at him, her eyes clear.
“Me?” She looked away, but he could see the flush on her skin, even in the dim light.
She knew the truth, she was the only one. He didn’t regret it, but she knew exactly what that cost him, what it meant going forward.
“You’ll have to.” He sat next to her, taking her hand. She still wouldn’t look at him, but she didn’t pull away.
“He charged you, you had no choice.”
She closed her eyes, and he saw the tear fall. Just one tear, for Jeyne, for Baelish, for the young man he used to be who made the same choice, he would never know.
“He charged me...”
She couldn’t say anymore, and he let it go.
It was enough for now.
She squeezed his hand and leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around her, letting them both have this moment.
B sank into his lap, her body sinking into his as she tried to forget. She was so good, had so much promise, he could forget how young she was, he let himself forget that this was the first time she’d killed anyone. He thought to tell her that she would never forget, that Baelish’s eyes would follow her into her dreams, but he didn’t. He couldn't.
She'll know soon enough.
He put a hand on her shoulder, hoping it would help, that he would be of some help to her.
A knock at the door, and she bolted upright, rubbing her face, trying to get the blush out of her cheeks.
Selmy opened the door a second later, his face hard, his glare icy as he looked them over.
“What the fuck happened out there? I’ve got a dead source, mountains of paperwork ahead of me, and no idea why my best agents bolted from the scene.”
He looked to Jaime first, then at Brienne, almost like he was trying to decide who to reprimand first.
“Baelish,” her voice cracked on his name, and she cleared her throat, letting the moment pass. “I confronted him, and he confessed to Ms. Poole’s murder.”
She looked at her hands, they shook ever so slightly, but she balled them into fists before looking back at Selmy. “He charged me, and I fired.”
“He charged you.”
He looked at Jaime, and Jaime kept his face still, not looking away.
“She had no choice,” Jaime said.
“Agent Tarth, why do you think he charged you?”
She took a minute, and Jaime used every trick he could to keep his breathing steady. If she could get past Selmy, nothing else would matter. He didn’t believe them, he was too smart to believe them, but he just needed a plausible reason to not pursue it.
Selmy wouldn’t have shot him, Jaime thought. He would have taken him in, and cut a deal with that murderous bastard in order to nail other murderous bastards. And Baelish would have walked away, free and clear, free to pimp and murder until he was caught again, and it would keep happening until he was the last piece in trail of grief and blood.
Selmy wouldn’t have been wrong, Jaime thought bitterly. But Brienne wasn't fully wrong either.
Just like me
“Maybe he didn’t relish the idea of spending the rest of his life in prison,” she said, looking straight at Selmy. “Or maybe he didn’t want his clients to know he was facing that choice.”
Selmy nodded, breaking their contact first, and Jaime quietly let the breath he was holding escape.
Selmy threw the folder he was holding to the coffee table.
“We found this in his office,” Selmy said as Brienne grabbed the folder and held it for her and Jaime. “It's encrypted, but we think it’s a list of clients and contacts, and we won’t know until it's cracked. And you two are on desk duty until it’s done.”
He glared at both of them and walked out, not even looking back as he closed the door.
Brienne sat back down as she held the folder, not taking her eyes off the mangled text.
“So it didn’t matter,” she whispered, her voice quivering as she looked up at him. “We didn’t even need him alive.”
Her hands started to shake so much the folder fell to the floor, and he grabbed her left, and then her right, holding them still.
“It does matter B,” his voice soft, but she still heard him. “The world is a better place without him, but …”
She nodded.
He didn’t know what to do, or say, because even fifteen years later, he didn’t know what he would have said to his younger self. What could he say to make it better? What could Dayne, his handler, have said to make it better?
What words exist that could have soothed the raging fire in his soul after what he, and now Brienne, had done?
So instead, he reached out to her, gripping her shoulder.
“You’ll be ok,” he said. “I’m here.”
She tried to smile, but she couldn’t make it work.
She’ll be alright, he said to himself as she picked up the file.
I’ll make sure of it.